na
 
 UCSB LIBRARY
 
 FOURSQUARE 
 
 By GRACE S. RICHMOND 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "The Brown Study," "A Court of Inquiry," "The In- 
 
 difference of Juliet," "Mrs. Red Pepper," "Red Pe- 
 
 per Burns," "Red and Black," "Red Pepper's 
 
 Patients," "Strawberry Acres," "The Second 
 
 Violin," "Round the Corner in Gay 
 
 Street," "Twenty-fourth of June," 
 
 "Under the Country Sky," etc. 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY 
 
 Publishers New York 
 
 Published by arrangement with Doubleday, Doran & Company, Inc. 
 Printed in U. S. A.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BT THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY IN TH* 
 UNITED STATES AND GREAT BRITAIN 
 
 THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. T.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGl 
 
 I. CHARACTERIZATIONS i 
 
 II. AN EDITOR PROPHESIES .... 18 
 
 III. A COLLEGE TOWN 37 
 
 IV. THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA' ... 55 
 V. A BRIDGE BUILDER 74 
 
 VI. A CHALLENGE 93 
 
 VII. FORKS AND SPOONS 114 
 
 VIII. A PARTIAL ECLIPSE 126 
 
 IX. WHITE ANEMONES 138 
 
 X. To STIMULATE IMAGINATION . . 161 
 
 XL STANDING BY 175 
 
 XII. Two RED TULIPS 191 
 
 XIII. CHECK! 207 
 
 XIV. HANDICAPPED 229 
 
 XV. BEETHOVEN 247 
 
 XVI. WHITE FIRE 258
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGI 
 
 XVII. OUT OF THE ASHES 28* 
 
 XVIII. PARTNERSHIP 300 
 
 XIX. BLUE AND PURPLE 313 
 
 XX. THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD . . . 33? 
 
 XXI. A LITTLE BROWN BOOK . . .
 
 FOURSQUARE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS 
 
 HEN on one blustering afternoon 
 m late March Professor Mark 
 Fenn came into the dingy old 
 college book-shop which was one 
 of his favourite haunts, he passed 
 by the magazine stand in a hurry, 
 though it was thick with all the 
 newest April publications and 
 vivid with their colour. His mind 
 was upon a certain row of book- 
 shelves in the dimmest part of the 
 back of the shop, where he had 
 yesterday discovered rich treasure. 
 Almost an hour later, when he had 
 decided, rather against his judg- 
 ment but wholly according to his 
 inclination, to purchase the full 
 tale of seven books which he 
 needed to complete a special group 
 in his collection, he passed the 
 magazine stand again, and this 
 time he halted. He had caught 
 sight of the name of Mary Fletcher, 
 emblazoned in large letters upon 
 the cover of The Centrepiece.
 
 2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 He put down his book and picked up the magazine, frown- 
 ing a little. Why should Mary be writing for The Centre- 
 piece ? He ran hastily through the pages he didn't have to go 
 far, for the story he sought was well toward the front, as Mary 
 Fletcher's things always were. He glanced at the opening 
 lines yes there it was the delightful, sparkling style which 
 flashed at you from the cold print with the first distinctive 
 paragraph. There were the exquisite illustrations her editors 
 never gave Mary anything but the best, these days. 
 
 Mark Fenn fished a dingy quarter from his pocket, waved 
 it at Booth, the old bookseller just now occupied with an- 
 other customer and placed it on the magazine stand. He 
 folded the bulky Centrepiece in the middle and stuffed it into 
 his overcoat pocket, picked up his package of books, and left 
 the shop. 
 
 When Harriet Fenn came down the street from the High 
 School where she held a teaching position, toward the little 
 old brown house where she and her brother lived together, 
 she saw the light in his study window which proclaimed that 
 he had reached home before her. At this time of year she 
 was quite sure to see that cheerful light shining from the two 
 lower front windows, the shades undrawn Mark never in 
 the world thought of shutting out the passers-by, though the 
 house lay so close to the street. Although Harriet's first 
 move when she came in was to go and twitch the shabby old 
 dark-red curtains together, jealous of intrusion, she was al- 
 ways glad Mark hadn't done it before her. That welcoming 
 light made all the difference to a weary school-teacher, the 
 presence of whose one brother in the old house kept it home 
 for her, as she was sure her presence did for him. 
 
 Mark didn't hear her come in he seldom did. She liked 
 to let herself in quietly and steal to the door of the square, 
 low-ceiled study, its walls lined from floor to ceiling with 
 books, in all sorts of bookcases. From year to year Mark had
 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS 3 
 
 extended his ever growing collection, more eager as to the con- 
 tents of the shelves than as to the beauty or uniformity of the 
 shelves themselves. Yet the result was not inharmonious; 
 somehow one forgot the motley character of the containers in 
 wonder and pleasure at the wealth of the collection itself. Not 
 that there were many fine bindings though here and there 
 one shone out richly; but there were rows upon rows of 
 those volumes in sober dress which speak of serious uses, and 
 which must make the backbone of any worthy library. 
 
 The Professor of Psychology at Newcomb College had 
 not thrown himself, as usual, into the dingy old study arm- 
 chair which he was wont to seek when he first came in after 
 the labours of the day. Neither had he taken the spindle- 
 backed chair which served him at his desk it had been his 
 father's before him. He was sitting on the edge of his desk, 
 hat shoved back, overcoat still on, his legs braced to hold 
 him steady, while he read with absorption from a popular 
 magazine. 
 
 Harriet's affectionate eyes studied her brother's sturdy 
 figure for a long minute before she spoke. She was un- 
 doubtedly prejudiced in his favour, yet there was undeni- 
 ably something attractive about his looks. His was no 
 pale, scholastic, spectacled presentment of a being who 
 might have been normal if he hadn't developed his mind at 
 the expense of his body. Mark was thoroughly the mature 
 young athlete in his general aspect; his colour was healthy, 
 his lean, well-cut features were markedly interesting; dis- 
 cerning gray eyes looked out below straight brows, and the 
 firm lines of a very good mouth suggested both poise and 
 authority. He was several years older than Harriet, who 
 had herself been teaching for some six years since she left 
 college, though with her fair hair and girlish figure she by 
 no means looked as far along in the twenties as the records 
 declared her.
 
 4 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "It must be a pretty interesting story, to keep you from 
 undoing a package of new books," she observed, at length. 
 
 Mark looked up, met her scrutinizing eyes with the queer 
 one-sided smile which she knew of old to speak not entire 
 agreement with the proposition stated, and returned to his 
 page. 
 
 "Dead tired, Harry?" he inquired, absent-mindedly. 
 
 "As usual. What else could I be after a week of mid- 
 year examinations? Never mind it's Friday night; and 
 I've brought home oysters for supper." 
 
 "Good!" But he was still absent-minded. 
 
 She came close and looked over his shoulder for a min- 
 ute or two. "Oh, by Mary Fletcher," she observed. "The 
 girls were talking about it to-day." 
 
 Since it was the last page of the story, the name of the 
 author was not in sight. Harriet had judged by internal 
 evidence; she had caught the characteristic original style 
 which was always to be recognized. 
 
 Mark read the last paragraph and dropped the magazine 
 upon his desk, where with its gay cover it lay incongruously 
 among its austere surroundings. 
 
 "Is it good?" Harriet asked, taking off her hat and running 
 ordering fingers over the pale-coloured masses of her hair. 
 "Oh, such a day! My whole grade has been positively on 
 wires, every minute. As a result I'm on a wire-edge to- 
 night, myself. Is the story good, Mark ? " 
 
 "It's Mary Fletcher," her brother responded, enigmat- 
 ically. "Neither more nor less. After a year of war-writing, 
 from France, I thought it might be more." 
 
 "Her war articles were very fine, I thought. So did you.** 
 
 "This is fiction." 
 
 "I'll read it, by and by. A Mary Fletcher story on Fri- 
 day night will make me forget all my troubles." 
 
 "There's no possible doubt of that," he admitted.
 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS 5 
 
 A hot ayster stew on a March Friday night is also, 
 for people who have been teaching all the week, a stimulant 
 for tired nerves. When Harriet Fenn had washed and put 
 away the supper dishes, and sat down at last in her brother 
 Mark's big shabby armchair beside the low study light, she 
 was in a mood to enjoy the relaxation which is one of the re- 
 wards of labour. She picked up the magazine, looking it 
 through, turning its pages with lingering fingers. At the other 
 side of the room Mark was crowding a row of books unmerci- 
 fully to make space for a thick volume from the opened 
 package upon his desk. Harriet glanced across at him, regard- 
 ing his profile against the dark background of the books. 
 
 "Mark, you look more like Father every day," she ob- 
 served, "and act like him. He was never happy till he'd 
 put a new book in its place. Not that he had many -com- 
 pared with you. How he would open his eyes at this room! 
 You must have doubled trebled the number he had." 
 
 "I'm afraid I have. Where I'm reckless in buying, he'd 
 have denied himself. I wish he hadn't. I wish I could 
 show him these I've brought home to-night." 
 
 Brother and sister instinctively looked up at the one pic- 
 ture the room contained a dark portrait hung above the 
 chimneypiece, with rows of books pressing close on either 
 side. Even on the chimneyshelf, below the portrait, two 
 uneven rows of small volumes were lined up, no further space 
 being available for their peculiar size. The portrait looked 
 down at the pair below steadily, with a kindly, fatherly gaze 
 from warmly human eyes, yet with a suggestion of severity 
 showing in the lines of the lips and the prominent chin. 
 Though such a father might condone faults in his children he 
 would be likely to deal harshly with the same faults in him- 
 self. It was preeminently the portrait of a scholar but, 
 unless every aspect of him misled, the man himself had been 
 greater than his own learning.
 
 6 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "You do resemble him more and more," Harriet said again. 
 "I'm glad of that. There never was anybody like him 
 except you." 
 
 "I'm not a particle like him. I don't deserve to be called 
 his son. I lost my temper at least five times to-day. In 
 my place he would have kept his absolutely; and had twice 
 the influence over the offenders." 
 
 "Just the same you're like him," Harriet persisted. 
 "And he'd have been glad to have you buy all the books you 
 wanted." 
 
 "Do you realize," Mark said, with sudden vehemence, 
 "that my slim salary to-day is exactly double the biggest 
 he ever had, in the very last years of his life? And that at 
 the present outrageous scale of salaries! No wonder he 
 couldn't buy books except by going without meat which 
 he did, bless him. I wouldn't take ten times their cost for 
 that little old first collection of his. Do you see I've put 
 them all together again, in his first bookcase that he made 
 himself? There's the library of a scholar for you two hun- 
 dred and seventy-three books with the autograph of David 
 Matthew Fenn in every one of them. I'd like to show that 
 library to Mary Fletcher," he added, with sudden stern- 
 ness, "and tell her to study it and learn to write!" 
 
 "To write, Mark! Why, I thought you thought " 
 
 Harriet looked distinctly puzzled. Her gaze fell to the maga- 
 zine in her hand. Her fingers turned the pages till they came 
 
 to the story. "And, Behold " was its singular title. 
 
 She looked up again. "It looks delightful," she temporized. 
 
 "It is delightful." Mark turned again to the portrait. 
 "Father used to prophesy big things for her. I wonder what 
 he'd say to her now." 
 
 "Why, Mark! Has she lost? I've heard you say her 
 style was inimitable." 
 
 "It is. And her technique is perfect. But "
 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS 7 
 
 Harriet cried out sharply, interrupting him. "Why, 
 here's a picture of Mary! Did you see it? just over the 
 leaf. 'Mary Fletcher since her return from war-work in 
 France' Oh, isn't she lovely?" 
 
 Mark came across the room to look over her shoulder. 
 "My word she is!" he agreed. 
 
 "Lovely and full of fire as she always was. Just a 
 little older naturally." Harriet went on commenting, 
 studying the face before her. "But one wants her to be 
 and she's only the more interesting." 
 
 The photograph showed a face which might well challenge 
 attention, being not merely that of a decidedly attractive 
 young woman but of one whose intelligence and spirit were 
 clearly to be counted upon. There was something unusual 
 about the face; the eyes were those of a poet and dreamer, 
 yet the mouth suggested a sense of humour, and the firmly 
 rounded chin more than declared that its owner possessed 
 will and energy in plenty. The poise of the head with its 
 carefully ordered wealth of dark hair, the clear-cut curve of 
 neck and shoulder, spoke of one who held an assured posi- 
 tion. Altogether the somewhat prolonged contemplation 
 which both brother and sister gave this presentment of one 
 whom they had long known but had not seen much of late 
 could hardly be wondered at. Nobody who had ever known 
 Mary Fletcher could fail to be impressed at sight of this 
 latest view of her; it showed what life is capable of building 
 upon the foundation of a promising girlhood, such as Mark 
 and Harriet remembered. 
 
 " I beg your pardon " A pleasant, low voice spoke depre- 
 
 catingly. "You didn't hear the knocker, and I ventured in. 
 It's raining, and the wind blows right across your front porch.*' 
 
 Harriet sprang up, dropping the magazine. "Oh, do come 
 in, Miss Sara. No, we didn't hear you the wind's blowing 
 so. Let me take your wraps."
 
 8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 It was the Fenns' next-door neighbour, Miss Sara Graham. 
 She came in smiling, a slender, aristocratic little figure of a 
 middle-aged woman, with a scarf of fine blue silk tied about 
 her carefully arranged gray hair, a richly fur-lined cape 
 slipping from her shoulders. Harriet took charge of cape 
 and scarf, while Mark pushed the old armchair nearer the 
 smoking logs in the narrow little fireplace, and gave a bracing 
 poke to them which resulted in a freshly leaping blaze. 
 
 "I'm so very happy over some news of mine, I wanted to 
 come over and share it with you." Miss Graham drew a 
 letter from her little beaded handbag. "I knew you were 
 always interested in my niece's plans, and this one seems to 
 me very wonderful for me, and I hope for her." 
 
 With Harriet in the spindle-backed desk chair, waiting 
 with eager curiosity, and Mark leaning an elbow on the 
 chimneypiece shelf as he stood on the hearth-rug, poker 
 still in hand, the visitor read aloud a paragraph from the 
 long typed letter of many sheets. 
 
 "'Somehow I'm bitten with the hungriest desire to get back to 
 your blessed old home and your blessed young self.' 
 
 " You know Mary's extravagant way of putting things," 
 Miss Graham interpolated, with a deprecating little laugh. 
 
 "'And I know of no place in the whole wide world where, it now 
 seems to me, I can better pull my vagrant thoughts and self 
 together, and make them do a respectable day's work. The book 
 the book I want to write my first real book, after all these vola- 
 tile short stories and the collections of them which don't really 
 count as books at all, you know that's all I can think of. And 
 now that I'm back from France, somehow I can't seem to settle 
 down here in the little old apartment, even with my dear Alexandra 
 Warren. Girls and men are always dropping in, and there are 
 theatres and supper parties without end something everlastingly 
 doing, and it's impossible to keep out of it, even on the plea of
 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS g 
 
 work. Somehow it doesn't seem real life any more though before 
 I went across I thought it the only real life! I want to come back 
 to that jolly big room you always gave me. Did you know I used to 
 climb out from the west window, catch that long branch of the old 
 larch, and swing down to the porch roof, from which it was only a 
 long jump into the middle of your verbena bed ? No wonder you had 
 so much ill luck with your verbenas, those summers! And I want 
 to sit on the old cross-stitch footstool with the bits of arms, almost 
 in your big fireplace, in your adorable drawing-room with its old 
 mahogany and its portraits, and its samplers in frames, and its 
 cabinets of East India treasures ' " 
 
 Miss Graham broke off, glancing down the page. "The 
 child goes into such raptures over my plain old home," she 
 explained. "I'll find the place where she " 
 
 "Oh, please don't leave out the raptures," Harriet begged, 
 all the tired lines gone out of her pleasant face with the 
 interest of listening. "We like to hear every word Mary 
 ever wrote, you know. She writes so differently from other 
 people, even in her letters. Why, we were just reading her 
 last story, to-night, and talking of her." Harriet glanced at 
 her brother and bit her lip, remembering suddenly what 
 Mark had said or hadn't said but had implied, in criti- 
 cism of Mary. "We haven't really seen anything of her 
 since long before she went to France. It must be why 
 all of four years." 
 
 "She says it's five." Miss Graham was still turning over 
 the closely typed thin sheets, with their many dashes and the 
 unconsciously consistent paragraphing of the trained writer. 
 "It is three since her father and mother died, and she hadn't 
 been here for two years, at least, before that." 
 
 There was no change of tone in her quietly natural allusion 
 to the greatest tragedy of her own life. Mary Fletcher's 
 father and mother Mrs. Fletcher was Miss Graham's sister 
 had been killed together in a motor accident while trav- 
 elling in Italy. Dr. Fletcher had been the distinguished head-
 
 io FOURSQUARE 
 
 master at Stevenson, a famous private school for boys. It 
 was from her girlish life in this school that Mary had come to 
 spend her summers with her aunt in the near-by small 
 college town. It had been her mother's home until her mar- 
 riage, and so by every association it was natural that Mary 
 should look upon it with affection. 
 
 "Oh, this is what I specially wanted you to hear," Miss 
 Graham went on, her face brightening again. She read with 
 a smile touching her delicate lips. 
 
 "'It seems to me, Aunt Sara, that if I could just live a perfectly 
 simple, rational life with you, for one whole year can you bear it to 
 have me that long? go to bed at ten o'clock [I can't fancy it!] 
 have grapefruit and coffee and 'Liza's jolly little old graham -rolls 
 in the morning, go for long tramps, and perhaps well have 
 Harriet Fenn and Professor Mark in, now and then, in the evenings, 
 by way of dissipation'" Harriet laughed out at this, and Mark 
 grinned darkly, in the shadow above the fire "'I could, perhaps, 
 after a while, give myself to serious work. I never can do it here, 
 now that I'm sure of. I really can't describe to you how it has 
 suddenly all palled upon me. For one whole year I don't want my 
 flowers out of a florist's shop, I want to pick them in your garden. 
 May I come, may I may I?" 
 
 "When will she come?" Harriet asked, understanding that 
 the matter was already settled. The light in Miss Graham's 
 face told that. What must it not mean to her to anticipate 
 having her quiet life enriched for a whole year by so delight- 
 ful a companionship as that of this still youthful yet challeng- 
 ingly mature personality ? Already Harriet could almost see 
 Mary running out of the austerely dignified white house with 
 its tall pillared porch to cross the lawn, leap the low hedge, 
 and dash into the little brown house next door, full of some 
 news or plan with which to startle her more staid neighbours. 
 Or would Mary conceivably have changed and be no 
 longer a hedge-leaper? She had been through much en;
 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS 1 1 
 
 larging experience since the Fenns had known her; would she 
 be somehow removed from them, even though, as her letter 
 suggested, she should "have them in, now and then by way 
 of dissipation"? Just what did Mary mean by that? Was 
 it a bit of a jeer at their quiet manner of life in the old college 
 town ? Harriet wondered. 
 
 "She gives me barely time to get her room in order," Miss 
 Graham declared happily. "And the piano must be tuned 
 she stipulated that. She wants to know if you've kept up 
 your practice on the 'cello" Mark shook his head regret- 
 fully "and says she must have music if she is to write. It 
 all sounds as if she were precisely her old what is the word 
 used so much these days ? her old temperamental self " 
 
 "Don't say it!" Mark fairly interrupted, a frown of 
 impatience crossing his brow. " Of all modern excuses for 
 intemperance and irrelevance and general idiocy that's the 
 worst. An author of her class is old enough to stop being 
 'temperamental' in her work and out of it and become 
 rational in her work and out of it. I want to see her do 
 it!" 
 
 Miss Graham stared up at him, not quite comprehending 
 his ferocity, and a little hurt, though she was used to his 
 abrupt statements, and knew well enough that his friendship 
 for her and for Mary herself was not to be questioned. 
 
 "Don't mind him," Harriet said quickly, as Mark picked 
 up the magazine which contained Mary's story. "He's 
 rather a bear to-night. The week's work has been heavy." 
 She shook her head warningly at her brother. But Miss 
 Graham had recognized the magazine and was reminded 
 of something in Mary's letter which she hadn't read to the 
 Fenns. 
 
 "Oh," she said, "Mary spoke of that. Have you read it? 
 I haven't yet. She calls it I think the word was 
 'punk'/" She spoke the unaccustomed syllable with a wry
 
 12 FOURSQUARE 
 
 little twist of her lips. "She said when I'd read it I should 
 know why she needed a year with me. Fm sorry I didn't 
 suppose Mary would ever write anything unworthy!" 
 
 "She hasn't." Harriet was quick in defense. "I haven't 
 read it myself, yet I know it isn't unworthy. Perhaps it 
 isn't her best all that she's capable of " 
 
 Miss Graham looked up with almost pleading in her blue 
 eyes at Mark, who had been standing with his arm upon the 
 chimneypiece, below the portrait of his father. He had 
 rather suddenly stiffened; the likeness to the face above 
 stood out strikingly. 
 
 "If she knows it's punk," he said, in answer to her un- 
 spoken question, "and if she's coming off up here to get away 
 from the temptation to keep on writing punk, there's hope 
 for her. Get her here, as soon as you can and if you'll 
 take my advice, don't coddle her too much. I'm not sure 
 I should tune the piano for her!" 
 
 "Why, Mark!" Harriet was smiling, yet she was a little 
 worried, lest he hurt the gentle lady for whom they both 
 cared so much. "I think it would do you yourself good to 
 get out the old 'cello and play with her. Only yesterday 
 you were planning to take me in town for a concert. You 
 said you were starved to hear some good music!" 
 
 "I certainly never used that word," denied her brother r 
 evidently nettled, the colour rising a little in his cheek. 
 " Starved' s not a word of mine, thank the Lord! Mary uses 
 it three times in one short story. Emotionalism over- 
 emphasis I've no use for 'em." He looked at Miss Gra- 
 ham, and his frowning brows smoothed somewhat. "I'm 
 afraid I am a grouch to-night," he admitted. "It's really 
 great news you bring us, neighbour, and we shall be glad to 
 see your Mary again, be she never so scornful of our limi- 
 tations." 
 
 "Scornful? I think she feels she needs limitations," said
 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS 13 
 
 Harriet Fenn, with one of the flashes of interpretation which 
 sometimes surprised her brother. "She's been having so 
 much, doing so much, experiencing so much; she wants to get 
 away where it's quiet and she can think it over. How can 
 one wonder! With all her success so much praise so 
 much vogue; and then this last year and a half abroad, 
 writing all those wonderful articles, in the midst of all the 
 excitement and tension. No wonder she wants to collect 
 herself. And this is just the place! I'm so glad she's 
 coming." 
 
 "I will tell her you say so." Miss Graham laid the sheets 
 of the letter together, the flush on her cheeks deepening as 
 she rose to go. "She really thinks very much of you both, I 
 know. And you will be good for her. Do you know, at the 
 bottom of it all, I think Mary is just a little tired? She 
 wrote so much, worked so hard, all the while she was over 
 there, she must need a real rest. It will give me great happi- 
 ness to look after her. Independent as she is, I know she 
 misses her father and mother." 
 
 The little dignified speech, so like the finely bred, sweet- 
 spirited woman who made it, brought Mark forward with a 
 quick word of apology. 
 
 "Forgive me, so she does, Miss Sara. She shall have the 
 best we can give her. Please tell her so, from me. I sus- 
 pect the matter with me is that I'm jealous of that mar- 
 vellous ability of hers and jealous for it, too that she shall 
 do the thing she's capable of and that she hasn't done 
 yet." 
 
 When Harriet had escorted her visitor to the door, and 
 returned to the warm, homely room, with its uneven rows of 
 books and its plain, comfortable furnishings, she regarded 
 her brother reproachfully. 
 
 "How could you take away from her happiness by sug- 
 gesting such a criticism of Mary? All writers are more or
 
 I 4 FOURSQUARE 
 
 less uneven I've heard you say so many a time yourself. 
 You know everything she writes is attractive, and I've no 
 doubt this last thing is. I'm going to read it and find out." 
 
 "Go to it!" Mark slid the magazine across the desk at 
 her. "Revel in the moonlight and the mush." 
 
 "Mark! Mary never writes mush." 
 
 "She comes mighty near it, this time. But don't let me 
 prejudice you." 
 
 "As if you hadn't done your best to! But I refuse to be 
 prejudiced." 
 
 "Good old Harry with her judicial mind." 
 
 Harriet turned her back upon him and began. She read 
 the six pages at a rush, lingered over the illustrations, three 
 out of the four of which represented the heroine with one or 
 other of the five men by whom she was surrounded through- 
 out the story; and finally laid the magazine down with sus- 
 picious quietness, to sit staring into the fire without a com- 
 ment. Her brother, now smoking a well-coloured briarwood 
 pipe, while he put in order a mass of papers at his desk, looked 
 up at the slight creak of the old rocker in which Harriet sat. 
 
 "Well?" he demanded. 
 
 Harriet hesitated. Then she temporized. "I thought 
 the description of Californian scenery the atmosphere and 
 colouring and all was very vivid." 
 
 "It was." 
 
 "The characterizations were certainly good." 
 
 "One girl, five young men, and an Airedale dog, as I re- 
 member them. Also, a Chinese cook. I don't know but 
 there was a chaperon, for propriety a pale shade in laven- 
 der. There was, I admit, a bit of good character drawing 
 of the Chinaman and possibly of the dog. The others 
 all looked about alike to me. I believe one was named 
 Billy and one Jack." 
 
 "The story is certainly charming and unusual," defended
 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS 1 5 
 
 Harriet, with the obstinacy her brother particularly enjoyed 
 in her. "I can never get over admiring Mary's use of words. 
 She flings them about so recklessly she uses up so many 
 striking phrases and yet she never seems to run out or to 
 say the same thing in the same way. It's all so fresh and 
 facile. It's " 
 
 "Keep on," encouraged her brother, grimly. "Say it 
 all it's all true. But that's precisely the trouble." 
 
 "What's precisely the trouble?" 
 
 "That she has so many tools in her workshop that they're 
 all sharpened to so fine an edge all so fitted to her hand. 
 And that she keeps on making with them nothing but 
 pretty toys." 
 
 "Oh, Mark! Think of her war work!" 
 
 "That was mighty good, certainly," he admitted. "It 
 could hardly be otherwise. She was writing fact, not fiction, 
 and she was keyed up to do her best work. She was stim- 
 ulated to produce what her editors expected of her, truth- 
 ful tales of what she saw and heard. The material was all at 
 hand, she had only to use her discrimination. Every power 
 she had was at her service. There was nothing distinctly 
 creative about it; she would tell you herself that given her 
 own ability she couldn't help writing as she did. But after 
 all, she was only a reporter, of a very high class. In a way, 
 the experience did injury to her creative faculty; she had 
 such a wealth of material and inspiration at hand she had 
 no need to use her imagination." 
 
 "I don't agree with you." Harriet shook her head de- 
 cidedly. "Only a highly trained imagination could have 
 seen what Mary saw." 
 
 "Granted, my dear. That's absolutely true. But at the 
 same time this very story the first, I judge, she's written 
 since she came back shows a certain poverty of conception, 
 a certain reversion to the old type of gay and dever and
 
 16 FOURSQUARE 
 
 perfectly meaningless tale-telling for an idle hour, which 
 well it gives me such a sense of disappointment that 1 
 can't get over it." 
 
 "I see you can't. For a man who's bought seven new 
 books to-day, I think you're pretty pessimistic I won't say 
 pedantic. Miss Graham's probably right Mary's tired. 
 And she wanted the money, so she wrote this story and got it 
 the easiest way. Her prices must be enormous by now. 
 What she earned by that alone will bring her here and pay 
 expenses till she can rest up, and go at the work she really 
 plans to do and is capable of doing." 
 
 Though it was not yet time to do it by twenty-four hours, 
 Harriet now wound the clock with firmness and decision. 
 Mark, relaxing from his critical attitude, laughed and came 
 across to pat her shoulder as she said good-night. 
 
 "You're a great little champion of the downtrodden 
 author with a yearly income which makes yours and mine 
 put together look like the widow's mite. And I hope you're 
 right. Anyhow, it will be interesting to see what success 
 in the ordinary acceptation of the term has done for the girl 
 we used to know so well." 
 
 Left alone by the smouldering fire Mark absently picked 
 up the magazine and absently turned the pages till he came 
 
 to "And, Behold " again. Then, by no means absently, 
 
 he reread the closing paragraphs, and with a sudden gesture 
 of distaste flung the unoffending copy of The Centrepiece into 
 the fire. 
 
 "If you're coming within my reach, Mary Fletcher," he 
 said to himself, "I'll do my duty by you like a man and a 
 brother. Somehow I have an idea this year will give you 
 your only chance." 
 
 Then, as he watched the flames slowly surround the bulky 
 pages, he all at once remembered something which he was 
 destroying along with Mary's despised work. He snatched
 
 CHARACTERIZATIONS 17 
 
 the magazine from the fire, with some difficulty extinguished 
 the smouldering singe along the edges, and finding the page 
 which bore the reproduction of Mary's photograph, carefully 
 tore it out. The remains of the magazine went back into 
 the fire, but the picture received a second thorough scrutiny. 
 Finally, the sheet which bore it went into Mark's lowest 
 desk drawer. One might resolve to do one's whole duty, 
 as a man and a brother, by a young woman who looked like 
 that, but one needn't necessarily destroy so striking an image 
 of her. Best retain it for purposes of comparison with the 
 original. One cannot know too much about the subject one 
 investigates. Besides the picture, as Harriet had said, 
 was really very lovely, and didn't in the least like the story 
 - deserve burning.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 
 
 RANKLY," said John Kirkwood, irri- 
 tation in his voice, "I don't like it." 
 
 "I'm very sorry to lose her," agreed 
 Miss Alexandra Warren, heartily. 
 "But I don't see that there's anything 
 we can do about it. When Mary 
 makes up her mind, it's not I who can 
 unmake it. Neither with all honour 
 to your powers of persuasion, Mr. 
 Kirkwood can you, I'm thinking." 
 
 "In my opinion," continued Mr. 
 Kirkwood, editor of a deservedly pop- 
 ular magazine, and very much accus- 
 tomed to having his own way, "she 
 will be making the mistake of her life, 
 at a critical moment when she can least 
 afford to make it. It's absurd pre- 
 posterous that she should go off and 
 bury herself in the country for a year, 
 with the idea of producing anything 
 worth while." 
 
 "Of course it isn't quite the coun- 
 try," objected Miss Warren, deter- 
 mined to do her friend full justice 
 "And it's a college town " 
 
 "What college?" 
 
 "Newcomb I believe." 
 18
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES ig 
 
 "Who ever heard of it?" demanded Kirkwood. 
 
 "I asked Mary that," admitted Mary's friend. "She 
 gave me a long list of distinguished names all graduates." 
 
 "They became distinguished in spite of their college, not 
 because of it, then," declared the editor, most unfairly, 
 because of course he knew nothing about it. "And it is 
 the country, since it's not New York, nor within hailing 
 distance of it." 
 
 "Oh, how narrow you are!" Miss Warren regarded his 
 face his thin, tense face, with the evidences of hard work 
 and late hours lined heavily beneath his dark eyes. "I'll 
 wager you came from the country yourself. In fact, I know 
 you did." 
 
 "I did, certainly. It's a mighty good place to come from 
 and to stay away from, after one's achieved the getting 
 away. I don't advise anybody to go back to it, least of all 
 Mary Fletcher. She's made a place for herself; she's been 
 in the public eye with her war work. She has her great 
 chance now, to make that name of hers stand out with a new 
 significance. But if she takes that chance she's got to take 
 it here." The editor's lean jaw stiffened ; the frown between 
 his eyes deepened. "This is the place for her to do that 
 work unless, of course, she intends to write a history of 
 Newfane what is it? Newcomb College. In which case, 
 I admit she'd better be on the ground." 
 
 "I don't think she has the least idea what it is she wants 
 to write." 
 
 "She won't get her great idea walking along a country 
 road. She won't get it at a village tea-party. She won't 
 get it anywhere except here, in the midst of life, where the 
 big things happen, where the stimulating contacts are pos- 
 sible, where " 
 
 The telephone bell in the pleasant little apartment rang 
 almost in the speaker's ear. He turned with quick annoy-
 
 20 FOURSQUARE 
 
 ance, succeeded instantly by expectation, as he remembered 
 from whom the call might be. 
 
 "Perhaps that's Mary." Miss Warren came over to the 
 desk, from which Kirkwood removed his elbow to give her 
 room. She sat down, a graceful figure, and listened with a 
 smiling face to a rapid explanation which seemed to leave 
 no room for expostulation. 
 
 "I see. . . . Yes, he's here. . . . I'll tell him. . . . 
 Do you want to speak with him? . . . Wait a minute. 
 . . . No wait a minute, Mary, please!" 
 
 Miss Warren covered the transmitter with one hand while 
 she said softly, "She's been detained downtown, can't get 
 home for dinner want s me to tell you she would be sorry 
 if she had time to be anything except horribly rushed. She 
 hasn't time to talk with you " 
 
 Kirkwood seized the instrument from Miss Warren's 
 hands, with a sort of growl by way of apology. 
 
 "Mary " he began, "if you have to stay downtown 
 though why in the world ... I beg your pardon, I know 
 it's no affair of mine. . . . But if you are downtown, 
 won't you let me come and take you to dinner? Please!" 
 
 Miss Warren sat back, much amused, as she watched the 
 editor pass rapidly through the various stages of confidence, 
 uneasiness, loss of hope, and final despair which were readily 
 indicated by his spasmodic utterances into the telephone. 
 When he finally hung up the receiver with an exasperated 
 jerk she had no need to have him tell her as he promptly 
 did that Mary Fletcher was probably the most unreason- 
 able and impossible young woman in the whole city this 
 night. 
 
 "You can hardly blame her," she reminded him, "for 
 wanting to get away, if she's going at all, as quickly as pos- 
 sible. I never saw her so tired in fact, I never saw her tired 
 at all. She did work desperately hard over there, little as
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 21 
 
 she's said about it. And now, to get away, she must do all 
 this shopping " 
 
 "Shopping to go to the country?" 
 
 Alexandra Warren laughed. "Why not? You know 
 Mary herself says that if being a genius means looking dowdy 
 and grubby, she prefers to stop short of genius and continue 
 to be ready for the snapshot photographer whom she can't 
 possibly avoid, anyway, try as she may. And of course, 
 though she snatched up a few pretty things before she sailed, 
 she's really dependent on her tailor and her dressmaker here 
 to put her in shape to go anywhere. That's where she is 
 to-night, getting a last fitting on a brown tweed suit that 
 is positively the prettiest " 
 
 "You don't expect me to believe," Kirkwood interrupted, 
 "she's getting a fitting from any New York tailor at this 
 hour!" 
 
 "Even so, though it's hard to believe. Mary can wheedle 
 anybody mto doing anything. She says the tailor came from 
 the country originally, and is in great sympathy with her 
 going back there. She says he says that his one ambition is 
 to get enough money to stop tailoring and go and buy a farm. 
 
 So he's much interested in " She stopped to laugh at 
 
 Kirkwood's face. "What a cynic you are!" she told him. 
 "Don't you think any good can possibly come out of Naza- 
 reth ? And do you expect a woman like Mary to walk the 
 streets of a really fine old college town in the clothes she 
 left behind when she went to France? She's given them 
 all away, anyway." 
 
 Kirkwood got up, his tall figure unfolding itself not quite 
 erectly, for his shoulders showed the effect of prolonged desk- 
 work. He glowered down at Alexandra Warren as she looked 
 up at him, a capable woman in the middle thirties, a libra- 
 rian in one of the great city libraries, well dressed, alert, 
 really attractive in a way which didn't specially interest him.
 
 22 FOURSQUARE 
 
 He knew her principally as Mary Fletcher's friend, who lived 
 with her in this rather luxurious small apartment, and made it 
 possible for him to come here now and then when Mary 
 would permit it, to "talk shop" with this one of his con- 
 tributors who wouldn't give him half as much of her work 
 as he wanted for his prosperous magazine. 
 
 "Well," he said, with a shrug of his thin shoulders, 
 "if it's the clothes question which is chiefly absorbing our 
 young friend, perhaps I needn't fear she'll take her visit to 
 the country too seriously. You say she means to stay a 
 year. I'll give her three months no, I'll give her six, since 
 spring and summer are pretty decent up that way. But 
 let fall come, with the theatres and the concerts beginning, 
 and the leaves dropping in the Park, the Palisades a mass 
 of colour in the sunshine, and she'll come back like a homing 
 pigeon. Mark my words, by October she'll come back. 
 And in November she'll begin the new book in New York 
 the book she couldn't get in the country!" 
 
 He picked up his hat, his odd, half-cynical smile showing 
 in the corners of his well-cut lips. 
 
 "I'm sorry you're so unhappy about it all," Alexandra 
 said. "And of course you know Mary's truly sorry not to 
 have kept her appointment." 
 
 "Oh, don't bother to say that," he told her. "If she'd 
 really not wanted to miss the appointment she'd have cut 
 the tailor and come home. I don't believe in that tailor at 
 all, you know I don't think she's been near one not at 
 this hour, anyhow. One excuse will do as well as another. 
 We quarrelled violently the other evening over this plan of 
 hers; she didn't even tell me when she's going. Perhaps you'll 
 let me know that? I might at least have the satisfaction of 
 sending her some flowers and magazines for the journey." 
 
 "Why, of course. She would want you to know. She 
 goes to-morrow night, on the ten-five."
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 23 
 
 Kirkwood was frowning again. He was in a very bad 
 humour indeed or he wouldn't have said what he did next. 
 "The truth is, Miss Warren, you yourself are much to blame. 
 If you'd taken a stand, said you couldn't be left alone, told 
 her you needed her Oh, well, you're so provincial your- 
 self, in spite of your years here you couldn't be expected to 
 see what a mistake she's making." 
 
 "Couldn't I?" Alexandra quite naturally stiffened a 
 little at this accusation. "Mr. Kirkwood, if you had known 
 Mary's earlier life, at the School, with her wonderful father 
 as headmaster, and her beautiful mother making such an 
 atmosphere of home for all those boys, you wouldn't wonder 
 that the country such country calls her back pretty 
 loudly now. The School, you know, is just by itself, a great 
 settlement in a tiny village oh, such a delightful place!" 
 
 "She isn't going back there." 
 
 "No, but Newcomb College is only twenty miles away. 
 She plans to go over to the School, now and then. She's 
 never been there, since Doctor and Mrs. Fletcher were 
 brought back and buried at Newcomb, in the old family 
 plot. Miss Graham Mrs. Fletcher's sister still lives 
 there. Why, it's all so natural, Mr. Kirkwood, that now, 
 with the first edge off her sorrow, she should want to go back. 
 I don't see how you " 
 
 The editor had an unmannerly trick of interrupting 
 people, particularly when they weren't saying anything he 
 considered worth his time to listen to. He did it now, as he 
 moved toward the door. 
 
 "All that's neither here nor there!" he snapped. "The 
 thing that does matter is that she should destroy her chances 
 for doing big, significant work by going off for a year, burn- 
 ing her bridges, getting out of touch with everything that 
 could stimulate her, coming into contact with everything 
 that can depress and chill her I tell you it's a crime. 1 ' 9
 
 24 FOURSQUARE 
 
 He had told her this so many times that she hardly needed 
 to have him state it again, but she listened in silence until 
 he had said the last word, understanding that at the bottom 
 of his irritation was undoubtedly a concern for more than 
 Mary's art. He had never posed as other than a good friend 
 and sharp critic, who considered that he had brought out 
 the young writer in the beginning, had taught her much 
 of her craft, and had reaped his reward in her striking, if 
 more or less superficial, success of the following years. It 
 was none the less easy for Alexandra to see that, whether he 
 knew it or not, a large part of his disappointment over Mary's 
 plans was caused by his sense of personal loss. Now that she 
 was back in his world he wanted to keep her there; that was 
 the truth of the matter. 
 
 Alexandra saw him depart at last with a decided sense of 
 pity for him, though he was by no means the sort of person 
 who often inspires pity. Mary owed him for much very 
 tangible help in the beginning of her career if it was to be a 
 career, as it promised. She had been rather hard on him 
 to-night, for no conceivable reason. She had seen more 
 than ever of him since her return from France; and now 
 to miss this final appointment with him seemed hardly 
 fair. 
 
 Ten minutes after the editor had gone the door opened 
 again, and was closed with a decided bang behind the sub- 
 ject of the last hour's discussion. 
 
 "Why, Mary!" 
 
 "Yes, I know. I met him at the subway entrance. 
 Such hard luck. Now Fm going to dinner and a play 
 with him to keep the peace. Why didn't you get him off 
 sooner?" 
 
 "My dear, you said you were staying downtown. But of 
 course I might have known "
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 25 
 
 "That Pd do the erratic thing? If I didn't you'd almost 
 be disappointed, wouldn't you, Sandy?" 
 
 She looked like that she looked exactly like that, Alex- 
 andra Warren thought as if she would do the erratic thing. 
 Just what it was about her that kept one watching her as 
 her friend watched her now it is difficult to tell. The fact 
 was that one did watch her, study her, enjoy her even when 
 she was most trying to one's sense of responsibility and judg- 
 ment. 
 
 She stood for a minute on the hearth-rug, before one of 
 those gas grates which pass for fireplaces in such apartments, 
 resting her arms upon the chimneypiece and looking down 
 at the play of small orange and blue flames. She had 
 thrown a wide cape of brown beaver upon a chair, and stood, 
 ' slim figure in a brown tailored suit, a tight little brown 
 hit edged with beaver pulled down over her hair. She was 
 all brown, was Mary Fletcher, from her bronze-brown hair 
 to her slim, high-arched feet. Even her face held tints of 
 brown in its pallor and the pallor was new. Before 
 Mary went to France richly soft hues of rose had mingled 
 with the slight duskiness of her brunette colouring; they were 
 all gone now. Deep shadows lay beneath her eyes yes, 
 Mary was tired, no doubt of that. Even so nothing could 
 quite subdue a certain amazing vitality in her. 
 
 "He said the tailor was a myth," said Alexander Warren. 
 "I begin to think he is myself." 
 
 "No myth at all, as you very well know. I've just come 
 from the fitting, quite as I said. I bribed him heavily to get 
 in two in one day and finish the suit by noon to-morrow. 
 And it was quite true that I was staying downtown only 
 I meant to stay just long enough to let John Kirkwood get 
 away. Oh I don't want to go out with him to-night ! But 
 when I met him my ridiculous heart failed me, he looked so 
 miserable. I really do owe him for a lot, don't I ? So I'm
 
 26 FOURSQUARE 
 
 going on one condition that he doesn't say one more word 
 to me about my year at Newcomb." 
 
 "I doubt if you can hold him to that condition." 
 
 "I can and will. He understands. One word and I'll 
 be lost to him. Well, he'll be back in an hour. Shall I go as 
 I am or dress?" 
 
 "I think you'd better do him the honour of dressing, since 
 it's the last time for a year. Besides, you'll enjoy the whole 
 evening more." 
 
 "And feel less grubby. I do feel grubby and look it. 
 Here goes, then. Only it's a shame J can't have this last 
 evening with you. Will you promise to wait up for me? 
 You can have a cat-nap on the dawy and we'll talk till 
 morning." 
 
 "We'll do nothing of the sort. We can talk all day to- 
 morrow, and you need the sleep. Don't bother about me 
 I've any number of letters to get off to-night." 
 
 Alexandra followed her friend into Mary's own room, 
 went on into the tiny bathroom where she drew a full tub, 
 and then, with the soft sound of splashing in her ears, got 
 out the one semi-evening gown left provisionally out of the 
 early packing and laid it, with its underlying accessories, on 
 the bed. 
 
 She was rewarded presently by the feel of two cool, satiny 
 arms about her neck, a fresh and fragrant cheek against her 
 own face, and a low, revived voice in her ear. 
 
 "Oh, what doesn't a hot tub do for one? I'm all made 
 over new temporarily. If you'd just be angel enough to 
 do my hair No, that's selfish of me!" 
 
 "I want to do it. Sit down, and I'll play maid. You 
 don't let me often enough and somehow to-night 
 
 "Yes, I know. You're feeling ridiculously soft toward 
 me, because we're almost at the parting. It's probably a 
 good thing I'm not to be here. We should be a couple of
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 27 
 
 sentimental pussy cats, purring on each other's necks 
 and we'd both hate that." 
 
 Alexandra combed and brushed the heavy brown looks 
 with care and skill, trying to forget that her heart was ach- 
 ing rather heavily. It had meant so much to her to live with 
 Mary Fletcher for three crowded, interesting years not 
 counting the eighteen months of war service. Before that 
 her own life had been dull enough it would be dull again, 
 now that she was to return to the suburban home from which 
 she would come in every day for the hours in the library 
 where she sat behind a desk. But there was nothing else to 
 do. Nobody else would want her there was nobody else 
 she wanted. She would never forget the day when Mary 
 Fletcher, standing with her among the bookstacks in a re- 
 mote corner of the high-ceiled quiet place, had suddenly said 
 with that convincing eagerness which people found so irresis- 
 tible: "Oh, would you come and help me make home out 
 of a little apartment? Somehow I know we'd get on! I've 
 been so attracted by you for so long. Do you imagine you 
 could stand living with me? It's a frightful test, you 
 know!" 
 
 Stand living with that vital creature who, however ex- 
 acting or trying she might prove to be, could never by any 
 possibility be boring? The efficient librarian's life had long 
 ago become such a monotonous round of daily routine she 
 would have welcomed any prospect calculated to enliven it. 
 She had never found occasion to regret the partnership thus 
 formed. With all her varying moods and caprices, Mary 
 had been eminently fair as, for all her weariness, she was 
 fair to-night. 
 
 "Thank you, Sandy dear, that's perfect. I don't let you 
 maid me very often, do I ? But it's a comfort to-night, I'm 
 so fagged. Now for the frock it's a pretty frock, isn't it? 
 I wonder when I shall wear it again! At some staid college
 
 28 FOURSQUARE 
 
 festivity, I suppose, where I shall have to be as demure as a 
 professor's wife." 
 
 The apartment bell rang Miss Warren answered. She 
 came back with a square florist's box, at sight of which Mary 
 laughed relentingly. 
 
 "The sinner he means to get under my guard to-night, 
 doesn't he? with his orchids and his dinners and plays." 
 
 She pinned on the delicate cluster, gave a last touch with 
 a powder puff to throat and chin and the white flesh 
 below before she thrust a scarf of tulle about her neck, 
 and let Alexandra lay a graceful, fur-lined wrap about her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Good-night and I'm all fresh and rested and ready to 
 make the most of my last night in the Big Town, even if I 
 didn't want to go. I rather do, now. But I'm going to 
 harden my heart, just the same!" 
 
 She left the lightest of caresses on her friend's cheek, when 
 she went down, a few minutes later, in answer to a summons 
 from the hall boy. From the window high above, Alexandra 
 looked down at the waiting cab, and saw the two figures, one 
 exaggeratedly tall and slim in top hat and long coat, the 
 other but shoulder-high beside it, cross the walk and get in. 
 She drew a long sigh of loneliness. After all, though she 
 had wanted her to go, it was rather hard to have Mary away 
 on this last evening. 
 
 It was quite another John Kirkwood than the one who had 
 given vent to such bitter complaining an hour before, who 
 drove away with Mary Fletcher in the taxi over the wintry 
 streets. He had worked faster than she to accomplish it 
 all and find time to dress as well, and he was exultant, though 
 he tried not to show it overmuch. Also, he was fairly well 
 content to live up to her decree, that he was not to mention 
 the sore subiect which had so nearly wrought division be-
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 29 
 
 tween them. He had now set his mind on making a farewell 
 impression upon her memory which should return to her 
 once and again, on the evenings of the months to come, when 
 she would be trying to endure the monotony of the quiet 
 college town. 
 
 He saw with triumph, as the evening advanced, that his 
 skillful work was telling as, knowing Mary Fletcher pretty 
 well, he had been sure it was bound to do. Throughout the 
 dinner his companion had shown indications of courteously 
 disguised indifference to his wiles, in spite of the care with 
 which he had selected the place and ordered the tempting 
 food. It was exactly the sort of thing she had been wont to 
 enjoy the elegance of the softly lighted room, the gaily 
 alluring music, the varied metropolitan types of people all 
 about. Yet he had felt that guard of hers well up, felt it in 
 the entire absence of the usual sparkling flow of her talk; 
 she was so quiet he could hardly think it was quite Mary 
 who sat opposite him. Her appeal to him, however, wai 
 hardly the less on this account; rather did it interest and 
 challenge him. 
 
 But later, at the end of the third act of a brilliant play, one 
 he had counted upon to absorb and thrill her with the per- 
 fection of its art, both literary and histrionic, he looked down 
 at her and saw more than a touch of that which he had hoped 
 to bring to her expressive face. She hadn't been able to re- 
 sist it it had taken her off her feet. She still wanted not 
 to let him see that she minded whether or not she saw or 
 heard anything more like that for a year, but she couldn't 
 wholly conceal it. And with a certain frank generosity of 
 hers which he particularly liked, she wasn't willing to with- 
 hold the acknowledgment of appreciation which was cer- 
 tainly due. 
 
 "Oh, what craftsmanship!" she said. "That dialogue 
 was there ever anything so clever ? The sheer genius of it
 
 30 FOURSQUARE 
 
 it's so amazing that anybody can get way, way in to human 
 thoughts and motives like that!" 
 
 "Isn't it? If ever the mirror was held up to Nature, he 
 holds it and doesn't miss a reflection. I always thought 
 him by all odds the greatest playwright of them all, but he's 
 outdone himself in this." 
 
 "And yet, it's all so simple so without strain for effect. 
 That climax what could be quieter?" 
 
 "Nothing. Nor more tremendous." 
 
 "Oh, yes tremendous. There's no other word. And of 
 course the acting is perfect. What a joy it must be to have 
 such lines to read." 
 
 "Do you know " he began, looking down at bis pro- 
 gramme and turning its pages lightly, as if the moment 
 hadn't come for which he had been playing and as if he 
 weren't thinking very carefully how he should put the thing 
 he wanted to say "there have been places all along in this 
 play in the turn of a phrase here and there, the sudden 
 unexpected force of a word which reminded me inevit- 
 ably of you?" 
 
 "No!" She glanced at him skeptically. "Oh, no of 
 course not!" 
 
 "Yes." He spoke thoughtfully and gravely, as if the idea 
 had only just occurred to him and he was turning it over 
 and looking at it on both sides. "I didn't recognize it at 
 first, the play of wit and wisdom was so swift I was left 
 breathless. But after a time, I began to wonder why there 
 was something so familiar, here and there, in the use of 
 words in the way of putting things. And then it came to 
 me it is Mary Fletcher, with the strokes a little heavier, the 
 lines drawn with a bit of extra finish. Why shouldn't it be 
 so? He's a master you're not even a pupil of his. But 
 you might be. You have all the marks." 
 
 She was silent. He waited. He thought her breath came
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 31 
 
 a trifle more rapidly than before; the orchids seemed to stir 
 and flutter below her breast. He didn't think it safe to look 
 directly at her. After a minute, however, he did venture to 
 add one more touch to his effort to reach her. 
 
 "I think if you will let me say so that you have the 
 genius, too. And may I remind you? I've never said 
 just that to you before." 
 
 A little laugh came then, and a quick thrust back. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Kirkwood you're the genius, to put such a 
 thought into my head ! It's absolutely untrue, but of course 
 you know it will work and work in my brain, and be my un- 
 doing." 
 
 "It should be your making." He looked at her now, still 
 gravely, refusing to answer her comprehending smile. She 
 had seen through him, he realized that; yet the strange 
 thing about flattery is that it seldom fails of its mark, though 
 it may seem to glance off quickly enough thereafter. "It 
 should be your making," he repeated. "To have your 
 ability shine so clearly that the type of it the class the 
 amazingly high class is instantly recognized by one who 
 knows your work as I do that should be a magnificent 
 stimulus, and an absolutely justifiable one." 
 
 "You know perfectly that I could no more touch such 
 work than I could reach that electrolier above us." 
 
 "Not yet, perhaps though I'm not so sure. And the 
 current that makes that electrolier blaze so brilliantly is pre- 
 cisely the same sort as that which lights these small side lights 
 over here. Run that current anywhere it's bound to pro- 
 duce light. In your case I don't think you half realize 
 how high the voltage is." 
 
 "You shouldn't try to raise it you might burn out the 
 fuse," she said gaily, to hide the real stirring of the thing in 
 her brain which it was impossible not to recognize when the 
 stimulus was applied. It was not the first time she had
 
 32 FOURSQUARE 
 
 felt it in his company he had a trick of applying that stim- 
 ulus in a way which had many times produced the result 
 he wished. How often, she remembered, he had been able 
 to say the word, suggest the idea, which had brought forth 
 in due time the will to work which must come before the most 
 inventive mind can make its inventions live. 
 
 "Ah, I knew you'd shy away from such a suggestion/' 
 he said, in a disappointed tone. "I never knew anybody 
 who so persistently refused to be rated where she belongs. 
 Never mind. When you bring out your first real book, then 
 you will capture the audience I covet for you. The thing 
 I'm anxious about " 
 
 He looked down at her, at her bent head a small, fine 
 head, with adorable lines of profile and cheek. Her hands 
 clasped in her lap were holding themselves still by force he 
 easily detected that. 
 
 "You've forbidden me to say one word on a certain sub- 
 ject," he went on slowly. "If you hold me to that " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Then it's going to be difficult to say the other thing 
 that engrosses my thought. It's about your work. Surely, 
 on this last night we'll be together for so long, you'll let me 
 talk a little more about that. You always have. Why 
 should you put an embargo upon me now? Please be a 
 little merciful. You really don't know how it hurts." 
 
 She glanced up, saw the tenseness of the lines about his 
 mouth, and looked away again, seeming to hesitate. 
 
 "You haven't forgiven me I've seen it plainly all the 
 evening," he went on rapidly, lest at any moment he should 
 catch the wink of the orchestra's signal light which would 
 mean the raising of the curtain on the last act. "Won't 
 you forget that last argument we had when I said so many 
 hasty and excited things I didn't mean at least, not as they 
 sounded ? I've meant to be a good friend to you you know
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 33 
 
 that always. Whatever you do or forbid me I can 
 never be anything else." 
 
 "You have been a friend I've never doubted that," 
 she admitted. "I owe you more than I can ever pay back." 
 
 "You have paid it a thousand times over. All I want 
 now is to put into your mind the thought that when you 
 come to plan the book, even though you do it a long way 
 from here you can't quite leave John Kirkwood out of it. 
 I think it's helped you, in the past, to talk things over with 
 me. Won't you show that you forgive me for my blunders 
 by promising me that when you begin actually to think 
 out your new scheme for work, you'll at least let me know? 
 I can't tell you quite how unhappy I shall be if you won't." 
 
 She did not answer at once, and while she waited the signal 
 he was dreading came, the curtain rose, and instantly she 
 was lost to him in the magic spell put upon her by the scene 
 across the footlights. He couldn't wholly follow her into 
 that land of unreality, he was still so very anxious fully to 
 make his peace with her. But he was sufficiently aware of 
 the beauty and potency of the dramatic climax of the stage 
 play to await hopefully its effect upon her. As he well knew, 
 she was intensely susceptible to emotional suggestion, and 
 if she were to fall at last into the mood he had believed the 
 experience of the evening might bring upon her, she would 
 for the time being become as clay in his hands. 
 
 The curtain fell. He put her cloak upon her, got into his 
 own coat, and they moved up the aisle without speaking. He 
 wa,s somewhat baffled by her silence; she had kept her head 
 turned away from him to the very door. Was it agitation ? 
 he wondered and thought it must be so. It wasn't pos- 
 sible for Mary Fletcher, as he had known her, to resist that 
 climax; it had been all that art could make it. 
 
 He glanced furtively again and again at that turned away 
 profile as they made their slow progress from theatre door to
 
 34 FOURSQUARE 
 
 their cab, which was far down the line and had to be waited 
 for. He thought, as he had thought many times before in 
 such places, that among all the women about them, their 
 attractions enhanced by every trick of dress and adornment, 
 Mary Fletcher possessed something which set her apart. 
 Far more beautiful women elbowed her on either side, 
 priceless furs and costly wraps of all sorts made her more 
 simple evening attire insignificant by contrast, her slender 
 figure was dwarfed by many a gorgeous, towering creature 
 who looked down upon her with supercilious eyes yet yes, 
 there was something about her which made him supremely 
 content to be there by her side, and to try as best he might to 
 protect her from the pressure of the departing crowd. 
 
 They were in their cab at last, and out of the block which 
 always impedes traffic at a playhouse door. 
 
 "Well? Would you mind putting a poor editor and be- 
 seeching friend out of his misery?'* 
 
 She spoke without looking at him. Her eyes were upon 
 the flying lights outside the cab windows, but her voice was 
 kind. 
 
 "Just what do you want me to say?" 
 
 "That the line holds. That's all I'll ask for that is, 
 I'll try to be satisfied with that." 
 
 "I don't throw over my friends for a misunderstanding, 
 John Kirkwood. Of course the line holds." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, then Kirkwood laughed a 
 rather bitter little laugh. 
 
 "Man is never satisfied but I'll try to be. I'd hoped 
 that the evening and the play would 
 
 "I know," she said evenly. "You expected it to take me 
 where I'm weakest, get hold of my imagination, and make 
 me sorry that I'm going. Well, you may be content. It 
 has taken hold of my imagination that terribly dangerous 
 imagination of mine that has such control of me. I went
 
 AN EDITOR PROPHESIES 35 
 
 as mad over that wonderful play as you could hope I would, 
 was as crazy to do something like it afar off in my line as I 
 could compass. I'm just as much afire with a perfectly 
 futile longing to do a big, brilliant thing that would take 
 everybody off his feet as I ever was in my life. The only 
 difference is " 
 
 He thought she was never going to find the ending to 
 that sentence. "Yes?" he prompted her at last, with a 
 glance at the number of the street they were passing in their 
 flight uptown. "The only difference is " 
 
 "It's that for the first time in my history I've lost con- 
 fidence in myself. I'm going away to find it." 
 
 "Oh, for heaven's sake!" Instantly he was his old in- 
 sistent, professional self. "Why, you were never so equipped 
 to do the big thing. You're merely tired you've over- 
 worked. I'm really glad myself you're to have a rest. As 
 soon as you've had it you'll be yourself again. Then the 
 fires will burn. And then I want to be at hand to pour on 
 the oil." 
 
 She looked round at him at last. There was only one 
 block more to go. Her eyes were dark with unhappiness, but 
 she smiled at him like her old self, as far as friendliness was 
 concerned. 
 
 "When I find I need the oil that you so well know how 
 to pour I'll send for you. I'm quite willing to admit I 
 may find it hard to do without you. You've given me so 
 much I haven't been half grateful enough. Thank you for 
 a delightful evening I'm so glad I gave in and let you take 
 me. There, have I made amends at all? You've no idea 
 how hard it is for a woman to do that when she's been a bit 
 unkind. I don't know why it is so hard!" 
 
 He held the hand she offered him close for a minute, then 
 as she drew it away he said slowly: "I'm going to believe 
 that generous speech makes it all right between us. Talk
 
 36 FOURSQUARE 
 
 jf things being hard please don't mind my saying that I 
 never dreamed anything could be so hard as it is to let you 
 
 go." 
 
 "I may come back sometime," she said without turning 
 her head toward him. 
 
 "I pray you will. If I didn't count on that He 
 
 let the sentence end there, with a suppressed breath she 
 couldn't fail to hear. 
 
 After that there were only a few words of leave-taking at 
 the door of the elevator in the apartment-house lobby. As 
 Mary Fletcher was borne upward she leaned against the 
 side of the car, her head drooping like the flowers beneath her 
 breast. 
 
 Inside her own door she laid that head for a moment 
 upon the shoulder Alexandra Warren presented when she 
 saw the shadows under her friend's eyes. 
 
 "Sandy," Mary said, with some difficulty, "I know now 
 how the Lord felt when the devil led Him up to the top of the 
 mountain and showed Him all the kingdoms of the earth. 
 The only difference between Him and me is that He refused 
 them knowing He could have them, and I refuse them 
 only because I can't get them! And so I'm going to bed. 
 At least, when one can't have the kingdoms of this earth, 
 she can always go to bed. And just possibly she'll sleep. 
 I'm only afraid she can't!"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 
 
 THINK, Bates," said Miss Graham, 
 anxiously leaning forward to reach her 
 driver on the front seat of the surrey, 
 "we shall need to make a little haste." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," Bates responded, 
 touching his fur cap. "That train's li- 
 able to be late, though, Miss Graham." 
 
 Nevertheless, he sent the two well- 
 groomed fat horses along at what was 
 for them quite a spanking pace. Miss 
 Graham had never cared to exchange 
 her beloved chestnut horses for a mo- 
 tor car. The well kept equipage had 
 none the less a certain distinction 
 upon the streets of the college town, 
 since it was known to come from 
 "the old Graham place" with its tall 
 white pillars and its air of old-time 
 hospitality. 
 
 The surrey swung around into the 
 station driveway, and came to a 
 standstill behind the building. Miss 
 Graham alighted promptly. 
 
 "I will go myself to meet her, 
 Bates," she said. "I think the 
 horses may be a little restive when 
 the train comes in." 
 
 37
 
 38 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Yes, ma'am they may be, not having been to train 
 much all winter. Miss Mary can hold 'em while I get her 
 luggage she'll be liking to, I'm thinking, if she's not 
 changed." 
 
 "We shall find her much the same in such ways, I imagine, 
 Bates. Indeed, she spoke of you and the horses in her last 
 letter." 
 
 Bates glowed with pleasure. He had been meeting Mary 
 at this same station since she was a small girl, when the fat 
 old horses had been the shyest of lively young colts, and even 
 then she had been wild to "hold them" and could do it, 
 too, after a little of Bates' training. 
 
 Miss Graham paced the station platform restlessly until the 
 train came in, a pleasant figure for any arriving guest to find 
 awaiting her. Her sensitive face, beneath the soft gray 
 plumes of her becoming hat, was pink with delicate colour; 
 her small form, wrapped in rich gray furs, was carried very 
 erect. 
 
 "She's all the lady," thought the devoted Bates, watch- 
 ing her, as he had done a thousand times before. "Look at 
 her now, beside all those other women talking and laughing 
 so loud. She lives in a world by herself, does Miss Sara 
 Graham and belongs there." 
 
 The train came in. Bates, though his hands were busy 
 with his horses, had one eye for the station platform, and 
 presently saw a slim figure in brown run along it, saw a vivid, 
 laughing face he well remembered, and shifting the reins into 
 one hand touched his cap in answer to a happy hail as Mary 
 Fletcher came close. 
 
 "Oh, Batesy!" A firm gloved hand gave his big gaunt- 
 leted one a friendly grip he had no chance to remove the 
 covering, with the horses prancing a little as the train got 
 under way again. "I'm so glad to see you! And kere are 
 Billy and Tom, looking as young as ever. I'd forgotten
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 39 
 
 horses could shine like that. You don't mind my calling 
 you Batesy still, do you? It's so like getting home to see 
 you!" 
 
 "I'm glad to see you looking so well, Miss Mary. Mind? 
 I'd be hurt if you didn't," grinned Bates. "Want to hold the 
 horses, Miss Mary, while I get your things in?" 
 
 "Of course I want to." She was up in the front seat at 
 the word, kept the horses in order, and when Bates came 
 back with the small leather trunk, a typewriter in a pigskin 
 case, and a big hamper of fruit from a city market, helped 
 him stow them, making merry comment all the while and 
 causing him to chuckle with amusement. 
 
 All the way up the village street her eager eyes were scan- 
 ning the familiar landmarks, and when they passed the 
 "green" upon which stood a certain white church with a tall 
 spire, she leaned to look back at it till it was out of sight. 
 Miss Graham understood. In that church Mary's father 
 and mother had been married, and from it they had been 
 borne to their burial. There was no gay talk from Mary's 
 lips while the old horses trotted soberly by the old church. 
 But when they were well past and were proceeding more 
 slowly up the long hill, half way up which lay the Graham 
 house, and upon whose summit stood the group of college 
 buildings which overlooked the town, Mary's hand came 
 upon her aunt's with a close pressure. 
 
 "I didn't know how I loved it all till I came back to it this 
 time," she said, in a low, moved tone. "It's really more like 
 home to me now than any other place in the world. . . . 
 Oh, and there's the house! . . . How dear how dear 
 it looks! just as it always did." 
 
 "We put on a coat of white paint each spring," said Miss 
 Graham, "but it always seems to look a little dingy before 
 the year comes round. White paint isn't what it used to 
 be, I suppose."
 
 40 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "It doesn't look a bit dingy to me," Mary insisted, as the 
 carriage turned in at the gravelled drive between two tall 
 posts. The place was surrounded by a thick hedge, never 
 allowed to grow high enough to shut it in. The house stood 
 well back from the street. Bates was sending the horses 
 along smartly now; it was his special pride to have the car- 
 riage sweep around the curve to the end of the long porch and 
 stop with a hint of a flourish. 
 
 Dusk was descending, and several windows showed lights. 
 The big front door swung open as Mary ran down the porch, 
 and a stout figure in a black dress and white apron stood 
 beaming in the doorway. 
 
 "Oh, Eliza bless your heart!" Mary had both the house- 
 keeper's hands in hers. "How good it is to see you! I 
 didn't think everything could seem just the same. But it 
 does, even to you. Why, you haven't a gray hair!" 
 
 "Indeed I have, Miss Mary. But you're looking just 
 the same. I could think you were just the girl that used to 
 come here and ask for cookies before you got inside the 
 door." 
 
 "You'll see I'm not by many years, Eliza, though I like 
 cookies just the same. Oh, this beautiful old hall! Aunt 
 Sara," as Miss Graham with Bates and the luggage came 
 in "there never was another hall quite like this!" 
 
 She was all over the house in the next fifteen minutes, 
 ending by standing in the doorway of the upstairs room 
 which had always been hers, on all her visits, and looking in 
 at it with contented eyes. Miss Graham had followed her 
 about, enjoying her pleasure in the familiar scenes. 
 
 "It's all exactly the same," Mary exulted. "The old 
 mahogany pieces, the white matting on the floor and the blue 
 rugs and hangings, the desk-bookcase with I'll wager 
 the very same books?" Miss Graham nodded. "And the 
 lovely old blue-and-white English jugs and bowls on the
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 41 
 
 washstand. Oh, but the lamp is new! How pretty it is. 
 Why, it's electric! Have you wired the house, then ?" 
 
 "Yes, I had to come to it," Miss Graham explained, smil- 
 ing. "I was sorry for a while, but now I am glad, for it per- 
 mits me to use several table lights in places where I could not 
 before. Do you like this one, then ? It seemed to me to fit 
 the room and you." 
 
 "It's exquisite, and the touch of rose gives just what was 
 needed with all the blue-and-white. Yes, in here, Bates, 
 please, with all the things," and Mary had her key in the lock 
 of the travelled-looking leather trunk by the time it was fairly 
 in place. 
 
 For the following hour she was busy with the unpacking. 
 So Miss Graham, sitting in a chintz-covered armchair by the 
 big square table in the corner between two windows, found 
 herself in a maze of interests. The most of Mary's belong- 
 ings had preceded her, and this trunk had been devoted to 
 the books, pictures, and special articles which she had wanted 
 to keep with her till the last. 
 
 "They make home for me, anywhere, so how can they help 
 but make a super-home, here?" Mary demanded, as she 
 placed blue pottery book-ends on the table and filled 
 them in with a long, crowded row of books. She set up 
 photographs on the white chimneypiece beneath which 
 glowed a small bedroom fire, and spread bureau silver and 
 crystal jars upon the chaste white linen of the dressing- 
 table. 
 
 "I always did love this long mirror, with the Mount Ver- 
 non picture in the upper panel," she said, pausing to look into 
 it with a smile, which changed to the suggestion of a frown 
 as she added "and how I've changed since I used to sit and 
 admire my brown curls. Aunt Sara, do you realize that 
 I'm twenty-seven years old all but a month ? No girl any 
 more."
 
 42 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "My dear you don't look twenty-one!" Miss Graham 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, but I do begging your kind pardon. I did keep 
 rather fresh for a long time, but I'm jaded now, no doubt 
 about it." 
 
 "Child, you are tired. I've known it all along. You 
 worked too hard over there. Just as soon as you are 
 rested 
 
 But Mary had already left the painful subject of her years, 
 and was burrowing in the trunk again, toward the bottom. 
 In a moment she came to place two framed photographs on 
 the table before Miss Graham, without speaking. The elder 
 woman looked and looked again. 
 
 "How fortunate you are, dear, to have such pictures of 
 them. I never saw these I didn't know they existed." 
 
 "I found them among some snapshots I took of them 
 myself, hunted out the films and had them enlarged. They're 
 so much more satisfying than any portraits, don't you think ?" 
 
 "Much more." 
 
 One of the pictures, of a goodly size, was of a middle-aged 
 man of fine face and distinguished bearing, standing before 
 a vine-clad wall, apparently absorbed in looking at some 
 object not within range of the camera. One hand was 
 thrust into his pocket, his eyes were intent, his mouth evi- 
 dently ready to break into a smile. 
 
 "In the snap," explained Mary, "one of the boys was fac- 
 ing him, talking excitedly his expression was absurd, with 
 his mouth open, so I didn't like to leave him in. But father 
 looks exactly as he always did when he was giving the other 
 fellow a chance to explain but meant to come back at him 
 with some keen speech which would show him where he stood. 
 I thought it was by far the most typical moment that has 
 been preserved. It makes a wonderful picture, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. It's better of him than this of your mother,
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 43 
 
 though this is really lovely. But it doesn't show her full 
 face, and that disappoints me." 
 
 "I know yet can't you see how the very next instant she 
 will look up and say some sparkling thing that will make you 
 delight in her? Mother's sense of humour was one of the 
 most delicious things about her, wasn't it? Oh, how beau- 
 tiful she- 
 Mary's voice failed her for an instant, and she turned 
 quickly away to hide it, quite as Mrs. Fletcher of the photo- 
 graph would have done. She dove into the trunk again and 
 brought up a long silk scarf of blended hues of violet and blue. 
 Dropping it in Miss Graham's lap she gently took away the 
 photographs. 
 
 "That's the prettiest scarf to be found in Paris," she 
 said, triumphantly. "It looked so like you I pounced on it 
 and all but took it away from a woman who was hesitating 
 over it. In my very best manner I managed to convey to 
 her a subtle suggestion that the pink-and-amber one she was 
 also considering was by far the more becoming to her youth 
 and beauty!" 
 
 The unpacking and bestowing was all done, after a time, 
 and the trunk sent away. Then came dinner and a long, 
 quiet evening by the fire in the drawing-room of which Mary 
 had written so longingly. She had slipped into a little frock 
 of dull blue, in which, Miss Graham thought, she looked a 
 picture, with the firelight bringing back the old warm colour 
 into her cheeks. It seemed just the Mary of five years ago 
 who told stories of French life, with many a sparkling com- 
 ment, or, when the tale was a pathetic one, gave to the telling 
 that touch of the dramatic which was Mary's own. 
 
 When the grandfather's clock in the hall struck ten, how- 
 ever, she stood up and saluted snappily, with a clear "Yes, 
 sir!" like one of the soldiers of whom she had been speaking. 
 Then she proposed something so foreign to all Miss Graham's
 
 44 FOURSQUARE 
 
 habits that it quite startled the small person in the wing- 
 chair. 
 
 "Aunt Sara, let's put on some big boots over our slippers 
 and go out for a little walk. Will you? It's a nice night, 
 and the fresh air will make us sleep. Besides I want to see 
 how the hill looks in the dark." 
 
 It was pleasant to get out of doors in the evening, Miss 
 Graham was thinking happily, as she walked down the grav- 
 elled driveway with Mary's arm linked in hers and Mary's 
 voice in her ear. The night was mild, a thin crescent moon 
 hung in the west, there was more than a suggestion of com- 
 ing spring in the air. 
 
 "I shall see the lilacs come out," exulted Mary, straining 
 her eyes down the dark lawn toward a thick row of small 
 trees near the hedge. "I never saw lilacs anywhere like 
 yours." 
 
 "I have a new blue one a very rare species, and it i 
 really blue, and very beautiful among the purple and white 
 And there is one which is almost pink." 
 
 "And the tulips and daffodils is Batesy as proud of those 
 as ever? Oh, and does he still have the first crocuses of 
 any?" 
 
 "Yes, always. He grows more and more proud of the 
 garden. He wheedles me into getting new varieties every 
 spring." 
 
 Mary was looking now toward certain lighted windows, 
 just beyond the hedge, farther down the hill, where the drive- 
 way swept close. 
 
 "The Fenns live there still, of course?" she inquired. 
 
 "Oh, yes I am very glad to say. I should hardly know 
 how to live with any other neighbours in that house." 
 
 "Still teaching? Harriet in the high school and Mark in 
 *he college?" 
 
 "Just the same. They are very fine people, and the best
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 45 
 
 of neighbours. There is nobody in town whom I enjoy 
 seeing more. They could hardly help being what they are, 
 with Matthew Fenn for their father. Do you remember how 
 fond your father was of him?" 
 
 "Of course I remember. It was strange that the two should 
 have gone so nearly at the same time, wasn't it? They were 
 so different so exactly opposite in type one would hardly 
 have thought they'd have found so much to like in each 
 other. Is that lighted front room below still the old study, 
 crammed with books?" 
 
 "Yes one can hardly turn about in it now, there r.re so 
 many. And still Mark comes home with fresh annfuls. 
 Harriet says it is his one dissipation." 
 
 "It seems a harmless one." The pair had turned into the 
 street and were walking slowly past the Fenn house, down 
 the hill. Mary's eyes were still scanning the windows 
 through whose red curtains below the partially lowered 
 shades the light glowed ruddily. "But he'll slowly fossilize 
 among his books. Don't he and Harriet ever get away to 
 the city, see a play or hear some music? Or do they just 
 attend educational conferences and address meetings?" 
 
 Miss Graham found herself resenting a little the mocking 
 tone, even though it came from lips so beloved. 
 
 "Mark Fenn will never become a fossil," she said quickly. 
 "One feels, in contact with him, that he is alive, that he 
 is thinking things through. I know he is considered, in the 
 college, one of the most able of the younger men. President 
 Wing told me personally, not long ago, that his courses are 
 leading all the rest in the matter of interest and accomplish- 
 ment." 
 
 In the dim light Mary was smiling, understanding that 
 she had touched a sensitive spot in her aunt's consciousness, 
 and delighting in the little lady's warm defense. 
 
 "Good!" she said warmly. "I'm mighty glad to hear
 
 46 FOURSQUARE 
 
 it. Of course, you know, I shouldn't doubt for a moment 
 that Mark would be a splendid teacher. It just seemed to 
 me that he was still rather young to make books his only dis- 
 sipation. Perhaps you didn't mean that literally. Just tell 
 me that he and Harriet do go in town and riot a bit, now and 
 then, and I shall be quite satisfied. If you can't say they 
 do well I shall feel it my duty to stir them up, that's all." 
 
 "We all went in "the nearest city was fifty miles away, 
 but Newcomb's inhabitants all claimed it as their own 
 "only a fortnight ago, to a musical convention which lasted 
 three days. It was a very great treat." 
 
 "Did Mark take some girl at least part of the time? 
 Do tell me he did!" 
 
 "He and Harriet and I went together," explained Miss 
 Graham. 
 
 She couldn't see her niece's expressive face, but she could 
 feel that Mary was laughing. "Oh, that was a riot! For- 
 give me, dearest, but it's going to take me a few days to ad- 
 just myself. I've been living in such a rush of engagements, 
 you know. Don't fear I shan't be sighing for New York. I 
 can't tell you how I love walking along this quiet street, 
 looking at all the lights in the houses and thinking that in- 
 side are homes real homes. Sometimes it's seemed as if 
 there weren't any real homes in New York. I suppose there 
 are, but the sense of them is lost, somehow. Here why, 
 each house looks like a family. You don't know how I've 
 missed that nor how glad I am to get back to it. Hark, 
 what's that? Oh," she breathed it into Miss Graham's 
 ear "how long it is since I've heard college boys sing in the 
 night!" 
 
 Coming back up the hill, by-and-by, when they had walked 
 across the village green at the foot, past the white church, 
 and so around a course of nearly a mile, they saw the door 
 of the small brown house just below the large white-pillared
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 47 
 
 one open and close. As they came nearer, they discovered a 
 figure tramping up and down the path from porch to street, 
 hands clasped behind its back. The fragrance of tobacco 
 smoke reached them as they came abreast, and as the figure 
 turned at the porch again and came back down the path, 
 Miss Graham spoke softly. 
 
 "Good-evening, Mark. Can you guess who is here with 
 me?" 
 
 The slow pacing turned at once into a rapid advance. A 
 pipe had its glowing ashes knocked out of it on a lifted heel 
 and a voice said with a certain crisp inflection Mary Fletcher 
 remembered well the minute she heard it again: 
 
 "I certainly can. Only one guest could make you sound 
 '.ike that. How do you do, Mary Fletcher? Welcome back 
 to Newcomb!" 
 
 "Thank you, Mark Fenn. It's perfectly splendid to be 
 here." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear that." His hand closed over hers 
 sturdily. "We knew you came to-day, but didn't venture to 
 make any sign. Harriet reported through the window cur- 
 tains that you didn't even glance toward the little brown 
 house as you drove in. So she thought you'd forgotten the 
 people who live there." 
 
 "Shame on Harriet! She should have opened the window 
 and shouted at me. I hope twenty-four hours more won't 
 go by before you both come over." 
 
 "They shall not. I wish I could see how you're looking. 
 But your voice sounds like the voice of Mary, and I can 
 guess that you're smiling." 
 
 "I surely am. And I'm so happy to be here, I had to 
 drag Aunt Sara out to look at the town with me. It's so 
 beautifully the same I could have wept for joy." 
 
 "You didn't want to find it grown out of recognition, 
 then?"
 
 48 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Not a bit. I couldn't bear to hear that some new people 
 live in the old Townsend house on the green. How dared 
 they come in!" 
 
 "Up on the campus, however, we really have one fine new 
 building. The architect cleverly planned it in keeping with 
 the old timers, and you'll find it doesn't destroy the general 
 harmony." 
 
 "Everything's all right then," admitted Mary. "It's 
 the general harmony the old-time atmosphere I want pre- 
 served, whatever else goes." 
 
 "Yes, I understand that authors are always looking for 
 atmosphere. I hope you'll find it quite as musty as you 
 want it." 
 
 Genial though it was, Mary thought she recognized a cer- 
 tain dryness in his tone, which she remembered of old. Mark 
 had always had a way of making her realize that she had 
 been a trifle condescending. 
 
 "I'm no author now, I'm just a girl again, looking for the 
 old landmarks in my beloved town," she hastened to assure 
 him. 
 
 "Well, here's one before you, you see or can't see. And 
 like all landmarks, I'm a trifle weather-beaten, as you'll dis- 
 cover to-morrow night. But I think you'll find Harriet pre- 
 cisely the same person, in spite of her six years of teaching 
 in all kinds of winds and weather." 
 
 "Dear Harriet give her my love and tell her I shall 
 shriek at her from my bedroom window when she goes down 
 the walk to start for school in the morning, just as I always 
 did." 
 
 When they had reached the house Mary said she should 
 be very much interested to see the Fenns by a revealing 
 light, and Miss Graham replied that they were worth looking 
 at by any light. 
 
 "Mark must be about thirty-five by now," Mary con-
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 49 
 
 sidered. "No great age and his voice is rather nice, but 
 I'm afraid he's pretty staid. Harriet's my age but she's 
 probably staid too. There's something about the professor- 
 ial attitude the habit of instructing and disciplining 
 that gets left over after office hours. My blessed father was 
 one of the few men who ever lived who managed never to ac- 
 quire it. Aunt Sara do you remember his laugh?" 
 
 "Yes, dear. No one could forget it." 
 
 When she was ready for bed, more than an hour later, 
 Mary put out her light, raised her shades and laid her hand 
 upon her window to open it. Before she did so, however, 
 she stood for a minute looking across to the small brown 
 house beyond the hedge. From the lower front windows she 
 could still see the ruddy light shining out upon the porch 
 floor and posts where dead vines clung, though the rest of 
 the house was dark. All down the street lights were gone 
 from most of the windows. The still town was all but asleep. 
 
 "Down where I came from," thought Mary, "they're just 
 pouring out of the theatres, ready for supper and dancing. 
 The lights are blinking in a million windows nobody's 
 thought of going to bed yet except the old people and the 
 babies. Up here a few college boys are grinding under a few 
 desk lights, and one solitary professor sits up reading 
 Theocritus, most likely." The fancy amused her, and she 
 decided to ask him, next evening when he came to call, 
 whether he really had been reading Theocritus or only cor- 
 recting examination papers. She hoped it was the latter! 
 
 When the next evening came, she found herself making 
 rather careful preparation for the expected guests, jibing the 
 while at herself that already in the new and quiet life the 
 visit of two village teachers could be an event to be looked 
 forward to. The Mary of the old days had from season to 
 season, beginning in her childhood, been accustomed to dash 
 in and out of the brown house next door. In the later years,
 
 So FOURSQUARE 
 
 however, she had seen less and less of the Fenns in her briefer 
 and briefer stays with Aunt Sara. The last time she had 
 been here she had only a distant and tragic recognition of 
 Mark in black gloves acting as pall-bearer for Dr. Arthur 
 Fletcher's casket as it was carried out of the white church on 
 the green, and afterward of his bending over her to say a few 
 grave words of sympathy and farewell. It was really at 
 least seven years since she had seen either Mark or Harriet for 
 more than a word of greeting. 
 
 She put on the dull-blue frock again, and the high-heelec? 
 slippers and stockings which matched it, oversaw the making 
 of a small silver potful of chocolate and some tiny thin sand- 
 wiches, and arranged the lighting in the drawing-room to suit 
 herself an important matter. She found herself wishing 
 for flowers bilt there were no desirable flowers to be had, 
 though she telephoned the small village greenhouse. 
 
 "That's a real lack," she said to herself. "I can't do 
 without flowers not possibly. I must have a box sent out 
 once a week, at least till the garden blooms. Guests for the 
 evening in a lovely old drawing-room like this and no 
 flowers!" 
 
 Then the Fenns arrived, and she forgot everything else in 
 the interest of renewing old acquaintance. Harriet, with 
 her smooth fair hair and pleasant, fresh-coloured face full of 
 character seemed to Mary just what she had expected the 
 type of an energetic and successful village teacher. She 
 was becomingly if somewhat austerely dressed, and her 
 quiet, assured manner was much as Mary remembered it. 
 Her clear blue eyes looked straight into Mary's, her firm 
 hand took hold with almost the grip of a man's. Capable, 
 clear-brained, independent, trustworthy this was Harriet 
 Fenn. Though she was actually younger by a year than 
 Mary herself, she would have given any stranger the im- 
 nression of being considerably older.
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 51 
 
 As for Mark, the instant Mary felt her hand in his and 
 looked into his strong-featured, decidedly interesting face 
 with its clear gray observant eyes she understood that here 
 undoubtedly was a man whom she couldn't remember, or 
 classify and dispose of quite as she had expected to do. All 
 that could be said about him hadn't been said when one 
 had declared that he was undoubtedly a good teacher, but 
 that he was still too young to make books his only dissi- 
 pation. He really didn't look as much like a fossil as she had 
 been ready to believe. One thing was certain her quite 
 natural impression, carried over from the days when she had 
 been a mere girl while he had reached young manhood, that 
 he was already old and "staid," as she had characterized both 
 the Fenns, was a mistake. He wasn't exactly an ancient 
 crustacean yet; on the other hand, in spite of a certain gravity 
 of face, broken rather rarely by an extremely winning smile 
 showing splendid white teeth, he had, as Miss Graham had 
 said, the look of being very much alive and to be reckoned 
 with. 
 
 Mary herself, this night, as her friends regarded her, by 
 the sheer suggestion of opposites might have been taken for 
 no creature less imaginative than a poet. She was a study in 
 artful colouring, in voice and manner, in the whole appeal 
 of her personality. If she had been one of her own imaginary 
 heroines she could hardly have filled the eye more satisfy- 
 ingly. Just how much uncommon beauty of feature she pos- 
 sessed might have been questioned by some over-analytical 
 judge of such matters, but certain it was that she somehow 
 gave the impression of quite extraordinary loveliness, and of 
 the distinction and magnetism which are even more attrac- 
 tive than beauty itself. 
 
 From the first moment of the encounter with the Fenns, 
 Mary was on her mettle. Just what it was which suddenly 
 rose up in her and made her eager to surprise and captivate
 
 S 2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 afresh these two people who had known her so long, she 
 herself couldn't have told. Perhaps it was because her two 
 quiet days and nights in the old house had already refreshed 
 her; perhaps also it was because, to one for whom every hour 
 had been full, those two quiet days had already begun to 
 make her long for diversion. Certain it was that throughout 
 that evening Mary sparkled as only Mary could when she was 
 in the mood. Sitting close by the fire, on that little mahog- 
 any-armed, cross-stitch-embroidered footstool of which she 
 had written to Miss Graham, she held all eyes. Now deli- 
 ciously gay and piquant, now sobering to thoughtfulness as 
 some subject came uppermost which demanded serious con- 
 sideration, again seeming to listen with an eager concen- 
 tration to the remarks of others, whatever she did or said 
 or however silent she was all through it she was delightful 
 to watch. 
 
 Altogether, Mary Fletcher that evening was the Mary 
 Fletcher who, when in the same fettle, was accustomed to 
 pour into her work the peculiar quality of enchantment which 
 brought her back the enthusiastic approval of her editors 
 and her public. Perhaps there is no better way to indicate 
 the charm of her actual presence in such an hour than to say 
 that it reminded one irresistibly of that other and allied 
 charm of her work, whose market value had risen to such 
 a high figure. Mary's own personal market value, to put 
 it in sordid terms, was fully as high as that of her work; one 
 found her companionship quite as entertaining and absorb- 
 ing as any tale she had ever put upon paper. 
 
 Conversation and chocolate, firelight and Mary Fletcher 
 the evening passed swiftly for the guests. Just before it was 
 over a clap of the knocker sent Mary herself to the door 
 Miss Graham required no service from any member of her 
 quiet household in the evening. A huge florist's box with a 
 special delivery tag upon it had been sent from the post office.
 
 A COLLEGE TOWN 53 
 
 Mary brought it in. She knew well enough from whom tc 
 must have come. 
 
 "Flowers!" exclaimed Harriet. Her tone was eloquent 
 of previous denial. 
 
 Great masses of yellow jonquils and pink tulips were dis- 
 closed, hardly touched in their careful packing by hint of 
 fatigue after their journey. With swift fingers Mary sorted 
 them, laying all that both hands could hold in Harriet's lap. 
 To Mark she held out one small cluster of jonquils. 
 
 "Would you deign to soften the austerity of your scholarly 
 desk with these?" she asked. 
 
 "Do you think the giver would be pleased to have any 
 austerity of mine softened by his gift?" he replied, with that 
 somewhat rare smile which she hadn't been able to bring to 
 his lips as often that evening as she had expected. She had 
 remembered of old that Mark Fenn wasn't a smiling man; 
 there always had to be a real reason for his laughter, though 
 when it was fairly won it was apt to be of the heartiest. Only 
 once or twice throughout the evening, though he had watched 
 her closely, had she heard that really gratifying laugh of his 
 ring out. Its absence had slightly piqued her. 
 
 "Oh, he's a generous person," she answered. "It's one 
 of my editors. He's so sure I'm going to find it unbearably 
 dismal up here in the country, as he calls it, he feels it his 
 duty to enliven the scene for me. If his flowers can enliven 
 my friends also, he will indirectly accomplish his object. So 
 isn't it logical that I should give some to you since I myself 
 can't do it alone?" 
 
 "Can't do what, please? Enliven us?" 
 
 "You in particular. Harriet gives me back smiles for all 
 my little jests you alarm me by your grave looks. Did you 
 
 disapprove of 'And, Behold ' so seriously, Professor 
 
 Mark?" 
 
 "How do you know I've read it?"
 
 54 FOURSQUARE 
 
 She laughed. "Guessed it by the way you've avoided 
 the subject all evening. In my early days you used to be so 
 ready to encourage me. Don't you think I need encourage- 
 ment now?" 
 
 "Not along those lines." 
 
 "No? Why not?" 
 
 "You don't think so, yourself." 
 
 "Oh, indeed! Why, I thought it great stuff!" Her tone 
 was the mocking one she often used with much effectiveness. 
 Her eyes were sending shafts of challenge into his. 
 
 "No pardon me you didn't. But do you think we'd 
 better discuss it? I should probably say something rude, 
 and that would be a poor way to begin to be neighbourly. 
 You're gone away beyond my tutoring, these days, Mary, 
 you know; you're a law unto yourself. I'm merely a back- 
 woods teacher no critic worth your considering." 
 
 "Oh, what humility! The only difference between days 
 past and these is that I used to be dreadfully afraid of you 
 and your opinion. And now while I still care what you 
 think of my work, I'm no longer afraid of you. So instead 
 of listening in meekness to your words of wisdom, as I used 
 to do, I should now probably " 
 
 "You would probably come back with a defense that 
 would make me wish I'd taken no shots at you." 
 
 "I'm not sure I should make any defense. What I should 
 do would be more likely to attack." 
 
 "Would you? That's interesting. On what ground?" 
 
 "I'll tell you, some day. As you say, we mustn't begin by 
 being rude to each other to-night. But if you've some- 
 thing against me for being guilty of 'And, Behold ' I've 
 
 something against you for No, I will not tell you to-night, 
 Mark Fenn. But it's a real count. Some day we'll have 
 it out, I promise you!"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 
 
 UNT SARA, I'm going to work." 
 
 "So soon, Mary? I thought you 
 meant to do nothing but rest, for the 
 first three months at least." 
 
 "It's no use. The more I do noth- 
 ing the less fit I am. The only thing 
 for me is to get at something. It's 
 always been so it always will be." 
 
 "Have you a plan for your work?" 
 Miss Graham asked, rather doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 She sat at her desk, writing letters, 
 a pleasant figure to look at, as always. 
 She spent a good deal of time in cor- 
 respondence with old friends. Several 
 of these had been sadly neglected 
 since Mary came, there had been so 
 many engagements. Every day or 
 two somebody had invited Miss Gra- 
 ham and her niece to tea or luncheon; 
 there had even been a number of din- 
 ners in her honour, quiet affairs, after 
 the fashion of the quiet college town. 
 Miss Graham herself had "enter- 
 tained " twice for Mary. It had been 
 a long time since so much had hap- 
 pened in and about the old house. 
 
 55
 
 56 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Not a shadow of a plan," Mary responded, cheerfully. 
 She sat upon the edge of a mahogany centre table, swinging a 
 russet-shod foot. Her kilted brown-and-white-striped skirt, 
 her rakish little brown hat pulled well down over her hair, 
 proclaimed her intent to go for a long tramp. " But I'll get 
 one. Not to-day, probably nor to-morrow. But there's 
 no way to begin except to begin. Unless one's a genius 
 which I'm not one can wait till doomsday for the thing 
 that's called inspiration it'll never come. I've got to go 
 out after it, looking up every cross road, behind every tree 
 chasing up every rabbit track till at last I see a vague form 
 emerging from somewhere, in the dim distance. I'll dash 
 after it shouting madly to it to stop. But it won't stop; 
 it'll go trailing away through the woods, only showing me 
 a glimpse of itself from time to time,*while I follow along, get- 
 ting more tired and more out of breath all the way. This 
 will keep up for days, more than likely. Finally, some won- 
 derful hour, I'll be plodding along, almost out of hope ever 
 to see the thing I'm following, when suddenly the figure 
 will turn, stop, wait and I'll rush up to it, panting. I'll 
 see it growing clearer and clearer as I come near a form a 
 face an outstretched hand 1 " 
 
 Miss Graham was watching her niece in wonder. Mary's 
 attitude, the expression on her face, spoke eloquently of some- 
 thing of which the elder*woman knew nothing. 
 
 "Even yet," said Mary softly, "she won't show me more 
 than the mere outlines of herself, and before I've done more 
 than fling myself at her to embrace her, crying, ' Here you are ! 
 I knew I'd find you ! ' she'll be gone again behind the trees. 
 But I'll have seen her! And from that moment, I'll know I 
 can find her again if only I'm willing to trudge and drudge 
 and toil. And from that moment I'll be glad I'm alive, and 
 that in my brain somehow is the power to to make that 
 vision real. Oh, there'll be days when I'll almost think I've
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 57 
 
 lost her again, forgotten even how she looked but just 
 when I'm most despairing she'll appear to me once more 
 and she'll have grown so big and splendid that I can only 
 fall on my face before her, crying, 'Oh, I'm not fit to try to 
 tell them about you I never, never can do it! But it's 
 the joy of my life to try!" 3 
 
 Mary looked down at Miss Graham. She slid off the 
 table, laughing and pulling the little brown hat farther over 
 her eyes, as if in shame. 
 
 "I sound like a tipsy fool, don't I?" she said, raggedly. 
 
 "And all about some silly tale like 'And, Behold !' I'll 
 
 admit there was nothing in that. The vision I had wasn't as 
 big as I thought it. The work I did in France was ten times 
 better. But I'm going to do something now that will re- 
 deem me in your eyes and certain other people's. So now 
 I'm off, on the beginning of the hunt. I've asked Eliza to 
 put up some sandwiches for me, and I won't be back for 
 lunch. You'll get used to me after a little. It's Mary the 
 idler you've had visiting you so far. It's Mary the worker 
 you're going to have now, with a pickaxe and a spade on her 
 shoulder, looking for a job! Never mind my mixed meta- 
 phors they'll be worse mixed before I'm through. Work- 
 man digging, hunter hunting, spinner spinning it's all the 
 same. You can't cook your hare till you catch it and 
 there's another for luck!" 
 
 She left an airy kiss on Miss Graham's cheek, slipped out 
 through the kitchen where she picked up her sandwiches, 
 stowing them in a leather bag with a strap like a lawyer's 
 brief-case, which she slung over her shoulder it already 
 held notebook and fountain pen and swung away down 
 the drive. 
 
 It was just a week after this brave start, a week each 
 morning of which saw Mary setting forth again upon her 
 quest, each afternoon returning with a sober face which
 
 5 8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 smiled when it met Miss Graham's questioning look. The 
 morning mail of that eighth day, heavy as it always was with 
 letters from both friends and strangers, brought one letter 
 which Mary read twice over on her way along the road. 
 
 DEAR MARY FLETCHER: 
 
 Two months have gone by and I have kept my promise. Not a 
 word from me has broken in upon the solitude with which it was 
 your purpose to surround yourself. What other sounds may have 
 reached you from that bothersome outer world which you have 
 renounced I know not, but certain it is that no shoutings from 
 my sanctum can be branded as intruders. Have I earned at least 
 your tolerance for this first signal of my continued existence? 
 
 You told me of your purpose to rest for fully three months before 
 so much as turning your thoughts toward work. But somehow I 
 know that already you are of a will to break this vow. The tea 
 parties have begun to pall, the weekly I had all but written 
 weakly college lectures to which the general public is invited have 
 lost their zest if they ever had any; the quiet of the place is begin- 
 ning to get upon your nerves those delicately strung nerves upon 
 which your whole future depends. In a word you long to be at it. 
 
 Have you a theme? I wonder. In your walks up and down 
 the lanes and between the hedges, have you encountered the thing 
 you seek the Great Idea the Big Motive? Not yet, you answer 
 impatiently. What is the man thinking of that he asks that 
 question so soon. Of course you haven't! No of course not. 
 
 Well, June must be coming on gloriously up your way. Must I 
 keep away indefinitely? This is the question which disturbs my 
 peace of mind. If I come with no hint about me of wishing to speed 
 up your processes of thought, only as a friend who misses you very 
 much and would be glad to set eyes upon you again How about it? 
 I rather like June in the country myself. May I have a glimpse of 
 it in your company? 
 
 Faithfully yours always 
 
 JOHN KIRKWOOD. 
 
 Mary pulled out fountain pen and writing tablet, and 
 sitting upon a log in the depths of her wood, replied to this 
 letter even before she ate her lunch.
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 59 
 
 DEA* JOHN KIRKWOOD: 
 
 I'm sorry not to share this particular portion of the countryside 
 with you or anybody at this time. But June can be found 
 anywhere, you know and in other places you wouldn't be disturb- 
 ing my train of thought. To be frank, I'm just getting at my work, 
 and if you or anybody should come, it would most certainly dis- 
 tract my mind. I hate to seem ungracious, but 
 
 In this vein she finished the letter. Six hours later, ar- 
 riving at the house, she found a telegram awaiting her. 
 
 Unexpectedly summoned your way. Having received no prohi- 
 bition in reply to letter am venturing to call this evening. Hope for 
 clemency. 
 
 KIRKWOOD. 
 
 Mary ran to her room. She had passed the post-office 
 on her way home and had not mailed the letter she had writ- 
 ten in the woods. The day had been delightful, as far as her 
 enjoyment of it in the open could make it so, but it had been 
 productive of no smallest germ of an idea for her future use. 
 She had told herself all the way along the road home that she 
 would mail the letter and settle the question of the editor's 
 coming, for the present; yet this eighth futile day of seeking 
 had somehow weakened her resolution just enough to make 
 her decide to leave the letter upon the hall table and let it go 
 out when the postman made the morning delivery and col- 
 lection. It was impossible not to remember how often Kirk- 
 wood's presence had quickened the workings of her mind 
 even without concrete discussion of her plans. Yet the actual 
 news of his coming made her angry with him, that he had not 
 waited for permission. 
 
 "He's abominably sure that I need him and want him," 
 she told herself. "He knows perfectly that I haven't had 
 time to answer his letter, and that I should have told him not 
 to come. He shall be properly punished for his intrigue
 
 60 FOURSQUARE 
 
 for that's what it is. I'll not even change to another frock 
 for him and that ought to show him!" 
 
 Down upon the porch, by and by, she awaited him, sitting 
 on the step talking with Aunt Sara, who, herself in silk and 
 lace, presently expressed a mild surprise. 
 
 "You look as if you were just starting off for another 
 walk, my dear," she said. " Suppose someone comes to call." 
 
 Mary stuck her hands in the pockets of her brown coat. 
 
 "From this time on, Aunt Sara," she remarked, "I'm afraid 
 you must expect me to behave most improperly. Up to now, 
 I've been dressing for dinner and going to teas and doing 
 everything that I should. But now I've begun to work. 
 And when I've been off tramping and come home tired and 
 without a brain in the world, I'm to be exempt from rules. 
 I warn you that if, as we sit here, I should see figures oi 
 callers approaching, and should be inspired to slip off among 
 the shrubbery and evade them, you mustn't show agitation. 
 You must say casually, 'I'm so sorry my niece isn't in* 
 and let it go at that." 
 
 "I will try," agreed Miss Graham, after a moment's 
 pondering over the ethics of such duplicity, "to shield you as 
 best I can, when you really do not care to see callers. Do 
 you wish me to warn you there is a man coming up the 
 walk. I fear it is too late to " 
 
 It was quite too late and Mary knew that she didn't 
 wholly wish to escape. She rose, and with one hand still in 
 the pocket of her coat, gave the other to Mr. John Kirk- 
 wood. Her welcoming smile, through the May twilight, was 
 carefully tempered by an edge of displeasure. 
 
 "Shall I go away again?" he inquired, his own smile, 
 however, showing confidence. "I'd have waited for an 
 answer to my wire, if there'd been time." 
 
 "Are you sure of that?" 
 
 "You distrust me. I can show evidence that I really had
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 61 
 
 to see personally a most difficult and evasive author, within 
 fifty miles. You couldn't expect me to let slip a chance like 
 that could you?" 
 
 When Miss Graham had left them, after a decent interval 
 during which Mr. Kirkwood had done his best to make upon 
 Mary's aunt the impression he wished and had quite evi- 
 dently succeeded he and Mary came to grips with the sit- 
 uation. 
 
 "You have a most useful imagination," Mary said, her 
 chin in her cupped hands, her elbows on her knees, as she sat 
 on the step of the white-pillared porch and looked away from 
 the figure beside her. "Doesn't that imagination help you 
 to understand that you break the spell? Here I've been 
 spending two months trying to get away from all suggestion 
 of the old electrified atmosphere, the old high tension con- 
 ditions and you bring it all back as surely as the fragrance 
 of Aunt Sara's box borders brings back the days of my child- 
 hood." 
 
 "That seems a not too severe analogy rather a pleasant 
 one," was Kirkwood's comment. "If I do nothing worse 
 than that " 
 
 "But you do. It's not a severe enough analogy. It's 
 as if I were sitting on a quiet bank in the woods, and a brass 
 band went by!" 
 
 "Great guns! If that's the effect of me I must do some- 
 thing to tone myself down. And here I've been thinking my- 
 self the most subdued and toneless of sober workers. What 
 have I said, since I came, that has been of the brass-band 
 order?" 
 
 "Nothing. Your talk with Aunt Sara was the perfection 
 of intelligent adaptation. You haven't mentioned your office 
 or your contributors, or anything calculated to stir me up. 
 And yet you inevitably recall to me the Big Town and all 
 the world I know so well and want to escape."
 
 62 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said, with amusement politely suppressed. 
 "I'd no idea it was as bad as that. Why didn't you try a 
 convent? The walls are thicker and I should have had to 
 get permission from the Mother Superior." 
 
 She made an impatient movement. "Oh, can't you under- 
 stand?" she urged, a distinct edge upon her low voice. 
 *' Something queer has happened to me. It happened be- 
 fore I came away or I shouldn't have come. I don't know 
 what it is myself. All I know is that I had to get away. 
 I may not be able to do anything here, but at least " 
 
 There was a silence of a full minute. Then Kirkwood 
 spoke very quietly. "At least I understand myself for- 
 bidden to talk about your work. If it were not so I might be 
 able to say something to help you. I think I know what's 
 the matter." 
 
 Mary shook her head. "No I don't want you to talk 
 about it. I don't want it analyzed. I couldn't bear to dis- 
 cuss it. I've got to fight the thing through alone." 
 
 "Very well. Only let me say once more that if the time 
 comes when you're tired of fighting it through alone, you'll 
 let a fellow combatant direct a straightforward blow or two 
 at your imaginary antagonist. And now if you can bear 
 to hear me talk at all I'd like to tell you a tale or two. 
 Or if you're too tired to see me at all to-night, I'll go back 
 to my hotel and come again in the morning." 
 
 Mary rose promptly. "I think that would be best," she 
 agreed. "I know I seem like a bear myself, but I admit I'm 
 frightfully tired to-night, and if you would come in the 
 morning instead " 
 
 "Of course." Kirkwood shook hands in an entirely 
 friendly manner, as if such dismissal at almost the beginning 
 of a call one had come many miles to make were entirely 
 rational and kind. "Morning puts a brighter light on most 
 troubles and all moods."
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 63 
 
 "You forgive me?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 Mary watched the tall figure stride away down the gravel 
 path, uncomfortably aware that she had been inexcusably 
 ungracious, yet relieved at her present release. Next morn- 
 ing, however, she woke to find herself looking forward to the 
 editor's return with actual eagerness. She had been absurd 
 last night feminine, all but hysterical in her unreasonable- 
 ness. John Kirkwood was a good friend; it was more than 
 possible that a straight, sane talk with him would relieve the 
 tension of the past week's failure to think things out, even 
 though the two did not technically discuss plans for work. 
 Anyhow, she would meet him with amiability and let him 
 remain long enough to satisfy all demands of courtesy. It 
 was even possible that she might permit him to go with her 
 for an hour's tramp upon which he could light the pipe he 
 always carried in his pocket, and pace along the road, puffing 
 cheerfully and talking entertainingly, after the fashion she 
 well remembered. She had many memories of such walks, 
 along the upper reaches of the Drive, or through the wind- 
 ing by-ways of the Park. None could be better company, of 
 that she was quite sure. 
 
 She came downstairs early, looking fresh and fine, with 
 every chestnut hair in place, blue linen replacing the brown 
 jersey of the past week. She found at her plate a note, 
 written upon the stationery of The College Inn. 
 
 On second thought I have decided not to bother you with a morn- 
 ing call, since I should be breaking in upon your best working hours. 
 I need hardly say that I am disappointed, but of course that doesn't 
 count with me at all against your fitness for work. I promise not 
 to come again until you summon me if I find myself able to keep 
 such promise in spite of my honest conviction that I could help. 
 But I understand that I can't make a nuisance of myself at the
 
 64 FOURSQUARE 
 
 present stage of your experience without prejudicing you hopelessly 
 against ever calling upon me. Therefore, in perfectly good temper 
 - in spite of the aforementioned keen regret I take myself off, only 
 asking from you the recognition that here is one whose imagination 
 does put him clearly in your place or he would most certainly not 
 be writing this note instead of walking up the hill to find you at the 
 top. 
 
 Well! She had what she wanted. What more could she 
 ask of a friend than the rare ability to see when his absence is 
 more welcome and more helpful than his presence? Now she 
 was free again to go off upon the ninth day of her quest for 
 that elusive vision of which she had talked so gaily to Miss 
 Graham, with no smoke from a nearby pipe to obscure the 
 dim wraith of which she was in pursuit. Nine days what 
 were nine days? Well might she look nine months for the 
 thing she sought, if so be in the end she found it. But, the 
 trouble was that this inability to see some sort of light, though 
 it were only a rush light, was new in Mary's experience. 
 Always before had her active brain leaped at its task, eager to 
 be used, ready to present to her any number of ideas for 
 consideration, her part only to pick and choose. But now 
 now that brain seemed numb dumb worthless. And 
 she had refused the very stimulus which so often before had 
 set it spinning! 
 
 But she did not summon Kirkwood back, though at the 
 hour his note reached her she knew she could have intercepted 
 him at the railway station. Instead she returned doggedly to 
 her effort. She had not known before how persistent she 
 could be in the face of discouragement indeed she had 
 hardly known discouragement before. She knew it now, and 
 with each succeeding day her sense of something having 
 "happened" to her, she knew not what, became more 
 real.
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 65 
 
 On a June evening, idling up the path to the house, Mary 
 heard the notes of a violoncello, coming from no great dis- 
 tance. She paused, listening eagerly. Yes the strains 
 proceeded from the open window of Mark Fenn's study. She 
 crossed the lawn, leaped over the low hedge, and walking up 
 to the window stood still below it. The slow, careful tones 
 were sure ones the air played, a famous old strain from a 
 great composer. 
 
 Mary had not seen much of the Fenns since her arrival, two 
 months earlier. Before coming to town she had expected to 
 meet them often, but now that she was here somehow actual 
 communication seemed slow to be established. Occasional 
 brief visits with Harriet across the box borders of the garden, 
 or now and then a short encounter with her brother as they 
 met upon the street these were hardly to be regarded as the 
 signs of warm friendliness between the two households. Miss 
 Graham's suggestions that she and Mary "run over" to the 
 Fenns' upon a spring evening, or invite their neighbours to 
 dinner upon a Sunday afternoon, had usually been met by 
 a counter suggestion that the call or the invitation be post- 
 poned to a more convenient season Mary was deep in a 
 book or she was expecting to go elsewhere presently or the 
 Fe-nns were probably busy, or tired. 
 
 "Don't you care to see much of our neighbours, Mary 
 dear?" had been Miss Graham's puzzled question, upon one 
 of these occasions. "I thought you liked them as I do." 
 
 "Of course I do." Mary had looked up, with a casual air, 
 from a book in which she seemed absorbed. "But well 
 they seem rather prosier than I'd expected. Living all one's 
 days in a small town, teaching the same things, year in, year 
 out, certainly does tend to make one narrow, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Narrow? I should hardly call the Fenns that, Mary." 
 Miss Graham looked slightly displeased. 
 
 "I enjoy people who strike sparks, now and then," Mary
 
 66 FOURSQUARE 
 
 explained. " People who scintillate corruscate startle one 
 with the unexpected. I don't want to know what a man is 
 going to say before he says it. I don't want a woman to be 
 oh, of course I'll shock you, Aunt Sara but I don't want a 
 woman to be so terribly conventional that she'll never make 
 you sit up and look at her because she's said something you 
 didn't expect her to!" 
 
 "My dear! What can you mean?'* 
 
 Mary had thrown her book upon the table with a gesture of 
 impatience. "Of course I seem to mean something awful 
 from your point of view, dear saint. I don't, at all. But if 
 you could know some of the people I've known men who are 
 never, never dull, no matter what they talk about women 
 who fairly sparkle with fresh and vivid ideas about things 
 you'd see what I mean. Well we went to a college dinner 
 last night, didn't we? Was ever anything so stupid? I sat 
 between Professor Dry-as-Dust and Miss Prim-and-Proper. 
 Wise as Solon good as St. Cecilia and oh, so boring, I nearly 
 died of my suppressed yawns." 
 
 "You were unfortunate." Miss Graham's voice had a 
 little edge upon its usual gentleness. "There were cer- 
 tainly people at that table who are distinguished delightful. 
 Doctor Edgeworth Professor Marner Mrs. Grant " 
 
 "Yes, I know. Forgive me. They were eminently worth 
 while and I know if I'd been so lucky as to sit next them I 
 could never have kept up my end. But it really isn't that 
 sort of brilliancy I'm craving it's another and quite different 
 sort. Never mind, dear. I know I'm impossible. I'm 
 truly having a beautiful time here, and it's only now and then 
 I miss the thing I can't describe. Only the Fenns haven't 
 got it, nice as they are, and I don't care to be really intimate 
 with them. But I'll go to see them to-morrow night, if you 
 like!" 
 
 Mary got up and came around the centre table, upon oppo-
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 67 
 
 site sides of which the two had been reading. She dropped 
 upon her knees before her aunt's slender figure and looked up 
 with beseeching eyes. The smile Miss Graham never found 
 it easy to resist flashed at her from Mary's lips, then those lips 
 grew sober. 
 
 "You know," Mary said whimsically, "in this sober town 
 sometimes I feel a little like a frivolous young windmill, set 
 among a group of statues in a garden. Whichever way I turn 
 I see something imposing to look at, but so substantial so 
 unchangeable so impossible-to-be-swayed-by-the-passing- 
 winds like me that sometimes I find myself longing to 
 throw a brickbat at some learned lady or studious gentleman 
 on a pedestal, and smash their classic profiles into dust! Yet 
 being only a windmill, I can't throw a thing!" 
 
 With Mary for a companion, poor Miss Sara had had to 
 become accustomed to this sort of unreasonable tirade, yet 
 found compensation in the girl's other moods, which were full 
 of appreciation and contrition. But the lack of special inter- 
 est in the neighbours next door seemed to persist, until all at 
 once, on this June evening, came a sudden revival. 
 
 Having stood beneath the Fenn window for full five min- 
 utes, listening to an air which seemed to express a feeling not 
 unlike her own at the hour, Mary stole to the open front door, 
 entered without knocking, and came to a standstill at the door 
 of the study. Within she saw Mark Fenn, coat off, drawing 
 the bow across the strings of the instrument held between his 
 knees, his thick locks thrust back from his forehead, his eyes 
 intent upon a sheet of music propped precariously against a 
 chair back. The desk light was canted to throw its rays upon 
 the score; the doorway was thus left in shadow, and the 
 performer had no knowledge of his audience until, finishing 
 the page, he leaned forward to turn it over, and a voice spoke. 
 
 "Why not come across the lawn and let me play the ac- 
 companiment to that ? It's a great theme, isn't it?"
 
 68 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Mark looked up, in astonishment. It was the Mary Flet- 
 cher he used to know, for the moment, who smiled at him 
 from the doorway not the amazingly difficult young woman 
 with whom he had not been able to get on, of late. He 
 smiled back, it was so good to see her like this. 
 
 "Come on over and play," she challenged him, in the voice 
 of a small girl. "We've got a piano at our house, and maybe 
 we can have some little cakes with icing on I saw in the pantry 
 if nobody catches us." 
 
 "All right, I'll play with you if I can have some of the cakes 
 Eliza makes." 
 
 "How do you come to be playing the 'cello to-night? I 
 haven't heard a note of it since I came, and thought you 
 didn't care for it any more." 
 
 "I still care, but haven't time to keep up practice. Once 
 in a while I get it out and wonder why I don't do it oftener.'' 
 
 They crossed the lawn together. Mary lighted the draw- 
 ing-room and looked over the musical scores Mark had 
 brought. In ten minutes the two were off, playing away 
 together and producing an effect by no means unworthy. At 
 the end of the Handel Largo Mark lifted his bow with an ail 
 of satisfaction. 
 
 "That went fairly well for a first attempt," he said. 
 "About the tenth time we played it together we might 
 get something out of it the composer meant to put 
 there." 
 
 "Good gracious!" Mary cried. "I thought we got some- 
 thing out of it this time ! Art is long, from your point of view, 
 isn't it? This is such a simple thing and the meaning so 
 obvious beautiful as it is " 
 
 "Let's try it again, if you don't mind. We played it 
 rather over-sentimentally, I think. One can't afford to do 
 that, with a plain, heroic motif like this one. Don't slow me 
 Mp there and there, please " he indicated the places by a
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 69 
 
 tap of his bow. "I can't march ahead with you hanging on 
 to your chords." 
 
 "'The professorial attitude!'" murmured Mary, saucily, 
 quoting from herself. "What if 7 take charge and insist 
 that it ought to be played with a proper observance of senti- 
 ment? Not that I intend to you're quite right. Let's try 
 it again, and I'll be as austere as you like." 
 
 They tried it again, and this time Mary let the 'cello indi- 
 cate its own reading of the stately measures, with a result 
 decidedly more satisfying, even to her own ear. Then Mark 
 selected another composition, and Mary a third, and 
 presently the pair were so deep in the interest of the new 
 association that neither noticed how late the hour was. Miss 
 Graham, in another room, had heard, had come softly to the 
 door, and had stolen away again, rejoicing but afraid to break 
 the spell. 
 
 "Oh, that was simply splendid!" Mary declared, breath- 
 less with the rapid reading of a difficult score, as the music 
 ended on one after another of great final chords which 
 had deeply satisfied something within her. "Somehow that 
 blows off a tremendous amount of steam that was threatening 
 to explode and wreck something. Don't you ever feel that 
 way? I suppose not!" she added, regarding searchingly the 
 face before her. "And yet" as an expression new to her 
 observation crossed that face "I almost think you do a 
 little!" 
 
 Mark Fenn looked back at her steadily for an instant. 
 Then he laid down instrument and bow, rose to his feet, 
 leaned against a corner of the piano and folded his arms. 
 
 "My dear Mary Fletcher," he said, "I think I shall have 
 to make a statement or two to you. I dislike to be personal 
 and call your attention to myself, but there seems no other 
 way. Do you know I object intensely to being regarded as 
 a fossil by you or by any other human being, for that
 
 70 FOURSQUARE 
 
 matter. Just what I've said or done or not said or not 
 done since you arrived, to make you treat me as if I were 
 your valetudinarian uncle I can't imagine. But this I know. 
 I refuse to be considered an instructor in a classroom when 
 I'm out of that classroom, as if I carried the shell of it around 
 on my back. And I want you to know that when we reached 
 that magnificent climax at the end of that last movement, my 
 pulse was probably beating only a trifle slower than yours. 
 And it's not slowed down perceptibly since hence this turn- 
 ing of the worm!" 
 
 His eyes held her the fire in them was genuine. Mary 
 responded to it like the sensitive quicksilver she was. 
 
 "I do beg your pardon!" she said, with a change of manner 
 as attractive as it was spontaneous. "I have been thinking 
 you old before your time and hated to see it too. There's 
 something about teaching it does make men old, if they 
 don't look out. You have just a bit of a stoop in your 
 shoulders, you know and you shouldn't have at what is 
 it? Not forty, yet?" 
 
 He laughed, rather bitterly. "Hardly! Do I really sug- 
 gest forty at thirty-five?" 
 
 "You certainly do or did. At this moment, with your 
 nice thick hair rumpled up a bit, and your eyes waked up, 
 and that attitude which says the male creature is asserting 
 itself I could easily imagine you a bare thirty. You really 
 why I Like you better than I have since I was a little girl and 
 you jumped me over the hedge. Goodness you couldn't 
 have been anything but a big boy then!" 
 
 "I'm only a bigger boy now, you know," he said, running 
 his hand through the rumpled hair and setting it still 
 more rampant. "I can't conceive what's made you so 
 belligerent toward me ever since you came when you weren't 
 avoiding me completely. We used to be very good friends, I 
 thought."
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 71 
 
 "Belligerent! It was you who were that. Letting me 
 know the very instant you saw me that you thoroughly dis- 
 approved of me! Is that a basis, I ask you, for the renewal of 
 friendship?" 
 
 "I didn't disapprove of you only of one example of your 
 work of which you disapproved yourself. But great 
 Caesar! don't let's go back to that, now that there may be 
 some slight chance of our finding common ground again. See 
 here, Mary! Harriet and I were looking forward with the 
 greatest pleasure to your coming back to us. We thought of 
 you as the open-hearted girl you used to be, who'd be in and 
 
 out of our little old house Why, I went and invested in two 
 
 new and decidedly expensive ties and a new hat, particularly 
 that I might not look my horrible age. Harriet I believe 
 Harriet did something equally extravagant, with the idea of 
 impressing you. And then you came with a chip on your 
 very pretty shoulder " 
 
 "Which you instantly knocked oflF," declared Mary. Her 
 eyes were sparkling now with a light which hadn't been in 
 them for a month. "Yes, you knocked it off, Mark Fenn 
 Professor Mark Fenn you know you did " 
 
 "Take back that 'Professor' " 
 
 "It's your proper title " 
 
 " I won't be ' professored ' by you, Mary, of all people." 
 
 " Mister, then," substituted Mary, wickedly. 
 
 "Why not plain Mark? I am plain Mark, I'm well aware, 
 and can't interest or amuse you as the men you know in your 
 own world can do so well. But I mightn't make so poor a 
 friend, Mary. Anyhow it seems a pity to live next door to 
 each other for a year and keep on collecting chips. Doesn't 
 it?" 
 
 "It does indeed," she admitted. "Well, if we continue to 
 play the classics together with an occasional bit of ragtime, 
 just to refresh us " she broke off, laughing at his face.
 
 7 2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "There you go, again! Don't tell me you don't like ragtime. 
 
 Listen " 
 
 She slipped on to the bench again, struck a few gay notes 
 and plunged into a song of the day, with which, it is hardly 
 necessary to say, she did not expect him to be familiar. To 
 her surprise, after the first two measures, a clear whistle 
 joined her, and they finished the dashing lines together. She 
 swung about upon the bench. 
 
 "That wasn't so bad, after all, was it?" she challenged him. 
 "How on earth did you come to know it?" 
 
 " Pretty bad though clever enough, too, in its way. How 
 did I know it? You don't really ask me that in these 
 degenerate days! But after Beethoven and Handel 
 
 "It was unkind of me. I apologize, though I can't be 
 sorry, for it proved your humanness, as nothing else could 
 4o. Well, shall we play again, some night ? I wish we had a 
 violin and could do some trios." 
 
 "I can find you one, easily. We have an excellent first 
 violin in the college orchestra. He would be mightily pleased 
 to join us now and then." 
 
 She noted the emphasis and smiled appreciatively. "I 
 should be very glad to have him now and then," she agreed. 
 "It will be the best thing in the world for me to have an 
 evening of music when I've been grinding hard as to-day. 
 I was on the ragged edge of deep despondency when your 
 'cello pulled me out." 
 
 "Really? I'm glad. I was rather in the dumps myself 
 though it doesn't seem possible now. Is the work pulling 
 hard ? I'm sorry for that unless it means that something 
 substantial is to be hauled up out of the depths." 
 
 "The trouble is nothing seems to be on the other end of 
 the rope it's just caught on a snag. I've about given up" 
 She bit her lip and finished the sentence hurriedly "about 
 given up thinking work will ever come easily again."
 
 THE PURSUIT OF AN IDEA 73 
 
 "That's good!" 
 
 "You don't mean that Professor Mark!" 
 
 "Is that my punishment? All right I won't continue 
 On those lines. Instead I'll say " 
 
 Miss Graham's old tall clock on the staircase landing 
 clanged a slow, impressive warning. Mark pulled out his 
 watch. 
 
 "I'll say it some other time," he finished. "Who knew it 
 was twelve o'clock!" 
 
 Mary's laugh was delicious. "I did and loved it that 
 you didn't. Is it a crime to be up at this hour playing 
 Beethoven ?" 
 
 "Very nearly, playing anything, on College Hill unless 
 it's a party." 
 
 "It's been the nicest kind of a party, I should say. Let's 
 have 'em often, now we've begun." 
 
 "I'll be delighted. Good-night, Mary." 
 
 "Good-night Mark." 
 
 She closed the door upon his ruggedly well-knit figure, re- 
 calling the smile which had lighted the rather fine modelling 
 of his face. In the future, she thought, she wouldn't need 
 to avoid so carefully the chance of hearing what he really 
 thought about her work. If he was only thirty-five, could 
 whistle ragtime, and distinctly didn't want to be given a 
 title, whether it belonged to him or not, it seemed possible 
 that she might get off" more easily than she had feared. 
 Anyhow, the deep, splendid tones of the 'cello had thrilled her 
 in the glorious music of the master, and if she could not work 
 to-morrow it would not be for lack of the mental and nervous 
 stimulus to which she was so acutely susceptible. For this 
 she was strangely indebted to a man who, she surmised, 
 considered her work too emotional, too unrestrained; and 
 the thought gave her a most unrighteous satisfaction upon 
 which she shortly went quite happily to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 
 
 HAT on earth can she be doing?" 
 Mark Fenn, on an afternoon in earl)' 
 August, tramping along a woodland 
 path which ran beside a small stream, 
 came to a standstill, staring between 
 the slender trunks of a group of birches 
 toward a spot a few yards beyond and 
 below him where energetic operations 
 of some sort were in progress. A blue- 
 clad figure was staggering toward the 
 brook's edge carrying a stone rather 
 too heavy for a woman's strength. 
 Across the tumbling width of the 
 small chasm an irregular heap of sim- 
 ilar stones suggested that the labourer 
 was attempting to construct a bridge, 
 but the exceedingly casual look of the 
 foundation thus laid brought a hint 
 of a smile to the lips of the observer. 
 He removed his pipe from his 
 mouth, softly knocked out its ashes 
 and put it in his pocket, while he stole 
 a little nearer the scene of action. 
 Mary Fletcher as a bridge builder 
 presented a new and interesting study. 
 She was splashed from head to foot, 
 and even as he watched, a fresh volw 
 74
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 75 
 
 ume of water rose from the invaded stream in answer to the 
 fall of the latest addition to the extending heap of stones, 
 and turned a large area of blue linen to a damp expanse of 
 deeper blue. The adding of the new stone was wasted effort, 
 for it promptly rolled off the others, escaping to a deep pool 
 just beyond. 
 
 "Oh hang !" exploded an angry voice, and a doubled fist 
 sent a futile gesture after the deserter. But the next instant 
 Mary was dragging at another and heavier stone, tugging 
 with panting breath, and finally heaving it down upon the 
 wobbling foundation into a position where it hung perilously 
 upon the edge of things, too far to be reached from the bank, 
 of no possible use except to obstruct further progress. 
 
 The next instant a small round-head snatched up from 
 the bank went spinning after it, glanced off it, and sank 
 tamely to the bottom. Mary Fletcher threw up both 
 clenched hands into the air, crying out something unintel- 
 ligible but conveying to the hearer an unmistakable 
 tension of feeling out of all seeming proportion to the cause 
 thereof. She flung herself down upon the bank, a figure 
 of baffled discontent. The next instant she was sitting 
 erect again, startled by a quiet observation from a few feet's 
 distance. 
 
 "If it must be done, it must be done differently. Would 
 you be willing to engage an engineer who isn't afraid to 
 wade in?" 
 
 "Thank you I wanted to do it myself." 
 
 There was no welcoming smile on Mary's face, and Mark's 
 reflected a corresponding gravity. 
 
 "You can't without getting in. And you need heavier 
 stones than you can lift. Besides, unless you intend to build 
 a dam, you need to leave free places for the stream to run 
 through, or it'll wash everything away." 
 
 "I suppose so. Of course I don't know how to do it
 
 76 FOURSQUARE 
 
 properly. I did think if I threw on stones enough I might ib 
 the end get a bridge out of it." 
 
 "About fifty yards below you can cross without one." 
 
 "But I wanted to build a bridge!" cried Mary and beat 
 her fist upon the ground. 
 
 Mark Fenn regarded her for an instant without speaking. 
 He saw something in the look with which she was gazing at 
 the pile of stones which made him suddenly a little anxious. 
 
 "All right," he said quietly, "let's build it together. 
 Many's the time I've done it, as a boy. I see plenty of good 
 material all about." 
 
 Mary did not look at him indeed she had given him but one 
 glance since his arrival. In spite of her replies to his questions 
 she seemed to him in her strange mood incredibly remote. 
 
 "Unless," he added, "you've tired yourself out and will 
 let me do it for you." 
 
 She rose to her feet. "Go ahead," she said briefly. "I'll 
 help if I know enough." 
 
 Without further words Mark went at it. Coat off, trousers 
 rolled above his knees, he stood in the centre of the narrow 
 stream, and began the thing all over again with a well-placed, 
 substantial foundation, wide and compact, such as might be 
 expected to withstand the rush of the current. Mary silently 
 placed within his reach each stone as he indicated it. He 
 permitted her to tug and pull as she would, except now and 
 then, when the effort was obviously too much for her. In due 
 course the task was completed, a structure sufficiently 
 solid to be trusted for the crossing. Not a word had been 
 said not called for by the work in hand. 
 
 Mary stood and looked down at the sturdy, small bridge, and 
 Mark, taking his place beside her upon the bank, regarded it 
 with the satisfaction the man feels in having relived an 
 experience of his boyhood. He had put into the censtruction 
 the most careful work possible, and for a moment he felt the
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 77 
 
 glow of pleasure which succeeds any successful physical feat. 
 At the next moment, however, his thoughts returned to the 
 person beside him, whose moody look had been not in the 
 least dissipated by the labours of the hour. 
 
 "It's very fine," she now said, slowly. "But I didn't do it 
 myself. The analogy is perfect. I can do nothing, myself 
 any more. I can't even place the first stone right." 
 
 Mark sat down upon the bank and put on his socks and 
 shoes. A barefooted workman is no anomaly. As a com- 
 panion and adviser it had become obligatory to resume more 
 formal attire. He put on his coat and ran his hand across 
 his hair, thrusting it back into place. He returned to stand 
 beside Maty, the strong colour in his face telling of a healthy 
 circulation, his mind working rapidly. The hour had come, 
 he was sure, when he must try to show her he could really be 
 a friend in need. 
 
 " I wonder," he said, quietly, " if you'd do me the honour of 
 telling me all about it. Of course I can't help guessing that 
 your work isn't going well that you're at a standstill. Are 
 you letting discouragement get the upper hand?" 
 
 "It's not only got the upper hand," Mary answered bit- 
 terly. "It's thrown me and bound and gagged me. I'm 
 helpless and I think I'm going quite mad with rage. 
 When I began to build this bridge I thought if I could 
 build it I should have proved that I could create something 
 if only a child's plaything. It seems I can't do even that." 
 
 "You tried a man's task." 
 
 "I want to do a man's task! That's it exactly. I'm 
 tired of doing womanish work of building bridges that 
 won't stand. Besides building that bridge wasn't a man's 
 task. I could have waded out and laid the bottom stones as 
 securely as you did and built up just as strong a crossing. I 
 hadn't the patience. I wanted " 
 
 "You wanted to stand on the bank and throw them in, and
 
 78 FOURSQUARE 
 
 have them lodge by some happy chance just where they 
 needed to be. And then you grew cynical and unreasonable 
 because they didn't." 
 
 "I've always done it before!" Mary cried, defiantly. 
 "Stood on the bank and thrown the stones, and they lodged, 
 and the bridge was built and people crossed on it." 
 "And you didn't get your feet wet!" 
 "I didn't need to." 
 
 "You admitted, a minute ago," Mark suggested, "that the 
 bridges didn't always stand." 
 
 It was at this point that Mary's nerves gave way com- 
 pletely. 
 
 "I'm going home," she said unsteadily. "If I don't I 
 shall go to pieces and cry. I wouldn't cry before you for 
 anything I can think of. I'm not a crying person I'm not ! 
 I won't break my record." 
 
 "You shall not," he agreed, abandoning his hurriedly con- 
 ceived plan of getting to the bottom of her distress and 
 substituting another. There was more than one way of being 
 the best friend he knew how to be, and quite evidently he 
 must use a different method than that of lecturing to her on 
 her faults if he would help her for the hour, at least. She 
 was in no condition to bear up under an analysis of her 
 situation, if he were competent to make one. 
 
 Therefore they walked home together, through wood and 
 lane, and Mark, glancing from time to time at Mary's profile 
 as they went along for the most part silently, thought he saw 
 that the long strain of unprofitable self-communings was telling 
 upon her. Her colour was good, for she had been out of doors 
 too constantly to lose it, but there was a contraction between 
 her brows and a tenseness about her mouth which he didn't 
 like to see, and there was also more than a suggestion in her 
 manner that she was keeping a grip upon herself with diffi- 
 culty.
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 79 
 
 Before he left her, however, he said the thing which he most 
 wanted to say, for he had grown surer and surer that it was 
 the thing she needed most. He delayed saying it until they 
 were at the parting, having come up through Miss Graham's 
 orchard and garden to the point where a gap in the hedge 
 between her land and his proved that communication by this 
 means was frequent. 
 
 "I've wished I could help you," he said. "But I can see 
 that you're not fit just now to talk or think about your work. 
 I wish' you would drop it entirely for a time " 
 
 " I can't," Mary interrupted, brokenly. " I've got to think 
 it through. I've got to get somewhere. I there's no other 
 way. Never mind I will somehow. Don't bother about 
 
 me. I know I've seemed a little fool this afternoon, but " 
 
 She turned away. "Good-bye," she said. 
 
 He took a step after her and laid hold upon her hand 
 which he was startled to find was cold as ice. 
 
 "Mary," he said, to her averted face, "there's one thing I 
 can do for you, and that's to stand by. Your ship isn't 
 sinking far from it and you're not going to abandon her. 
 But the seas seem to be running high, and I think you've got 
 to make port for some repairs to the engines. Meanwhile 
 my ship is going to stand by and keep in touch. I want you 
 to know that. You may not care much just now, whether 
 I'm there or not. But sometime perhaps you will. Any- 
 how I am there, and nothing can make me change my 
 course from yours while you're in trouble." 
 
 She looked around at him. The first smile he had seen 
 on her face this afternoon touched it in answer to this speech. 
 It was an odd, forced smile, however, and gave him no relief 
 from his anxiety. Nor did her words. 
 
 "I admit I'm quite human enough to have that touch me, 
 Mark. There's nothing you or anybody can do for me 
 except that. But if some night my ship goes head on, on
 
 8o FOURSQUARE 
 
 a rock, and sinks before you can get to me, don't mind too 
 much. Maybe I'd never have made port, anyhow." 
 
 He would have kept her, to say something still more re- 
 assuring if he could have found it but she pulled her hand 
 away, and only shook her head as she fairly ran from him, 
 toward the house. He looked after her, his face grave. 
 
 "It's like trying to handle some wild thinj^" he told him- 
 self, "for a blundering fellow like me to try to come near her 
 at all. Outside of my classes I don't know anything about 
 women how should I be able to help her when she's over- 
 strung like that ? Yet if I'm not mistaken somebody or 
 something must, or she'll be beyond it." 
 
 He would have been still surer of this if he could have 
 known how she spent the night. Though she went early to 
 her room, it was not to sleep. Daylight saw her dressed for 
 the street, a small bag packed, her room left in order. 
 
 When Miss Graham came down to breakfast she found a 
 note beside her plate, and Eliza explaining, in considerable 
 trepidation. 
 
 "Miss Mary's gone down to New York, Miss Graham. 
 She wouldn't let me call you. She told me to tell you not to 
 worry about her she'd be back in a few days. She took the 
 notion in the night and just went and did it. I came down 
 early and found her making herself some coffee, so of course 
 I got what I could for her in a hurry. Now don't be worried, 
 Miss Graham. You know she's why I don't suppose folks 
 that write are just like other folks, do youf" 
 
 "Did she was she did you think she looked well y 
 Eliza?" 
 
 The housekeeper noted that Miss Graham's white hand 
 shook a little as she unfolded Mary's note. The colour had 
 quite left the delicate face. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Miss Graham she was very lively all the while 
 I saw her. She called it a lark seemed to be sort of excited
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 81 
 
 and pleased about it. It was something about being there 
 to-morrow morning in time for somebody. You you 
 read the letter, Miss Graham that'll tell you more than I 
 can. There's nothing to worry about, I'm sure. Going to 
 France and all I expect it seems nothing at all to her to 
 make up her mind in the night and just catch a train in the 
 morning, so." 
 
 Miss Graham read the note. It was and was not reassur- 
 ing, though evidently it was meant to be so. But it left 
 Mary's aunt vaguely uneasy, she could not tell why. 
 
 MOST BELOVED: 
 
 Mary wouldn't be Mary if she didn't do erratic things, would she? 
 But really this isn't so erratic as it seems. I didn't sleep awfully 
 well, and it suddenly occurred to me that if I could catch Alexandra 
 Warren before she gets away on her fortnight's vacation, and have a 
 good talk with her, it would be worth doing. I know she's on the 
 edge of leaving, and suddenly I want to see her so very badly that 
 I feel I'm justified in startling you this way. I know you get your 
 best sleep toward morning so I wouldn't wake you. I'll be back 
 very soon I'm only taking a few things. If I can get what I want 
 down there I'll come back a more reasonable person I know I've 
 driven you to distraction for weeks with my moods and vagaries. 
 Forgive me, won't you for I love you very much, and shall be eager 
 to get back to you. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 "It's like her father," Miss Graham told herself. "He 
 used to start on a journey at an hour's notice and accom- 
 plish great ends by doing it. Still it does seem strange." 
 
 She went up to Mary's room, and found it perfectly in order 
 but for one thing. The small fireplace was full of fluttering 
 ashes and half-burned typewritten paper, some of which, by 
 reason of a light wind of the past night, had blown out upon 
 the floor and littered it untidily. Miss Graham swept these 
 up herself, setting a match to the unconsumed remains.
 
 82 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "I don't see," she mused as she watched them rapidly 
 flame up, "why it seems to be so difficult for her now, when 
 always before, as she has told me, it was so easy. Perhaps 
 perhaps she is trying to do something too hard for her. I 
 wonder if that is necessary." 
 
 Already, a hundred miles away, Mary could have told her 
 that it was necessary. Her courage had risen a little with the 
 mere getting away. Eliza, watching her, had thought her 
 "excited and pleased"; she had been precisely that, and her 
 light talk as she hurriedly ate and drank, that early morning, 
 had been the sign of her relief at the thought that for this 
 day and to-morrow she was not to be roaming wood and plain 
 in the vain search for the undiscoverable. 
 
 All that day, in the train, her fellow passengers were drawn 
 to observe her, they knew not why. It was as if someone 
 were among them who was not like the other women in the 
 car. The perfection of her travelling clothes, the peculiar 
 charm of her face, with its look of intensity, her quiet in- 
 difference to any observation, did not wholly account for 
 the interest she roused. Men watched her furtively from 
 behind newspapers; women openly scanned and studied her. 
 
 "She's an actress, /'// say," one feminine passenger across 
 the aisle whispered to another. "She hasn't once looked 
 at anybody. That's for effect it isn't natural. I heard her 
 voice once when she spoke to the porter it was a regular 
 stage voice. It seems as if I'd seen her face somewhere, too." 
 
 This might easily have been true. Many times had Mary 
 Fletcher's face appeared in magazine advertising columns. 
 
 "Maybe she's a movie actress," speculated her companion. 
 
 The other shook her head. "Mm-mm," she negatived. 
 "More likely one of those society business women. There's 
 an air about her just the way there is about them. You 
 can buy things of 'em but you can't touch 'em." 
 
 These two women tried in vain to make inroads into Mary's
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 83 
 
 close-drawn privacy. In vain they made geneial obser- 
 vations in the too-small dressing room, or drew aside with 
 smiling apologies when a lurch of the car or influx of other 
 women crowded them against the stranger who had so roused 
 their interest. Mary's preparations for sleep were rapid and 
 discreet; not once could they so much as meet her eyes in one 
 of the mirrors which prevent the possibility of withdrawal 
 from the curious. She would have secured a stateroom if 
 it had been possible, so late; forced into contact with fellow 
 human beings of her own sex, in an atmosphere redolent of 
 talcums and toilet waters, her present mood and manner 
 surrounded her with an invisible wall there was no breaking 
 through, though she was only slightly conscious of rearing it. 
 
 The truth was that the whole journey was to her a mere 
 necessary interval between the state she had left and that 
 into which she hoped to emerge. She was as completely in- 
 sulated ^rom all contact with these people as if she had been 
 alone. Trained to observe, as a rule professionally concerned 
 with the actions and reactions of all whom she met, she was 
 making this journey as one who has suffered a bereavement 
 travels with veil down and eyes averted; the inner conscious- 
 ness shutting away all immediate environment. 
 
 But morning found her where she longed to be. It was 
 barely nine o'clock when Alexandra Warren in her suburban 
 home, stooping over a trunk she was packing, heard a joyful 
 cry. 
 
 "Oh, Sandy, Sandy! Heaven is merciful, and you haven't 
 gone! I didn't dare wire before I started, to find out. I had 
 to come, anyway bless your dear, delightful back. It would 
 have been worth coming for, just to see your back, even if you 
 hadn't turned round!" 
 
 "Why, Mary Fletcher!" 
 
 There succeeded one of those impetuous embraces with 
 which Mary had been accustomed, after long intervals of
 
 84 FOURSQUARE 
 
 rather boyish distaste for manifestations of affection, to show 
 unexpected emotion over her best friend. The way in which 
 she now clung to Alexandra, laughing and half crying, shed 
 instant light upon that wise woman's mind. 
 
 "Let me look at you," demanded Alexandra, holding Mary 
 off at arm's length. "Yes, I thought so. You've been having 
 a bad time over something, and have reached the limit of 
 your restraint. But my dear I never saw you so thin 
 and worn. Your eyes why, child what is the matter?" 
 
 "Haven't slept for two nights that's all. I'm all right, 
 really. That is, I'm all wrong!" 
 
 Alexandra sat down. She pulled a pillow off a couch and 
 dropped it at her own feet. 
 
 "Sit down there, and put your head on my knee, and tell 
 me all about it," she commanded. 
 
 "I shall die if I can't," Mary said, biting her lip because 
 it trembled. "And I'm afraid I can't. But I've got to make 
 you understand some of it." 
 
 "You may not find me so dull." 
 
 "Oh, Sandy " 
 
 She put her head down in Alexandra Warren's lap and 
 broke into wild sobbing. It was no summer shower, it was a 
 storm from the beginning, but before it was over it became 
 a tempest. In vain her friend tried to soothe and quiet in 
 the end she became alarmed. 
 
 "Mary, stop! You must stop, dear! Why, I shall have 
 to send for a doctor, if you don't. Let me get you some va- 
 lerian Well, then control yourself. You can you must! 
 Mary!" 
 
 Suddenly, almost as suddenly as it had begun, the sob- 
 bing passed. "I won't any more," a shuddering whisper 
 declared. "I didn't know it was coming, or I no, I 
 think it had to come! I hate to cry I don't cry I detest 
 crying won;en. But "
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 85 
 
 "Never mind the pressure had to be relieved somehow, 
 and you'll be better now. It's not like you and it makes me 
 anxious. Something must be radically wrong, Mary. I'm 
 afraid you have tried to go to work too soon. Is it the work 
 that worries you?" 
 
 So Mary told her all that she could tell. After all, it 
 was not much. It seldom is much that can be told of the 
 spirit's real distress. But from the recital, now halting, 
 now fiery, Alexandra became more and more sure that Mary 
 was at a crisis in her life's experience through which she must 
 have the wisest human counsel that her friend could give 
 or that she would take for the giving and the receiving of 
 counsel are two mightily different things, as the older woman 
 had long ago discovered. 
 
 "So I've come," concluded Mary, sitting back on her feet 
 and passing her two hands across her now flushed cheeks, 
 "to get this over with you and then go into town and see 
 the one person who can give me back any confidence in my- 
 self. He's always done it I don't know how and if any- 
 body can now, he can. A month ago I wouldn't see him or 
 tell him anything, though he came up on purpose. Now 
 just all at once I can hardly wait to see him!" 
 
 "Mr. Kirkwood?" Alexandra looked disturbed. 
 
 "Of course. Oh, my wireless is tuned to his it always 
 has been, though I wouldn't acknowledge it. The awful 
 truth is and that's what's been driving me frantic that the 
 suspicion has been growing and growing that I can't do 
 anything without him!" 
 
 "Oh, no!" The exclamation was one of deep dissent. 
 "Why, think of the almost two years you were away from 
 him, in France. You were doing absolutely independent 
 work " 
 
 "That was entirely different. I had every stimulus. I 
 couldn't help writing of what I saw and divined. But
 
 86 FOURSQUARE 
 
 back here" Mary made a gesture of unhappy abandon 
 "Oh, perhaps I didn't realize it, but I think I did, in a 
 way he he why, he just had me in the hollow of his 
 hand. The only thing I ever did without him was that 
 abominable trash I wrote when I first came back to prove 
 that I was independent. Do you wonder I ran away? 
 And now oh, shame on me, I suppose, but I'm so desperate 
 I can't help it! I'm going back to him." 
 
 "My dear! Are you sure that's best? Not that I don't 
 admire John Kirkwood and trust his advice to a certain 
 extent. But I don't like this confession of his power over 
 you. Now that you've broken away from his influence for a 
 time, hadn't you better well fight it out, this struggle for 
 independence?" 
 
 She sat looking steadily across into Mary's face, though 
 Mary's eyes after an instant dropped away from her. Miss 
 Warren's own eyes were very fine, their gaze clear and dis- 
 cerning. The city librarian, in her years of work, had made 
 very many human contacts, had learned to read facts in faces 
 and subtleties in speech. Not for nothing had she known 
 many of the best and wisest of the men and women of the 
 great city. Her ideals were very high, her love for Mary 
 very great; her faith in her ability, in spite of the all but dis- 
 maying confession of her dependence on another mind, pre- 
 sumably keener and stronger than her own, was only slightly 
 shaken by this new knowledge. But now she suffered a 
 shock greater than that which she had lately received. 
 
 Mary slowly lifted her eyes again and in them was written 
 a misery so deep that her friend's heart sank. 
 
 "Sandy," she said, very low, "I'd like to take that advice 
 I would indeed. I've been giving it to myself all these 
 weeks of struggle. But the bitter truth is I've grown afraid 
 that if I don't write something coherent workman-like 
 pretty soon I never will. I'm why, Sandy I'm just plain
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 87 
 
 scared ! Do you know what that means ? Scared so that 
 I can't sleep! Scared, so that oh, I can't tell you! I sup- 
 pose if I went to a doctor he'd call it nervous depression. 
 It's not that and I'm not going to any doctor. The only 
 cure for me is to produce something that I'm proud of, so 
 that I can feel again that amazing tonic of success. If I can 
 once do that even if I do it with John Kirkwood's help I 
 think I'll be strong again, to break away. But I guess 
 I'm like a drunkard who has to be sobered off on more 
 whiskey. It doesn't always do to take the prop away all at 
 once." 
 
 Alexandra studied again the exquisite worn young face 
 before her, noted afresh the look of strain. She recalled 
 hours of wild joy in the past when the author had com- 
 pleted a difficult task and had seemed for hours thereafter 
 exalted to some heaven of her own. In succeeding hours she 
 might suffer a corresponding reaction and be weary to ex- 
 haustion, though still so happy that she would cry out that 
 it was worth it. Alexandra was forced in her own mind 
 \eluctantly to admit that it might be Mary had been too long 
 without this necessary stimulus of reward, and that she must 
 have again the relief of consultation with this other mind 
 which had the power to lift her to heights of accomplishment. 
 At any rate, it was clear to her that she could not attempt to 
 defeat Mary's plans at this late hour. The only thing that 
 she could do was to stand by her a conclusion curiously 
 like one which had been arrived at less than twenty-four 
 hours before, by another friend of Mary's whom Alexandra 
 had never met. 
 
 "Very well, dear/' she said, rising with decision. "You 
 said you meant to take the next train in to Mr. Kirkwood's 
 office. That leaves at nine forty. I can easily be ready, 
 and I'll go with you. If need be, I'll stay in town until 
 your conferences with him are over, even though they take
 
 88 FOURSQUARE 
 
 some days. Or you can come back out with me here each 
 night- 
 
 "Oh but it's your vacation " 
 
 "That doesn't matter. I'm not specially tired and can 
 spare a few days as well as not. Besides, being with you 
 again, after all these months, will be better than a vacation." 
 
 Mary looked her friend in her clear eyes, her own showing 
 a little bloodshot through her thick lashes. "Oh, but you 
 are a trump!" was her grateful tribute. "If I didn't need 
 you so I wouldn't allow it, but I'm afraid I'm too weak to 
 resist." 
 
 An hour later, in the city, the pair were shot upward to 
 the high floor of the crowded downtown building in which were 
 The Centrepiece offices. Mary Fletcher's eyes were now bright 
 with excitement, the look of weariness which had been so 
 noteworthy had vanished. The mere thought of an inter- 
 view with this man was keying her to tension again. 
 
 "Mr. Kirkwood's out of town," said a laconic office boy, 
 new to the place and unacquainted with Miss Fletcher's 
 standing as a contributor to the magazine. 
 
 "Oh!" Mary breathed it like a sigh of despair. 
 
 "When will he be back?" Alexandra asked. 
 
 "Thursday." 
 
 "Could he be reached before then?" 
 
 "Don't think so. He didn't leave any forwarding ad- 
 dress." 
 
 Alexandra was not sure that this was true, but nothing 
 further could be elicited from the boy. She asked for a sub- 
 editor whose name she knew, but Mary hastily interposed, 
 under her breath: "No, no, Sandy. We'll go. This is 
 Tuesday. I'd rather wait." 
 
 Outside in the cab she explained. "I don't want him called 
 back for me I want to come in upon him when he doesn't 
 expect me."
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 89 
 
 "Will you go back home with me, dear?" 
 
 "No, I'll stay in town. It's not very hot just now." 
 
 "Then I'll stay with you." 
 
 "No, I won't have it." 
 
 "Then you must come back with me. Be reasonable, 
 Mary. You are worn out. The two days'rest will be good 
 for you before you see Mr. Kirkwood. I can make you 
 very comfortable." 
 
 They fought it out for several minutes, Mary finally yield- 
 ing. Back in the pleasant suburban town she gave herself up 
 to her friend's ministrations, outwardly, at least. The two 
 days were got through somehow. On Thursday morning Alex- 
 andra took the precaution of telephoning in to the office, 
 learning that Mr. Kirkwood had wired that his return would 
 be delayed until the morrow. At this news Mary went 
 quite out of her head, announcing that she must do some- 
 thing or she couldn't endure it. This time it was Alexandra 
 who yielded, accompanied Mary to a New York hotel, and 
 went with her on a ceaseless round of supposed diversion, 
 beginning with shopping and ending amid the blare of a sum- 
 mer musical comedy offering which outraged every sensi- 
 bility and left both women feeling besmirched and wearied 
 beyond expression. 
 
 "Poor Sandy what a way to spend the first days of your 
 precious vacation!" mourned Mary. "I'm a fiend to permit 
 it. I'm desperately ashamed of myself for dragging you 
 back here, yet I don't know how I'd have lived without you. 
 Anyhow, it's over now. One more night and I'm going 
 to sleep if I have to drug for it." 
 
 All nightmares end, however, and this one came to its finish 
 with the announcement of the office boy next morning. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am. Mr. Kirkwood's in. Just got back. Card?" 
 
 Mary sent it in, her heart throbbing disconcertingly. 
 Could she be the same person who had so high and mightily
 
 90 FOURSQUARE 
 
 dismissed the editor on a certain summer evening, conveying 
 so accurately to him her indifference to his presence that he 
 was stung into refusing to return next day? 
 
 Two minutes later an inner door opened, and a tall figure, 
 clad in the freshest of light summer apparel, came rapidly for- 
 ward. The light in John Kirkwood's eyes spoke his aston- 
 ished pleasure. 
 
 "Mary Fletcher! Miss Warren! Why, this is wonderful 
 of you! When did you come? Why didn't you let me 
 know?" 
 
 His eyes studied Mary's face and concern appeared in 
 his own. 
 
 "I thought it would be rather fun to surprise you," Mary 
 told him. "I ran down to see Alexandra and well I 
 really wanted to see you, too to talk things over." 
 
 "You are tired," he said abruptly. "You don't want to 
 talk in this hot office, I'm sure. Just wait, please, while I 
 dispose of a few details I've been away for a week. Then 
 I'm at your service." 
 
 "Are you sure you can spare the time?" 
 
 "Unquestionably for you. We'll go somewhere, to a cool 
 and quiet spot, if there's one to be had, and spend the whole 
 day." 
 
 It took him long enough, however, to arrange his affairs, 
 to prove to his guests that getting loose again wasn't quite as 
 easy as he would have them think. Brief consultations with 
 various members of his staff, rapid decisions of matters 
 brought to his attention by one and another, telephone talks, 
 short personal interviews with persons who had appoint- 
 ments Alexandra caught enough glimpses of the editor in 
 action to appreciate what he was about to do for Mary. In 
 due time, however, he came to them, hat in hand. 
 
 "There's a motor waiting below, and a lunch is being put 
 up at a very good place where we'll stop on our way. If
 
 A BRIDGE BUILDER 91 
 
 you'll permit me I'm simply going to take charge of things 
 and carry you both off for the day and evening. I think I 
 can plan a programme which will prove sufficiently refreshing 
 to justify my being high-handed about it." 
 
 "I think we're both glad to have you high-handed," Alex- 
 andra assured him. She had never liked John Kirkwcod so 
 well as she did to-day. After her struggles during three days 
 to handle the difficult problem of Mary's breakdown for 
 such she felt it to be it was a tremendous relief to hand it 
 over, if only for a day, to this capable man who evidently 
 meant to take things in hand, man fashion, and dispose of all 
 difficulties. 
 
 Kirkwood carried a well-stuffed brief-case and a couple 
 of books besides. 
 
 "I've picked up several good things in my absence," he 
 remarked, as they fled uptown in a large closed car so shin- 
 ingly new and luxurious that it betrayed no sign of having 
 been hired. "These two books I'll engage will keep even 
 surh an exacting critic as you absorbed while Mary and I go 
 over whatever affairs she has in mind. I've some matters 
 of my own I want to consult her about, as well, if she'll give 
 me the chance. Your coming couldn't have been more 
 timely. I was just 'wishin' to go a-fishin" and that with 
 Mary Fletcher herself." 
 
 His eyes met Mary's. He himself had been away upon a 
 vacation, preceding the interesting business trip from which 
 he had just returned, and she had rarely seen him looking so 
 well. The usual tired lines were gone from his face; his lean, 
 long body had filled out by a matter of many pounds; his 
 colour was that of the outdoor life he had been for the most 
 part living for a month. Even his clothes, to eyes for the last 
 half year grown accustomed to the somewhat careless dress- 
 ing of the average man in the small college town, were re- 
 freshing to note.
 
 92 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "You don't look as if you'd ever gone fishing in your life, 
 except for authors," Mary observed. 
 
 "Ah, that's my new suit, of which I'm inordinately proud 
 because my tailor had to let his tape-line slip along a couple 
 of extra inches over my chest and expressed his surprise 
 thereat. Even though by December I've shrunk to emacia- 
 tion again I shall comfort myself by taking a look at these 
 clothes, hanging in my press, and telling myself that what 
 has been can be again next midsummer vacation." 
 
 But he didn't tell her what he was thinking that if she 
 didn't stop growing thin and worn she would some day lose 
 her look of enchanting youth which had thus far, through 
 all her days of work and experience, merely grown inter- 
 estingly mature. As yet she was touchingly attractive in 
 these signs of harassment and fatigue. But he knew full 
 well that all too soon there might come upon her that fatal 
 change which marks the borderline between two well-defined 
 stages of life, across which there is no going back. How to 
 arrest her progress toward that line had been uppermost in his 
 mind ever since he had set eyes upon her to-day.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A CHALLENGE 
 
 IRKWOOD could hardly have chosen 
 a cleverer course than that which he 
 now pursued. He wanted to get Mary 
 out of the hot city, and yet the open 
 country was not his goal. She had 
 had enough, he considered, of Nature 
 unshaven and unshorn, of wildwood 
 and rocky glen. An ordered Nature, 
 an out-of-doors trimmed and finished, 
 remindful of the resources of the city's 
 wealth this must be the setting for 
 their day together. The car flew to- 
 ward a certain great estate, the for- 
 mer home of one of the names of 
 American history, closed to the gen- 
 eral public, the picturesque old man- 
 sion unoccupied except by a caretaker. 
 Kirkwood was confident, however, of 
 securing permission to spend the day 
 in the grounds, and even to take his 
 guests into the distinguished old 
 house, full of relics and of suggestion. 
 "Oh, what a delightful spot!" 
 Mary cried when presently she found 
 herself established on a velvety green 
 bank under magnificent spreading 
 trees, the blue river lying broad be- 
 93
 
 94 FOURSQUARE 
 
 neath her feet, with gray-green shores beyond. Behind her, 
 the ivy-covered stone walls of the famous mansion made a 
 background, when she turned her head, for the figures of her 
 two friends. A caretaker, with a large fee in his pocket, had 
 brought out quaint chairs and table, a rug and cushions. 
 Mary felt a little like a princess, with anything she might de- 
 sire at her disposal. For the moment care dropped away from 
 her; she found herself wishing to see the contents of the 
 hamper which had come on board before they left the city. 
 The place from which it had been brought out had been a 
 guarantee of those contents. 
 
 "Hungry?" asked John Kirkwood blithely, the second 
 time he caught Mary's glance wandering toward the hamper. 
 
 "Famished! Isn't it time to eat? I haven't wanted food 
 for ages; now I can hardly wait." 
 
 "Good! We'll get to it at once. I hope they've put in 
 what will appeal to us." 
 
 He had spared no pains, it became evident, to suit what 
 he had guessed might be a capricious taste. As she ate de- 
 licious food, and drank pleasing iced beverages, Mary began 
 to feel the weight upon her spirits lift a little. It certainly 
 was comforting to be so considered and cared for, and some- 
 how to have such a man as Kirkwood taking such thought for 
 her was subtly flattering. It suddenly occurred to her that 
 she had never quite appreciated, in her past association with 
 him in the great city, how really pleasing he was in personal 
 appearance, not to consider how agreeable were his man- 
 ner and speech. Just once, as she sat listening to his enter- 
 taining talk, the image of Mark Fenn came into her mind. 
 The contrast between the two men struck her afresh as that 
 between the man who lives his life closely in touch with hu- 
 man affairs and interest, and him who remains secluded in a 
 small world of thought and limited action. Mark Fenn had 
 told her he would "stand by." Could he possibly know how
 
 A CHALLENGE 95 
 
 to give her even the beginning of such a sense of well-being 
 and comradeship as could this man who smiled at her across 
 the little feast he had made for her, and with whom she was 
 about to have a conference such as would she knew it al- 
 ready clarify for her her befogged and labouring brain 
 and make her want to work again? Hardly! There could 
 be but one answer to that. She told herself that Mark Fenn 
 didn't know even the alphabet of the language which John 
 Kirkwood could speak with ease. 
 
 The hamper was repacked and set away. Kirkwood made 
 Miss Warren comfortable, pointed out certain outstanding 
 chapters in the books he was leaving with her, tucked a rug 
 and a cushion under his arm and frankly asked: 
 
 "Are you game, dear lady, to be left a considerable while? 
 I've a notion we shall be rather likely to forget how time is 
 passing while we talk shop. But we sha'n't be far away a 
 a call will bring us even though we're out of sight. I want 
 Mary to forget all sense of duty, even to your kind self." 
 
 "You need have none at all." Alexandra Warren settled 
 herself, too accustomed to this role to resent it, and too anx- 
 ious for Mary's welfare not to welcome it, even though it 
 obviously made of herself a mere accessory. 
 
 A few rods farther up the river, in a spot still more coolly 
 secluded by heavy tree growth than that of the lunching 
 place, though open at one point to the river sparkling in the 
 sunlight, Kirkwood spread his rug and placed his cushion. 
 
 "How would you like to take a little sleep while I smoke a 
 pipe not far away and keep guard ?" he suggested. "Wouldn't 
 you be fitter for our confab for a bit of rest first ? We've all 
 been talking rather uninterruptedly." 
 
 Mary dropped upon the rug, took off her hat, and laid her 
 head upon the cushion it was of a rich blue and made a 
 pleasant background, as she had already noted that it would. 
 Her fondness for colour was strong, a fact of which Kirk-
 
 96 FOURSQUARE 
 
 wood was not unaware. The caretaker had offered him a 
 choice of cushions. 
 
 "I'd love it for just a few minutes." Mary smiled up at 
 him. She felt more like herself than she had been for many 
 weeks. "I'll just play sleep, for the length of one pipe 
 and then please come back." 
 
 "You tempt me to pack it lightly," he said, as he strolled 
 away. 
 
 When he glanced back, from a discreet distance through 
 the trees, he noted with satisfaction how completely the 
 slender figure seemed to have relaxed upon the rug with the 
 arms thrown back and clasped above the head, the face 
 turned upward. He thought she was probably staring up 
 into the heavy green leafage above and knew that if it were 
 so not even sleep could be better medicine for a mind ill at 
 ease. For that Mary's mind was just now a stronghold for 
 ravaging discomfort he had read at the first glance. 
 
 "I want," said John Kirkwood slowly, "to tell you a 
 story." 
 
 He lay stretched on his side upon the turf, at Mary's feet, 
 his head propped upon his hand. He was looking at the 
 blue water shimmering in the distance between the low drop- 
 ping branches of the great oaks beneath which the consul- 
 tation had been held. 
 
 Consultation ? Rather had it been a clinic, or so both had 
 felt without saying so. Kirkwood, however, had not made a 
 complete diagnosis; for the present he was postponing opera- 
 tion. 
 
 Mary had made almost a clean breast of it she could not 
 do otherwise. He knew now as nearly as she could tell him 
 how deeply despair had laid hold upon her. The one thing 
 she had not told him could not bring herself to it was the 
 humiliating fact of her dependence upon himself. If he
 
 A CHALLENGE 97 
 
 had guessed this feature of her trouble he had shown no 
 sign. 
 
 "It's a long story," he said and filled his pipe again 
 with a word of apology. " I can talk better," he explained. 
 
 "You always could. It's a tremendous advantage." 
 
 He began with deliberation of speech, sketching in the 
 background of his story. He did this vividly, with few 
 words, as a skilful reporter might. Then he began to tell the 
 tale. 
 
 As it went forward, presently he drew himself up to a sitting 
 position, though his eyes still remained upon the sparkling 
 blue water through the trees. Then, suddenly, having 
 reached a point in the story where events began to quicken, 
 situations to develop, characters to strengthen, he began to 
 speak faster, and now and again he glanced at his listener. 
 He found her eyes upon him with a peculiar intensity of gaze, 
 denoting entire concentration. He had been a little doubt- 
 ful, when he had begun, whether he could secure this. She 
 had been so absorbed in her own troubles, he had feared lest 
 he could not obtain complete control of her attention. It 
 was very necessary to his purpose to do this, and as he now 
 received assurance that he had succeeded, his ability to 
 speak effectively increased. 
 
 He got to his feet and stood before her, leaning against 
 a tree-trunk, his pipe grasped by the bowl, its fires extinct. 
 He needed no other stimulation now than that of her intent 
 interest. With all the art at his command he brought his 
 recital along toward its climax, each minor crisis a dramatic 
 triumph in itself, the whole effect growing in power with each 
 successive unfolding of the extraordinary plot. As he came 
 to the final scenes he lost himself in his own absorption in his 
 theme. He became actor as well as speaker; unconscious 
 slight gestures with the hand which held the pipe bowl, 
 changes of facial and vocal expression illuminating the drama
 
 98 FOURSQUARE 
 
 of his conclusion till, as he ended, he was as a man inspired, 
 the fires he had lighted in his own imagination glowing in his 
 every aspect. Quite of himself, thus, apart from the story 
 he had told, he had become an irresistible object of interest. 
 As for the story itself 
 
 For a minute, after the telling had ended, the two pairs of 
 eyes continued to look into each other, each held by the pro- 
 found impression of the story's climax. Then Mary's eyes 
 dropped and Kirkwood turned away to stride off among the 
 trees for a few paces. Wheeling, he came back, to see her 
 pressing both hands over her eyes, a great breath swelling her 
 throat. 
 
 He dropped upon the ground again and lay silent, his own 
 pulses racing. The tale had gripped him in the telling be- 
 yond any anticipation he could have had of such effect upon 
 himself. What the hearing had done to Mary Fletcher he 
 could guess from his past knowledge of her, and his present 
 recognition of her stirred and shaken state. Emotionally 
 unstrung as he had known her to be, and as she had shown 
 herself in her own recital, he realized that he had taken 
 advantage, as he had never so ventured to do before, of her 
 susceptibility to approach. To put it as it really was, he 
 had come nearer to breaking down her guard than he had ever 
 done indeed, for the moment, she seemed to have no guard 
 at all. 
 
 He left it to her to end the long silence. It took some 
 time for her to reach the point where she could speak. 
 
 "Where did you get that story?" she asked at last, with 
 some constraint. 
 
 He smiled. He wouldn't have been human if it hadn't 
 given him pleasure to answer that question. But he tried to 
 answer it with modesty. He hadn't known quite how good 
 the thing was till he had tried it on this ideal listener. It 
 was like drawing a new bow one had made across the strings
 
 A CHALLENGE 99 
 
 of a perfect violin the tone had been unexpectedly rich and 
 vibrant. 
 
 "I've been working it out for a long time," he explained. 
 "Somehow I had to do it I couldn't get away from it." 
 
 "I shouldn't think you could. Do you mean it is all 
 yours?" 
 
 He nodded. "A poor thing, but mine own. No I 
 won't pretend I think it poor it got hold of me too deeply 
 for that. But until you heard it I wasn't so sure. I wanted 
 your reaction to it. I had it. So now I know there's some- 
 thing in it." 
 
 "You are going to write it?" 
 
 It was his cue to delay the answer to that. It was for 
 his advantage to keep her in suspense a little longer. He 
 filled and lighted his pipe once more, first knocking out the 
 heel. A man may always do this before he speaks somehow 
 a woman always excuses the delay. Kirkwood performed 
 the ceremony with deliberation, while Mary watched each 
 motion of his slim, lean hands. When finally he spoke it was 
 after a succession of puffs and through an ascending cloud of 
 blue-gray smoke. 
 
 " I wish I could write it, but it's as impossible as any of 
 the labours of Hercules." 
 
 "But you could conceive it!" 
 
 He nodded. "That's different. It's my trade to study 
 construction to criticize it to delight in it. But I 
 could no more put that book on paper it should make 
 a book of good size than I could build this oak beside 
 us." 
 
 "I don't see why." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you do. I beg your pardon, but you do see, 
 you know. To change the simile I've only hewn out the 
 marble till I got a general outline, in the mass, of the figure I'd 
 like to see. It will take the sculptor the artist to chip
 
 ioc FOURSQUARE 
 
 away the rest with a thousand delicate strokes and leave the 
 perfect form." 
 
 "Oh, but you've dreamed the dream!" Her eyes were 
 dark with envy. 
 
 " Have I ? You don't know what a great big thrill it gives 
 me to hear that from you!" 
 
 He smiled at her but he met no answering smile. 
 
 "You've dreamed the dream you've seen the vision. 
 You've created a wonderful, wonderful thing ' 
 
 "Ah, but it's not created yet. A dream isn't 
 
 "It's everything. It's the whole thing really. Making 
 it live in words is nothing comparatively if you once have 
 the thought the plan that stirs you. Why if in all these 
 months I'd had that great idea of yours " 
 
 "Mary, you forget. It's the long drudgery that tells. 
 If it were as simple as that, I'd have written the book myself. 
 It's not as simple as that. It's as difficult and long as art." 
 
 "Oh, but it's a glorious road to take, once you know the 
 goal. Who would mind plodding climbing struggling-^ 
 up the hill of work, if you knew that was over the top ? Not 
 I!" 
 
 "Then write my book!" 
 
 Her startled glance leaped to his. He was not smiling 
 now his intent look met her halfway and held her. 
 
 "Oh h " There can be no way of expressing literally 
 
 the strange little wailing sound which escaped her lips. It 
 was as if some starving thing were suddenly shown food 
 through a glass, darkly. 
 
 He was very gentle with her. "Please don't be fright- 
 ened at the idea. I know it's sheer presumption of me to 
 think of it " 
 
 "Oh h " It was the wailing note again. "Oh 
 
 don't." 
 
 "You mean you wouldn't want even to consider taking
 
 A CHALLENGE 101 
 
 my outline?" He knew that wasn't what she meant. "You 
 couldn't be absorbed in it for yourself?" 
 
 "Absorbed! But I couldn't do it!" 
 
 " Couldn't do it ! If you mean you're not equal to it why, 
 that's nonsense. You could do it magnificently. I don't 
 know of any one who could do it so well. Why, Mary the 
 central figure Olivia is just yourself! You'd have only 
 to live the part. Don't you recognize her? If you don't, 
 then I've told the story badly." 
 
 This brought her up short. She considered it breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 "You see?" He pressed his advantage. "You would 
 have only to live and breathe the character of Olivia so 
 to speak. Use your own reactions to your own experience 
 and then carry them on logically to Olivia's conclusions. 
 
 As for Broughton, well " And he paused, watching her 
 
 downcast face with its rapidly changing expressions. "If I 
 
 might dare to serve as a suggestion of him, for your use 
 
 Or am I too old too cut and dried " 
 
 She looked at him then and her lips curved into a hint of a 
 laugh. "You are Broughton" she said. 
 
 "Well, then don't you see? When you came to a place 
 where it might be difficult to work out the psychology of 
 their relations, you would have only to put it up to Mary 
 Fletcher and John Kirkwood, and let them take a day oIF 
 and have it out. I know this sounds horribly egoistic and 
 perhaps melodramatic not to say impossible, and yet I 
 have a strong feeling that we could work together in that way, 
 and perhaps produce something that neither of us could 
 quite do separately." 
 
 "You mean collaboration ?" She suddenly put the ques- 
 tion as if it had just occurred to her that he might want to see 
 his name with hers upon the title page of a book thus evolved. 
 He wondered what else she could call a product the whole
 
 102 FOURSQUARE 
 
 scheme for which he was to furnish. Yet it was clear that 
 this thought gave her pause. He made haste to relieve her 
 mind, recognizing that he had touched her pride and that he 
 must make concession to it for the present, at least. 
 
 "If I might have a share," he said quietly, ''a most happy 
 share in any work of yours, by means of any help in my power, 
 direct or indirect, I should be quite content. As an editor, 
 you must know I have long been used to doing creative work 
 vicariously through suggestion to other minds, fitted as mine 
 is not for the actual coinage of invention. And you will 
 let me say this: I've never known a creative mind through 
 which I should so like to make this vicarious expression of 
 my own as yours. It seems to me that if I may so put it 
 my mind and yours articulate" 
 
 She sat staring out at the river, through the trees. As the 
 afternoon had advanced the light had changed and deepened. 
 Where the blue waters had sparkled earlier in the day there 
 now lay long shadows of indigo and darkest green, with pur- 
 ple edges outlining the opposite shore far across. Hours had 
 gone by since Alexandra had been left alone with her books; 
 Mary had forgotten that she existed. If Kirkwood remem- 
 bered it made no difference to his plan of action. Hours 
 like these were not to be cut short by any recognition of social 
 duties. Let the duenna wait. As Mary's friend, for what 
 else had she come? 
 
 He sat so still he might have been carved out of stone, 
 while Mary looked away into space; well he knew that she 
 was seeing nothing of the scene before her. He had said all 
 there was any use in saying that he readily divined. He 
 had sown the seed if it was to spring up at all he would not 
 have long to wait. Mary was in no mood to deliberate. She 
 would come to a decision soon, he was sure, for very inability 
 to stand the strain put upon her judgment and her will. 
 That he had tempted her powerfully he knew it had been
 
 A CHALLENGE 103 
 
 in the wail of her tense voice. She was so hungry for the 
 renewal of her ability to work that she was vulnerable now 
 where once she would have been watchful against any de^ 
 clared alliance which threatened her independence, her ac* 
 knowledged and outward independence. He thought she 
 could not possibly have realized quite all that she had owed 
 him from the beginning, nor understand that the new relation 
 between them would be only a step further along the road 
 of virtual mental subjection than the old. 
 
 Suddenly a question from her surprised him; made him sit 
 up tensely. 
 
 "Would you want to carry out every detail of the story > 
 just as you sketched it?" 
 
 "You mean there's something about it you don't ap-> 
 prove?" 
 
 "I mean there were places in it that seemed to me to 
 a little forgive me, please degrade the whole." 
 
 "You don't feel that they were logically a part of the 
 whole and so couldn't be omitted?" 
 
 "I've been brought up to feel," she said, steadily more 
 steadily than he would have thought possible just now - 
 "that it's justifiable to introduce immorality only if it's 
 made unlovely. Of course," she went on hurriedly, "I 
 think the whole conception wonderfully fine otherwise I 
 shouldn't be attracted by it. But the part where Sylvia 
 and Julian are together for so long You see," she stum- 
 bled over it "as you told it I got rather the idea that you 
 
 didn't mind about it that you thought it " Here 
 
 she stopped and the colour rose in her face. But her eyes 
 met his frankly. 
 
 He gave her back the look with a frankness apparently as 
 great as her own, though inside he was laughing a little, and 
 saying to himself "You beautiful little Puritan! And I 
 love you for it, too ! "
 
 104 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "I feel," he said, as gravely as though he felt grave about 
 it, "that it isn't always necessary for the true artist to de- 
 pict only the phases of life which have the approval of the 
 Ten Commandments. If he can give a faithful picture of the 
 other side, if only to prove that he sees there is another side, 
 and is not blind to it, it seems to me worth while. If your 
 reader thinks you never dare to picture vice, will your por- 
 traiture of virtue be unfailingly convincing? And in my 
 scheme for this book don't you think the fine relation 
 between Olivia, and Broughlon will be more than a foil for the 
 questionable one between the other two? Will the reader 
 need to have a 'Look on this picture, then on that!' to point 
 the moral for him?" 
 
 She considered it, her brows drawn together. 
 
 "It all depends, I think," she said, "on the way it is done." 
 
 "Of course it does! And in putting it into your hands I 
 should know you'd handle such a situation as the one we're 
 discussing with just those fine shades of discrimination which 
 would redeem it from sordidness " 
 
 "I shouldn't want to redeem it from sordidness," she said 
 quickly. "It is sordid; it should be made to seem so. 
 That's precisely my point. As you told that part of the 
 story you unconsciously, of course made it poetry. I 
 don't think that's fair! I shouldn't be willing to do it." 
 
 He saw that on this point he couldn't confuse her with 
 words that he must make the concession; that in spite of 
 her longing to attempt this new and fascinating task her con- 
 science that conscience which he knew must have received 
 its training from a father and mother whose life-work had 
 been the looking after the minds and morals of the young 
 must be satisfied at the very start that it should never have 
 to impeach her for her methods. 
 
 "Mary," he said and the expression on his face lent sin- 
 cerity to his words "we shall never quarrel over your
 
 A CHALLENGE 105 
 
 i 
 resolution to keep your work up to the standards you have 
 
 set for yourself. I should be the last man in the world to 
 want you to descend a step from the plane where you are now. 
 If you'll write this book, you shall do it in your own way. 
 I'll be satisfied if you'll let a logical realism be its basis a 
 logical realism, I say, mind you. You need poetize nothing 
 that should be told in unblinking prose if you'll just be 
 willing" and he looked keenly at her "not to idealize 
 when truth and real art demand that you draw no veils over 
 that which should be told. As for the poetry you can't 
 help putting that in and not for anything would I have you 
 leave it out. Now will you trust me? And will you " 
 
 He left the direct question unconcluded, except as his 
 eagerness for the answer was in the inflection with which he 
 began to ask it. 
 
 Mary rose to her feet and stood looking off again at the 
 blue and purple shadows, while Kirkwood watched her. She 
 did not look like the Mary who had come with him to this 
 spot, her appearance had so changed and lifted with her re- 
 lief from her lonely search for light. Her eyes were the eyes 
 of one who vividly perceives a means of escape from threaten- 
 ing disaster. When she turned to him at length he found 
 himself wanting to put both arms around her, as if she had 
 been a child who was showing both her need of him and her 
 faith in him. There is nothing that can so move a man to 
 tenderness as that. 
 
 "I think," she said, "I must say yes. I feel like one who 
 has come up against a stone wall, with the tide rushing in be- 
 hind, and no way through the wall. And then suddenly you 
 have shown me a way through just one way. I must take 
 it or be swallowed up." 
 
 "Is it really like that to you?" he said, very gently. He 
 took her outstretched hand and held it close. "Just a way 
 through a wall ? Well, then I want you to believe that on
 
 106 FOURSQUARE 
 
 the other side of the wall lies that glorious road you spoke 
 of a while back, and that I can walk along it with you." 
 
 A sudden light of mischief touched Mary's lips. "Ah, 
 who's poetizing now?" she suggested. "Nobody knows 
 better than you that the road will be the hardest the rock- 
 iest I ever tried if I can even walk on it at all." 
 
 "You can and find the way smoothing out under your 
 feet." 
 
 They went back to Miss Warren at last, their sense of 
 guilt at their long desertion growing as they approached. 
 But to their relief they found a cheerful lady just emerging 
 from the old mansion, through which a proud and pleased 
 caretaker had lingeringly shown her, both apparently quite 
 content. 
 
 "And now," said Kirkwood, blithely, as he led his com- 
 panions back to the car, "we'll have no more of solitude. 
 I've a little programme for the evening which looks pretty 
 good to me I hope it will to you." 
 
 He took them to a wayside inn overlooking the river where 
 they dined upon attractive food and rested in comfortable 
 chairs upon a sheltered balcony until dusk and evening fell. 
 At a moment when Kirkwood had left them Mary held a 
 brief dialogue with her friend. 
 
 "It's all right, Sandy. Don't you see the difference in 
 me?" 
 
 Alexandra, thus invited, scanned the face before her 
 closely, while Mary smiled back at her. 
 
 "I see you still on tension, dear. I hope it's with a differ- 
 ence." 
 
 "All the difference in the world. There was no use being 
 on tension before. There is now. I've got something big 
 to do." 
 
 "I'm very glad if you are." 
 
 "Oh, I am. It's growing on me. I'm thrilled with it
 
 A CHALLENGE 107 
 
 and a little frightened but not much. Anyhow, it's a 
 different sort of fright like dreading to plunge off into cold 
 water. But, if you can swim it's only the plunge you're 
 dreading not being drowned." 
 
 Her friend might make what she could of this analogy, for 
 Kirkwood was with them again. Things moved swiftly after 
 that. They were in the car again, flying up the highway in 
 the summer darkness lighted by a thousand lights. Then 
 they were on the ferry, crossing a dusky river, with more 
 lights all about reflected in the water, and the cooling breeze 
 in their faces. Then the road again, in a procession of cars, 
 and a long string of approaching headlights facing them. 
 And at the end of the road their own car turned smoothly 
 in between massive gateposts, lighted fantastically with 
 great parti-coloured globes and hung with flowery garlands. 
 
 Kirkwood explained. "It's a big countryside festival 
 an annual affair given by the Ainsboroughs. Everybody is 
 asked; there are no personal invitations sent out, except to 
 close friends. There's everything doing all over the estate, 
 and no rules, except that there must be no disorder. The 
 society people think it a great lark join in the entertaining, 
 and seem to have the time of their lives performing in all 
 sorts of shows for the crowd. There'll be a circus, for one 
 thing it'll be worth seeing, judging by last year." 
 
 "Do you know the Ainsboroughs?" Mary asked, a little 
 dubiously, Kirkwood thought. He hastened to reassure her. 
 
 "I know two or three of them the younger son pretty 
 well. He writes a bit, and likes to hang around my office 
 when the mood takes him. Nice chap. He first brought 
 me up here two years ago. It's rather a fascinating carnival, 
 take it on all sides. The music and the people are worth 
 coming for, anyhow. I thought, after our serious after- 
 noon and decorous dinner, you might enjoy letting out a 
 little."
 
 108 FOURSQUARE 
 
 " I'm sure we should if you think such clothes as these 
 we're wearing will do." 
 
 "Oh, there's no dressing for this. You'll find your hosti 
 in sports clothes, and only a few aspiring neighbours of the 
 newly rich type wearing evening things. There'll be dancing 
 
 in a pavilion with a gorgeous orchestra " He gave 
 
 Mary Fletcher a laughing, penetrating glance. "Have you 
 danced once in your college town?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mary and smiled. "Once. Or twice. I 
 forget which. I mean on two separate occasions." 
 
 "With the college faculty?" 
 
 She laughed outright, as a memory came to her. "Some 
 of it. It dances demurely." 
 
 "I'll wager it does. Well, a turn or two on the Ainsbor- 
 ough floor won't hurt you." 
 
 "I didn't know you danced." 
 
 "How should you? knowing me only in an editorial ca- 
 pacity. To tell the truth, I was pretty well behind the times 
 till an obliging girl at a place where I spent part of my vaca- 
 tion took me in hand. I assure you I know all the latest 
 steps up to a fortnight ago." 
 
 Mary's eyes were sparkling. Alexandra Warren's wert 
 like a girl's for interest. The scene they were approaching 
 beckoned alluringly. The whole area enclosing the im- 
 mense stretch of lawn lying immediately before the imposing 
 house was given over to the various tents, stages, and smaller 
 stands which at country fairs contain the various forms of 
 entertainment; only in the present instance the performers, 
 " barkers," food dispensers, and the rest were people of an- 
 other class than those to be found in country fairs. Long 
 strings of vari-coloured electric lamps made all as light as day; 
 an expensive orchestra alternated with an amateur band in 
 furnishing real music and an amusing imitation of the blare 
 and boom of the rustic performers of remote regions. Every-
 
 A CHALLENGE 109 
 
 where were light and colour and gay sounds, shot through 
 with laughter. 
 
 "Oh, this is a joy!" Mary exclaimed as an hour after their 
 arrival the three came out of a great striped red-and-white 
 marquee in which they had been watching several note- 
 worthy people of much social distinction produce a bit of 
 vaudeville not unworthy the professional stage. "I don't 
 know when I've been so amused and charmed." 
 
 "That's partly because it really was a clever little show, 
 and still more because it's so long since you've seen anything 
 to satisfy the need of being amused and charmed," Kirkwood 
 declared. "One reason why your imagination's gone stale 
 as you've said it has is because you haven't had any- 
 thing sparkling and scintillating to stimulate it. But I 
 didn't mean to lecture any more. Come what do you say 
 to a dance in that orange-and-gold pavilion? The music's 
 enough to pull your feet over there in spite of yourself, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 It seemed to Mary Fletcher that never in her life had she 
 so wanted to dance! It took but a minute to find a pleasant 
 spot in a sort of improvised balcony for the sitters-out and to 
 establish Miss Warren there. Kirkwood had suddenly re- 
 membered to ask her, and even to urge her, against her smil- 
 ing refusal, to give him the first dance. Released from all 
 obligation he turned away with Mary, himself keener for 
 the coming hour than it seemed to him he had ever been for 
 any similar experience. To dance with Mary Fletcher he 
 didn't quite know what that was going to be. And yet he 
 really hadn't much doubt that it might be a little better than 
 a first reading of her best work! 
 
 After the first ten steps he had no doubt whatever. Where 
 had she learned it? he wondered. Himself a late pupil of a 
 most accomplished young person, as he had frankly con- 
 fessed a most fascinating young person also, as he had not
 
 i io FOURSQUARE 
 
 confessed he yet found the author an artist in another line 
 altogether. 
 
 "You're a wonder!" he murmured, with undisguised ap- 
 proval. His glance rested upon her with new absorption. 
 "My word I never knew anything quite equal to dancing 
 with you. How does it happen? And how thankful I am 
 for my late grooming. Otherwise I should have been step- 
 ping like a fatherly hippopotamus before your little feet 
 very likely stepping on them!" 
 
 "You dance beautifully," Mary assured him. Now in- 
 deed she was a new creature. As if it had been a wine which 
 had gone to her head, the music was setting every pulse on 
 fire. All in five circlings of the pavilion floor she had be- 
 come a creature so radiant it seemed impossible that she could 
 have been a partner in the sober discussions of the afternoon. 
 Kirkwood looked down upon her and marvelled. Was it 
 possible that he didn't even yet know Mary Fletcher as she 
 really was ? 
 
 "Where did you get it?" he asked again. "Not in edi- 
 tor's offices, nor in city libraries nor in canteens in France." 
 
 "That's exactly where I did get it in France. For months 
 I was team-mate with a young French girl who was detailed 
 to take me about the camps and canteens. She was a pro- 
 fessional dancer, and she used to dance with and for the boys 
 wherever we went. Naturally I learned a little from her." 
 
 " I should say you did. . . . Here we go again Ah, this 
 is a waltz. I always liked waltzes. They were more popu- 
 lar in my early dancing days than they are now. . . . 
 Come, Mary my dear " 
 
 He was a trifle intoxicated himself, as bearing her away 
 with him he caught Mary's low laugh. It was curious, he 
 told himself, that such a hardened old fellow could be as 
 exhilarated as any college boy with the sense of a lovely girl 
 in his arms and the united rhythm of their swaying steps.
 
 A CHALLENGE in 
 
 For that was what Mary seemed now, in spite of her years 
 and honours merely a lovely girl. And yet she had become, 
 since morning, an actual and able partner of his in a serious 
 and difficult enterprise, to which she was to lend herself, 
 mind and soul, for at least the coming year. He had reason 
 indeed for his headiness! 
 
 "I'm a lucky dog," said Mr. John Kirkwood to himself, 
 as he skilfully guided this partner of his through the ever- 
 increasing difficulties of a floor becoming more and more 
 crowded. "And it's up to me to clinch things while the iron 
 is hot and the music's in our blood." 
 
 He led her away, when the waltz was over, and down a 
 dimly lighted path through the shrubbery, already discovered 
 by several other promenading couples. But he took care 
 not to get beyond the magic of those inebriating violins. 
 
 "Mary," he said, when they had walked in silence for a 
 minute or two, "when will you come back to town ?" 
 
 She looked up in surprise. "Why, when my year with 
 Aunt Sara is up." 
 
 "Do you think you can write that book away from me ?" 
 
 "You you could come up and see me, now and then 
 couldn't you?" Her voice sounded a trifle abstracted. He 
 thought perhaps her perceptions were still back there with the 
 violins. 
 
 "Once in several weeks, perhaps not oftener. Would 
 that be enough ? Think of the plot of it of the rush of it. 
 Could you get into the spirit of it all, walking alone along 
 your country roads in November?" 
 
 "I shall have to try." Evidently she was disturbed. In 
 the light of a great rose-and-blue Japanese lantern they 
 were passing, her face showed sober again. He hated to 
 take the light out of it, and yet he felt that if he could ever 
 convince her that she must come back to be at her best, his 
 chance was now.
 
 H2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Remember," he bade her, "how you have struggled and 
 worked in vain, up there in the country. The atmosphere 
 there for you isn't the atmosphere you need. Do you 
 venture to go back into it and stay ? The psychology of it 
 the influence the suggestion they're all, just now, for you, 
 of failure. Here, in the Big Town, they'll be all of success 
 again. It's worth taking into account, isn't it ? Let me look 
 you up another apartment, persuade Miss Warren to return 
 with you, go back and let your nice little aunt give a farewell 
 party for you, and then be settled in here for work by the 
 first of October. Six months in the country is enough. Six 
 months in the city will see you with the book half done. 
 Come tell me I'm right. You know I am! " 
 
 Mary tried to say she wouldn't do it she really tried. 
 But the words wouldn't come. A sob rose in her throat the 
 violins were throbbing in a most seductive air there was a 
 hint of a cry in them, too. She had been through so much, 
 during all these weeks and months, was so tired of the long, 
 barren effort. This whole day had been such a contrast to 
 all that the warmth, the kindness of it the friendly 
 strength offered her to lean upon when she felt so weak. John 
 Kirkwood's plan for her was a wonderful one, his scheme for 
 work one to grip her from first to last. But to carry it out 
 wasn't he right? that she must come back to town, where 
 she could see him, consult with him, as often as she needed 
 him. And wasn't and perhaps this was the most compelling 
 thought of all wasn't it due him that if she accepted from 
 him this great gift of an idea, with no conditions attached, 
 she should do the task in his way, let him advise and suggest 
 all through, as he could do only if she were close at hand ? 
 
 "Please say you will," said Kirkwood's persuasive voice 
 in her ear. " Say you will, even if you can't wholly see it. 
 I promise you, you shan't regret it." 
 
 So Mary promised with a queer little sinking of the heart
 
 A CHALLENGE 113 
 
 she couldn't wholly account for. But Kirkwood, after his 
 first joyful outbreak "You little trump now I promise 
 you more! I promise you, you shall win!" left her no time 
 for reconsideration or regret, but took her back to the pavil- 
 ion. Here, with the first strains of the most alluring dance 
 music of that season, he quite literally swept her off her feet. 
 For him it was indeed a dance of triumph. 
 
 Back at their hotel, hours later, Alexandra and Mary 
 found a slip under their door announcing the arrival of a 
 special delivery letter for Miss Fletcher at the office below. 
 At Mary's order it was sent up. It bore the Newcomb post- 
 mark, but the handwriting was one Mary didn't recall. With 
 some anxiety she opened it, to find within a few lines only, 
 above a familiar name. Somehow the very sight of that 
 name seemed strange to her, here, at the close of the day she 
 had just passed. 
 
 DEAR MARY FLETCHER: 
 
 I understand that your ship has reached port for repairs, and I 
 am hoping they may be effective in putting her into perfect condition 
 for many successful voyages. But somehow, though I can't con- 
 ceive being needed just now, I can't help standing by, as I told you 
 I should, just outside the harbour. 
 
 Yours, as ever, 
 
 MARK FENN. 
 
 As she read the words, in a clear, rather small hand full of 
 character, the strange little sinking of the heart came back 
 most unexpectedly. And presently it became a well-defined 
 ache in the throat. But the origin of the ache seemed to have 
 nothing to do with the writer of this rather singular message. 
 It was connected more closely with the image of Miss Sara 
 Graham. Mary could see her quite plainly as she would look 
 when she was told that the year of Mary's stay with her had 
 ended with six months!
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 FORKS AND SPOONS 
 
 ARK, it's the first of September. D 
 you know what that means?" 
 
 Harriet Fenn spoke across the 
 breakfast table. Her tone was so de- 
 cidedly that of one making an import- 
 ant announcement that Mark looked 
 up for an instant from scanning the 
 morning headlines. 
 
 "Is it a crisis of some sort?" he 
 inquired, without deep interest. 
 
 "It certainly is. It's the day we 
 always begin the fall housecleaning." 
 
 A smothered ejaculation was fol- 
 lowed by a remonstrance. " It doesn't 
 have to begin to-day. Besides, it's 
 too hot." 
 
 "It has to begin to-day," declared 
 Harriet firmly. "Do you realize that 
 high school opens on the eighth this 
 year? That gives me all too little 
 time, at best. And as I can't get a 
 woman to help me, and as we couldn't 
 afford to have one for a week at three 
 dollars a day anyway, I'll have to de- 
 pend on you. I'm going to begin in 
 your study. Every book has to come 
 off those shelves "
 
 FORKS AND SPOONS 115 
 
 "That's not necessary. We took them all down last 
 year." 
 
 "We didn't take them down last year. You acted like 
 such a bear about it I agreed to letting them go with a dusting 
 shelf by shelf. This year those shelves have got to be cleaned 
 properly, if I do it alone. The room smells musty, and it's 
 because those books need airing." 
 
 Mark groaned. But it was easy enough to see that there 
 was no way out for him. When Harriet laid down the law 
 after this fashion it was small use for a mere man to rebel. 
 The next hour, therefore, found him coatless and collarless, 
 wearing a pair of old trousers, his shirt sleeves rolled up, 
 carrying rows upon rows of books out upon the front porch. 
 He had been instructed with care in the technique of the oper- 
 ation, which was to seize each book by the covers and vigor- 
 ously open and close it several times in succession. It 
 had then to be polished off with a dustcloth. The worst of it 
 was, to Mark's thinking, that even then the cleansing process 
 wasn't considered by Harriet complete, for the dustcloth had 
 tt> come into use a second time, when the book was set upon 
 the shelves, lest its stay upon the porch had caused it to ac- 
 quire a fresh coating. 
 
 " If that's not a work of supererogation, I never saw one," 
 the labourer declared, somewhat testily, when Harriet, hav- 
 ing caught him dusting at one swoop as many of the volumes 
 as he could hold in one hand, expostulated vigorously. "If 
 they've got to get it again individually when they go in, 
 what's the use of fussing about 'em one by one out here ?" 
 
 "Because even so they're not thoroughly clean. You 
 don't want your study to smell like an antique shop, do you ?" 
 
 "I like that booky smell myself," Mark announced. Never- 
 theless, he returned to Harriet's methods at least while her 
 eye was upon him. He worked industriously enough, for 
 the most part, though now and then a book whose contents
 
 ii6 FOURSQUARE 
 
 were unfamiliar caught his eye, and he sneaked a page or 
 two of reading, his ear upon the sounds within. 
 
 He spent a busy week. Nothing short of perfection would 
 suit Harriet, whose housekeeping methods were as thorough 
 as those of her teaching. Toward its close, having sent her 
 brother to the attic with a bundle of goods and waiting in 
 vain for him to return, she followed after. She found Mark 
 sitting on an ancient footstool, before a box of yellowing let- 
 ters, completely absorbed in their contents. The words of 
 hurried recall died upon her lips as he looked up, for his face 
 was full of eagerness. 
 
 "I've found a bundle of Father's letters I've never seen 
 before," he said. "They're perfectly great. I never realized 
 quite so thoroughly what a clear, crisp style he had. Why, 
 instead of sounding like a letter from one of the old fellows it 
 might be any live young instructor in love with his job if 
 such an anomaly could be found. Listen to this " 
 
 He would have read on and on, after that first one, if Har- 
 riet, her energies mastering her emotions, had not recalled 
 him to his task. 
 
 "Bring them down, my dear, and stow them in your fire- 
 place cupboard. Some evening we'll read them together. 
 But just now when I'm hustling to get through " 
 
 "All right. What's the next job ?" 
 
 "Beating the rugs. They're all on the back porch. When 
 they're done, I'll let you off." 
 
 "Heaven be praised!" And Mark followed his sister's 
 blue-gingham skirts down the narrow stairs with the sensa- 
 tions of a small boy about to be let out for a holiday, after 
 one more row of hoeing across a stony field. 
 
 He was staggering back to the house, an hour or more later, 
 under a heavy burden of cleaned rugs and bits of carpet, when 
 a blithe, unexpected voice hailed him. 
 
 "Nothing I've seen in a year does me so much good as this.
 
 FORKS AND SPOONS 117 
 
 Professor Mark Fenn, without his collar, and his hair in 
 frightful disorder ! I know it's unkind of me but I'm so glad 
 to have my friend meet you this way first . " 
 
 It was wicked of Mary Fletcher, but she hadn't been able 
 to resist the temptation. Herself in the trimmest order, to 
 the tight little dotted veil which held every hair in place under 
 her smart small hat, she was laughing across a gay border of 
 scarlet and orange zinnias at the figure presented by Miss 
 Graham's neighbour. Beside her stood Alexandra Warren, 
 equally trim, also smiling, though with a polite reserve of 
 decided contrast to Mary's frank delight. 
 
 The bale of rugs went down with a slump, and Mark's 
 grimy hand thrust back heavy locks from a damp forehead, 
 as he stood still to look, then came forward without too 
 evident reluctance. 
 
 "It certainly is unkind," he agreed heartily, "and I know 
 of no way to punish you adequately except by insisting on 
 shaking hands with you." 
 
 Mary put out a determined hand, from which he drew back. 
 
 "Shake!" she commanded. 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "Then let me present you to Miss Warren. She's been 
 seeing you in her mind's eye as a stern, scholastic figure hewn 
 from granite. This is going to give that preconceived im- 
 pression an awful blow." 
 
 "I hope so. I can conceive of no situation likely to ac- 
 complish that end more thoroughly." 
 
 "Mark!" cried a voice from the rear of the house. 
 
 "That's Harriet. Call her out, please!" demanded Mary. 
 
 "With pleasure " and Mark's own eyes sparkled. Here 
 was revenge on Harriet for this week of slave-driving. 
 
 But even in her working garb Harriet presented a picture of 
 well-ordered efficiency. Her blue gingham was not disreput- 
 ably unclean, for it had been covered by a big apron which
 
 u8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 she hurriedly untied as she saw her fate, dropping it upon the 
 porch. Also she drew working gloves from her firm, strong 
 hands and let them fall upon the apron. Her cheeks were 
 pink, her eyes bright, her welcoming smile unembarrassed. 
 The daughter of David Matthew Fenn was seldom shaken 
 from her poise; it wasn't in her code to show distress over 
 such a simple matter as being caught at work by a stranger. 
 
 Alexandra Warren had not often been more interested in 
 any pair of people than she frankly confessed herself to be at 
 once in this brother and sister. 
 
 "Why," she said to Mary, some time later in the day, 
 when the two were alone together, "they struck me as the 
 most genuine people I've seen in a year. It really was dread- 
 ful of you to make them meet us just then, but they didn't 
 even wince visibly. I liked their faces even with a streak 
 of dirt across the Professor's chin." 
 
 "He hadn't shaved this morning, either," Mary exulted. 
 ''His face was blue as well as dirty. Oh, I know I'm horrid 
 to want to take him down, but if you knew how superior he 
 can be " 
 
 "I fancy he is superior." 
 
 "He certainly is. But I don't like to have him make me 
 feel it. Of course" Mary recalled one or two things at this 
 point which forced her in justice to alter her tone "of 
 course he can be very kind and he has been. But there 
 are moments when he lacks fascination." 
 
 Alexandra laughed. "Fascination!" she repeated. "I 
 should hope he did. I particularly dislike the word in 
 connection with any real man." 
 
 "You'd rather have him blunt and disagreeable. I suppose." 
 
 " Decidedly rather, now and then, at least." 
 
 "I hope you'll have the opportunity to catch him being 
 both/* Mary declared, "though he'll probably be on his 
 guard with you. In one short week there won't be much
 
 FORKS AND SPOONS 119 
 
 chance for either of you to get to know the other as I know 
 you both. But we'll do our best to bring it about." 
 
 She fulfilled her promise. In various ways during that week 
 she managed to throw Mark Fenn and Alexandra Warren 
 together. For her guest she planned a luncheon, a lawn 
 party, and a dinner, and as the people whom she invited to 
 these affairs promptly responded with invitations in return, 
 the time was crowded full. Miss Graham was kept so busy 
 helping Mary play hostess that she hadn't time to sit down 
 and realize her own severe disappointment over her niece's 
 decision to return to the city by the first of October. 
 
 By the end of the week Alexandra was feeling thoroughly 
 at home in the atmosphere of the college town, where she had 
 reciprocated warmly every effort made for her entertainment 
 She had met the Fenns at several of the affairs arranged for 
 her and her acquaintance with them had progressed far more 
 rapidly than had Mary's own at least, so Mary herself 
 assured her. 
 
 "You've seen more of them in this week than I have in any 
 month since I came," Mary asserted, as tihe two were dressing 
 in adjoining rooms for a small dinner which Harriet was giv- 
 ing in honour of them both. "I never knew them to bloom 
 out into such festivity. I don't believe Harriet has given a 
 formal dinner before in all the days of her life." 
 
 "She isn't giving one now," Alexandra protested. "She 
 said distinctly that she wasn't capable of any formal enter- 
 taining. She wanted us to come over for dinner to-night. 
 That's quite different." 
 
 "Not a bit different; it's only her provincial way of putting 
 it. As a matter of fact they never have dinner at night, 
 they call it supper. Oh, no, you're quite mistaken Harriet 
 means it for the real thing. I shouldn't be surprised if she 
 has as big a party as she can get into her small dining-room." 
 
 " But even so you're not going to wear that, are you, my
 
 120 FOURSQUARE 
 
 dear ? " Alexandra was looking in astonishment at her friend, 
 who at the moment appeared in her doorway with a fluff 
 of rose-and-amber tulle descending over her head to settle 
 lightly upon her bare shoulders and but slightly to conceal 
 them. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Why if the occasion is as informal as Miss Fenn gave 
 me to understand, you'll be all alone in a frock like that. By 
 the way I don't seem to know that frock! Did you bring 
 it from Paris?" 
 
 " Bought it in New York last week, when you weren't look- 
 ing. I've been dying to wear it ever since. Isn't it a dream ? " 
 
 "It's lovely, of course. But at none of these parties 
 this week have I seen anything so very decolletee. Are you 
 sure " 
 
 "Oh, I'm simply wild to do something out of the common," 
 Mary declared, with a mischievous glance, as she continued to 
 adjust the details of her attire. "I've worn all my demurest 
 things, like the rest of you, all the week. Even at Aunt 
 Sara's own dinner I put on dull feathers, like a pigeon, to 
 match you. To-night I want to make people sit up. The 
 very incongruity of appearing in the little brown house in a 
 frivolous frock like this is what fascinates me! Don't you 
 see?" 
 
 "I'm afraid you'll disconcert your hostess." 
 
 But Mary only laughed, and coming through into the 
 guest's room pirouetted about it, humming a gay strain. 
 
 "Oh, how I'd like to be going to a dance, instead!" she 
 cried. "What the gray crepe again? It's a dear and 
 becomes you, but I wish it were cut a trifle lower! Your 
 neck's so lovely, it's a pity to show only a sample of it, like 
 that." 
 
 "A whole circle of it, front and back, is quite enough, to 
 my way of thinking," said Alexandra decidedly. "And I
 
 FORKS AND SPOONS 121 
 
 want you to know that this gown was made very specially 
 for me, by a dressmaker whom even you must respect only 
 I've forgotten her name at the moment " 
 
 "It was so long ago?" Mary suggested wickedly. "For- 
 give me it's beautifully smart, and you are perfect in it, 
 with your splendid hair done that way. I've been so proud 
 of you all the week. Only I should like, just for to-night, a 
 stunning thin black of some sort, with a smashing flame- 
 coloured fan " 
 
 "Since I don't own a stunning thin black, at present, nor 
 a flame-coloured fan which would be horrible with my red 
 hair " 
 
 "Your hair isn't red; it's a wonderful dark auburn, as you 
 very well know. And you're absolutely all right so long as 
 you don't frown on my French frock and my shoulders. To 
 tell the truth, I want to startle Mark and Harriet they need 
 it. Besides" and here Mary paused, to proceed after a 
 minute with deliberate play for effect "besides I won't 
 say I'm not a bit jealous! You've been so astonishingly 
 successful, all the week, in keeping everybody interested in 
 you, I've had to retire to the background. Now, being 
 intensely egoistic, I don't like the background a bit, and I 
 don't intend to stay in it. So behold Enter Mary, centre 
 stage^ in evening dress. She comes down to front while Alex- 
 andra slowly retires to left back. Oh, you dear!" Mary 
 left off, laughing, to hug her friend "You know I don't 
 mean it. As I said before, I've been prouder than Punch 
 of you. You're so distinguished-looking beside all the 
 frumpy college people " 
 
 "Mary! Take it back! It's they who look distinguished 
 so much so, some of them, that it doesn't matter at all 
 what they wear. Besides, many of them do wear very charm- 
 ing clothes. The wife of the President " 
 
 " She doesn't wear charming clothes, Sandy ye'i'rp crazy!"
 
 122 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Very well, then she doesn't need to. That fine Intel' 
 lectual face is at its best above just those plain, dark 
 gowns." 
 
 Mary shook her head. "I do believe you've fallen in love 
 with this old town and everybody in it." 
 
 "I admit it," declared Alexandra promptly. 
 
 Over in the brown house Harriet Fenn had been working 
 hard and fast to complete her preparations. An hour before 
 the guests were expected she called Mark to inspect her table. 
 He had been down in the cellar turning the handle of an ice- 
 cream freezer, the last of many duties which had been his this 
 day. The Fenns were among the people who do things for 
 themselves on all occasions, for lack of means to hire them 
 done. Harriet's dinner was of her own construction; though 
 by no means elaborate it had cost her two days of ceaseless 
 energy. 
 
 "How do you think it looks?" she questioned, with some 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Mighty well." Mark's eye roved over the narrow, old- 
 fashioned table, lengthened to its limit. "It looks like every 
 other dressed-up table, to me. I suppose that's what you 
 want." 
 
 "Of course it is, though I'm afraid I can't quite achieve it, 
 with our things. Would you notice where the tablecloth is 
 pieced ? I made it come right where you carve, so the tray- 
 cloth would cover most of it." 
 
 "Never'd see it in the world." 
 
 "We haven't a dozen of anything. But I will not borrow, 
 though Miss Graham offered me anything she has. Her 
 silver's so beautiful I really was tempted but " 
 
 "I'm glad you didn't take it," Mark declared with some 
 sternness. "If we can't entertain on our own stuff we won't 
 do it at all." 
 
 "That's my feeling about it though when it came to find-
 
 FORKS AND SPOONS 123 
 
 ing enough plates for four courses I was hard put to it. 
 Never mind the company will make up for the china. 
 We've never had President Wing before, but I'm not a bit 
 afraid of him, nor of sensible, kind Mrs. Wing, though it's 
 the women who will see every little makeshift. And of 
 course Mary and Miss Warren " 
 
 "Let 'em see. As for Mary and Miss Warren Oh, see 
 
 here, Harry I wouldn't have expected you to get nervous 
 at the last minute, this way. The table looks like the ban- 
 quet table of the gods to me. If any of the goddesses don't 
 like sitting in chairs that don't match they can summon 
 their attendants and go back home." 
 
 Harriet's anxious expression relaxed. "That sounds just 
 like Father," she said. "He never would let us fuss about 
 appearances. And I do know it's a good dinner I've pre- 
 pared, which is the most important thing. Run along and 
 dress, Marky. I'm going to put Miss Warren on your left. 
 Of course Mrs. Wing must sit on your right and you're not 
 to forget to give her half your attention." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am" promised her brother, with a meekness be- 
 lied by the gleam in his eye. "And where are you putting 
 Mary if I may ask?" 
 
 "As far away from you as I can place her," replied Harriet, 
 firmly. "You and she don't get on at all, lately, and I'll 
 not have you striking sparks all through this dinner." 
 
 Mark frowned. "As she's leaving day after to-morrow, 
 you needn't labour too hard to keep us apart. See here," 
 and he turned back to make a journey round the long table, 
 Harriet following protestingly at his elbow "I'm going to 
 shift things a bit." He picked up the plain little place card 
 which designated Mary Fletcher's assignment. "She can 
 change with Mrs. Somers, and come up next Hamilton. 
 Then my end of the table will be livelier and yours more 
 dignified."
 
 I2 4 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Mark! That throws everything out! I want Mary 
 next President Wing, she amuses him so." 
 
 "Let him amuse himself with Mrs. Somers. He doesn't 
 know the faculty wives any too well." 
 
 Harriet couldn't do anything with him and was obliged 
 to let his changes stand. When Mark asserted himself it was 
 useless to oppose him. He went off to dress with a parting 
 command to her not to bother her head about anything, be- 
 cause things were in train for a successful evening and 
 should he wear a white tie or a black one ? 
 
 "Black, of course with your dinner jacket," she reminded 
 him. "You never remember! That poor coat the silk's 
 beginning to wear through." 
 
 "Let it wear. When it's done I'll take to tails for all 
 occasions, like Somers. It's wild extravagance of me to have 
 two dress coats, anyhow, if one is descended from Father. 
 Dear old Dad remember how excited we were when he got 
 it first and how impressive he looked in it?" 
 
 "Yes." Harriet's anxious expression turned to a tender 
 one. "But the tails are much too short for you now and 
 that's why I'm thankful the other coat fills so many places. 
 Be sure to get the right collar, dear!" 
 
 "I'll try. But it's easy to 'mix them childern up!'" 
 And Mark departed in leaps up the short, steep staircase to 
 the small room which had been his since boyhood. He was 
 feeling a peculiar excitement himself at thought of enter- 
 taining under his own unimposing roof the decidedly impos- 
 ing group of guests whom Harriet had selected. Among 
 them was one in particular, lately added to the college faculty, 
 of whom they were all exceedingly proud a tall, lanky, 
 plain-faced Englishman, an Oxford man, a gentleman and a 
 scholar, whose name added lustre to their lists, and whose 
 actual presence, in the college or out of it, gave enjoyment. 
 In moving Mary's place card Fenn had had in mind not
 
 FORKS AND SPOONS 125 
 
 i 
 
 only his own pleasure, but the advantage of having Mary 
 meet this bright particular star of the college firmament. 
 Professor Chilton had but this day returned to the town from 
 his English home to begin his second year at Newcomb; Mark 
 had met him on the street and impulsively invited him to the 
 dinner without waiting to consult Harriet. She had been 
 both honoured and a little fluttered at the news; it had cer- 
 tainly not occurred to her to place Mary next this learned 
 man, though she had heard him spoken of as a delightful 
 companion. As she reviewed the order of her guests once 
 more, when she had dressed and, big apron tied over her sim- 
 ple finery, was attending to finishing touches, she noted 
 again with regret the arrangement Mark had made. 
 
 "With all her cleverness, Mary'll not fit in at Professor 
 Chilton's end of the table at all," she said to herself. 
 "Now Mrs. Somers is really interested in archaeology and 
 could talk with him intelligently. It certainly shows how 
 little judgment a man has when a woman's concerned if 
 she can entertain him he doesn't seem to care much about 
 her brains! Yet, of course, Mary has brains, splendid ones. 
 . . . Oh, I'm glad I don't give dinner parties every day! 
 Much easier to take a high-school class through the hardest 
 parts of Caesar than to make sure everybody has a good time 
 at an affair like this."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 A PARTIAL ECLIPSE 
 
 ARRIET removed her apron in haste 
 and left the table standing in its un- 
 wonted glory, for she had caught a 
 glimpse of Miss Graham and her two 
 guests approaching across the lawn. 
 A minute later, the sight of Mary 
 Fletcher, in her mists of rose-and- 
 amber tulle, made her soberly gowned 
 hostess c atch her breath. 
 
 "Why Mary!" she breathed. 
 
 "Am I too much dressed for your 
 party, Harriet?" laughed Mary, 
 "Aunt Sara and even Sandy Warren 
 say I am. But I wanted to do special 
 honour to the occasion and show 
 you my prettiest frock besides. 
 Don't send me home to change, will 
 
 you 
 
 "I should say not," declared a 
 voice from the stairs above them, as 
 Mark Fenn came running down. "We 
 don't often catch sight of anything so 
 alluring." 
 
 But his eye left her to dwell upon 
 
 the less striking figure of Alexandra 
 
 Warren, whose appearance, none the 
 
 less, left little to be desired. The 
 
 (90
 
 A PARTIAL ECLIPSE 127 
 
 gray crepe, of which Mary had spoken so slightingly, was 
 really an exquisite creation and suited her perfectly; to both 
 Harriet and Mark Fenn she seemed faultlessly dressed as 
 she was and her bearing had already charmed them; all the 
 week they had noted it. Her pleasure in the college town 
 and in the acquaintances she had made had been so frankly 
 evident that it had won for her a welcome as cordial as it was 
 unconstrained. 
 
 When Harriet's guests had all assembled in the none-too- 
 large "parlour" of the little brown house, they elbowed one 
 another rather closely. This room lay across the hall from 
 Mark's study, was seldom used, and was unquestionably a 
 stiff and formal apartment. The one really good and un- 
 questionably rare thing the room contained was a piece of 
 old Lowestoft china upon the white chimneypiece, among 
 a collection of odd articles neither beautiful nor worthy of 
 their high position. Whatever else were Harriet's capabili- 
 ties and they were many they didn't include the making 
 the most of her small resources in the matter of home 
 decoration. Mary's fingers fairly ached to reform that room, 
 with its marble-topped centre table, its ugly black-walnut 
 chairs, its gilt-framed steel engravings. 
 
 "I couldn't have spent six months in this house," she 
 said to herself, as she seemed to listen, smiling and intelli- 
 gent, to the remarks of Professor Somers on the value of 
 mathematics as a discipline for the unruly mind. "No won- 
 der people grow old ungracefully in such surroundings. Just 
 one colourfully shaded electric lamp in this room instead of 
 that horror with the black marble base would make all the 
 difference." 
 
 When presently the company went out to dinner Mary's 
 quick eye noted everything. The long, narrow table, placed 
 obliquely in the small dining-room in order to gain space, its 
 oitfittings of ill-matched china, its obvious substitutions in
 
 128 FOURSQUARE 
 
 the way of silver and glass these the writer's observant 
 memory stored promptly away. She looked up and down the 
 row of faces on the opposite side of the table and admitted to 
 herself that they were the faces of educated people, well bred 
 and by no means uninteresting, and that none of them seemed 
 to be taking the slightest note of the forks they ate with or 
 the glasses they drank from. That they were enjoying 
 Harriet's appetizing food couldn't be doubted Mary was 
 enjoying it herself. But the refinements of table service 
 still seemed to her indispensable; and the necessity for the 
 hostess's constant goings and comings as she left her place 
 to serve her guests a confession of lack of means so incongni' 
 ous with decorous dining as to seem ridiculous. 
 
 Across the table, however, she presently found an interest- 
 ing study which effectually diverted her attention from Har- 
 riet's homely style of hospitality. Alexandra Warren, placed 
 between Mark Fenn and the plain-faced Englishman from 
 Oxford University, was sparkling as Mary had not quite 
 known her friend could sparkle. The week's vacation had 
 done Alexandra a world of good; her finely modelled features 
 were glowing with health and vivacity of expression; her well- 
 filled mind was leaping to respond to the challenge of the 
 men to right and left of her, by whom she was alternately 
 engaged in conversation. Very evidently they both were de- 
 riving much pleasure from her companionship, and Mary 
 thought she detected that each in his turn released her to the 
 other with reluctance. 
 
 "Dear old Sandy, she's having the time of her life," said 
 Mary heartily to herself in the early stages of the dinner. 
 As time went on, however, she was conscious of a strange 
 sense of envy as she watched her friend's success. She was 
 accustomed to think of Alexandra as a remarkably fine wo- 
 man, several years too old to be called young, whose chief 
 asset was her knowledge of books, and whose chief desire
 
 A PARTIAL ECLIPSE 129 
 
 was to be a friend to Mary herself. That the well-trained 
 city librarian could be a real attraction to men of intellect, 
 except as she might aid them in their search for material, 
 was a quite new idea. Often Mary had watched Alexandra 
 walking among rows of bookstacks, some well-known literary 
 man or scientist at her elbow, a figure of competence on her 
 own ground, to be consulted with deference as one who knew 
 that ground as a whole more thoroughly than they. But 
 here, at the dinner tables of the Newcomb people, Mary had 
 not expected her accomplished friend to make such a palpable 
 hit. The queer thing about it was that Mary herself couldn't 
 seem altogether pleased. 
 
 It looked as if their sober tastes preferred gray crepe to 
 rose-and-amber tulle! It was true that both Mark Fenn and 
 Professor Chilton looked across the table, from time to time, 
 at Mary herself, and now and then courteously made the 
 talk at that end of the narrow table general. But the aston- 
 ishing fact remained that it was with Alexandra Warren that 
 they were preoccupied and with reason. Mary hadn't 
 dreamed that Alexandra had it in her to be socially expert 
 to quite such a degree. 
 
 For herself, Mary was forced to make the most of Edgar 
 Hamilton, an instructor in chemistry, on the one side, and 
 Professor Somers, the mathematics man, on the other. Long 
 before the dinner ended she was mortally weary of them both. 
 It struck her quite suddenly that Mark Fenn, in his capacity 
 of host, was playing the part with much more urbanity than 
 she had known him capable of and that she had never seen 
 him look so little at loose ends. In Harriet's candlelight 
 her brother's dinner coat didn't betray its worn lapels; the 
 snug white collar and well-tied black bow beneath the sturdy 
 chin were very becoming; one could hardly visualize him as a 
 man-of-all-work, beating rugs! As for the Englishman 
 Mary acknowledged in her own mind that he was a foeman
 
 i 3 o FOURSQUARE 
 
 worthy of any woman's steel, and that it was lucky he was 
 next Alexandra since she Mary herself could never in the 
 world have played up to such a combination of erudition^ 
 modesty, and personality, or have followed his kindly lead as, 
 without seeming effort, Alexandra was doing. 
 
 The last coffee cup had been drained, the last guest had 
 risen from the table. There were no cigars in the house; it 
 hadn't occurred to Harriet to remind Mark to provide any. 
 His old pipe she was accustomed to tolerate, but further than 
 the coffee her list of supplies hadn't gone. Mark himself 
 thought of it too late, and with the other men followed the 
 women back to the front of the house recognizing rather rue- 
 fully that he and Harriet didn't know how to do things ac- 
 cording to modern ideas. And just what they were to do 
 with their guests in the small parlour for the remainder of the 
 evening he didn't quite know. 
 
 The question was unexpectedly solved for him by the early 
 departure of President and Mrs. Wing and of several other 
 married pairs. It turned out that Harriet had hit upon an 
 evening devoted to an important college business meeting, 
 and the guests who were members of a certain committee 
 took apologetic leave, their wives departing with them. This 
 left the small rooms uncrowded. Some chance now for a bit 
 of gaiety, Mary reflected. It was time for something livelier 
 than literary conversation. 
 
 She couldn't get away from Edgar Hamilton. He was 
 much the youngest man present, and he had been ob- 
 viously attracted to her from their first meeting He had 
 followed her closely and now cornered her again in the little 
 parlour, eager to continue the talk begun at the dinner table. 
 Mary, however, soon contrived her escape, it being by no 
 means her will to allow Alexandra to usurp all the most 
 desirable attention to be had that evening. Where was 
 Alexandra, anyhow?
 
 A PARTIAL ECLIPSE 131 
 
 "This is such a tiny room I think Professor Fenn's 
 study is larger. Shan't we go across?" Mary suggested. 
 "He has a very large library have you seen it?" 
 
 "I haven't. One wouldn't think a very large library could 
 be got into a house of this size. In fact I've never been in 
 Fenn's house before. He and I aren't much associated, 
 naturally," explained the young instructor in chemistry, 
 rather condescendingly. 
 
 They strolled out of the parlour, into the narrow hall, and 
 came to a standstill at the door of the study. 
 
 "Why, Sandy Warren!" The exclamation was only 
 imaginary and therefore inaudible, but Mary felt like shout- 
 ing it. For the first time in her remembrance she was sud- 
 denly and disconcertingly attacked by actual jealousy. In 
 her rose-and-amber, her beautiful shoulders a beckoning 
 challenge, her cheeks touched with enchanting colour, Mary 
 Fletcher stood attended only by an undesirable, over-devoted 
 young man in whom she had no interest whatever, and looked 
 in upon a scene which would have held any eyes. 
 
 In the demure gray crepe showing only a modicum of the 
 well-modelled neck and the fair flesh below, the heavy rich- 
 hued hair swept chastely back from the fine forehead, the 
 whole spirited face alight with interest and charm, Alexandra 
 was continuing to hold sway over the two men who had spent 
 the dinner hours beside her. The three were deep in a dis- 
 cussion. Piles of books had been taken down from the loaded 
 shelves and lay about upon chairs and floor. In Alexandra's 
 lap, as she sat upon an old-fashioned footstool close by certain 
 lower shelves from which books had been withdrawn, lay a 
 big, shabby volume over which her head was bent. And 
 bending with hers were two other heads, one dark, one sandy, 
 all apparently absorbed in the page before them. Mark Fenn 
 was kneeling close beside her, the better to see whatever it 
 was which so interested him. And as Mary and young
 
 I 3 2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Hamilton looked, Professor Chilton's voice, in its pleasant 
 Oxonian inflections, said warmly, "You are right you 
 are quite right, Miss Warren. It was a point upon which I 
 should have said there could be no doubt, but you have shown 
 us that doubt in this connection is not only reasonable, it is 
 inescapable. These inscriptions prove nothing, as you say, 
 but they do show the fallibility of human judgment. It 
 is a most interesting suggestion you have made most in- 
 teresting!" 
 
 "Good Lord!" Edgar Hamilton jerked it out under hi* 
 breath. "There's nothing later than the Pyramids here* 
 Let's go back. We don't know enough to stay." 
 
 But Mary delayed, fascinated, watching. The three at 
 the other side of the room seemed entirely unaware of the 
 new arrivals. Alexandra closed the book, and Mark took 
 it from her and replaced it upon the shelves. His face had 
 never looked, to Mary, so stirred and eager. He had thrust 
 his hand more than once through his thick locks, as their 
 slight disorder showed always, as Mary remembered it, 
 a sign of absorption in whatever he was considering. And 
 as she looked he broke into a boyish laugh. 
 
 "We'll have to concede," he said triumphantly to the 
 Englishman, plunging his hands into his pockets precisely as a 
 pleased boy might, "that she has us both. I thought I 
 knew I was sure you knew but that last fact she pro- 
 duced was a facer! The honours are with the lady!" 
 
 "Unquestionably," agreed Professor Chilton, with his 
 homely, friendly smile. "And deservedly so. Only careful 
 and painstaking research " 
 
 Here Alexandra rose to her feet, with a gesture of dep- 
 recation. "Please!" she said, protestingly. "It's only by 
 the merest chance that I came upon that fact. The library 
 has many letters sent it with inquiries or statements from 
 great scholars. Sometimes the strangest bits of information
 
 A PARTIAL ECLIPSE 133 
 
 come into my hands things I don't understand the value of 
 at all. Once in a while such a striking piece of news of a late 
 discovery as this stays in my mind I bring it forth in the 
 company of such an expert as Professor Chilton, and" 
 her smile was adorable, and both men smiled back at her 
 in appreciation of her candour "then I produce a big 
 effect with small means as a small boy fires a giant fire- 
 cracker with a little match. The roar overwhelms even 
 himself!" 
 
 And now laughter, and great friendliness, and a clever 
 story or two it was the conclusion of a sympathetic camera- 
 derie to which Mary hadn't much clue. Of course she and 
 young Hamilton didn't remain standing in the doorway look- 
 ing on; they had moved into the room at Mary's instance, 
 and were surveying the bookshelves on the opposite side of 
 the room. Hamilton, not to be outdone by his elders, took 
 down a book and read something out of it to Mary she never 
 knew what. Altogether, she began to think that the evening 
 would be over without Mark Fenn's recognition that the 
 person to whom he had offered to be a friend in need had 
 really been present at all. 
 
 At last she found him with her. 
 
 "I want you to know," said his cordial voice, "how much 
 I like how much we all like and admire your friend. 
 She's a remarkable woman. We've been seeing it ever since 
 she came, but to-night she's fairly amazed us. She has one 
 of the brightest minds I've come in contact with in many a 
 day. Why, any woman who could keep Chilton interested 
 for so long as she has, has scored a triumph. He's always 
 scrupulously polite, but those of us who know him at all know 
 when he's really awakened by an exchange of views that de- 
 lights him, and he certainly has been that to-night. We're 
 sorry you're going so soon." 
 
 "I knew you'd appreciate my friend when you knew her,"
 
 i 34 FOURSQUARE 
 
 said Mary, trying her best to speak naturally in spite of her 
 displeasure with him. "She's been in the library so many, 
 many years, of course she's absorbed an enormous amount of 
 knowledge and can put idiots like me to blush. I'm really 
 awfully proud of her and I'm so glad you have the sense to 
 see how learned she is." 
 
 "I don't imagine she thinks herself learned," Mark an- 
 swered with a smile. "She can't be old enough to have been 
 so very 'many, many years' in a library like that one. Her 
 education's been broad rather than intensive, yet she shows 
 expert knowledge now and then that's quite startling. I'm 
 afraid," he added, "we rather monopolized her." 
 
 "Oh, not at all. I wanted so much to have her have a 
 good time up here; she has so few chances, outside of her 
 work, to meet interesting people. It was a new experience 
 for her, away from her library, to talk so long with two such 
 men I could see how she enjoyed it." 
 
 Mary had the grace to be ashamed of that speech the mo- 
 ment it was spoken, but there was no use trying to amend it. 
 "Cat!" she said to herself, as she caught Mark's look sug- 
 gesting that he didn't know quite what to make of her. She 
 said it again, more than once, before the evening ended, and 
 it kept her annoyance from showing again so flagrantly. 
 But it wasn't a happy evening, behave as well as she might. 
 
 "Let's walk a little, it's such a lovely night," Mary begged 
 Alexandra as they left the house. "Just up and down the 
 garden. I don't feel like sleep, do you?" 
 
 "Not a bit; I'd love to walk if we can, in these high heels." 
 
 "We'll just stroll. We've been in that stuffy little house 
 so long we need it." 
 
 "The windows were all open I didn't notice its stuffi- 
 ness," said Alexandra. "It's a dear house it has so much 
 character, like the people in it." 
 
 "Character! Why, of all the ugly rooms, that place they
 
 A PARTIAL ECLIPSE 135 
 
 call the parlour is the ugliest. And the dining-room funny 
 little low ceiling; and that narrow table like a picnic affair 
 in a grove." 
 
 As she spoke Mary caught her floating draperies on 
 a tall stalk in a garden bed, and had to free herself. "I 
 caught it twice to-night, on something on the splintery old 
 chair I sat in at dinner," she recalled. "Serves me right, I 
 suppose, for wearing a civilized frock in a primitive dwelling." 
 
 Alexandra Warren stopped short, amazedly regarding her 
 friend in the September moonlight. "Why, I thought the 
 house and everybody in it perfectly delightful." 
 
 "Of course you did. You had a ripping time with your 
 archaeologist and your psychologist the gayest company 
 in the world, of course to you. But it was dull as 
 ditch water to me, marooned with mathematics and chemis- 
 try. I thought chemistry would be the death of me I 
 couldn't get away from him. I felt like a baby with my 
 bare shoulders, of course the only one and you so dec- 
 orously charming across the table. Oh, this stupid town I 
 shall be glad to get away from it!" 
 
 "I wish I could stay in it! Why, Mary I don't believe 
 you half appreciate it all. Just the way you speak about that 
 
 house " Her voice was low; at this point in their walk 
 
 they were not far from the house next door, the light from 
 whose open windows shone out upon their path. "Don't 
 you realize that that house is the home of a scholar and of a 
 scholar before him ? What does a narrow dining-table mat- 
 ter when you remember the rows on rows of books on those 
 shelves in that study? They tell the story of the tastes of 
 the people who live there. I don't know when I've seen a 
 finer collection. Few leather bindings, to be sure but price- 
 less contents, and so catholic a list there's not much worth 
 having you can't find there. And the portrait of that splen- 
 did father giving point and purpose to it all. Oh, I was
 
 i 3 6 FOURSQUARE 
 
 delighted with the Fenns, Mary I have been, from the hour 
 I met them. Talk of atmosphere put them into your book, 
 and you'll have an atmosphere that's as tonic as mountain 
 air. It's good so good to breathe air like that. I shall 
 be the better for it all the year." 
 
 Mary was silent. It seemed to her she hardly knew Alex- 
 andra to-night, she was so transformed by what, to Mary her- 
 self, had been a week of only moderately enjoyable experi- 
 ence, ending with the least satisfying of all. The two 
 passed slowly along together, one moody, the other exalted. 
 
 Suddenly Mary paused. "There are your heroes," she 
 whispered. "Give them a good look. The atmosphere you 
 like so much is thickening. I can almost smell the dish water. 
 Don't you want to go in and help ?" 
 
 Against the ruddy light from a lamp two figures were 
 partially outlined in the oblong of a kitchen window. Only 
 Harriet's energetic shoulder and arm could be descried, as 
 she washed dishes with despatch, but the whole of Mark's 
 head and body stood out like a silhouette. Coat off, apron 
 on, he was drying plates and cups with an expedition which 
 spoke of long training. 
 
 "I should like to go in and help," Alexandra whispered 
 eagerly back. "There must be piles of things. I suppose it 
 wouldn't be possible." 
 
 "I presume they'd welcome you in your gray crepe. 
 Shall I come too and do the kettles? I haven't so much on 
 to get smudged ! But of course they're talking us over. We 
 should interrupt the best part of the party for them!" 
 
 Alexandra Warren turned and took her sulky, cynical 
 friend by those bare shoulders, which in the warm September 
 night Mary hadn't bothered to cover except by a gossamer 
 scarf which mostly floated to the gentle breeze. 
 
 "Mary Fletcher," she breathed, "it's not like you to be so 
 tnobbish. And let me tell you I haven't quite realized
 
 A PARTIAL ECLIPSE 137 
 
 till to-night what a mistake you may be making in coming 
 back down with me. Don't you know these people are 
 worth their weight in gold ? Where in the world will you find 
 things better worth writing about than right here?" 
 
 Mary flung away from her. She threw up one arm in a 
 passionate gesture toward the open, ruddy window. 
 
 "Behold!" she cried, under her breath. "The perfect 
 hero and his incomparable sister! No need to search further. 
 Life as it should be lived among the books and dishes! 
 How fine the values how broad the understanding! 
 Oh!" she struck her hands together softly "I'm a fool, 
 of course, not to recognize my material when I see it. But 
 somehow I prefer life as it is lived, by people in the 
 thick of things not cloistered like this! And I'm going 
 back to it. I'd like to start to-night." 
 
 Alexandra shook her head. She put her arm through 
 Mary's and gently drew her, petulantly resisting, away from 
 all view of the Fenns' kitchen window. 
 
 "Yes, I think you'll have to go," she admitted, presently, 
 as they paced on. "But maybe, sometime, you'll want to 
 come back. The tragedy of life is that we don't recognize 
 the best hours in it till they're past." 
 
 Mary laughed not very mirthfully. " Do you know what 
 I think, you solemn dear? Without at all realizing it 
 you've quite lost your head to-night. Maybe something 
 still more valuable and vulnerable. Which was it archae- 
 ology or psychology?"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 WHITE ANEMONES 
 
 T WAS another Mary who came 
 downstairs next morning. Simply 
 dressed, quiet of manner, she greeted 
 Miss Graham, who came to meet her 
 at the threshold of the dining-room, 
 both hands outstretched. The elder 
 woman spoke first. 
 
 "It's such a beautiful Sunday 
 morning, dear I'm so glad. I've been 
 watching Harriet and Mark pick all 
 their white fall anemones; Mark took 
 them all away a great armful. I'm 
 sure we'll find them at the church. 
 It's like their thoughtfulness. Har- 
 riet has had them there every year, 
 under the tablet." 
 
 One would hardly have known 
 Mary Fletcher, Alexandra Warren 
 thought, as the three women sat at 
 breakfast. The restless mood which 
 had been hers so much of late had 
 given place to one so subdued and 
 gentle that it altered the very expres- 
 sion upon her face. She said little, 
 and after breakfast disappeared until 
 church time; the others knew where 
 she had gone. Five years ago to-day., 
 138
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 
 
 in Italy, had occurred the fatal accident which had takeix 
 away both father and mother from Mary's life. Up in the 
 old village cemetery lay their mortal remains, marked by a 
 massive gray stone. 
 
 Mary came in, by and by; she had covered the resting 
 places with the flowers from Miss Graham's garden: asters, 
 pink and white and purple. Her face was grave, but there 
 were no traces of tears in her eyes. 
 
 "Somehow I can't make them real, at all," she said to 
 Alexandra before they left the house for church. The two 
 stood together in the drawing-room before the portraits of 
 Dr. and Mrs. Fletcher, done by a painter of renown. "My 
 life, these five years, has been crowded so full; the old days at 
 the school, before I went away from home to college, seem s<J 
 far off. It seems so much longer that they've been gone. 1 
 wish I could feel it more to-day." 
 
 "Perhaps you will, dear, before the day is over. Such a 
 father and mother must have meant very much to you 
 more than you know. What fine faces how much charac- 
 ter and beauty of living show in them!" 
 
 "Father's is that of the leader he was, isn't it? I remem- 
 ber how proud I was of him, always, when people looked at 
 him, in any public place. And Mother she was always 
 looked at and watched, too, she was so beautiful. Oh, I 
 remember everything everything. It's just that they 
 seem like people in a dream I once dreamed and can't forget. 
 I hate it to be that way. I want to realize them, to-day of 
 all days." 
 
 Mary turned away, her face full of sadness. Alexandra 
 looked after her, and thought she understood. But it didn't 
 seem the time to tell Mary just what her understanding was. 
 She followed her friend and put her arm about her. 
 
 "Five years, at your age, is a long time, Mary," she said. 
 "And I think it may be that the world of the imagination you
 
 i 4 o FOURSQUARE 
 
 live in so much makes the real world a little less real to you 
 than it is to other people. But you can't get away from 
 such a father and mother as those. They'll come back to you 
 more clearly, very likely, when you are five years older, than 
 they do now." 
 
 "I want them to-day." 
 
 "Then you shall have them. You may find them in the 
 church. Have you been there this morning?" 
 
 Mary shook her head. "I couldn't. I dread to go there 
 now. I don't know why. I'm not in the mood for church. 
 I'd rather go off in the woods and fields and keep the day that 
 way. But Aunt Sara and the Fenns would think me lacking 
 in respect and of course I know I ought to want to go. 
 Don't worry I'll do the proper thing and listen to a sermon 
 that'll have nothing for me. At least, I'll look as if I listened. 
 Doctor Morse, the college church preacher well, he never 
 interests me. Once in a while President Wing preaches and 
 then I do listen because I can't get away from him. But 
 there isn't much chance he'll be there to-day he seldom is." 
 
 They were on their way, presently. So was everyone else 
 in the town, it seemed. So perfect a September day had 
 brought out large numbers. The college was about to open, 
 the town was full of new students. 
 
 "I think we'd best hurry a little," said Miss Graham, 
 anxiously. "My pew is usually kept clear until the hour, 
 then it is filled. To-day there'll be a large congregation." 
 
 As they went into the church Alexandra felt a deep thrill 
 of pleasure. Not in a long time had she been in a church 
 in which the atmosphere of an earlier day had been so well pre- 
 served. The exterior had already challenged her respect, but 
 the interior roused her admiration. As she took her place in 
 the well-cushioned square family pew and the usher closed 
 the door behind her, she realized that she was in one of those 
 distinguished old sanctuaries of which there are left, in these
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 141 
 
 days, all too few. Nobody had forewarned her. Perhaps 
 Mary herself didn't quite appreciate the place in which the 
 memories of her girlhood were enshrined; very likely it was to 
 her now only a mausoleum. 
 
 As they waited, the church rapidly filling, Alexandra's eye 
 was caught by a mass of white, just beyond and above the 
 pew in which she sat. She turned her head to read the large 
 silver tablet, below which sprang upward hundreds of white 
 anemones in a huge jar. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 ARTHUR RAND FLETCHER 
 
 AND 
 
 ELEANOR GRAHAM FLETCHER, HIS WIFE 
 DIED, IN ITALY, SEPTEMBER FOURTEENTH, 1914 
 
 
 As she finished scanning again and again the few lines, 
 the sound of distant voices broke upon the stillness, and a 
 processional slowly came into view. Somehow Alexandra 
 hadn't been prepared for such music as now fell upon her ear. 
 It was the college choir of young men which brought to her 
 the strains of " O come, all ye faithful" and she recognized 
 that the voices were as well trained and effective as those of 
 any choir of her recollection. In their white cottas they 
 made a dignified company, and as they took their places she 
 saw that Mark Fenn was among them; she didn't quite know 
 why she should have been so surprised. 
 
 A strong figure now came into the pulpit; a rugged, inter- 
 esting face looked out upon the congregation. In Alex- 
 andra's ear Miss Graham whispered discreetly: "We are to 
 have President Wing to preach to-day. We didn't expect 
 it. I am so glad!" 
 
 Beside her Mary stirred, clasping her hands tightly in her 
 lap. Alexandra felt her relief. It would help matters,
 
 i 4 2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 surely, if this man with the face of one who brings a message 
 were to be the preacher of the day. 
 
 When his time came he spoke, as simply and directly as 
 was his wont at all times. Wing of Newcomb was one of 
 those men who, though of the smaller and less known colleges, 
 yet makes his impress upon the thought of his generation, 
 by both the spoken and the written word. It was as Mary 
 had said: when he spoke one had to listen. And to-day, as 
 he was apt to do, he challenged attention with the first word 
 which fell from his lips: 
 
 "Five years ago to-day their Maker took back to himself 
 a man and a woman whom those of us who knew them can 
 never forget. In memory of them, I have chosen my text: 
 'Ye are our letter ', written in our hearts, known and read of all 
 men written not with ink, but with the spirit of the living God; 
 not on tables of stone, but on fleshy tables of the heart* " 
 
 Her father and mother like people in a dream ? How could 
 they continue to be that, with a man speaking of them in 
 words so vivid and so true that they brought back the living 
 image, almost as if it had been thrown upon a screen? The 
 worthy headmaster of a great and powerful boy's private 
 school is sure to be a man of remarkable personality, but few 
 there be who can so describe such personality as to make it 
 live again. Wing of Newcomb did that day that difficult 
 thing, and the most exacting of his listeners, the daughter of 
 the man of whom he spoke, paid tribute in her heart to the 
 memory and to him who made that memory real. As she 
 listened the deep feeling she had longed for came back; she 
 heard her father's voice, saw her mother's face; it was true 
 they had lived, and she was their child ! Her heart softened, 
 glowed; tears slowly gathered in her eyes; she sat with head 
 bent, drinking in the words. She was glad to be sorrowful 
 it was wholesome, sane, that she should acknowledge with 
 every fibre influences so potent, from which she had slipped
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 143 
 
 away. How far, she didn't know but she knew now that 
 she had slipped away. It was good, for this hour at least, 
 to come back. She was grateful in her deepest being to one 
 who had brought her back. 
 
 "Written not with ink not on tables of stone but on the 
 tables of the heart. So their lives were written. It is the 
 only writing which endures. Mere worldly fame is cold be 
 side the glowing warmth of the memory which lives in the 
 hearts of men, the life of splendid influence which persists, not 
 only in another world, but in this. So persists in this world 
 they have left, the life of Arthur Rand Fletcher and that of 
 Eleanor Fletcher, his wife. In honouring their memory this 
 day we still more truly honour all high living, all selfless 
 service, all truth and courage, all noble manhood and woman- 
 hood, born of the love of God." 
 
 Mary did not lift her head as these last ringing words fell 
 upon her listening ears. Following them, subdued opening 
 notes from the organ preluded those of a voice beginning to 
 sing alone. It was a strong baritone, carefully controlled, 
 and the long familiar words came with an enunciation so clear 
 that every word seemed to fall with peculiar emphasis upon 
 the hushed and waiting air. The musical setting for the 
 great old hymn was the modern and worthy one of Sir John 
 Stainer his Lux Prima. 
 
 Come, my soul, thou must be waking; 
 
 Now is breaking 
 
 O'er the earth another day; 
 
 Come to Him who made this splendour; 
 
 See thou render 
 
 All thy feeble powers can pay. 
 
 Sensitive in every nerve to emotional appeal, Mary felt 
 something within her stir and struggle for expression. She 
 did not lift her head, but she could have flung out her arms
 
 144 FOURSQUARE 
 
 toward both speaker and singer, to cry aloud to them her 
 gratitude. The hymn went on: 
 
 Pray that He may prosper ever 
 
 Each endeavour, 
 
 When thy aim is good and true, 
 
 But that He may ever thwart thee 
 
 And convert thee, 
 
 When thou evil would'st pursue. 
 
 Now Mary looked up. She must see the man who was 
 sending her a message of such import a message which 
 following upon those awakened memories touched her very 
 soul. It was to her astonishment that she saw whose were 
 the lips that were singing the searching words as if they came 
 from his own sturdy heart. She hadn't known that Mark 
 Fenn could sing like that. Only now and then throughout 
 the months that she had been in Newcomb had she gone 
 reluctantly with Miss Graham to the white church on the 
 village green. Her Sundays had been spent like other days; 
 now, suddenly, she was conscious that she had been missing 
 something she might have had. Everywhere she had 
 searched for the stimulus she needed everywhere but here! 
 
 Only God's free gifts abuse not, 
 
 Light refuse not, 
 
 But His Spirit's voice obey, 
 
 Thou with Him shalt dwell, beholding 
 
 Light enfolding 
 
 All things in unclouded day. 
 
 If when the voice ceased Mary could have escaped instantly 
 from the church she would have done so. She looked long' 
 ingly at a door beside the pulpit; she was strongly tempted to 
 fly for it the moment the service concluded. Instead, she 
 forced back the choke in her throat, compelled the mist be- 
 fore her eyes to clear, held up her head, and did that which
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 145 
 
 courtesy commanded. She returned gravely the subdued 
 greetings of those nearest; she put her hand into the warm 
 grasp of the college president and thanked him quietly for the 
 words he had spoken; she acknowledged to Harriet Fenn her 
 appreciation of the beauty of that mass of white anemones 
 before the silver tablet. 
 
 But when she was free at last, she turned to Alexandra 
 Warren. The church was almost empty; nobody was near. 
 
 "I'm going to run away for a while," she said. "Don't be 
 worried if I'm not back for several hours. Tell Aunt Sara I 
 don't want anything kept for me just a glass of milk, per- 
 haps. You won't mind?" 
 
 She lifted eyes in which were a strange mingling of light 
 and shadow of depression and exaltation. Alexandra had 
 seen that look before when Mary had been stirred to the 
 depths. She understood that her friend was in the grip of a 
 powerful reaction from the emotion of the morning's ex- 
 perience, and that she wanted nobody to go through it with 
 her at least not at this stage. 
 
 "Of course not, Mary dear," Alexandra assured her. She 
 gave Mary's hand a significant pressure, smiled at her, and 
 with a little push upon her shoulder indicated that she was 
 sending her wherever she wanted to go. A moment after- 
 ward Mary was through the door and out of sight. 
 
 Mark Fenn, his white cotta removed, came up to Alex- 
 andra. 
 
 "Do you think the service was what she could have 
 wished?" was his first question. 
 
 "Oh, it must have been. It was a wonderful service. I 
 can't be too glad I was here. You see, I never knew Doctor 
 and Mrs. Fletcher I know them now. How did it all come 
 about without Mary's or Miss Graham's knowledge?" 
 
 " Some of us who cared arranged it. That's the way things 
 happen, isn't it?"
 
 i 4 6 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "It was a beautiful thing to do and it was what Man,' 
 needed. I haven't seen her so deeply touched since I've 
 known her. So touched that she's gone off by herself. ) 
 wish " She paused, considering him. 
 
 "What do you wish? Can I help you to it?" 
 
 "I wonder if it may be you who can. Professor Fenn 
 
 She paused again, as if she found it difficult to put into words 
 the thing she wanted. 
 
 "Yes? Don't be afraid to tell me, if there's anything I can 
 do for either you or Mary. The day's dedicated to such 
 service." 
 
 "If you, before she goes back to-morrow, could somehow 
 intensify I don't know how else to put it the effect of this 
 morning's service upon her mind. . . . You know as I 
 know perhaps I know it better than you, having lived with 
 her for three years how volatile how fleeting the most 
 splendid impression may be upon a brilliant, shifting mind 
 like hers. She is deeply affected to-day; to-morrow she may 
 I don't say have forgotten but she may have put away 
 from her every bit of that fervour and be subject to the old 
 unrest. I want so much to have her find some rock of 
 belief of purpose to cling to. I want to see her steadied 
 to meet the hard demands of life. As yet, she doesn't seem 
 to me quite fit!" 
 
 "You fine friend!" The words were all but involuntary. 
 Mark was not accustomed to let himself go, especially to 
 strangers or to those with whom he had slight acquaintance. 
 But he himself had been deeply moved by the service just 
 past, even by his own effort to sing the words of the old hymn 
 into the hearts of those who listened. Never had he heard 
 one woman speak of another in such language as that in which 
 Alexandra had expressed her anxiety for Mary. It so closely 
 put into form his own solicitude, he felt that he had found 
 r.n aHy.
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 147 
 
 "You're exactly right," he went on, quickly. "There are 
 great possibilities in her, but she's passing through a crisis, 
 and we who are so deeply interested in her must do our part. 
 If it's possible for me to help her, I'll be only too glad to try 
 again to-day. I'd thought there wasn't much more I could 
 do just now; but if you think I can . . . You don't 
 know where she's gone?" 
 
 "No. But knowing Mary I think before many hours 
 she'll come back to this church, when she's sure it's empty. 
 She'll want to see the tablet and the flowers again, before she 
 goes. It will be, I think, the hour when a friend like you can 
 come very close." 
 
 "How about a friend like you? You understand her 
 better than I. Perhaps it will be you who can -" 
 
 She shook her head. "She will have me all the time, from 
 now on. You have an influence upon her " 
 
 "I've thought I hadn't much." 
 
 "But you have more than you know perhaps more than 
 she knows. Professor Fenn I'm going to tell you something 
 that in a way is a breach of confidence. But if you 
 know of it, it may help you to understand her. You sent her 
 a note by special delivery, week before last, in New York ? " 
 He nodded. "She showed it to me, since we came here 
 having preserved it." She smiled slightly, and he caught the 
 significance of the smile. "Mary doesn't preserve letters, as 
 a rule, unless she values them. When I had read it she said, 
 in that careless way of hers she sometimes uses to cover real 
 feeling 'It's rather heartening, isn't it? in a world one 
 can't trust much, to have a real man tell you he's standing by 
 even if he is rather a solemn old duck!" 
 
 Both laughed, the phrase was so typical of Mary's swift 
 passes from grave to gay. "I'm not sure whether being 
 called a real man offsets the 'solemn old duck/ " Mark began. 
 
 But Alexandra interrupted: "Of course it does you know
 
 i 4 8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 it does. You and she have missed seeing much of each other 
 this week, but I'm sure to-day, of all days, a 'real man' can 
 come nearer her than the most well-intentioned woman. I'm 
 so glad I had the chance to tell you." 
 
 So this was how it happened that when, late in the after- 
 noon, Mary Fletcher stole into the still church, coming in as 
 she had left it by the narrow door near the pulpit, she found 
 Mark Fenn standing in front of the tablet which bore her 
 family name. She paused abruptly when she first caught 
 sight of him and waited a minute in the doorway, watching 
 him, as if in doubt whether to go or stay. His back was 
 toward her. His hands were clasped behind him, his attitude 
 was of one who has time at his disposal and who may have 
 been for some time where he is discovered. 
 
 "I don't know how you came to be here, but I'm very glad 
 to find you." 
 
 He wheeled, surprised honestly by her greeting words, as 
 well as by her silent approach. 
 
 "I hoped you'd come," he said, frankly. "I came back 
 here because I thought you might. It's a beautiful place to 
 meet in, isn't it? Our old church has a strong hold on those 
 of us who have grown up in it." 
 
 "I suppose it's considered very chaste and correct, in the 
 old-style way. I'm afraid I never thought much about it. 
 To-day, with the flowers and the service and the music 
 somehow I appreciated it more than I ever have before." 
 
 "Won't you come in and sit down?" He held the door 
 of the Graham pew open for her, and she entered and took a 
 place. She looked up at the mass of white anemones be- 
 neath the tablet near by. 
 
 "It was wonderfully thoughtful of you and Harriet to put 
 those there." 
 
 "Harriet's cherished her anemones each year, to cut them 
 Cor this purpose. If you like them, that's thanks enough."
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 149 
 
 She sat in silence for a little, looking about the church, and 
 he was silent also. He thought he saw that she was tired 
 with her long walk he was sure she had been walking, for 
 her slim shoes were dusty, and her cheeks were flushed with a 
 touch of sunburn. 
 
 "I didn't know you could sing as you did this morning," 
 she said, at length. "Of course I've seen you in the choir the 
 few times I've come to church this year. I've been wishing I 
 could hear you sing that song again. I want to remember it." 
 
 "I'll gladly sing it for you here, if you like. Will you 
 play it ? It needs the organ." 
 
 They went down the aisle to the organ, set closely to the 
 wall at one side not a large organ, but of a fair quality. 
 Mark opened it, found the hymn, and turned a switch. 
 
 "We're very proud that we no longer have to hire a boy 
 to blow the bellows," he said, with a smile. 
 
 U I don't know much about organs, but I presume I can 
 manage a few stops," and Mary took her place upon the 
 bench. She proved that she knew rather more about organs 
 than was to have been expected, for she played the hymn with 
 understanding. Mark sat down upon the bench beside her 
 and sang it through. Somehow the sound of his voice 
 shook her even more than it had done in the morning. 
 With the last words she was trembling from head to foot with 
 nervous tension, and as her hands left the keys she broke into 
 silent sobbing. She slipped from the bench, went hurriedly 
 down the aisle to the old square pew, dropped upon the 
 floor within, burying her face in the cushion. 
 
 He came slowly after her, uncertain what she would want 
 of him, but himself more touched by her evident need of 
 comfort than he could have foreseen himself to be. Some- 
 times indeed often he had suspected her of playing a part; 
 but he had no such suspicion now. With all her arts and 
 graces, he was sure that something genuine and admirable
 
 150 FOURSQUARE 
 
 lay below the surface charm of her she could hardly be the 
 daughter of Arthur and Eleanor Fletcher and not have in- 
 herited some of those qualities which had been the foun- 
 dation of a superstructure so illustrious. 
 
 Mark entered the pew and closed the door behind him. 
 The sides of the pew, after the manner of the period in which 
 it was built, were high; within it one felt almost as if one were 
 in a small room. He sat down beside Mary and laid a 
 friendly hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 "I know," he said, very gently. "I think perhaps you 
 need to cry it out. You've had a trying day. I just want 
 you to feel I'm here." 
 
 It surprised and touched him to have Mary suddenly put up 
 her hand and grasp his. He held the hand close in both his 
 own, while she struggled to be quiet. Presently she spoke un- 
 steadily, in a voice whose inflections still further moved him: 
 
 "Please forgive me. It's just that I needed somebody 
 to hold on to for a little. I'm so unhappy and so tired. 
 I've walked miles on end I'm so alone I oh, I wish you 
 were my brother and I could behave like this and not seem 
 a silly fool! I don't know what you think of me and yet 
 I can't seem to get hold of myself." 
 
 It was very near hysteria that he recognized; but it had a 
 reasonable basis as not all hysteria has. He bent over her, 
 tightening his grasp of her hand and speaking soothingly. 
 
 "You shall hold on to me as long as you want to and I'll 
 be a brother, gladly. Why shouldn't I ? You've known me 
 all your life. You've had a hard day, and hearing the hymn 
 again was a little too much. We'll just sit here quietly till 
 you're rested and yourself again. By the way have you 
 had anything to eat since breakfast?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "But that's not right, you know, Mary. No wondef 
 you're exhausted."
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 151 
 
 "It doesn't matter. I I ought to fast to-day." The 
 words came smotheredly. "Fast and pray, maybe for 
 forgetting my father and mother!" 
 
 She was crying again. He tried to find words to console 
 her. "You haven't forgotten, my dear. Time inevitably 
 dims sorrow, and much has happened in these five years. But 
 you haven't forgotten." 
 
 "I haven't remembered as you have. I know what your 
 father's memory is you live by it ! His principles are 
 yours I oh, it's different with me. They if they see, and 
 know they're sad to-day. I'm not like them. They burned 
 with a steady light. I'm a will-o'-the-wisp!" 
 
 "You're tired out, and can see nothing clearly. I'm going 
 to take you home not to your home but mine and let Har- 
 riet feed you. After that, we're going into my study and talk 
 things all over. You go to-morrow and it's my last chance. 
 No, don't refuse. Let me do this for you. Come please ! " 
 
 She hadn't known he could impose his will upon her quite 
 so arbitrarily. She wanted to refuse; the impulse to chasten 
 herself, to flagellate her body as well as her spirit, made her 
 attempt to resist. But when his hand drew her to her 
 feet, she found herself submitting with a sense of relief. It 
 was good, after this weary day, to come back to such a friend. 
 
 The early September dusk was falling as he led her up the 
 path to his own door. Harriet was sitting upon the porch 
 she rose to meet them. 
 
 "I ought to go home and wash my face," Mary murmured. 
 
 "You can wash it here. I'll run across and tell them 
 what I've done with you. I know I'm being despotic, but I 
 think you need it. We all do, at times." 
 
 She let Harriet minister to her needs, bathed her tear- 
 stained face in a plain white bowl in a nun-like small bedroom, 
 and being conducted to Mark's study sat down before a little 
 table spread with a white napkin, upon which were presently
 
 152 FOURSQUARE 
 
 set forth a plate of sandwiches, a glass of milk and some deli- 
 cate cookies. Mary looked at Harriet Fenn, wondering why 
 she had never realized before just how saint-like a person 
 offering food could appear. 
 
 "You're beautifully kind," she said. 
 
 "It's been a hard day for you, I know," Harriet responded 
 heartily. "I'm glad to do anything I can." 
 
 By Mark's instructions Harriet left her alone while she was 
 eating, and Mary relaxed and rested. She was sitting in 
 Mark's shabby old armchair, and there was even a sense of 
 comfort in that. Only last evening she had been jealously 
 unhappy in this very room; now it was here that she was being 
 looked after with a solicitude which was most welcome. 
 Somehow the recollection of that evening scene made her 
 appreciate the room and its contents and character as she had 
 never done before. As she looked about her, resting her head 
 upon the worn leather back of the chair, she knew that Alex- 
 andra was right: the house was the habitation of people of 
 education, of dignity, of character. It didn't matter that the 
 rug under Mark's desk was almost in holes with the shuffling 
 of his feet; it did matter that upon it, resting against a row of 
 books, stood an illuminated card, evidently placed there that 
 the words upon it might often meet the eye. And suddenly 
 Mary recalled that the card had been there for a long time. 
 The quotation from Lowell must be a favourite with the 
 worker at that desk. She read it and read it again. 
 
 The longer on this earth we live 
 
 And weigh the various qualities of men, 
 The more we feel the high, stern-featured beauty 
 
 Of plain devotedness to duty; 
 Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise, 
 
 But finding amplest recompense 
 For life's ungarlanded expense 
 
 In work done squarely, and unwasted days.
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 153 
 
 "Rested a little?" asked Mark's voice as he came in. 
 
 Mary looked up with a smile the smile of a woman who 
 i grateful to a man, and is, for the moment at least, frankly 
 willing to acknowledge that he has known better than she 
 what she needed. She was no longer hysterical; it would 
 have been quite impossible for her now to catch at Mark's 
 hand and cling to it. He had brought her back to poise and 
 self-control. 
 
 "Yes, thank you very much rested, and quite sane 
 again. You must be tired of my heroics. Is this card your 
 motto? No wonder you could sing that hymn this morning 
 with so much feeling!" 
 
 "That card was my father's he was very fond of it. 
 Great words, aren't they? 'High, stern-featured beauty* 
 what a phrase and what a suggestion. I don't know of any 
 words which remind me so vividly of my father." 
 
 "They fit you, Mark." 
 
 "Oh, not a bit! I'm indolent, compared with him. I 
 slack, shirk, forget, let down and then those lines bring me 
 up with a round turn as he would. Well the hours are 
 getting on. Are you going to tell me what I very much want 
 to know?" 
 
 "What do you so much want to know?" 
 
 "The sort of book you're going to write at the dictation 
 of John Kirkwood!" 
 
 "Why should you think I'm going to write a book at any- 
 body's dictation?" 
 
 "I put two and two together. They make four inev- 
 itably. I wish I could make five out of them, but I can't." 
 
 Her eyes fell from his. She wanted to retort with her old 
 fire, resenting all suggestion of disapproval or interference, 
 but somehow she couldn't. She didn't want to quarrel with 
 him to-day, she wanted his companionship, his interest, even 
 yes, suddenly she felt that she wanted his advice. She was
 
 154 FOURSQUARE 
 
 not to be with him again for a long time and she was sorry. 
 Perhaps she was seeing him with new eyes, since Alexandra 
 Warren had found so much in him. In any case, since she 
 had come back for this concluding week of her stay in New- 
 tomb, she had realized that she was far from knowing all that 
 he was, or all that he might have for her. Unquestionably, 
 blessings do brighten as they take their flight! 
 
 She was silent for a full minute. Then she said, with a 
 long-drawn breath. "Do you care to listen to an outline of 
 the book I'm going to write?" 
 
 "I should like it, above all things." 
 
 She began slowly, as John Kirkwood had begun, to sketch 
 the background for the story. She found herself recalling 
 phrases of his, and consciously imitating his style of speaking. 
 Remembering how he had by degrees worked up her interest 
 by all clever means, the pitch of his voice, the sudden un- 
 expected emphasis of a word, she followed his methods, as 
 nearly as she could. It was difficult at first she felt that she 
 wasn't doing it well. Little by little, as she went on, she 
 found her own powers of verbal recital growing with use. 
 True to her temperament, the very effort warmed her, ex- 
 cited her, and brought about the state of absorption in her 
 task necessary with her to produce effect. Mar}- could do 
 nothing in cold blood ! 
 
 If Kirkwood could have heard her, he would have had high 
 hopes for the success of his plans. If he himself, in putting 
 them before her, had felt it necessary to use all the skill of 
 which he was master, she was still more conscious of the need 
 she had to captivate and convince. In dealing with Mary 
 Fletcher, Kirkwood had had plastic material to work upon; in 
 the case of Mark Fenn, Mary knew that if she brought him to 
 agree with her that she had found a task worth doing, it 
 would be because she should show him clearly that this was 
 so she couldn't possibly fool him with the glitter and glam-
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 155 
 
 our of it. Therefore she exerted herself to be clear and 
 logical, to make the most of what she felt were the really fine 
 values of the projected story, and above all to show him that 
 though she might have to deal protractedly with phases of 
 life which were in themselves evil, she should do it in such a 
 manner as to leave them lustreless. 
 
 As she neared the culmination of the story she inevitably 
 became herself an actor in it, as Kirkwood himself had done. 
 She could no longer sit quietly in her chair; she got up and 
 moved about, now walking up and down, now halting before 
 her listener. Mark himself, too absorbed to remember his 
 manners, sat back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his 
 head, his eyes following every motion and gesture. She had 
 become a creature to disturb a man's balance and confound 
 his judgment. She stood upon the hearth-rug before the old 
 fireplace, a figure of beauty and grace, her eyes lighted with 
 strange fires, her gestures expressive of every shade of mean* 
 ing, her voice full of delicate inflections, humorous, pathetic, 
 pleading never had Mark Fenn listened to such a tale told 
 in such a way. Then she ended, laughing a little, somewhat 
 shakily, and saying "So that was how it all happened. 
 Shouldn't it be told, if I can tell it with the very utmost 
 skill I have?" He was for the moment quite speechless 
 with admiration of her achievement, as any but a man of 
 stone must be. 
 
 She sank into the old leather chair and laid her head back, 
 turning it away from Mark, waiting silently for his verdict. 
 He remained silent also and motionless for a minute or two, 
 then he got up and began to pace up and down the room, his 
 hands thrust deep into his pockets, after the manner of man 
 when he considers a question of import. Then he came to 
 a stand before her. 
 
 "You're a marvellous raconteuse," he said, as one wh<? 
 offers a tribute which cannot be withheld.
 
 i 5 6 FOURSQUARE 
 
 She smiled up at him. 
 
 "I shouldn't have said so involved and many-threaded a 
 tale could be told so admirably that you could have got 
 over to me so much of the dramatic action of it, and not have 
 tangled it up somewhere and tangled me with it. It's all 
 before me I see just what it is you plan to do. It's one of 
 the most extraordinary plots I ever met with I'm sure of 
 that. It will make a very successful book." 
 
 "You really think so?" 
 
 "I do of course I do. Nobody could fail to see that." 
 
 Then he began to walk again up and down up and down. 
 She interposed not a word to hasten whatever further he 
 might have to say. That whatever it was he found it difficult 
 to put it into words became increasingly evident. At last, 
 however, she could bear the delay no longer. 
 
 "Oh, don't keep me in suspense!" she said, her colour 
 mounting. "Of course I know you don't like it. I knew yoA 
 wouldn't. You want to keep me writing bread and butter!" 
 
 Then indeed he was ready to speak. He drew up a chair 
 and sat down in it, leaning forward. His face was grave and 
 intent; the tone in which he spoke was low and reasonable. 
 
 "Mary," he began, "whatever we do, let's not quarrel or 
 misunderstand each other. I can't bear that and I don't 
 think you can. We should be the best friends in the world; 
 your father and mine were a David and Jonathan, if ever 
 men were. I wish I could do something to make you feel 
 that, whatever I say, I'm doing my best to be honest and fair. 
 I want above all things to be of use to you. Won't you be- 
 lieve that?" 
 
 "It must be something pretty bad to need so much pre- 
 facing. Of course I believe all of that, Mark Fenn. Oh, go 
 ahead tell me how you feel about it. I know already. You 
 don't care for the sort of book that will be though the telling 
 did interest you, immensely. You couldn't disguise that."
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 157 
 
 "I didn't try to disguise that. It was absorbing fasci- 
 nating. But tell me just this, Mary. Answer this one 
 question with absolute sincerity, and we'll let all others go. 
 When you've written this book, put into it every ounce of 
 flesh and blood you'll have to put into it, eaten and slept and 
 waked and lived with it, for a year or more, and finally 
 brought it to a finish what will you have accomplished?" 
 
 She met his eyes without flinching for a moment, while 
 his searched hers to the depths. Then hers fell. "I shall 
 have written a successful novel, I hope," she said, with art 
 effort to speak lightly. " It won't be of the goody-goody sort, 
 of course." 
 
 "Shall you dedicate it to the memory of your father and 
 mother?" 
 
 "Don't you think you're rather cruel?" she flashed back 
 at him. "Do you imagine I shall put into it a word that 
 would be unworthy of them ? " 
 
 "I think that if you kept out every word that could offend, 
 if you did every line of it with the ideal before you of hurting 
 nobody, the thing still wouldn't be worth the doing. Mary! 
 What are we in this world for? Merely not to do harm? 
 Why not in a world full of pain and trouble and unrest to 
 try to help! To inspire! With such talent all but genius 
 as yours to waste it with performing useless tasks ! Why 
 why don't you set yourself to lend all your amazing art, all 
 your powers of gripping and holding interest, to saying some- 
 thing that will challenge the human spirit to its best its best 
 not urge it to its worst!" 
 
 Her eyes were blazing. "Join the ranks of the preachers 
 of sunshine ? the silly philosophy of denying that anything's 
 wrong " 
 
 His exclamation stopped her. "You know I don't mean 
 anything like that. And I'm not denying the use of the book 
 which merely amuses and entertains. The thing I'm trying
 
 i 5 8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 to say is this: When any worker holds in her hands such 
 tools as you hold shining bright tools with an edge it's 
 her responsibility to make something with them besides 
 graven images of things that can't be worshipped. There's 
 a great multitude of people who worship everything you do. 
 They'll worship this book because Mary Fletcher wrote it. 
 You'll have had a great big chance to carve the likeness of 
 God's truth in such beauty that they'll want to worship it. 
 And instead you'll only have set up a human temple to the 
 lesser gods, with the devil lurking in the background. Why, 
 Mary, as you told that story, I could fairly see him grinning 
 out from between the pillars! I don't believe you know I 
 can't believe you know what it is John Kirkwood wants you 
 to do. . . . That plot is his!" 
 
 "Alexandra told you!" Mary had suddenly turned white. 
 
 "No. ... As I told you I've put two and two to- 
 gether." 
 
 She rose. "I don't believe we'd better talk about it any 
 more if we're to part friends." 
 
 He stood looking down at her. "We must part friends," 
 he said, in a different tone. "Mary, I've said all I wanted to 
 say. I had to say it. But I don't want you to think of me 
 always as preaching at you. When you're back in the great 
 city you'll have little enough of this sort of thing. The in- 
 fluence will be all the other way. Unless you seek out the 
 preachers you'll hear few sermons. You'll continue to think 
 of me as an old fogy. But I'm going to make one prophecy 
 and when you've heard it forget it if you can!" 
 
 Her eyes met his; he seemed to have obliged her to look up 
 at him. There was a force about him which she hadn't 
 recognized she was compelled to respect it. She had never 
 seen such a light of conviction in his face the austerity of it 
 was somehow magnetic; hurt and angry as she was, she had 
 ftever been so drawn to him.
 
 WHITE ANEMONES 159 
 
 "Some day, Mary," he said, very quietly, "you'll come 
 6ack starved not only from having tried to live on husks 
 yourself, but sick at heart at having offered them as food to 
 others." 
 
 She found no word to say in answer and turned with a 
 little gesture of futility to the door. His own heart was 
 heavy within him, at having dealt this last hard blow to a 
 spirit already exhausted with the rigours of the day. He 
 followed her as she went across the hall to say good-night to 
 Harriet, then out into the warm September darkness. As 
 they crossed the lawn he spoke again and there was anxiety 
 in his low voice. 
 
 "Mary, I can't let you go like this. It's perfectly 
 natural that you should be hurt even offended with me 
 for my plain speaking. If I didn't care so much about it 
 all, I'd have kept silence. I'm quite a good many years older 
 than you I wish I weren't. I don't want to seem like a self- 
 righteous grandfather forcing counsel upon you. I'd rather 
 be the brother you made me feel like to-day. Can't I keep 
 that feeling ? Won't you trust me ? I don't want you not to 
 want me to stand by, the way I told you I should. I want 
 you to want me to. " 
 
 He was no longer remonstrant no longer austere he was 
 simply and convincingly human. They had come to the 
 white pillars of the Graham porch. 
 
 "Friendship," he said haltingly, as she stood with head 
 turned away, "means to me giving nothing less than my best. 
 I've tried to give that to you to-day. If I've only hurt 
 you " 
 
 She turned her face toward him then. "You have hurt 
 me r " she said steadily. "Hurt my pride, anyhow, terribly. 
 B ut I can stand that for I think, after all you've rather 
 warmed my heart, and I needed that, too. You have stood 
 by all day. I want you to keep on, if you will, no mattei
 
 160 FOURSQUARE 
 
 how far away I am. I may seem ungrateful I'm a quee* 
 thing and don't always know myself or what I want. But 
 I do know " 
 
 He was silent, waiting. 
 
 "I do know you're a good friend. I think I'd rather have 
 a friend than a brother. I will you write to me now and 
 then ? It won't hurt me to hear how you feel about things." 
 
 "I will write, Mary I want to write. You let me tell 
 you you're splendid to take it like this. You'll win I 
 know you'll win. You're your mother's daughter you can't 
 do anything but the straight, fine thing." 
 
 "I wish" she said, her voice wistful "oh, I wish I were 
 sure I couldn't. But you see I'm not only my mother's 
 daughter I'm myself."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 To STIMULATE IMAGINATION 
 
 T WAS not a large apartment 
 neither was it exactly small as New 
 York apartments go. But its location 
 was excellent, and from its windows 
 could be had a glimpse of the river 
 just a glimpse, but priceless. 
 
 Mary's desk stood beside one of 
 these windows, daylight over the left 
 shoulder; typewriter close by with a 
 hooded electric over it. A small 
 grand piano elbowed the desk at its 
 right, a fine musical machine with 
 a cabinet full of choice records was 
 tucked into the opposite corner. 
 
 Books were everywhere, overflow- 
 ing the bookcases and crowding tables 
 and extra shelves. The neutral tint- 
 ed walls were hung chastely with a 
 few good pictures except over Mary's 
 desk, where a riot of framed auto- 
 graphed photographs, small prints, 
 and other pictorial treasures sug- 
 gested unwillingness to allow the se- 
 verity of decorative canons to intrude 
 upon this one corner. 
 
 Flowers were everywhere about the 
 room. It was a warm-looking room, 
 161
 
 162 FOURSQUARE 
 
 its hangings in the siennas and blues, with touches here and 
 there of stronger colour in the lamp-and-sconce shades. Its 
 chairs and its big divan were luxuriously comfortable; a tea- 
 table near the chimneypiece suggested social hours. 
 
 Alexandra Warren, returning from her library on a certain 
 late afternoon in November, let herself into the apartment 
 with the caution she always used when she expected to find 
 Mary at work. Within the door she stood still, observing the 
 little scene which nightly now for weeks had met her eye. 
 
 Mary sat before her typewriter, her fingers flying. A blue 
 smock like that which painters wear was pulled on over her 
 frock; her dark hair had loosened a little it looked as if her 
 fingers had been run through it. Her face was flushed. As 
 Alexandra stood back in the shadow, the clicking of the keys 
 ceased abruptly. Mary sprang up, went to the musical 
 machine and started it. She sat down upon a small chair 
 directly in front of it, and as the record began to play she 
 placed her ear close to it and remained, leaning forward, her 
 hands clasped tight in her lap. 
 
 One might have thought her deaf! A flood of the most 
 intense and complicated harmonies poured themselves out 
 upon her; apparently a whole orchestra was playing some- 
 thing barbaric in its passion and power, and the various 
 instruments blended in a whole which conveyed a sense of 
 something mighty happening. Here and there came violent 
 crescendoes which made Alexandra, on the other side of the 
 room, wince in sympathy with Mary's ear-drums but Mary 
 herself seemed only to draw the closer. Three times she 
 played the record over, then silenced the machine and 
 appeared actually to fling herself back at her work. 
 
 Alexandra went on into her own room one of two sleeping 
 rooms opening upon the narrow corridor at the end of which 
 was the living-and-work-room. A fair-sized and extremely 
 attractive dining-room and a snug little kitchen, with a bath-
 
 TO STIMULATE IMAGINATION 163 
 
 room which Mary called palatial, completed the scheme of 
 the apartment. She was paying a high price for it rents 
 had risen enormously since she and Alexandra had leased 
 their first quarters, and these had cost them a third more. 
 Only a writer of independent income, as Mary was from both 
 her own earnings and the family estate, could have afforded to 
 set up a typewriter in such a place, or have kept a maid to 
 save her time while she sat at it. 
 
 "Shall I serve dinner, ma'am?" 
 
 "Not yet, Norah. Miss Fletcher is still writing. If this 
 is one of your evenings out you may leave it in the heating 
 oven." 
 
 "I can wait the half hour, Miss Warren. Miss Fletcher's 
 been writin' the intire day she'll be wantin' things tasty." 
 
 "That's kind of you, Norah. I think Miss Fletcher must 
 be very tired. But I don't like to stop her when she's so hard 
 at work." 
 
 "No, ma'am." Norah was devoted to Mary, who had 
 brought her from Newcomb in the beginning, and to whom 
 she had returned from other service when Mary had come 
 back to the city. " Best not interfere when she's makin' it 
 fly like that. I'll wait till eight I've a good dinner to-night 
 jmd want to see it served." 
 
 But Norah had set her "tasty" dinner in the heating oveB 
 and gone out with a friend long before Mary's typewriter 
 stopped clicking. When it did, and its operator sat back in 
 her chair, throwing up her arms in a long stretch to ease the 
 aching muscles, then bending forward once more to reread 
 the last full page, Alexandra came forward from an armchair 
 where she had been quietly reading and waiting. 
 
 "Done?" 
 
 Mary lifted her flushed face. "Done praises be! The 
 fourth chapter. My heart and I'm done too! I've been 
 irazy over it, all day. It's gone like mad the first work I've
 
 j6 4 FOURSQUARE 
 
 had go that way since we came home. Oh, but it's worth all 
 it costs, when it comes with a rush. That blessed record 
 it did the trick! I must hear it again now!" 
 
 "My dear, it's almost nine o'clock dinner's waiting in the 
 oven " 
 
 But Mary was at the machine and had started the record. 
 She played it through. 
 
 "Wonderful, Sandy? Oh, but you haven't an idea what 
 it means to me. To you it's merely the ghost of the original 
 performance to me it brings it all back. And it means my 
 fourth chapter! I've written it on that music. I've 
 literally soaked myself in it, all day. And now it's done 
 and it's good I'll swear it is! Oh but I'm tired to the 
 last inch of me!" 
 
 "Come straight out to dinner. You need it badly." 
 
 "Need it? I'm starved as any workingman or ditch 
 digger! Tell Norah to serve it while I wash my face." 
 
 Alexandra served the dinner herself, at the round, prettily 
 Jaid table with its bowl of pink roses in the centre. Mary 
 came in presently, her blue smock removed, her hairpins 
 tightened, her eyes a little bloodshot from the long strain of 
 her day's work. She was sighing with weariness as she took 
 her place. 
 
 "Cut it up and put it in my mouth," she begged, lan- 
 guidly. "And don't make me wait till dessert for my coffee. 
 I want a big black cupful of it now." 
 
 "Oh, no, my dear girl! You can't have it. You know 
 what it would do to you." 
 
 "That's what I want it to do. John Kirkwood's coming 
 over to hear the chapter. He'll be here at ten." 
 
 "Not to-night!" 
 
 Mary nodded. "To-night. I called him at five o'clock 
 and told him he had to hear it to-night. I can't sleep till I 
 hear him say it's corking. You won't mind sitting up a
 
 TO STIMULATE IMAGINATION 165 
 
 little, will you? It won't take more than an hour. He'll go 
 by half past eleven. And I must have the coffee to brace me 
 for the reading." 
 
 "Mary " 
 
 "I know all thou would'st say, lady." Mary smiled im- 
 pudently across the table, her elbows upon it, her hands sup- 
 porting her drooping head. "I know thy counsel is wise and 
 prudent, as ever. But all rules have their exceptions. 
 When I've written a chapter like this one I simply can't live 
 till next day to take my friend the editor off his feet with it. 
 Prithee, bring me the coffee." 
 
 She drank it, two big black cups instead of one, and as it 
 cook hold of her fatigue and shortly banished it she became a 
 new creature though her friend was by no means satisfied 
 with the transformation, fearing the means. By the time John 
 Kirkwood's ring was heard, Mary was smooth and fresh in a 
 corn-coloured silken tunic, and only the heavy shadows 
 under her eyes betrayed the strenuousness of the effort just 
 ended. 
 
 "The fourth ready? You are putting on the pressure," 
 observed Kirkwood, as he settled himself in the big chair 
 always reserved for him. "Sure you're not too tired to 
 read it to me ? What if I should read it to you, for a change ?" 
 
 "Oh, no you wouldn't get my inflections. Besides, there 
 are places where it's badly mangled though not as much as 
 usual. You mightn't disentangle them easily and then I 
 should go perfectly crazy." 
 
 "Just the same, I want to try it. The reader of the book 
 won't get your inflections, either. Better see what I can read 
 into it. Come give me my way." 
 
 He had his way. Curled up in a corner of the divan Mary 
 sat watching his face as he turned page after page of her 
 typed script. He was a perfect reader, and as the chapter 
 proceeded the listener felt that it gained by the intelligence
 
 166 FOURSQUARE 
 
 of the interpreter, so that certain phrases fell upon her ear 
 with an emphasis she had hardly known they possessed. He 
 missed nothing, he felt his way through her interlineations 
 with hardly a slackening of the steady pace at which he read, 
 and when he came to the climax of the chapter a satisfied nod 
 and smile gave his verdict before he spoke. 
 
 "Good work excellent work! You're getting into it 
 with a rush, now. That chapter shows you have your scheme 
 well in hand. You've done just what I wanted to see you do 
 in this advanced the story by leaps and bounds, and still 
 kept a close grip on the interest. It's sometimes rather 
 difficult to do both." 
 
 "You're really satisfied with it, then? I thought you 
 weren't, quite, with the first three. So I vowed I'd make 
 you own this was good." 
 
 He was still smiling as he got up to stand upon the hearth- 
 rug, looking down upon her. 
 
 "You read me, did you? Well, you're right I can tell 
 you, now that you're really off down the track. The first 
 three chapters showed traces of your effort to get started 
 a perfectly natural result of the long siege of the dull months 
 in your country town. But they can be made right all they 
 will need is a bit of compressing and tightening, on your first 
 revision. You got under way a little like a new engine with a 
 heavy load the power was there but the necessary adjust- 
 ments of time and experience hadn't taken place. Remem- 
 ber Kipling's '.007' ? But you're getting up steam, and when 
 you have a clear track with all signals set you'll make a 
 record run." 
 
 Mary frowned up at him smiling through the frown, 
 however. "I don't know whether I want to be compared 
 to an engine. I don't want to feel a heavy load and have to 
 keep on the track. I want to be off up in the air somewhere, 
 free, flying."
 
 TO STIMULATE IMAGINATION 167 
 
 "Very well I amend my metaphor. But even in the air 
 you'll have to be subject to the laws of the air winds, cross 
 currents, pockets, terrific gales. And I must remind you 
 that airplanes carry engines." 
 
 "Airplanes? Yes but not birds!" 
 
 It was his turn to frown. "My dear Mary! It can't be 
 possible you're still romantic enough to want to be a bird 
 rather than a plane? Doesn't the idea of that whirring 
 motor fascinate you beyond the image of any paltry bird 
 sailing on little insufficient wings? For shame! Be a Spad 
 or a De Haviland, if you like, but have a human brain at 
 the controls." 
 
 She got up and came over to him. "You really do like 
 he chapter?" 
 
 He looked down at her, recognizing instantly the writer's 
 insatiate longing for more praise with which to feed the 
 fires of her energy. In spite of her weariness, he must 
 leave her keen for more work. He plunged instantly into 
 a detailed recognition of the success of the chapter he 
 had just read and the reasons for it; took up its con- 
 struction, point by point; said, "This was a mighty clever 
 touch" "That was a bit of consummate art" "The 
 closing scene was absolute, human realism, convincing to the 
 last word." And so, finally had Mary Fletcher glowing 
 with happiness and confidence and regarded her with eyes 
 whose comprehending glance veiled a touch of scorn. No- 
 body knew better than John Kirkwood how to feed those 
 fires. He had, as his daily task, to keep so many of them 
 alight. Real genius, he was saying to himself, had no need 
 of flattery hardly of recognition. There were no geniuses 
 on his list. He must make the most and the best of talent 
 great talent and that Mary Fletcher most assuredly pos- 
 sessed. He could well afford to give her what she wanted. 
 
 But Mary, even while she flushed gratifiedly under his
 
 168 FOURSQUARE 
 
 praise, was not entirely unmindful of the fact that she had 
 asked for it and had received full measure from a practised 
 hand. "Thank you," she said, when he had finished. "That's 
 more than enough and I don't deserve it all, by any means. 
 But I have worked hard, and I'm still so doubtful of myself. 
 I hardly dare believe I'm doing the thing as you feel it should 
 be done." 
 
 "You are and, as I've said, getting steadily into the high- 
 pressure atmosphere necessary to the task. The great thing 
 you need now is just a little more life and colour in your own 
 life. Let me supply it. Drop work entirely for a day or 
 two now and then; relax, and go out with me in the evening 
 a little oftener than you've been doing. You need to hear 
 some big music, I fancy and see some perfect dancing and 
 a tense play or two. You've been depending on a phono- 
 graph to stir your imagination, haven't you ?" 
 
 He glanced rather contemptuously toward the open musi- 
 cal machine. He knew some of Mary's devices along these 
 lines. She had frankly told him of them, in days past, and 
 laughed at them herself while she declared their potency. 
 
 So he had his way, in this as in other things, and the next 
 evening saw the pair on their way to the theatre. The 
 perfect dancing was first on Kirkwood's list, accompanied by 
 music from a famous orchestra. Afterward came a supper 
 more dancing and that night Mary crawled into her bed at 
 an hour so late that she couldn't crawl out again next morn- 
 ing until many working hours had gone by. In spite of re- 
 fusals which turned into acceptances under pressure Kirk- 
 wood managed during the next fortnight to carry out a 
 programme which supplied much varied, more or less highly 
 seasoned fare; and to have his protegee meet a number of 
 people whom he said she ought to know, for the sake of the 
 realism of the book. 
 
 "If you don't mind my saying so, you're a bir of a country
 
 TO STIMULATE IMAGINATION 169 
 
 mouse yet," he said to her frankly, one evening, on their way 
 home in the closed car which was always at his service on such 
 occasions. "In spite of your three years here in town, and 
 your experience abroad, and all that, you don't know life and 
 you don't know people except of certain favourite types. 
 The others you haven't bothered to know much less to 
 study. I want to remedy that. There's a certain group of 
 people to whom I haven't introduced you because I didn't 
 think you were ready for them. They're quite wonderful 
 people; you'll find them highly stimulating, though you may 
 not exactly like them. But for the sake of Sylvia and Julian 
 I think you'll have to know them." 
 
 It was another fortnight, however, before he brought 
 about this meeting. Whether purposely or not Mary couldn't 
 guess, but it was New Year's Eve when she found herself en- 
 tering a locality new to her. By this time she was thinking 
 herself familiar with every type of life she could possibly need 
 to observe, for Kirkwood's acquaintance seemed enormous, 
 and his power to give her fresh situations to study without 
 limit. On this evening she discovered that he had been sav- 
 ing one of the most interesting groups of his familiars for the 
 hour when it should make upon her the most arresting im- 
 pression. 
 
 On the way down the editor's talk had been so diverting 
 that Mary hadn't observed just where she was. When their 
 car swung into a small court and came to a standstill before 
 what looked to be a two-storied Italian villa, she stared about 
 her in amazement. They were far down town in the great 
 city, with high buildings circling them round. Yet before 
 them stood a group of charming small residences, their win- 
 dows and the sidelights of their doors rosy with radiance; 
 wreaths of holly in the windows, plump evergreen trees rising 
 beside the entrances. 
 
 "Made over from the old stables of the rich of former
 
 i7o FOURSQUARE 
 
 days," explained Kirkwood's voice in her ear. "Haven't 
 you heard of them? Little jewels they are. Architects 
 have outdone themselves to create this Italian atmosphere. 
 If there's one place in the city you ought to live in, it's right 
 here." 
 
 Mary's facile imagination had already taken fire. "Oh, 
 I'd give anything to live here!" she cried, under her breath. 
 "I suppose it's very difficult to manage it." 
 
 He nodded. "You have to know your way in." 
 
 "And frightfully expensive?" 
 
 "That follows, of course. You'll see some delightful 
 furnishings in here. As for the artistic values they're 
 priceless, to those who understand them." 
 
 He lifted the heavy brass knocker; the door was instantly 
 opened and he led her in. Accustomed though she had 
 been all her life to more or less luxury of living, used to being 
 entertained in homes of wealth, and having known the best 
 there was in the world of education and culture, she now 
 found herself in a new atmosphere of sophistication for which 
 former adventures into Bohemia had by no means prepared 
 her. In some of the haunts to which Kirkwood had taken 
 her she had met characters most eccentric; she had learned 
 to estimate no man's genius by the length of his hair or the 
 sombreness of his eyes. She had listened to speech of all 
 sorts, from the harshest of gutturals to the softest of difficult 
 sibilants, from the lips of those fresh from other shores and 
 struggling to conquer the English tongue. She had been 
 interested, intrigued, charmed, and shocked, beyond all 
 previous experience. Through it all Kirkwood had urged 
 her to miss nothing. 
 
 "Some of it's great and some beneath contempt," he had 
 warned her. "Take care not to get your values mixed and 
 most of all not to prejudge. One can't leap at an estimate 
 of these people you've been meeting these last weeks.
 
 TO STIMULATE IMAGINATION 171 
 
 You'll find all the signposts you're familiar with changed 
 around as the boys change them at Hallowe'en. Learn to 
 reserve your judgment as completely as you can. The 
 types aren't simple as they are in Newcomb or even as 
 you found them in your army " 
 
 "They weren't always simple there," she objected. 
 
 But he went on dogmatically. "They're complex, often 
 beyond analysis. The most interesting of all will baffle 
 you absorb you and teach you as no school or college 
 may." 
 
 He murmured something of the same sort again as the 
 door closed behind them and a man and woman came for- 
 ward together from a room beyond the small hallway where 
 the fresh arrivals were standing. Mary looked at them 
 and fell instantly captive. 
 
 It was really not possible to describe the woman. The 
 man might be more readily characterized Mary had known 
 his sort before, or thought she had. He was easily a person- 
 ality. But the woman was more. All the author's favourite 
 phrases failed her and Mary's vocabulary was no mean 
 one, nor did her powers of freshly restating familiar descrip- 
 tions of beautiful and delightful feminine characters lie 
 within narrow limits. She was accustomed to find at her 
 command the exact words with which to make vivid the idea 
 she wished to convey, to indicate a portrait with the lines 
 of a sketch, to use high lights and shadows with ease. But 
 with the woman before her she felt her descriptive abilities 
 at a standstill. At last she had come into contact with the 
 indescribable. 
 
 It wasn't that Mrs. Halloway was the loveliest woman 
 she had ever seen. She wasn't exactly that. Nor was she 
 palpably a charming woman. Even the word ''fascinating" 
 wouldn't fit her though there was no question of Mary's 
 preoccupation with her from the first moment. She was very
 
 1 72 FOURSQUARE 
 
 silent, very still; she sat in shadowy corners, she dominated 
 nobody, and nobody seemed especially eager to be near her 
 though somebody usually was. And yet it was impossible 
 for Mary to understand it never in her experience had it 
 been so evident that in a roomful of people one woman was 
 the centre of them all. It was as if the effect of her were 
 a dam over which every particle of water in a rushing river 
 must fall. Those waters might delay the plunge by forming 
 into eddys, into whirlpools, into side currents, but in the 
 end they must go over! And with the rest went Mary 
 Fletcher. 
 
 It was a strange evening. Only after it was all past did 
 Mary discover that it wasn't an evening at all it was the 
 greater part of a night. She was unconscious of the passage 
 of hours. For her, time simply stopped. It didn't once 
 occur to her that she ought to think of asking Kirkwood to 
 take her home. One event followed another rapidly 
 and yet there seemed no effort to arrange events. A bril- 
 liant Russian held a breath-arresting argument with a 
 French actor; a young Roumanian took a rare old violin out 
 of its case and played to the accompaniment of an old Ger- 
 man choir-meister it seemed to Mary that since the world 
 began she had never heard such music. An enchanting 
 young girl appeared from behind a great Chinese screen and 
 danced. And then, suddenly, it was Mrs. Halloway once 
 more who was the focusing point for all attention, though she 
 spoke but one sentence out of her corner spoke it in a voice 
 so richly individual that all must listen. 
 
 It wasn't that she really said anything worth recalling, 
 perhaps. This was what bothered Mary when she kept 
 trying to set down in her mind something definite about Mrs. 
 Halloway. Her one actual conclusion was that it couldn't 
 be done. She tried to list her attractions they wouldn't 
 be listed. The one thing that was outstanding was the fact
 
 TO STIMULATE IMAGINATION 173 
 
 that her husband was even more under her spell than any- 
 body else. This point of difference between her and most 
 of the other women Mary had met in the course of Kirk- 
 wood's programme of education was notable. 
 
 The hours went on. A delicious supper was served, 
 nearly every item of which was new to Mary's palate. She 
 began to feel of all people most provincial; Kirkwood had 
 been absolutely right when he so called her. With the supper 
 came rich and fragrant wines. She tasted them with dis- 
 cretion, afraid to lose for an instant the complete command of 
 herself lest she miss a single reaction. But nobody else seemed 
 to lose command, either; she hadn't dreamed that people could 
 drink as these people did and show no effects beyond an 
 increased cleverness and charm of speech. At midnight 
 a hail to the New and farewell to the Old Year was drunk 
 the violinist played something sombre like an ancient priest's 
 chant, which suddenly brightened into a burst of wild re- 
 joicing. Then things went on again. 
 
 "What about it ?" whispered Kirkwood, at a moment when 
 Mary had been left quite by herself. The other guests had 
 not paid her much attention; all the evening she had felt 
 like an onlooker and hadn't minded. All she could ask was 
 to be permitted to watch the others. 
 
 "I'm quite out of my head, I think," Mary whispered back. 
 "This isn't real it can't be." 
 
 "No, it isn't real," he admitted, on a suppressed laugh. 
 "That's why you like it. To-morrow you'll think it didn't 
 happen. Make the most of it while you have it we're in 
 luck to be here to-night." 
 
 It was at two in the morning that the crisis came 
 the dramatic climax. Kirkwood had just warned Mary 
 that he thought they'd better go, though the others would 
 probably stay till daylight. She had taken leave of her host 
 and hostes > had assumed her wraps, and she and Kirkwood
 
 174 FOURSQUARE 
 
 were standing in the small hallway talking for a minute 
 with a guest, when the attention of all three was suddenly 
 challenged by a loud, unpleasant laugh in the room within. 
 It was the first ribald sound of the night. They turned to 
 look, saw the young violinist with a shaking hand pointing 
 a pistol at his host, Halloway; the next moment, as the men 
 sprang, a shot rang out. Halloway fell, and instantly all 
 was suppressed confusion. 
 
 Mary felt her arm seized, and the next she knew she was 
 being rushed out of the house, across the courtyard, and into 
 the car in which they had come. Kirkwood's voice said 
 sharply: "Get away quickly, Frink; the lady's ill!" and 
 they were off. Mary was trembling in every nerve as the 
 car slid out into the cross street and whirled off toward the 
 avenue.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 STANDING BY 
 
 HOULDN'T we have stayed to try 
 to help?" was her first shaky, wor- 
 ried question. 
 
 "Good Lord, no!" was his smoth- 
 ered answer. " Better out of it while 
 we can, since we've nothing to do with 
 it, and there are plenty to look after 
 the thing. The police and the press 
 will be in on it quicker than thought. I 
 wouldn't have you so much as called 
 1 1 as a witness for ten thousand dollars." 
 
 His hand covered the mouthpiece 
 jjj of the speaking-tube to Frink's seat; 
 S the heavy glass partition shut them 
 ' completely away from the chauffeur, 
 yet his voice was still guarded. 
 
 "I'll admit I knew conditions were 
 ragged there, but I didn't dream of 
 anything like this. I wanted you to 
 study Esme you'll never have such 
 another chance to find your Sylvia. 
 I think when you get over this shock 
 you'll see it was worth it." 
 
 "I thought I didn't think she was 
 Sylvia at all. She and her husband 
 seemed so devoted . . . Oh, poof 
 
 thing! " 
 
 175
 
 176 FOURSQUARE 
 
 i 
 "My country mouse! Don't tell me you didn't sense the 
 
 situation. You're really not so blindly innocent as that!" 
 
 She glanced at him, a new horror gripping her. "Why 
 Mrs. Halloway " 
 
 "She's not Mrs. Halloway. Nobody told you she was. 
 Nobody called her that. You simply took it for granted 
 quite simply, indeed, my dear." 
 
 She was realizing all at once that the wine he had drunk 
 had done its work, though his voice and hand were steady. 
 His manner toward her had become subtly different; she 
 didn't like it in the least. She was instantly and intensely 
 displeased with him; her fright over the tragedy she had 
 witnessed was now mingled with rage with Kirkwood for 
 having taken her to a place where such things could happen. 
 
 She drew as far away from him as possible, into the corner 
 of the wide seat. "If I had known, I wouldn't have gone," 
 she said, in an icy small voice. 
 
 He laughed. "I knew you wouldn't. But I knew you 
 needed to go, to get those beautiful eyes of yours a little wider 
 open to the world. Other things being equal I wouldn't 
 have taken you. As a mere society girl I would have 
 shielded you from such a scene or contact with such people. 
 As a professional writer well I tell you you needed to see 
 for yourself what you had merely heard of. You needed 
 to feel the tremendous charm of those whose genius more or 
 less justifies, for them, a mode of life that wouldn't be toler' 
 ated elsewhere. Every man and woman you met there to- 
 night is a genius. You didn't hear the actual name of one of 
 them. The Halloways aren't Halloways at all it's not 
 even their house. It was leased by them through an agent, 
 from the owner, who's in Europe. The other people who live 
 in that court haven't a notion who these are and never 
 will know, unless this affair brings it out. But it won't 
 if sheer cleverness will prevent it. Look at to-morrow
 
 STANDING BY 177 
 
 morning's papers there'll be a perfectly straight story about 
 it. Even if Halloway that isn't his name dies, those peo- 
 ple will all swear it was an accident. You needn't be anxious 
 in the least, since we got away. Stop shaking, Mary dear 
 and tell me you forgive me. After all, it was just a little 
 glimpse of life. I'm almost glad you saw the shooting, 
 since it gave you a reaction you'd never otherwise have had a 
 chance at. Anyhow, it's not my fault you saw it. But even 
 that was worth it to get your Sylvia. There isn't such an- 
 another woman as Esme on two continents. And now you 
 can paint her! I could have sketched her for you till 
 the stars grew cold and you wouldn't have got the outside 
 edges of her. Thank me for that, anyhow!" 
 
 But Mary would thank him for nothing. A cold fright 
 enveloped her. She tried to remember that as an editor and 
 former newspaper man his attitude was natural enough 
 for himself, at least; what she didn't like was his forcing 
 it upon her. The character of Sylvia did he intend that 
 she should make of it something for which this Mrs. 
 Halloway whose name wasn't that must be the proto- 
 type? Then she hadn't fully understood him before. And 
 even if he had thought it necessary to take her to such a 
 place as that, was it fair was it even decent of him to do 
 it without giving her the chance to say whether she would 
 take the obvious risk? Even had no tragedy occurred, he 
 had had no right to take her where her hostess was a 
 woman not fit to be a hostess to any young woman ol 
 Mary's world. It was an outrage; she would never forgive 
 him! 
 
 His voice went on presently, on a note it was hard to bear. 
 
 "You're silent. I'm condemned. Then dismiss from 
 your mind the notion that you can ever be a great workman. 
 There can be only little make-believe tools in your equipment. 
 Nothing with a fine edge nothing that can cut or gouge-
 
 i 7 8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 or bore. All you want is a plane some sandpaper a bottle 
 of oil so you can make everything look smooth and polished. 
 No rough edges may show oh, no it wouldn't be right 
 not to conceal the ugly holes if only with putty. Putty! 
 What a useful material it is! My Lord you've lots of it on 
 hand, haven't you, Mary, my dear!" 
 
 She tried to close her ears. She was forgiving him now 
 on one score. Those delicious wines and liqueurs had been 
 insidious he really wasn't responsible. The John Kirk- 
 wood she knew was a gentleman; he wouldn't have been 
 capable of addressing her like this. All she could do was to 
 let him relieve his mounting resentment by his increasingly 
 plain and cutting speech and to make him no reply. She sat 
 looking steadily out of the window at the flying streets, 
 longing for the moment when she could be rid of him, and be 
 safely back with Alexandra. Alexandra? Could she pos- 
 sibly tell her of this night's adventure? Never! Mary's 
 mind was already made up on this point. Yet how cover her 
 own shaken nerves? for that they were shaken she knew in 
 every tingling, chilled fibre. Lucky if she didn't go quite 
 to pieces when she got the chance. 
 
 He said more much more did John Kirkwood, as a man 
 will at a certain stage of intoxication. He was eloquent in 
 his anger so eloquent that his language would have made 
 welcome copy for one who wanted just that sort of material. 
 He told Mary Fletcher precisely what he thought of a would- 
 be artist who was wrapped round with petty fears, who 
 didn't dare see what the world was like who thought it 
 was art to paint what wasn't true, what didn't exist, and try 
 to foist it on a sad, bad public who knew better damned 
 better and would only laugh and cast it into the discard 
 where it deserved to be. Only the end of the road brought 
 him to the end of his harangue where he put the finishing 
 touch on his brutality by telling her that after all she had
 
 STANDING BY 179 
 
 never been so near being madly beautiful as she was at this 
 moment, and that he 
 
 The chauffeur opened the door, and the appearance of a 
 white and shaken Mary being helped out of the car with her 
 furs pulled well up over her mouth gave colour to Kirkwood's 
 mention of her illness. She allowed him to take her to the 
 door of the lift, then gave him a frozen good-night. For a 
 dreadful moment she thought he was going to follow her 
 into the car, but with a shrug of his shoulders he turned 
 away. 
 
 Alexandra had retired, of course, long since. There was 
 not much sleep for Mary, when at last she tried to sleep. For 
 a long time she hadn't even tried. She had sat huddled on a 
 footstool close by the gas logs of the fireplace, where she had 
 turned the heat up to a high point. Shivering now and 
 then, she had gone over and over in her mind the events of 
 the night, recalling all the most trivial things, while always 
 before her stood out that last poignant scene, like a group 
 shown by a searchlight. Somehow one figure was ever pres- 
 ent with her, that of the strange woman who had so challenged 
 her imagination. She remembered the colour of her gown 
 it had been an odd, flame-blue, of extreme severity of line. 
 Her hair had been black drawn down oddly and very 
 closely almost to obscure her eyes, which Mary thought were 
 blue, like her gown. Her face had been deadly pale through- 
 out the evening yet full of life, somehow. She had had an 
 odd mouth perhaps it was her mouth which 
 
 Oh, what was the use of trying to analyze this creature, 
 with her mysterious hold upon everybody? Kirkwood 
 had said they were all geniuses those people. She could 
 hardly believe him were geniuses so plenty, then? As for 
 Kirkwood himself she did her best not to think of him. 
 The thing that held her, made it impossible for her even to 
 attempt to sleep, was the memory of what Mark Fenn had
 
 i8o FOURSQUARE 
 
 said of her projected book. "You'll only have set up a temple 
 to the lesser gods, with the devil lurking in the background." 
 It was late in the afternoon of the day which had already 
 well begun when Mary came home, that Alexandra brought 
 in Kirkwood's propitiatory flowers. Mary had told her 
 nothing had lain in bed all day, pleading a splitting head- 
 ache after her dissipation. Alexandra had regarded hei 
 with troubled eyes, but had asked no questions. She brought 
 her the great box silently, and when Mary waved it away 
 took it out again, arranged the enormous bunch of roses 
 it contained, and put them on the piano. But the box had 
 also held a note, and this she brought back. Reluctantly it 
 was opened. 
 
 It's little use trying in this way to express my regret for having 
 let you in for so much that was distasteful. But I want to get word 
 to you somehow that you need fear nothing further as a result of the 
 visit to give you material for your work as you will see by the 
 afternoon papers. The morning ones didn't get the affair at all. 
 
 Personally I'm asking you to be generous as well as just, and 
 permit me to call for only an hour this evening. It will not be pos- 
 sible for me to have any rest or relief of mind until I see you. I think 
 you know the mood in which I necessarily now am one of black 
 humiliation for having in any way distressed you. He who was 
 capable of doing that was not, I beg you to believe, 
 
 JOHN KIRKWOOD. 
 
 She let him come. As a matter of fact, she was anxiou* 
 to have him come, much as she dreaded meeting him, for she 
 simply couldn't bear to continue to think of him as she had 
 last seen him. In some way he must reassure her in some 
 way make her believe him, as he himself had said, in- 
 capable of really being all that she had been obliged to think 
 him. 
 
 When he came, her first sight of him a little softened 
 her heart, which had been hard against him, though she had
 
 STANDING BY 181 
 
 meant to keep it hard. He was very grave, looked as if 
 he hadn't slept, was extraordinarily quiet of manner. She 
 didn't offer her hand, and he made no effort to claim that 
 usual greeting. She herself was also grave and quiet. They 
 might have been two people of very slight acquaintance, 
 meeting on a matter of serious import. 
 
 Contrary to his custom, Kirkwood did not so much as 
 glance toward the familiar corner where the desk stood. Mary, 
 indeed, had removed from that corner all appearance of 
 work. The typewriter was covered, the desk closed, not a 
 page of manuscript was in sight. Things were so painfully 
 in order that she herself was feeling like a stranger in a 
 strange place. What had happened? She herself hardly 
 knew. But something unquestionably had. 
 
 "As I told you in my note," Kirkwood began immediately, 
 "the affair of last evening is absolutely closed, as far as you 
 are concerned. The names of no guests were given to re- 
 porters those of the principals were fictitious. You need 
 never give the whole experience another anxious thought. 
 I hardly need say I would have used every means in my 
 power and they are many to prevent the slightest un- 
 pleasantness for you. It wasn't necessary. Those people 
 have their own code it doesn't permit involvement in their 
 troubles for their guests. It is all over for me as well as for 
 you as if we hadn't been there." 
 
 "The man who was shot " said Mary slowly, and 
 
 with reluctance, "is he will he " 
 
 "He died at noon. Those who were present testified that 
 the shooting was accidental; the story given out was sim- 
 ple and straightforward there was nobody to question it. 
 Nothing could have been more perfectly managed. And 
 nobody will ever call upon you or me to testify to what we 
 thought we saw. Perhaps we didn't see it." 
 
 Mary shuddered. "Oh, I wish I hadn't!"
 
 182 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "I wish you hadn't!" His voice was full of sadness. "God 
 knows I wish you hadn't. It was too terrible an education 
 not even I, who am so keen to have you know life as it is, 
 could have wished you to have that memory." 
 
 "But but" her eyes widened " if we did see it and 
 we did, you know won't we have to " 
 
 He didn't allow her to suffer for an instant under the 
 thought that had flashed through her mind. "The other 
 man took his own life," he said, very gently, "two hours ago. 
 That isn't even in the papers yet. So you see as I said 
 it's all over for you and me, as if we hadn't been there. Only 
 the memory and for that, I want you to believe that if I 
 could take it from you by burning it into my own brain more 
 deeply, I would. I would, Mary. For I am desperately 
 unhappy over what I rather confusedly remember of what 
 I said to you on the way home." 
 
 She was silent. She had turned very white whiter even 
 than she had been when he came in, and that had been a 
 pallor which had shocked him. 
 
 "I know it was inexcusable, even by the fact that I wasn't 
 altogether myself. I'd had a double stupefaction, you 
 know the wine and the tragedy together had spoiled my 
 judgment put words into my mouth. I was anxious to 
 divert your mind. I thought if we could talk about your 
 work rather than about what had happened, it would help 
 you to get yourself in hand. I was a poor physician, I know 
 but perhaps it was better that you should be angry with 
 me. It took your mind from what was worse for it. But 
 even so I'm horribly sorry and ashamed. I can only beg 
 you to believe me." 
 
 He let his case rest there. While she waited, considering 
 what to say to him, an old saying of her father's came to her 
 mind: "The only thing one can do with an apology is to 
 accept it." It was true, she knew; certainly if one were con-
 
 STANDING BY 183 
 
 vinced of its sincerity, as in this case she could hardly help 
 being convinced. Yet there remained her displeasure with 
 him for having taken her to that place at all, without her con- 
 sent. He had expressed no regret for that. She couldn't let 
 that go couldn't take him back on the old ground of con- 
 fidence in his guidance not while he wouldn't admit that 
 he had been wrong. She might be very much of a prude; 
 undoubtedly there were plenty of women writers who would 
 have welcomed the introduction to a dubious, brilliant com- 
 pany like that of the previous night, even though their consent 
 wasn't asked beforehand. Somehow Mary Fletcher couldn't 
 feel that Kirkwood was justified, although she couldn't wholly 
 deny that the experience had had a certain value for 
 her. 
 
 It was at this point in the interview, while silence was still 
 lying like an open well between the pair, that a telegram was 
 sent up to Mary the brief message which cut into the situa- 
 tion like a knife, solving for the present, at least, all its 
 difficulties. Alexandra brought it to her and waited while 
 she read it one arm about her, for Mary's pallor had 
 alarmed her as she caught sight of it on her way into the room. 
 
 Mary read the two lines in a flash, and her hand clenched 
 on the yellow paper. She gave it back to Alexandra and 
 sank down into a chair, her head on her arms. Alexandra 
 scanned the message, while Kirkwood came hurriedly to 
 Mary's other side. 
 
 Miss Graham suddenly very ill asks for you Doctor Reade ad- 
 vises no delay though case not hopeless keep up courage standing by. 
 
 FENN. 
 
 As one comes breathlessly to the end of an exciting chapter 
 in a book, and turns the page to find the curtain risen on a 
 scene a thousand miles away, the whole previous situation 
 left in suspension, with no clue given as to how it all came out,
 
 i8 4 FOURSQUARE 
 
 so, between two breaths, one of apprehension, the other of 
 recognition, Mary had exchanged one situation of unhappi- 
 ness for another. Yet so full of misery had been the hours 
 that had gone before, it was almost with relief that she ac- 
 cepted the necessity for instant action of whatever sort. 
 
 It was very evident that John Kirkwood, also, welcomed 
 this chance to do things rather than to think them. He be- 
 came at once the man of experience and resource, began 
 a series of telephonings to information bureaus and ticket 
 offices, and presently announced that all was satisfactorily 
 arranged. He even expressed the belief that he could secure 
 for Alexandra a short leave of absence from her library that 
 she might accompany Mary upon her journey. But Mary 
 at once forbade such a draft upon friendship. 
 
 "I'm no child to be taken care of everywhere," she said, 
 smiling wanly at her friend, as she laid necessaries in a travel- 
 ling case and looked up gloves and handkerchiefs. "It will 
 do me good to see this through by myself." 
 
 Before she left just two hours after the message had been 
 received she had a hurried consultation with Alexandra. 
 Both Miss Warren and Kirkwood were to see her off, and 
 the latter had gone down to the station before them to look 
 after a detail of reservations and luggage. 
 
 "I don't know what this may mean, Sandy," Mary said, 
 trying to speak composedly as she adjusted her veil. "If 
 Aunt Sara is so very ill, even if she gets well it will prob- 
 ably be a matter of a long time before I can leave her. She 
 doesn't recuperate quickly she's too frail. In any case I 
 can't make plans. The only thing I know is that I must get 
 back to her and never leave her while she wants me. She's 
 all I have " 
 
 "Yes, dear of course you'll stay. And I'll stay here, for 
 a time, until we know. And I'll take care of the manuscript. 
 Hadn't I best put it in a safety vault, at the bank, for even
 
 STANDING BY 185 
 
 the maybe short time before you can make definite plans? 
 Then if you want it sent on, I'll send it registered." 
 
 "You've learned the value of such stuff, haven't you, 
 Sandy? when one hasn't a copy. Yes, take care of it. If I 
 stay on I'll want it I suppose though just now I feel 
 as if I never cared to see it again. All these weeks of work 
 and rush I don't know whether they've produced anything 
 or nothing. What does it matter? Nothing matters 
 if I can only keep her." 
 
 "I heard of Doctor Reade while I was there. All New* 
 comb was talking of him that week do you remember? 
 because he'd just pulled some prominent person through a 
 frightful crisis. If he says the case isn't hopeless, you may be 
 sure he's doing his best to keep it from being so. Try to rest 
 on that, Mary dear, on the journey. I know it will seem 
 long." 
 
 On the way to the station Mary, looking out on the familiar 
 windings of the Drive, said with a sigh : 
 
 " I seem fated to meet some crisis in this city. * The City 
 of Dreadful Night ' it surely is to me. It was night when 
 the cable came from Italy. Night, a year after, when I sailed 
 for France thinking of them thankful I could do something 
 hard, to help me forget. It was night New Year's Eve 
 
 when " She broke off, and went on hastily. "Now it's 
 
 night again, and I'm off for No, I wont fear the worst. 
 
 Only Sandy if I'm left alone, I'll oh, I'll want you then, 
 of all people." She bit her lip hard, and her hand clutched 
 Alexandra's tight. "I'm not going to cry," she said sternly. 
 "I'll prove I can be strong as I used to be before I got to 
 putting blood and tears into my work, breaking myself down 
 emotionally. It's such a mistake to cry! It only weakens 
 one, doesn't it?" 
 
 On this note she went away. Alexandra really wondered 
 at her, so composed she had become. Alexandra couldn't
 
 186 FOURSQUARE 
 
 know the actual relief it was to her to have something to think 
 about besides what had happened on New Year's Eve. 
 
 At the station she avoided being alone for a moment with 
 John Kirkwood, and after one or two efforts at a word with 
 her he gave it up. The only thing he could do to restore the 
 old confidence and understanding was to serve her, as he was 
 doing, with quiet consideration, and trust to time and ab- 
 sence to heal the breach. 
 
 Kirkwood saw her upon the train and delayed until she 
 was established in her section he knew she wouldn't rec- 
 ognize the reason why no other traveller would come along 
 to share the facing sleeper seats with her; he had bought the 
 extra full-fare ticket necessary to this end. Now, at the last 
 moment, he bent over her. 
 
 "You won't go away without forgiving me?" his low voice 
 urged. "It's hard enough to stay behind and see you off 
 upon this errand without that." 
 
 She gave him her hand; she could hardly do otherwise. 
 One doesn't willingly part from one who has been a friend 
 without the wish to leave peace behind. He took the hand 
 in both his own, gave it a hard, long pressure which spoke 
 sympathy with her trouble, and as the train began to move 
 ran down the car without looking back. Outside a moment 
 later she saw his lifted hat and permitted herself to wave 
 back at him. After all, the memory of a thousand kindnesses 
 at his hands rose up to bid her act as naturally as she might. 
 When, with the train under headway, the porter brought her 
 a box which held a great bunch of the freshest, purplest vio- 
 lets she had ever seen, her sense of injury and resentment 
 toward him left her, for the time at least, and she buried her 
 face in their cool fragrance. Perhaps if they were kept very 
 carefully in the cold and dark, they might be fit to bring to 
 Aunt Sara, to-morrow night. Oh if they might only find 
 her able to notice them!
 
 STANDING BY 187 
 
 Twenty-four hours upon a rushing train may seem a week. 
 It seemed to Mary, as the last stop before Newcomb found 
 her packed and ready to leave the car, that for a period in- 
 terminable she had been sitting alone in that section, with 
 her anxious thoughts far ahead of her. At almost every 
 stopping point she had hoped for a telegram of reassurance; 
 it would be altogether like Mark Fenn to relieve her sus- 
 pense in that way if he could. That she received no message 
 served to increase her fears till they were well nigh unbear- 
 able. The early winter dark had long fallen when certain 
 familiar lightmarks began to show themselves along the way 
 a great power station a small factory in full blast a 
 slanting row of arc-lights along a highway leading into the 
 town. There was a certain crossing where trains always came 
 to a standstill; with her face against the pane Mary stared 
 out, her heart beating smotheringly, for from this point she 
 could, in clear weather, knowing where to look, make out the 
 Graham house upon the hill. Yes, she was sure she saw the 
 lighted windows. Then but wouldn't the house be bright as 
 usual, in any case ? The days had gone by when people drew 
 their blinds and shrouded their lights to show that bereave- 
 ment was within. 
 
 The porter came for her luggage. Mary followed him, 
 sick with terror of what might be awaiting her, yet hoping 
 against hope against conviction that in another five min- 
 utes she might be drawing long breaths of relief. She hadn't 
 known how she loved little Aunt Sara till she had spent this 
 night and day in the fear of losing her. Mark Fenn would 
 be on the platform, she knew that; as she came out into the 
 vestibule she was conscious that whatever news awaited her 
 she would not have to face it alone. "Standing by stand- 
 ing by " those were the words that had brought her all her 
 lonely way. 
 
 ,\ compact figure, broad-shouldered yet lithe of movement,
 
 i88 FOURSQUARE 
 
 ran down the platform. A lean, strong face, the eyes steady 
 though the lips were sober, looked anxiously down at her, a 
 hand grasped hers. Her car was far down the track; the 
 lights were dim here, but somehow Mary knew by the very 
 silence which followed the sound of the voice speaking her 
 name that he had no good news for her. 
 
 "Tell me " she breathed. 
 
 "It's all over dear. Quietly we think painlessly. 
 . . . Mary I'm going to help you bear it." 
 
 He had drawn her hand through his arm he was walking 
 slowly, that she might meet the first shock of it down here in 
 the faint light, away from the people on the platform. Some- 
 how, through all her pain and fright yes, it was fright, at 
 what was facing her, alone in the world with no near kin she 
 felt that she was leaning upon sturdy strength. By the time 
 they had reached the station itself, and Harriet Fenn had 
 come to her, she was a little steadied. 
 
 "This is so good of you, Harriet," she was able to say, and 
 was even surprised at the sound of her own voice. 
 
 "I don't know who should try to be good to you if not we, 
 Mary dear," Harriet responded warmly. 
 
 She sat between the brother and sister in the car which 
 had been waiting. Through the town up the hill yes, the 
 house was lighted quite as usual. Only the windows of Miss 
 Graham's own room were dim Mary recognized that with 
 a low sob she couldn't wholly keep back, at which Harriet's 
 hand, which was holding hers, tightened its grasp. On her 
 other arm she felt Mark's pressure for a minute as the car 
 turned in. On the way he had quietly, and in few words, 
 given her the outlines of her aunt's brief illness. There had 
 been little suffering, and when she had known that Mary wa 
 coming her eyes had brightened and she had rested content. 
 They thought she hadn't known she wouldn't live to see her 
 beloved niece her sister's child. Altogether, one thing was
 
 STANDING BY 189 
 
 certain, Mary wasn't to blame herself she had done all she 
 could. 
 
 "One of the nurses," Harriet had said, in her pleasant, 
 natural way of speaking which fell gratefully upon Mary's 
 ears, " is to stay on with you, for a little. We felt you'd be 
 sure to like her. She's Miss O'Grady, the brightest, kindest 
 soul we think we've ever known. From the moment she 
 came into the house we knew she was a treasure, and Miss 
 Graham turned to her as a child might. She'll be waiting 
 for you, and you'll just let her take charge of you." 
 
 "You can't do anything else, with Miss O'Grady," Mark 
 had added. "Dr. Reade couldn't say enough about her. 
 He sent a long way to get her. He knew her first in France; 
 she was a Red Cross nurse in his hospital." 
 
 "My first thought was to take you home with me," Har- 
 riet went on. " But the second was that, with Miss O'Grady, 
 you'd be more comfortable there, in your own room." 
 
 Mary found herself wondering if she wanted any nurse 
 about, no matter how kind. But it had all been arranged; 
 she couldn't say she wouldn't have it. It would be easy 
 enough to send Miss O'Grady away after a day or two. In 
 spite of the Fenns' enthusiasm over her Mary thought she 
 should be quite through with the stranger in a short time 
 
 And then she was out of the car, and lip the steps beneath 
 the tall white pillars. The door opened, the light from the 
 hallway fell upon Eliza's solicitous face, a little drawn with 
 weeping. Behind her stood a sturdy figure in crisp white uni- 
 form, the upstanding white cap with its narrow black band set 
 upon a mass of the reddest, curliest hair Mary had ever seen. 
 The face below was a pretty Irish face, the eyes blue-gray, 
 the nose a bit up-tilted, the broad mouth friendlily smiling. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Mary!" cried Eliza, and her tears fell on Mary's 
 hands. 
 
 "Miss Fletcher, this is Miss Rose O'Grady," said Mark
 
 190 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Fenn's voice. "I give you into her care. I can do nothing 
 better for you, I'm sure." 
 
 There was a minute or two of uncertainty on Mary's part, 
 while she looked about her, her heart beating heavily at sight 
 of the familiar old hall, with its wide, low-stepped staircase, 
 its family portraits, dark with age, its look of gracious hos- 
 pitality unchanged with the loss that had come upon the 
 house. Then a warm, strong arm came about her tired 
 shoulders, and the nicest, most comforting voice she thought 
 she had ever heard said gently and yet confidently: 
 > "Just come along with me now, Miss Mary, up to your own 
 room. It's a hot bath you'll be wanting, and a bit of a rest 
 and then the best cup of broth Eliza ever made and she's a 
 wonderful cook, as you know. A night's sleep you'll be 
 having before you put your mind to one thing in this house 
 and to-morrow's another day, and you'll find strength for it. 
 Come and trust me to see to everything. It's for that I'm 
 here." 
 
 Mary looked back at Mark Fenn as she suffered herself to 
 be led away up the stairs. He smiled and nodded, as who 
 would say "You see? Just let her have her way." She 
 nodded back. All in a moment somehow she knew that 
 Rose O'Grady herself was what she needed just the Irish 
 nurse who had known what to say to the weariest, saddest, 
 most needy traveller who had come in under the old home 
 roof in many a day.
 
 ttC 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 Two RED TULIPS 
 
 O," Dr. Christopher Reade assured 
 Harret and Mark Fenn, "I don't 
 think you need be really alarmed 
 about Miss Fletcher. It may take 
 some time to repair damages, but 
 with Rose O'Grady in command she'll 
 have to obey my orders. Rose has 
 put her to bed and there'll she'll 
 stay." 
 
 "I'm relieved to hear it," Harriet 
 said decidedly, and Mark gravely 
 added a word of assent. 
 
 The three were holding a brief 
 counsel in the drawing-room of the 
 Graham house. It was the evening of 
 the day in which Miss Sara Graham 
 had taken her last short journey to 
 the old churchyard where the January 
 snows had already woven for her a 
 heavy white blanket. Mary had kept 
 up bravely through everything from 
 the hour of her arrival; had stood 
 with a white, still face throughout the 
 short service in the snow, and then 
 had come home to collapse completely 
 upon the threshold of that which was 
 now her own and only home. Mark 
 191
 
 i 9 2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Fenn, upon whose arm she had leaned in brotherly sub- 
 stitute for that of the kinsman she had not, had carried her 
 up the stairs and laid her upon her own bed, turning an 
 anxious, questioning look upon Rose O'Grady, who had run 
 up before him to lead the way. 
 
 "Sure and it's no wonder," the Irish nurse had said softly, 
 as she adjusted pillows and blankets, "and her keeping up 
 by nerve alone. If it wasn't for the pluck of her she'd have 
 let go hours agone. Thank you, Mr. Fenn and I'll soon 
 have her comfortable. You can be quite easy in your 
 mind." 
 
 This, Mark had recognized, had been for the benefit of 
 Mary herself, who had been only momentarily unconscious, 
 and who, though she now lay like a limp white flower upon 
 her bed, had herself murmured, "Thank you for every- 
 thing," as he laid her down. Afterward, however, when he 
 had telephoned for Dr. Reade, he had a moment with Miss 
 O'Grady in the hall in which he got a little nearer the facts 
 in the case. 
 
 "I don't know what kind of an exhausting life she's been 
 living," she had said, "but whatever it was it's taken the 
 heart and life out of her. I've seen pictures of her in the 
 magazines. She's only the shadow of them. I don't mean 
 bodily alone, Mr. Fenn. There's something gone from her 
 since they were taken. It'll be for Dr. Reade and Rose 
 O'Grady and Professor Fenn maybe to put it back." 
 
 "We'll certainly all do our best," he had agreed. 
 
 Downstairs, after Dr. Reade had come down to them, the 
 three had discussed plans for Mary's comfort. 
 
 "With that good housekeeper and Miss O'Grady she'll be 
 best off alone," Reade had said, when Harriet had suggested 
 that she herself might look after things. "Let her sink out 
 of sight, for a time it's what she needs. She's not to see 
 callers or smell cut flowers or sit up in bed and write let*
 
 TWO RED TULIPS 193 
 
 ters. I sha'n't be surprised if she gets down to rock bottom, 
 physically and mentally, before she begins to improve." 
 
 His prophecy was fulfilled. When she had been lying for 
 two days in the quiet, comfortable room Mary was more 
 weary of mind and body than she had been when she first 
 gave way. When she had lain there for two weeks she could 
 hardly lift her hand to her head, for plain lack of will to do so. 
 One day at the end of the fourth week, however, she found 
 voice to question her nurse, out of a long silence. 
 
 "Am I just going to keep on going down and down till 
 I get where I can't come up? ... Not that I 
 care." 
 
 Rose O'Grady got up from the chair by the window where 
 she had been sewing and came over to sit on the foot of 
 Mary's bed. Mary's eyes rested languidly on the fresh, 
 bright face; her ears listened for the answer to her despairing 
 question. 
 
 "When you get round to wanting to come up you'll come. 
 Till then it doesn't matter. It's driving yourself enough 
 you've been doing. I'm driving now and when it's time to 
 turn the corner I'll know it. So rest easy." 
 
 When Mary had pondered this for awhile she put forth 
 another weak effort. "Did you or anybody write Miss 
 Warren?" 
 
 "The library lady that lived with you? Sure, Professor 
 Fenn did. And had the answer. She would come if you 
 wanted her. He wrote her you wanted nobody. She's a 
 good friend, I know and he knows but there's times when 
 good friends are best at a distance. Coming in to see how 
 you look this morning and you feeling all green and yallery 
 and not wanting to have 'em see it!" 
 
 "Am I green and yallery?" 
 
 "The saints and all!" Miss O'Grady laughed her de- 
 licious Irish laugh. "It's getting better she is thinking
 
 H94 FOURSQUARE 
 
 about her looks. No, Miss Mary it's not that way you're 
 looking. 'Feeling' I said not 'looking.' As for looks 
 you remind me of a candle that's had the flame put out for a 
 bit, but the wick's there and we'll light it again, some day. 
 Meanwhile you're not burning it at the two ends of it and 
 in the middle." 
 
 Mary went off to sleep presently on this. When she woke 
 her eyes fell upon something new on the small stand near 
 the bed. 
 
 While she slept Rose O'Grady had flung her red-lined blue 
 nurse's cape about her and had run over through a heavy 
 snowstorm to Mark Fenn's study. It was a Saturday after- 
 noon and she found him hard at work there. 
 ' "You told me to let you know when you should send her 
 something to look at. A big box of flowers came this morn- 
 ing but I put them downstairs. The sense of people that'll 
 send white, smelly flowers to the sick! If you don't do better 
 than that, it's downstairs your gift'll go!" 
 
 He had done better than that. He had dropped a bundle 
 of mid-year examination papers where they were, put on 
 ulster and cap, and gone out into a blowy late January 
 blizzard. He had tramped across the town to a small green- 
 house, where he had ranged up and down the narrow aisles 
 between rows of carnations and roses to find something to his 
 mind to send Mary. 
 
 "Haven't you anything growing except these big, purple 
 things?" he demanded. "No spring-looking stuff, yet?" 
 
 "It's two weeks too early for daffies and tulips," the small- 
 town florist explained, with an injured air. "Everybody 
 wants carnations, now. A nice big bunch of pink ones, say? 
 Nothing finer'n them 'Daybreaks.' " 
 
 "I don't want cut flowers at all. Something growing. 
 There what's that?" 
 
 Mark leaned past a row of the despised purple ciner*
 
 TWO RED TULIPS 195 
 
 arias to a corner where a group of tiny pots showed tight- 
 shut green pointed tops just pushing above the surface of the 
 brown earth. " What'll that be, when it's up ?" he questioned, 
 reaching a long arm and bringing forth the pot which gave 
 most evidence of coming growth. 
 
 "It'll be a couple of red tulips. You don't want them, do 
 you ? Why, they don't show anything, yet." 
 
 "They show they're alive. Put the pot up for me will 
 you? Wrap it warmly, please it's bitter cold outside." 
 
 The florist, reflecting bitterly that these college professors 
 always were a close-fisted lot, and that this one, buying a 
 thirty-cent pot of nothingness when he might have taken a 
 three-dollar bunch of pink carnations, was "the limit," 
 wrapped a wad of newspaper around the small purchase and 
 handed it over. Unconscious of his scorn, Mark went along 
 out, sheltering his treasure under his arm, the light of con- 
 quest in his eye. When, presently, he delivered it to Rose 
 O'Grady, he received high approval of his choice. 
 
 "The cleverness of you! I expected you back with some- 
 thing two feet high, with the blossoms ready to fall. This bit 
 thing says 'I'm wakin' up how about you?' It's just the 
 thing. I'll put it where her eyes '11 fall on it when she opens 
 them." 
 
 "You really think she'll notice it?" 
 
 Rose nodded, her nice Irish grin cheering his heavy heart. 
 
 "An hour ago she wanted to know how she was looking. 
 When a woman does that keep the mirror away from her, if 
 she's been sick, and tell her she looks like a peach. It's the 
 shortest road to recovery I know." 
 
 Mark laughed. It was the first time he had felt like laugh- 
 ing for four long weeks. "Trust you to know the shortest 
 road," was his tribute. "When do you suppose I may see 
 her?" 
 
 " Whist!" She shook a warning finger at him. "That's
 
 196 FOURSQUARE 
 
 another bag o' tricks. Between casting an eye on your red 
 tulips and laying eyes on yourself there's a good bit to go. 
 But that's no reason why you can't keep yourself in her mind. 
 Maybe in a week I'll be reading aloud to her. You might 
 find us the book. And none of your big black volumes full 
 of wisdom. Just a light thing, to make her smile if you 
 know what I mean and I doubt if you do." 
 
 "Trust me. I'm not such a sober dog as that, Miss 
 O'Grady. I'll find the gayest book in print." 
 
 He went back to tell Harriet the good news. 
 
 "She asked how she looked," she repeated, dubiously. 
 "Is that supposed to be such a good symptom ? Why should 
 she mind how she looks ? Nobody sees her except the doctor 
 and nurse." 
 
 "Harriet, it's evident you belong in another class alto- 
 gether. Your best gown is your brown silk, isn't it? 
 Mary's is or was what was that gauzy, bright-coloured 
 thing she wore at our dinner? She looked like a bird of 
 Paradise in it." 
 
 "And I like an old hen, I suppose. You mean Mary 
 cares about her looks and I don't. I hope I don't disgrace 
 you, my dear brother." 
 
 He floundered hopelessly in the difficulties he had evoked. 
 "I should say not. You always look very nice, Harry. I 
 suppose the nurse means she recognizes in Mary some- 
 body who likes to be always delightful to look at 
 
 Harriet walked away. "I'm certainly very glad Miss 
 O'Grady is encouraged about her." And she proved her glad- 
 ness by immediately looking out fresh tumblers of jelly to send 
 over. Harriet had already nearly bankrupted her own stores 
 of whatever could be imagined tempting to the patient's 
 slight and capricious appetite. That she was both devoted 
 to Mary for her own sake and especially tender toward her 
 now in her loss was evidenced every day.
 
 TWO RED TULIPS 197 
 
 When Dr. Christopher Reade looked in on his patient, that 
 late afternoon, coming upstairs quietly lest she be sleeping, 
 and observing her from the doorway, he saw her lying on her 
 side, her dark eyes open and fixed upon what looked from a 
 distance to be an empty flower pot. As he stole nearer, how- 
 ever, he discovered the two sturdy little green heads pushing 
 themselves above the brown earth. Across the room Rose 
 O'Grady gave him a signal of triumph. 
 
 Mary's face was still very white, the pallor intensified by 
 its framing in the two dark braids which lay on either side. 
 But she had propped up her own head a very little with one 
 hand under her cheek, and there was a suggestion of life in the 
 intent eyes. As the doctor came finally into her view she 
 looked up, smiled a faint little smile, and lifted her hand with 
 two finger-tips pointing upward. 
 
 "I wonder if they find it as hard to struggle up as I." 
 
 The doctor came close and bent over the pot. A small 
 electric bedside light, shaded from Mary's eyes, focused its 
 rrys on the two little green heads. 
 
 "They're not struggling at all. Nature's gently pushing 
 them up. When she's ready she'll push you." 
 
 Mary shook her head. "I'm done. I can't bloom any 
 more." 
 
 He sat down beside her. There was no air of sympathy 
 about him. His face was gaunt with work and care, his eyes 
 sharp; not even his voice was soft. Yet somehow patients 
 never shrank away from him Rose O'Grady could have 
 testified to that. 
 
 "That's nonsense, you know," he said. "Sounds like the 
 kind of thing a story-writer would say. Very pathetic but 
 it doesn't make a hard-headed doctor turn a hair. How old 
 are you?" 
 
 "Twenty-eight." 
 
 "Horrible! No wonder you feel on the down-hill side of
 
 198 FOURSQUARE 
 
 life. I'm thirty-nine. It's marvellous that I can still hobble 
 around." 
 
 She didn't smile. "I'm talking of blooming." 
 
 "So am I." He looked around at the nurse. "Miss 
 O'Grady, what are these two green things going to be, when 
 they declare themselves?" 
 
 "Tulips Doctor. So Mr. Fenn said." 
 
 "Fenn sent 'em, did he?" The Doctor glanced quickly 
 back at Mary. "Good therapeutics. Well, Miss Mary, the 
 day the tulips open and show their little black spikes inside, 
 you'll be sitting up in a chair over by the window there. And 
 when the tulips are in bloom in your garden outside you'll 
 be racing up and down the paths picking them and 
 offering me a bunch when I come by, to remind me of my 
 prophecy." 
 
 She couldn't believe him. But somehow with each day 
 that the tulips came pushing up out of the earth and they 
 came with unbelievable rapidity Mary found herself a little 
 stronger. In the daytime Rose O'Grady moved her bed 
 over by a window, so that the little pot needn't be defrauded 
 of the light and sun. 
 
 "I thought I didn't care whether I got well or not," Mary 
 observed one morning, while Rose was brushing and braiding 
 the thick strands of her hair, "but I admit I don't want to be 
 beaten by two funny little tulips." 
 
 "You'll not be beaten. The two weeks that's gone by 
 since they came you've done as well as they. In a week more 
 they'll be blooming and so will you. What do you say we 
 get you a red gown to wear, to match them?" 
 
 Mary laughed the first spontaneous laugh that had come 
 to her lips. But she instantly sobered. "I'd like a rosy- 
 looking thing to wear," she admitted. "But why, I'll be 
 wearing mourning, when I get about." 
 
 "Oh, faith, too my dear! You won't be that foolish.
 
 TWO RED TULIPS 199 
 
 The little aunt wouldn't ask it of you to keep yourself cast 
 down in the black." 
 
 "She wore mourning herself and so did I for my father 
 and mother." 
 
 "Don't do it now. The little tulip itself wouldn't bloom 
 if we put a black cloth over it. And a creature like you all 
 made up of feelings 'twould be sheer folly. There's plenty 
 of ways of showing respect to the dead besides burying your- 
 self along with them." 
 
 It was impossible not to listen to Rose O'Grady, when in 
 her straightforward way she called anything folly. So since 
 it was much easier to obey her than to combat her, Mary let 
 her counsel prevail. When the day came that she walked, 
 with Rose's arm around her, from the bed to the chair in the 
 big, sunny window, to the rendezvous with the tulips, now 
 unfolding their gay petals, she was clad in a marvellous silken 
 garment of a shade which, though paler than theirs, yet 
 blended with it. With Mary's permission Rose had sent to a 
 distant city for that most Parisian looking peignoir, showing 
 a feminine astuteness beyond praise. No woman could wear 
 it without a thrill of pleasure. 
 
 "You may say what you like and laugh at it if you're that 
 dull," Rose O'Grady had said to Harriet Fenn, "but there's 
 something about a pretty thing like that that does more good 
 than medicine. A woman needs to see she's not lost her looks 
 beyond repair. And why not? She'll need them and she 
 knows it." 
 
 "I suppose you're right," Harriet had responded. "I've 
 never had anything so pretty as that, but I can see what you 
 mean. Do you think Mary'll recover her lost ground or 
 will she always be rather delicate, now?" 
 
 "She'll be stronger than ever if I get my way with her," 
 declared Rose, with confidence. " I'll be teaching her to take 
 care of herself which she's never done. Oh, 'twill take
 
 200 FOURSQUARE 
 
 i 
 
 time and she's just a lovely wraith of a creature now with 
 
 her nerves that unsteady compared with mine! But when 
 
 you see her downstairs, 'tis pleased you'll be." 
 
 "It seems a long time not to see her," Harriet said, with a 
 sigh. "I suppose the doctor's right, though, to forbid even 
 us, all this time." 
 
 "Right he is. She'd enough of folks, poor girl, to last her a 
 lifetime even such folks as you and Mr. Fenn. Best forget 
 them if she could. She'd a hard time doing that, as it was. 
 The day'll come when she'll be crazy to see you and then 
 you'll be good for her." 
 
 The day did come. Two weeks after that first sitting in the 
 window upstairs Dr. Christopher Reade gave Mary his arm 
 and let her walk slowly down to the familiar big, square 
 living-room, across the wide hall from the drawing-room. 
 Rose CXGrady had run down ahead. 
 
 "That's right come in and be here, to make the place 
 seem more homelike," she had whispered, to Harriet and 
 Mark, whom she found waiting in the lower hall, their hands 
 full of gay yellow daffodils. "Take your things off and sit 
 down by the fire so you'll look to belong here, as you do. I 
 don't know who has a better right to welcome her down." 
 
 So when Mary paused in the doorway, her brows a little 
 drawn in the effort not to give way to the thought that she 
 shouldn't find the familiar, beloved figure at the desk in the 
 corner, her gaze met these two other figures who seemed 
 hardly less to "belong" here. And never, in her life, had two 
 people looked to her so like the best friends she had in the 
 world. 
 
 "Oh, you dears!" she said, under her breath, and dropping 
 the doctor's arm, held out both hands to them. 
 
 As they came across to her, both were thinking how little 
 she looked as if she had been ill. The long rest, the freedom 
 from rush and strain, the clever nursing, the skillful, scientific
 
 TWO RED TULIPS 201 
 
 feeding all had had part in what seemed an amazing re- 
 covery. There was a tinge of colour in her cheeks, her eyes 
 were bright and clear. Everything about her was in distinct 
 contrast to the picture of intense fatigue and tension she had 
 presented on her home-coming, almost eight weeks ago. She 
 had even gained in weight, as such patients do. In contrast 
 to the sturdy likeness of health of Rose O'Grady, Mary was 
 as a soft-tinted pastel drawing beside a portrait done in warm 
 oils. Yet even so there was something approaching vivid- 
 ness about her the darkness of her heavy hair and her eyes, 
 the flash of her white teeth as she smiled at them, the normal 
 rich colouring of her lips. 
 
 "Now we know you're real," said Harriet Fenn, holding her 
 close for an instant, then drawing ofF to look at her. "We 
 began to feel they were deceiving us, and you weren't upstairs 
 after all!" 
 
 "I've known you were real," Mark assured her, grasping 
 both her hands, then drawing her with him to the great couch 
 before the fire. "You see, I had such confidence in Dr. 
 Reade and Miss O'Grady, I knew they'd make a new woman 
 of you. And so they have." 
 
 "There never was such a doctor nor such a nurse." Mary 
 smiled up at them as they stood together on the hearth-rug, 
 looking down at her. "It was a case of just having to get 
 well because they said I must. There's no such thing as dis- 
 obeying either of them." 
 
 "Now now think of the eggs I've had to dress up in all 
 sorts of pretty clothes, to make you look at them at all, at all. 
 And the Doctor the times he's altered his treatment, to fit 
 the case!" 
 
 "Rose O'Grady don't tell me the Doctor ever altered his 
 treatment to fit me. He's altered me to fit the treatment!'* 
 
 "She's getting well!" Mark declared. "That spark was 
 indubitable evidence of the old fire."
 
 202 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "You started her on the track, Mr. Fenn," Rose 
 told him, with her Irish smile. "You and the two bit 
 tulips." 
 
 Well, it was delightful to be with them again. After a 
 little, doctor and nurse took themselves away, and Mary was 
 left with her two friends. There was no sadness about the 
 meeting, though the memory of Miss Graham was with them 
 all. Somehow, it seemed to the Fenns, Mary, in spite of all 
 her remaining weakness and frailty, had become already the 
 young mistress of the place. 
 
 "I shall stay for a long time, I think," she said and she 
 seemed to say it contentedly. "Miss O'Grady's going to 
 stay with me, and when I don't need her any more as a 
 nurse she'll take day work for Dr. Reade, but still live with 
 me. Harriet, do you know one of the best things that ever 
 happened to me is the getting to know Rose C^Grady ? She's 
 just the sanest, jolliest company in the world and she's most 
 awfully good for me." 
 
 "She must be good for you, if she's brought you to settle 
 down quietly in the old place," said Harriet, with an odd 
 look. 
 
 "She has if only because in that way I can keep her with 
 me. I can't quite explain why I like her so unless it's 
 because of her authority over me. My friend Alexandra 
 Warren used to advise me, lecture me, do her best to keep me 
 in order and I used to slip through her fingers. But Rose 
 CKGrady comes along and tells me to stop mooning and take 
 up my knitting and if you'll believe me, I actually take it 
 up. And" as the others laughed "that's only partly 
 because she's a nurse. Maybe you don't know how I hate 
 knitting. But I do it to please Rose." 
 
 "I wonder," said Mark Fenn, with a keen glance, "if you 
 ever did much of anything, just because somebody advised it 
 if you didn't happen to want to do it."
 
 TWO RED TULIPS 203 
 
 Mary's eyes dropped before his. "I'm afraid not. You 
 have me there." 
 
 "Then since you've reformed, through Miss O'Grady's 
 influence will you do something to please me?" 
 
 "If I can," she promised promptly. "I'd do anything to 
 please anybody, to-day, it's so wonderful to be getting well." 
 
 "Then say that the first time you're allowed to go out for 
 a drive, you'll let me take you. If you don't promise me 
 that, I'll see you going off with the Doctor, some day, without 
 any warning. That would be rather more than I could 
 bear." 
 
 Mary looked at him a little curiously. 
 
 "Why, of course you may," she said, "though I can't 
 imagine why you should mind if the Doctor happened to come 
 along some day and take me in, out of the goodness of his 
 heart." 
 
 "You've had enough of the goodness of his heart. I'd like 
 to show you what mine will do for you. I can't manage a 
 comfortable car, like his; but I can find an easy phaeton and a 
 pretty decent horse. Would that be too great a descent for 
 you? To-morrow's the first of March we're likely to have 
 some warm and sunny days any time. Come put your 
 pride in your pocket and say you will." 
 
 She agreed readily, though an image of herself and Mark 
 Fenn driving down the village street in some shaky "livery" 
 vehicle behind a decrepit horse produced an inward mirth 
 which she was at some difficulty to conceal. But she had 
 plenty of time in which to adjust herself to the prospect. 
 The first month of spring came in like a lion, with a furious 
 storm, which raged for a week. It took a fortnight for the 
 heavy snowfall of that week to melt slowly away, and the last 
 week of the month had begun when finally the lion turned 
 lamb. Meanwhile Mary had been taken out every day upon 
 the broad rear porch, to pace up and down on Rose's arm, and
 
 204 FOURSQUARE 
 
 by the time the mild weather arrived she was ready in both 
 body and spirit for whatever adventure might beckon. 
 
 "The chariot's at the door, Miss Mary and the chariot- 
 eer says will you bring an extra wrap? By the look of him 
 he's the one that's taking his first drive! Best wear the fur 
 coat and the little aunt's fur-lined boots then it won't 
 matter if he takes you straight on till sunset." 
 
 "Furs? Oh, not this lovely, sunny day!" 
 
 "This lovely sunny day is a March day, and don't be 
 forgetting it. It's in furs that you go or you stay 
 see?" 
 
 As usual Mary yielded, though she murmured, "I won't 
 have any will or initiative left, Rosie O'Grady, if I keep you 
 around much longer." 
 
 "You may have a good stock of common sense and that'll 
 do you very well instead. There, go along and you never 
 looked prettier, if I do say it, that didn't know you before th 
 war. If I had a squirrel coat with a cut like that one, and a 
 little jewel of a hat that looks as if it came straight from 
 France " 
 
 "It did." 
 
 " and a face like that under it ah, don't look that 
 saucy at me and had a man like Professor Fenn waiting at 
 the door with a wheelbarrow I'd go down and tuck myself 
 in, and be proud and thankful as he wheeled me away." 
 
 "You wouldn't mind being in the only vehicle on the street 
 that wasn't motor-driven and all the small boys gazing at 
 the combination?" 
 
 "I'd mind nothing except that the finest and best man I 
 ever knew barring one and he was a priest and took no 
 girl for a ride was doing me the honour of taking me out." 
 
 Mary laughed, and ran downstairs without so much as a 
 hand on the rail. She found Mark waiting at the foot, his 
 face very bright-
 
 TWO RED TULIPS 205 
 
 "It's good to see you come down like that," he said. "How 
 well you look!" 
 
 "Who wouldn't look well at the idea of going to drive 
 again!" 
 
 "How long is it," he asked, as they went to the porch end, 
 where stood the horse and phaeton of the village livery, 
 "since you went to drive behind four iron-shod heels?" 
 
 "Not so long that I've forgotten how pleasant it is. And 
 I want you to know that I've three times refused the Doctor, 
 according to my promise." 
 
 "You should have a better reward for that than I can give 
 you. Confound him I suppose you wanted to go?" 
 
 "I'd have gone with the grocer's boy, on his delivery 
 wagon, any time this last fortnight! Oh, how wonderful this 
 air is! Which way do we go?" 
 
 "Would you like it better if we avoided going through the 
 town ? We can take the road this way. But of course the 
 one I'd like to take is the one out through the hills and we 
 can't get to that without " 
 
 She turned to smile at him. He had tucked her in warmly. 
 
 "Do you really think, Mark Fenn," she demanded gaily, 
 "that I mind driving through the town with you, just because 
 we aren't in a ninety-horse-power Rolls-Royce? Why, Rose 
 O'Grady said I'd be lucky if you took me in a wheelbarrow! 
 Come along to the hills. Of course I want that road. There 
 might be some pussy-willows out that way." 
 
 Now, indeed, he was content. If she really didn't mind 
 and he saw no signs of it as the tall livery horse clip-clopped 
 down the paved street, through the town, and out upon the 
 main road, which being a highway of the state knew not the 
 March mud of the country roads he needn't mind either. 
 It was a fact that he had never felt quite so keenly the 
 limitations of a professor's salary as when, starting out to 
 engage his equipage, he passed Dr. Reade's slim, trim
 
 206 FOURSQUARE 
 
 roadster standing at a curb. But now, with Mary beside 
 him, and the hills and valleys of the countryside show- 
 ing ahead, the spring sunshine warm upon the bare trees 
 and rocks, he asked no odds of anybody. 
 
 As they had gone through the village square and turned 
 south they had been passed by one of the few village taxicabs 
 bearing a traveller just off the train. But John Kirkwood 
 hadn't noted the occupants of the phaeton, and if he had he 
 could hardly have leaped out and halted them. So it was 
 with anticipation undimmed that the editor was borne up the 
 long hill, in at the white gates, and brought up to the tall 
 pillared porch of the old Graham house. As he got out he 
 glanced across the snowy lawn to see if the small brown house 
 were still next door. Somehow he had never enjoyed the 
 thought of that small brown house. He had never been in 
 Newcomb in the winter before, and he noted with some satis- 
 faction that now, stripped of its vines, its softening shrubbery 
 bare, it looked smaller and shabbier than ever a poor little 
 house indeed in comparison with the stately residence next 
 door. What, really, he wondered, should the two homes 
 have in common ?
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CHECK! 
 
 OSE O'GRADY, coming into the 
 house from a. swift walk to and from 
 Dr. Christopher Reade's office, was 
 met in the hall by Eliza. 
 
 "There's a gentleman here to see 
 Miss Mary," the housekeeper whis^ 
 pered. "He would wait, though I 
 told him she might be away all after- 
 noon. Maybe you'd better see him. 
 His card's on the table there." 
 
 Rose nodded. She noted upon the 
 rack an overcoat and hat of quality, 
 and upon the table beside it a fine 
 leather brief case, a florist's box, a 
 handsome malacca stick, and the call- 
 ing card. "Mr. John Kirkzvood," she 
 read. Without pausing to remove 
 her hat or the red-lined blue cape 
 which signified her profession, she 
 looked in upon the caller composedly 
 seated on the high-backed davenport 
 before the drawing-room fire, a book 
 in his hand. He rose at the sound of 
 her soft step, and even as he stood 
 courteously waiting and before he 
 spoke, she had recognized his type. 
 
 "Mr. Kirkwood? I'm Mis? 
 
 207
 
 208 FOURSQUARE 
 
 O'Grady, Miss Fletcher's nurse. I hope you're quite com* 
 fortable. It may be an hour or two before Miss Fletcher's 
 back." 
 
 "Thank you." He regarded her with interest. Most 
 men did, though Rose O'Grady's attitude toward them was 
 of the most business-like. 
 
 "She wasn't expecting you, I think?" 
 
 "I thought I'd take her by surprise, hoping it might be 
 a pleasant one. I knew she had been ill, but understood that 
 she had recovered. In case, however, that she shouldn't 
 yet feel equal to seeing me I thought I wouldn't force myself 
 upon her with a wire. Won't you tell me about her? Is she 
 really quite well again? I judge so, from her being out for 
 the afternoon." 
 
 "She is quite well but of course she hasn't her strength 
 fully back. I'm afraid, Mr. Kirkwood, I shall have to take 
 charge of her when she comes in. It might be as well for you 
 to call to-morrow." 
 
 He smiled. "Very well if you insist. But I'm hoping 
 you'll relent enough to let me see her for at least a few 
 minutes when she comes in. Surely, if she's having her first 
 drive, as the housekeeper? said, she's in the most com- 
 fortable motor to be had and won't be over tired?" 
 
 "In the most comfortable motor to be had, she would still 
 be tired and would need rest." Rose had remained standing, 
 studying him. He couldn't sit down again till she did or 
 till she left the room, so the two had somewhat the attitude 
 of challenge as they faced each other across the hearth-rug. 
 
 He tried again, in his pleasantest manner, which yet held 
 a touch of authority to match hers. He was not to be 
 disposed of so easily. 
 
 "Miss Fletcher and I are old friends perhaps you don't 
 know. I can't imagine she would send me away without a 
 glimpse of her to-night. Won't you please not look at me so
 
 CHECK! 209 
 
 sternly? And couldn't I prevail upon you to sit down for a 
 little, and tell me a few things I'm most anxious to know? 1 
 knew Miss Graham I have heard very little of her most 
 untimely passing. Please?" 
 
 Miss O'Grady sat down but not upon the davenport 
 beside him, as his gesture had invited. She took a straight- 
 backed old Sheraton chair beside the fireplace, removed her 
 hat and laid it on the table, but retained her red-lined cape. 
 She told him, in a few words and restrainedly, of Miss Gra- 
 ham. Mary Fletcher herself, had she seen Rose in the pres- 
 ent situation, would have been amazed at the dignity of her. 
 She was showing Mr. John Kirkwood a side Mary had not 
 so much as guessed at. It was the young woman who was 
 accustomed to the entire command of whole hospital staffs 
 whom the editor was now encountering. And when he 
 would have worked the decidedly formal conversation round 
 to Mary herself, he found himself in difficult waters. 
 
 "You must have enjoyed intimate contact with so inter- 
 esting and charming a person, Miss O'Grady. You have 
 met many people in the course of your training and expe- 
 rience. There are none quite like Miss Fletcher." 
 
 "The world is full of people, Mr. Kirkwood. It's not 
 myself would say there were no two alike." 
 
 "But surely none her equal?" 
 
 "I've known her as a nurse. I'm not qualified to speak 
 of her as yourself." 
 
 Mr. Kirkwood leaned back. He had walked up several of 
 these blind alleys. He now got up and paced once or twice 
 up and down the room, pausing before various articles of 
 antique furnishing. He glanced with an air of appreciation 
 at several of the old family portraits upon the walls. 
 
 "This looks like a Sir Joshua Reynolds," he said, of one 
 dark-eyed lad playing upon the floor. 
 
 "It is that. The portraits are all his or Sargent's,"
 
 2io FOURSQUARE 
 
 He turned back to the young woman in the straight-backed 
 chair. "With that hair and those eyes," he was thinking, 
 "I'll be hanged if I won't strike a spark out of you." And 
 he said, taking his seat again: "I seem to recall a Professor 
 Fenn who lives next door. His sister lives with him, I be- 
 lieve. I wonder if I might have a word with him, if I went 
 over." 
 
 "You might try. If he's not in, no doubt you'll find it a 
 pleasant place to wait in." 
 
 And now he laughed. "Miss O'Grady! What have you 
 against me? Are you always so cautious about your pa- 
 tients? I'll wager Professor Fenn has Miss Fletcher out 
 with him the lucky dog! You'll not deny it?" 
 
 "They're just coming in, by the sound so I'll have to 
 deny nothing." 
 
 "By the sound!" And, truly, the slow clip-clop, clip-clop 
 of the shod hoofs upon the macadam of the driveway was 
 shouting to his town-bred ears the amazing fact. He stared 
 at Rose O'Grady with incredulous eyes, but an instant later 
 his low laugh turned her angry a state she had been near 
 all along, but fell into now with reason. For in his delighted 
 mirth Kirkwood couldn't restrain his speech. 
 
 "Ye gods, don't tell me he's had her out in a carriage 
 with a horse. A horse and buggy that's what they call it! 
 The country college professor! No wonder you thought 
 she'd be tired!" 
 
 But he ceased to laugh long before the sound of scraping 
 wheels heralded the arrival of the vehicle at the porch. Miss 
 O'Grady had risen with fire in her Irish eyes such as imperti- 
 nent orderlies and soldier details had known well in days 
 gone by not to mention members of the staff who showed 
 themselves less fine of grain than the superintendent judged 
 seemly. Unquestionably he had struck the spark. 
 
 "Up here in the small town," she said, "'tis not by the
 
 CHECK! 211 
 
 size of the tires on his car that we judge the man who gives 
 a lady a pleasure. I've never seen Miss Fletcher so happy 
 as when she set foot on the little step of the phaeton Pro- 
 fessor Fenn took her in. If you can bring a light like that 
 to the eyes of her you have my leave to make her the pret- 
 tiest speech in your power. And being an editor you should 
 have a fine command of language." 
 
 It took but an instant to make his apology and probably 
 in all his experience John Kirkwood had never made a sincerer 
 one. He made it in rapid, low words which would have 
 disarmed almost any woman as quick and keen at reading 
 the hearts and minds of men as Rose O'Grady. He took 
 a step toward her, and now his face was grave and his tone 
 full of both respect and contrition. 
 
 "I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself," he said. "The 
 sound of the horse's hoofs took me back to my boyhood, that 
 was all. I was born in the country, and I remember when it 
 was the height of my ambition to take a girl out in just that 
 way. Please forgive me. I'm only thankful your charge is 
 well enough to take her first drive, after any fashion." 
 
 Whether forgiven or not, he had eyes no longer for the 
 Irish nurse. The next instant Mary Fletcher herself stood 
 in the doorway, and John Kirkwood was staring at her as he 
 came forward with unbelieving eyes. It was small wonder, 
 considering the way he had seen her last, and the image he 
 had kept of her, pale, thin, worn and so desperately un- 
 happy that her eyes for a night and a day after her departure 
 had haunted him. 
 
 In the luxurious coat of gray squirrel, with the little hat 
 Rose had been so sure was from Paris on her brown hair, her 
 eyes sparkling with the delight of the long afternoon, just 
 tired enough to be willing to sleep but not yet ready, Mary 
 was a new creature. It had grown almost dark outside the 
 lights were on in the house, and in the radiance from them
 
 212 FOURSQUARE 
 
 she stood revealed. And the chief thing John Kirkwood 
 noted, in that first glance, was not so much that her face was 
 full of a delicate fresh colour, the cheeks round again as in 
 health, as that the aspect of her was one of happiness and 
 content. Content and happy and she had just come 
 from an all afternoon drive with a "country college profes- 
 sor," behind a horse whose hoofs were shod not with rubber 
 but with iron! . . . And at sight of the visitor the 
 light in her face went out as if a veil had been thrown over it. 
 
 The worst of it was, really, that the college professor stood 
 just behind her, in the hall, having brought her in as if he 
 hadn't been with her enough for one day and couldn't leave 
 her at the door. Stood there with as much assurance as if he 
 had just helped her out of an expensive, high-powered motor. 
 He was looking across at Kirkwood himself with an air of 
 well it was mighty like proprietorship, the editor thought. 
 At any rate, it struck him as the glance of one who was on 
 the ground at the man who wasn't quite so sure of his status. 
 
 Kirkwood didn't get his visit with Mary that evening. The 
 odds were against him, for as luck would have it a third man 
 almost instantly appeared on the scene. Dr. Christopher 
 Reade had happened by, had seen the livery outfit standing 
 at the side of the porch, had decided that his patient had 
 been taken for her first drive and a long drive it must have 
 been not to have ended before dark and had dropped in to 
 see how she stood it. He greeted everybody rather curtly, 
 walked over to Mary, scanned her face, felt her pulse, nodded 
 and observed in his most uncompromising tone: 
 
 "All very fine but the place for you now is flat on your 
 back, resting. If these gentlemen will excuse you" he 
 didn't exactly glower at them, but he might as well, after 
 the manner of a profession privileged to glower "I'll be 
 pleased to see you going up those stairs." 
 
 So Mary went, lingering only to say a few courteous words
 
 CHECK! 213 
 
 in disposal of her latest guest, making an appointment to see 
 him in the morning. When this was done, she glanced at 
 Fenn, and he thought he read the meaning of the glance. At 
 all events he promptly invited Mr. John Kirkwood to come 
 home with him. The three men went out together, the in- 
 vitation having been as promptly accepted. 
 
 "I find myself envying you, Dr. Reade," declared 
 Kirkwood, on the porch outside. "To be able to dispose of a 
 situation as easily as that by merely issuing a command 
 well your profession has us all in its hands. I've always 
 thought so and to-night I know it." 
 
 The doctor turned upon him. "I should like that to be 
 true, Mr. Kirkwood, for I've a word to say to you. I hope 
 you haven't come to press the claims of your editorial 
 office on Miss Fletcher. I've absolutely forbidden her to 
 think of work for months to come." 
 
 "Yes? Nobody could be more unwilling than I to urge 
 Miss Fletcher to work before she's able. But it struck me 
 doubtless due to your own excellent care and skill that in 
 all the years I've known her I've never seen her look so well 
 as she does to-night. And, as I understand it, she has found 
 a long drive under not the easiest conditions not too 
 tiring. Surely you can't still be anxious about her?" 
 
 "I shall be anxious about her," replied the doctor and 
 now his tone was very nearly gruff "till harps are no longer 
 treated like bass drums by most of those who play on them. 
 And as that day isn't likely to arrive soon, I take the precau- 
 tion of putting the harp on the shelf for to-night. When you 
 try to play on it to-morrow morning, Mr. Kirkwood, be sure 
 you don't take it for a drum. Because it isn't one and 
 never will be." 
 
 The doctor got into his car, threw in his gears with a crash, 
 and was off down the street. Mark Fenn led his guest across 
 the sodden lawn toward his own house.
 
 214 FOURSQUARE 
 
 " Pardon me have you forgotten ? Don't let me interfere 
 with your looking after your horse." The editor's tone was 
 the perfection of civility the civility born of intense irrita- 
 tion. A fine lot they were, up here in the small college town, 
 taking him in charge as if he were a package that had come by 
 parcels post. Nurse, doctor, and college professor each 
 had had a part in disposing of him. If he hadn't been so 
 curious as to the personality of Fenn himself he would have 
 betaken himself back to his hotel, to spend the evening as he 
 pleased. 
 
 "No they'll be up after him in a few minutes. This way, 
 Mr. Kirkwood there's a gap in the hedge just here." 
 
 Fenn led him into the small house, and presented him 
 to his sister Harriet who seemed not at all disturbed by 
 his presence, though he expected her presently to lay strict 
 injunctions upon him concerning Mary Fletcher. Fenn 
 played, with a certain reserve, the friendly host throughout 
 the simple but exceedingly appetizing dinner which was 
 immediately served. Afterward Kirkwood found himself 
 made comfortable in Fenn's shabby armchair, amidst the 
 walls of books which to the editor's eye proclaimed the 
 scholar's library and demanded his respect. Also, he was 
 offered a pouch of excellent tobacco. 
 
 "I'm sorry I've no cigars but I can find you a clean old 
 pipe, if you haven't one in your pocket." 
 
 "I have never am without it." And the guest produced 
 from his overcoat an English briarwood, well coloured. 
 
 For a time the conversation ranged over various general 
 subjects, but with the second filling of his pipe Kirkwood 
 broke out abruptly: 
 
 "I'm rather curious to know, Professor Fenn, what I'm 
 hoping you'll do me the favour of telling me. From the 
 moment I arrived at the delightful home over there, with its 
 outward air of hospitality, I was made to feel that I was
 
 CHECK!. 215 
 
 looked upon with well it came to feel strangely like 
 suspicion. The housekeeper let me in with hesitation, Miss 
 (yGrady treated me as if at any move of mine she might call 
 the dog, Dr. Reade laid his professional embargo upon me. 
 As for yourself " he smiled across disarmingly for an 
 instant upon his companion, then resumed his look of intent 
 gravity "though you have shown me every kindness, I 
 seem to feel it in the air that you, too, are mounting guard. 
 And yet I'm an old friend of Miss Fletcher's. I can't help 
 wondering what I've done or what I'm considered likely to 
 do, that I must be regarded as an interloper instead of a 
 friend. Won't you, as a further kindness, be perfectly 
 frank with me?" 
 
 He looked steadily at Mark Fenn, who gave him back his 
 look as steadily. It was a full minute before the latter spoke. 
 
 "I would very much rather not discuss it," Fenn said, 
 slowly. " But I suppose that wouldn't be altogether fair to 
 you. So I'll say to you that the truth of the matter is it's 
 impossible for us all not to feel that you were more or less 
 responsible for Miss Fletcher's break-down. She was in 
 what we saw was a very ragged state when she came home 
 the cause of which seemed to be not only a long period of 
 over-work but also a peculiar condition of over-tension. 
 During the first week of her illness she wasn't altogether 
 herself. I believe the nurse gathered certain facts which 
 led her to assume that her patient had suffered some sort 
 of nervous shock which might have been avoided and 
 should have been avoided by one who had her welfare at 
 heart. We have by no means the full explanation, but you 
 can hardly be surprised if we seem as you suggest 
 rather on our guard." 
 
 Kirkwood laid down his pipe. This situation was more 
 serious than he had thought. He hadn't imagined it, then 
 they had learned something of what had happened they
 
 216 FOURSQUARE 
 
 were really allied against him, these people. He stared 
 across at the quiet, strong face before him, acknowledging 
 reluctantly to himself that the college professor gave an im- 
 pression of sturdy character and of repressed force with 
 which it wouldn't be easy to deal. Mere urbanity and tact 
 wouldn't do it; Fenn couldn't be moved by diplomacy; he 
 must be convinced. Whatever his relation to Mary, it was 
 quite clear that he would have a bulldog's tenacity in his 
 guarding of her from further injury at anybody's hands. 
 With the nurse and doctor as allies he could, quite con- 
 ceivably, at least for a disastrously long period, cut off 
 Kirkwood himself from any further satisfactory partnership 
 with her. And the book so brilliantly begun mounting 
 cumulatively toward its high-level, half-way mark with such 
 dramatic power why, it was unthinkable that it shouldn't 
 be completed! Unthinkable that in due course it shouldn't 
 be printed, and that John Kirkwood's name shouldn't ap- 
 pear upon its title page with Mary Fletcher's. Who was 
 this country school-teacher that he should interfere in a 
 triumph so legitimate? And the basis of his opposition, the 
 mere half-delirious imaginings of a nervous girl worn out by 
 a long journey and the bereavement she found awaiting her. 
 The situation was absurd it must be dealt with summarily. 
 By an effort Kirkwood kept himself well in hand. He 
 spoke with frankness, and with apparent willingness to have 
 the other man know the facts in the case. He told him the 
 story of the evening on which he had taken Mary to the 
 place where the choicest spirits of the times were wont to 
 gather told him of the quality and charm of the evening's 
 programme of entertainment told him of the regrettable ac- 
 cident which had marred what would otherwise have been 
 for Mary Fletcher one of the most valuable and stimulating 
 experiences of her life. Told, in fact, the whole story ' 
 and somehow, told nothing. In other words, the editor
 
 CHECK! 217 
 
 used his professional skill, as he had never used it before, 
 and edited the tale as he went along, so that while it seemed 
 to be the full truth, it was, from start to finish, in effect the 
 cleverest of lies. 
 
 While he told it, Mark Fenn's eyes never left his face. 
 Kirkwood, uncomfortable under the steady look, though he by 
 no means outwardly flinched, brought the thing to a climax 
 with his closing statement. 
 
 "So you see, don't you, that while it was a most unfortu- 
 nate ending to an otherwise perfect evening, it absolutely 
 couldn't have been foreseen. I did the only thing possible 
 got her away on the instant and saved her from any slightest 
 publicity. If there had been any conceivable way in which 
 I could have wiped the whole recollection from her sensitive 
 brain, I would have done anything in my power to find it. 
 Not for any gain to myself, would I but I don't need to say 
 that. None of you here can possibly be more anxious for her 
 well-being than I. I can say no more. Won't you believe 
 that, on the word of one man to another, and give over look- 
 ing upon me as it's quite evident you do as a strange sort 
 of antagonist rather than her most devoted friend ?" 
 
 There was silence between them for the space of many 
 slow tickings of the old grandfather's clock which stood in a 
 corner of the study. When Fenn broke it at last, it was to 
 speak in a measured, slow tone which yet seemed to hold 
 elements of fire. 
 
 "It's difficult to think that a real friend, who must know 
 that the sight of him would inevitably recall the whole painful 
 experience not to mention the weeks of overwork which 
 must have preceded it would risk coming here at all with- 
 out permission. But" as Kirkwood would have spoken 
 "it's still more difficult, Mr. Kirkwood, to understand how 
 you could have ventured to come here with the unfinished 
 manuscript, ready to try to prevail upon her to go on with it."
 
 218 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Kirkwood jumped to his feet, furiously resentful of this 
 thrust. "How do you know I have the manuscript here" 
 for a moment he gave way to his instant suspicion "except 
 by looking in my brief-case, sir? You are an honourable man, 
 indeed, Professor Fenn!" 
 
 "I mean to be. I've not looked in your brief-case, Mr. 
 Kirkwood." 
 
 Even as Kirkwood would have accused him of it again, he 
 remembered that the case was locked and the key in his 
 pocket. He sat down once more, trying to regain his self- 
 command, which this cool and quiet adversary had for the 
 moment badly shaken. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mr. Fenn. But you can hardly 
 wonder at my anger, at having you jump at the conclusion that 
 because I have the manuscript with me as you were clever 
 enough to guess I had any intention of trying to force Miss 
 Fletcher to work again before she was fit. The manuscript 
 is valuable there is no copy Miss Warren was breaking up 
 her apartment I secured it and brought it to its owner. 
 . . . I am done with explanations, Mr. Fenn. I reserve 
 my right to do any further explaining to Miss Fletcher her- 
 self, with whom I have an appointment in the morning." 
 
 That ended the interview, naturally. Neither man was 
 precisely satisfied with the outcome of the talk. Fenn was a 
 just man he would not willingly have done an injury. His 
 instinct and custom were to give an opponent the benefit of 
 any possible doubt. He wasn't entirely pleased with him- 
 self for having in a way tricked Kirkwood into the admission 
 that the manuscript was with him. Yet his blood was up; 
 he had felt that he had to deal with an opponent so accom- 
 plished in the ways of the world that it would take all his 
 own presumably slower wits to deal with him. For Mary's 
 sake he had meant to put Kirkwood on the defensive; to 
 make him understand that he couldn't treat her as he had
 
 CHECK! 219 
 
 done before with a determination that seemed ruthless to 
 get all he could out of her over-wrought brain without regard 
 to the consequences. Why, it was more than doubtful whether 
 the interview of the morrow ought to be permitted at all, lest it 
 set back her recovery. But at least Fenn had done what he 
 could to protect her. There are situations where the only 
 way to fight fire is with fire that he knew. Grimly he 
 closed the door on Mr. John Kirkwood, after a decidedly 
 constrained parting. 
 
 But it was Rose O'Grady who cut the knot of the difi> 
 culty. When she met a Mary in the morning who hadn't 
 slept whose newly regained poise was shaken, out of whose 
 face the light of the day before had vanished, leaving more 
 than a suggestion of the haunted look with which she had 
 come home two months ago. Rose took things into her own 
 hands. There was little finesse about Miss O'Grady the 
 straight-from-the-shoulder method was hers. 
 
 She telephoned the doctor. "Miss Fletcher had a bad 
 night again, Doctor; the first in three weeks. I know without 
 being told she's dreading the visit from the one you found 
 here last evening. Have I your authority to forbid it?" 
 
 The answer came back like a pistol shot. "Certainly, if 
 you're sure she hadn't better .have it out with him and get it 
 over." 
 
 "I'm sure she's not fit yet to have anything over. 
 Her hand shakes like a leaf that was steady as a clock 
 yesterday morn. It's myself that'll see the person if you 
 say so." 
 
 "Go to it!" And Dr. Reade hung up the receiver with the 
 same sense of security at leaving his patient in the capable 
 hands of this jewel of all nurses that he had had many 
 times before. 
 
 So when Kirkwood was announced, Rose went down. At 
 sight of her he stiffened. His grave face did not relax into
 
 220 FOURSQUARE 
 
 a smile. He was feeling pretty badly used, and very unhappy 
 about the whole situation besides. 
 
 Rose was not ungracious; indeed, she seemed less uncom- 
 promising than she had done the night before. It was easy 
 enough to recognize that the editor had completely lost his 
 assurance; she had now rather to win him to her position than 
 to deal sledge-hammer blows upon him. In her experience 
 she had long ago discovered that nothing is gained by an- 
 tagonism after a point is won; and she was fully aware that 
 Mary herself wanted her to be kind. 
 
 "Mr. Kirkwood," she said, with her deep-blue Irish eyes 
 meeting his frankly, " 'tis yourself, I know, that'll not be 
 wanting to do Miss Fletcher a harm by seeing her this morn- 
 ing. You've already done her that by coming to this place. 
 She had no sleep at all she's half ill, but you don't want 
 to make the matter worse. Am I right?" 
 
 "You're certainly right in thinking I don't want to make it 
 worse, Miss O'Grady. I undoubtedly blundered in taking 
 her by surprise. I'm very sorry. But now that I'm here 
 you surely don't think it necessary to keep me from talking 
 with her at all? If the sight of me, as I understand, has 
 brought back her recollection of all that went to cause her 
 illness, wouldn't it be better for her to see me again, and let 
 me try to replace that memory with a pleasanter one? If I 
 go away without seeing her as you ask me to do won't 
 the thought of me continue to hurt her? While if she saw 
 me I assure you I should be very gentle with her I 
 shouldn't talk of her work. We've been good friends for a 
 very long time, Miss O'Grady. Are you sure that you know 
 exactly what is best for her now?" 
 
 His manner had changed completely from that of the 
 evening before which had so displeased her. It was full of 
 deference and of regret. Rose O'Grady couldn't have been 
 deceived easily; if his attitude had been insincere, if it had
 
 CHECK! 221 
 
 not been so clear that he was quite as sorry as he professed 
 for having come too soon, she would have known it. But 
 she saw, with those clear blue eyes of hers, that he was 
 genuinely miserable. She wasn't in the least able to forgive 
 him for the part he had prayed in Mary's life of those weeks 
 before her home-coming, but she somehow knew that he 
 was now consumed with regret and disappointment, and the 
 knowledge softened her dealing with him. 
 
 "She minds me, Mr. Kirkwood, of a fiddle my brothei^ 
 used to have. It was easy to tune it right, but it wouldn't 
 stay tuned. The least bit of change in the air or no 
 change at all and it would go flat. It was a tender bit 
 thing, too very old and frail. Cracks would come in it, and 
 had to be mended. He would never trust it in any hands 
 but his own, and he kept it wrapped in silk, at that. He'd 
 another a strong little brute of a fiddle that you could 
 knock about. But he couldn't play the tunes on it that he 
 could on the other." 
 
 "Do you think I haven't known," Kirkwood asked, after a 
 moment, "that I was dealing with just such a human instru- 
 ment ? If in any way I haven't fully appreciated the delicacy 
 of it, you may be very sure I recognize that now. I want 
 nothing so much as to help mend the crack. Cracks aren't 
 fatal, you know, even to such a rare violin as you describe, 
 if they're mended properly. I'll never willingly be even 
 partly responsible for another, Miss O'Grady. I've suffered 
 too keenly over this." 
 
 "It's good to suffer," she said. "We learn no other way. 
 But Miss Mary's suffered enough there must be no 
 more." 
 
 "No more. But can't you conceive that I, who hurt her, 
 might do more than any one else to help her now? I believe 
 it's good psychology which insists that where there is fear 
 of anything it's best to face it and get over it than to run
 
 222 FOURSQUARE 
 
 away from it. In half an hour or half of that, I believe 1 
 could take away from Mary I know her well enough to call 
 her that, you see the worst of her difficulties. Won't you 
 please give me the chance?" 
 
 Rose studied him. He stood before her on the hearth-rug, 
 his side to the fireplace, and though his face was turned 
 slightly from her as he looked steadily down into the fire, she 
 could see its expression. It was such an interesting face, 
 when one observed it without prejudice, every feature lending 
 itself to the impression of quality which was most out- 
 standing of any, Rose found herself comprehending better 
 than she had done at the moment the thing Mary had said a 
 few minutes before. When she had consented to Rose's 
 seeing Kirkwood and sending him away, if she really thought 
 that the thing to be done, Mary had nevertheless said 
 mournfully: 
 
 "In spite of everything, I feel as if I were losing something 
 that can never be replaced. Perhaps, when you see him, 
 Rose, you'll think that after all I'd better see him too. I'm 
 quite able, really. Maybe it would be better I don't know." 
 
 Rose had answered, firmly: "I'll use my judgment." As 
 she descended the stairs that judgment had been all against 
 the man below. But now, something about him was making 
 its appeal to her. For all her Irish warmth of nature, Rose 
 possessed a cool head, partly by inheritance, partly perhaps 
 because of a strain of sturdy Scotch caution in her blood. 
 Kirkwood was not the sort of man to take her off her feet; 
 personally she would have remained cold to him. But a 
 certain sincerity in him, as he now restrainedly pleaded his 
 cause with her, removed to some extent her prejudice against 
 him. And that last argument, appealing as it did to her under- 
 standing of the strange laws governing human nature, sick 
 or well, made her reconsider her edict. One of Rose's strong- 
 est qualifications as a nurse, as Dr. Christopher Reade could
 
 CHECK! 223 
 
 have testified, was a peculiar ability to see light in a place 
 where she had declared was nothing but darkness. She 
 could shift and change her ground, even as he did, though the 
 change set at naught her own surest predictions. In other 
 words, she was adaptable to situations as they arose; could 
 yield a point with a flash of humour, though her life had been 
 staked on it yet could hold out against all odds, if she were 
 sure she was right. Just now she wasn't sure. 
 
 "Would you mind telling me," she said, after a full minute's 
 reflection, "what you would say to her? Remember that I 
 know how the thought of you and what happened kept her 
 from sleep many the long hour. And kept her from it 
 again last night, when she'd been sleeping like a baby for 
 three weeks now. We can't risk Mr. Kirkwood, we can't 
 risk tuning up those strings again. They're worn thin 
 they all but snapped before and we haven't got the new 
 ones on, not yet. It'll take a long time to get them." 
 
 "I know I can guess. No, Miss O'Grady I'll not 
 stretch those strings. Rather I might be able to let them 
 down. What shall I say to her? I hardly know till I see her. 
 But I promise you this I will feel my way very carefully. 
 And I think, if I can leave her with a sense of our having 
 parted in a pleasant, friendly way, with no tension in our 
 relations such as there certainly is now it will be better 
 for her than the remembrance of having sent me away as if 
 she were an invalid who could bear nothing. That's not 
 really good for any one, is it?" 
 
 Rose O'Grady answered promptly: "It is not and it's not 
 myself would do it with one I could trust. I don't know you, 
 Mr. Kirkwood, and I've not had reason to think well of you. 
 But if I put you on your honour to take care of her, and 
 send her upstairs to me when you've gone happier than she's 
 been since you came under the roof " 
 
 She paused, looking him straight in the eye. No man
 
 224 FOURSQUARE 
 
 could lie to Rose O'Grady or even try to mislead her; she 
 was the sort who could read him through and through, with 
 an almost uncanny perception. She inspired respect as well 
 as candour, and to himself Kirkwood now acknowledged 
 that he had never faced a woman whom he so wished to 
 convince of his own genuineness. 
 
 "I give you my word," he said gravely. 
 
 She nodded, and went away upstairs, prompt to act now 
 that she was convinced. After a short interval Mary came 
 down. When he heard her voice upon the stairs he went to 
 the door to meet her and saw to his chagrin that she clung 
 to the rail all the way. It was not the Mary of last night 
 whom he met at the foot. Now that he had eyes to see he 
 saw indeed that it was not for nothing that three people had 
 been guarding her from him. 
 
 "It's very silly of me, I know," she said unsteadily, when 
 he had seated her and stood before her without speaking. 
 "But somehow the sight of you brought it all back. I don't 
 mean just that night though that was bad enough but all 
 those weeks before. I you don't know what it was to me to 
 ;eel under your power. I wasn't myself. It was you 
 you had control of my mind. Somehow that was a horror 
 to me, even when I was doing my best work. When I was 
 ill here, at first, it was my nightmare that I was not my- 
 self but you. I thought you controlled me would always 
 control me. I've only just begun to get a little away from 
 
 that. But seeing you again somehow " And here 
 
 she put her hands before her face. "Oh, I'm so ashamed 
 to be so weak. But I can't bear it any more." 
 
 She hadn't been looking at him, so she didn't see the ex- 
 pression which came over his face one of pain^-then of 
 alarm. He drew a great smothered breath which he in- 
 stantly suppressed. Then he took a turn up and down before 
 her, three or four steps each way; drew up a rba/r and af
 
 CHECK! 225 
 
 down facing her. He leaned forward, so that he could look 
 intently into her face. 
 
 "Mary," he said, "I've something to say to you, and I 
 want you to listen very closely. I'm not trying to con-- 
 trol your mind now, I just want you to give me your full atten- 
 tion and not of all things not to be afraid of me. For I 
 am going to make you well I " 
 
 She stared at him, and his heart contracted as he saw the 
 purple shadows in which her eyes were deeply set. He real- 
 ized that he had seen those eyes so shadowed many times 
 before, but had only thought what lovely eyes they were, and 
 that the shadows became them. Now he wanted to take 
 that deep, tell-tale colouring away. 
 
 "I want you to know to understand," he went on, very 
 quietly but with all the firmness and conviction he could put 
 into his voice, "that if I did consciously or unconsciously 
 "ontrol you, in a way you are absolutely free now of such 
 control. I set you free. I shall never try again to make you 
 do work of mine or in my way. Do you understand me, 
 Mary? I want to take away from you that horror you 
 feel of me I can't bear that, any better than you can bear 
 the thoughts you have had. So I set you free. Definitely, 
 finally set you free. Tell me that relieves you? I will say 
 it as many times as you want me to, till you are sure of it." 
 
 She still stared at him. He tried to smile reassuringly 
 at her, but the tensity of her gaze showed no relaxing. " But 
 the book," she said, under her breath. "Your book. It 
 can't be written without me. You've told me so, over and 
 over. And yet I think I'd rather die than try to finish it. 
 I couldn't finish it not even under your control." 
 
 "Mary" and now he spoke almost sternly, for he recog- 
 nized something dangerously near to an obsession "I want 
 you never to speak or think that word again. You were 
 not actually under anything from me except the will to
 
 226 FOURSQUARE 
 
 have you do your best. And you are free now from even that 
 will. Forget the book forget me, too, if you need to do that, 
 for the present, anyhow. Nothing matters in the world ex- 
 cept that you get well and strong and that you drop all 
 anxiety about everything. Come tell me that you will.'* 
 
 "You don't care if the book isn't finished? Oh, but you 
 do!" 
 
 He looked at her. "Hang the book! Hang it burn it 
 bury it but forget about it! I tell you, my dear girl, I 
 release you from it, absolutely and forever. Why, do you 
 think I'm such a cold-blooded brute that I want my book 
 written with your flesh and blood?" 
 
 "You cared very, very much. You said " 
 
 "Never mind what I said. What I'm saying now is what 
 I mean, with every fibre of me. Won't you believe me? 
 If you don't I'll bring the manuscript in here and burn it 
 in the fire, before your eyes." 
 
 "Oh, don't!" she cried sharplv. "I don't want to see it t 
 Is it here? Why " 
 
 "It's not here in the house. You never shall see it, then, 
 Mary can't I convince you? What have you thought me, 
 anyway? Why, I've meant to be your friend, all these years. 
 I wouldn't hurt you for my life. Oh, please, my dear you're 
 making me desperately unhappy and anxious. Give me 
 your hand and tell me what I've said relieves you, and that 
 when I've gone you'll rest in peace. Never in all my life 
 have I been so near wanting to be taken and thrashed, for 
 causing you all I have caused you. But it's all over. 
 There's only one thing out of the wreck I want to keep, if 
 you'll let me. And that's your friendship." 
 
 "You would rather you wouldn't rather have that 
 than the book?" 
 
 He laughed, encouraged. " I'd rather have it, a thousand 
 times, than the book. If I may keep it, I'll go away happy-
 
 CHECK! 227 
 
 If I could have my choice this minute between seeing the 
 book finished and selling like hot-cakes and having your 
 friendship I'd choose without a moment's hesitation. 
 Now will you believe me?" 
 
 She lay back in her chair, a limp thing indeed, in contrast 
 to the radiant creature of the evening before. But her eyes 
 were slowly filling with tears healthful, sane tears, speaking 
 the relief he had tried so hard to give her. She put out one 
 hand, while with the other she wiped the tears away, smiling 
 through them. 
 
 "Oh, it's good to know," she breathed, "that you aren't 
 the monster that's haunted me. You are fine and 
 merciful and I think you've taken away the " 
 
 "Never mind what it was, if it's only gone. And in its 
 place is rest and confidence. Confidence that's all you 
 need. We all need it have to have it. Whei? we lose it, 
 we lose all our power. But you'll get yours back, now, won't 
 you?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "I know so. Now I'm going. I promised your body- 
 guard with the curly red hair that I'd stay only long enough 
 to put myself right with you. Just one thing, Mary. When 
 the time comes, as I'm going to believe it will, that you care 
 to see me as a friend, not a slave-driver will you let me 
 know ? You will care, some time, won't you ? You won't 
 send me away without that?" 
 
 She nodded. "Some time. Not till I'm quite well. I 
 thought I was. I know now I'm only convalescent." 
 
 "Poor little girl," he said, unsteadily. "What have I done 
 to you? Can you ever really forgive me?" 
 
 "I do now," sh said gently, "for the first time. But 
 I think wholly." 
 
 He took himself away on that it was much for her to say, 
 he understood.
 
 228 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Upstairs, when he had gone, Mary put her head down on 
 the shoulder of Rose O'Grady, and the firm, kind hand patted 
 her shoulder reassuringly. 
 
 "There, now you've got it over. And I see, by the look 
 of you, that you're feeling the better for having it out as the 
 Doctor thought." 
 
 "Rose," Mary asked, sighing with the tired content which 
 was enveloping her as with a garment, "just what do you 
 think of John Kirkwood, now ? Would you mind telling 
 me how he looks to you?" 
 
 "He looks," said Rose, "like a clever rascal mixed up 
 somehow with a gentleman and a soldier. I'd a man in my 
 ward a captain of artillery he was that looked a deal like 
 him. He was a divil of a fellow among men yet he had the 
 heart of a mother in him for old women and children. You 
 couldn't trust him at all and you could trust him with any- 
 thing. One day you'd be crazy mad with him and the next 
 you'd be ready to kneel at his feet, for the beautiful kindness 
 of him. All I can say of that kind is be careful. And 
 then be careful again! And I don't know if you know what 
 I mean." 
 
 "Anyhow, I know," murmured Mary, "that you're the 
 greatest dear in the world, and it's the luckiest thing that ever 
 happened to me, to be with you." 
 
 "There, there and now she's gone clean out of her head, 
 she has and I'm going to put her to bed for an hour." 
 
 And Rose O'Grady slid her strong young arms about the 
 slim body of her patient, lifted her as if she were a child, and 
 her, laughing now, upon her bed.
 
 CHAFFER XIV 
 HANDICAPPED 
 
 "In the race, for a place. 
 In the world of space, 
 You must keep, with a leap, 
 All the killing pace. 
 You mustn't fret, 
 Nor have regret, 
 Always try, never cry, 
 If you lose your bet. 
 Wear a smile, all the while, 
 To the very last lap of the winning mile. 
 That's the play no other way 
 To make life worth the while." 
 
 RAVE words, Guy boy. Did you 
 make that up yourself?" 
 
 Rose O'Grady paused in her man- 
 ipulation of the stiff left arm to look 
 at the pale face of her young patient. 
 He was smiling at her, his lips now 
 softly whistling the lively air to which 
 he had just attempted, in a shaky 
 tenor, to sing the words. His blue 
 eyes fixed themselves upon hers. He 
 ran a long thin hand through his fair, 
 stiffly curling hair, making it stand 
 up oddly above his white brow. 
 
 "Sure thing. It isn't any good, 
 though. I don't know how to write
 
 230 FOURSQUARE 
 
 the rhyme stuff. But the air's all right. That's where I'm 
 on my own ground, you know. If I had a piano here and 
 that darned arm " 
 
 "Yes, I know, Sonny. But the arm's getting better every 
 day. Try and see if you can't move it an inch farther 
 than you could last week." 
 
 The experiment was made. Guy lifted pleased eyes. 
 
 "You bet I can. Say when it gets so I can reach that 
 curl over your left ear will you let me touch it?" 
 
 "It's pull it you may and I'll pull yours. Two curly 
 heads with but a single thought to pull each other's hair." 
 
 Guy laughed. Then his glance fell to the place where 
 the rug over his knees drooped into a hollow, though it should 
 have rounded over a sturdy leg. Rose's eyes followed his. 
 
 "By the time your arm's in shape I'm hoping you can have 
 the new leg," she suggested, in the matter of fact tone in 
 which she was accustomed to allude to her patients' disabili- 
 ties. "Then you can sit down at your piano, put your feet 
 on both pedals, and pound away like the true soldier boy you 
 are." 
 
 "Where'll I get the piano? I sold mine to pay the bills. 
 And I didn't make much out of the soldier show, if it did take 
 the town. Didn't have the right contract. I'm down on 
 the bottom till I can write a new skit. And how I'm going 
 to do that, sitting here in a wheel-chair " 
 
 "Faith, you shall have the piano, if I have to rent one my- 
 self. While you're waiting, couldn't you be thinking out the 
 tunes?" 
 
 "I'd like to but it's no good unless you can try 'em out 
 as you go. I'm not the regular sort of composer can't 
 write my things the way they have to be. I sit at the piano 
 and work 'em out and get 'em on paper so I can remember 
 'em. Nobody else could read the stuff without me to show 
 what my crazy tracks mean. Just the same" and the
 
 HANDICAPPED 23 i 
 
 young face lifted proudly "I get there. If you'd heard my 
 
 show over there And they brought it back here, and 
 
 played it to S. R. O. houses while I was lying in bed in that 
 French hospital. I ought to have been a rich boy if I'd had 
 sense enough not to sell it flat instead of taking royalties." 
 
 "Never mind. Next time you'll have the sense. When 
 you get strong enough you'll be writing the best thing you 
 ever did because you'll have the rich thoughts to put into it. 
 And that's what trouble does for us, Sonny." 
 
 "Gee! I ought to have a lot of those rich thoughts then, 
 Miss Rose." And the well arm reached out a tightly clenched 
 fist, to hit the arm of the wheel-chair a -smacking blow. 
 "Anyhow, you keep a fellow from feeling down and out, and 
 that counts more than rubbing his stiff arm." 
 
 "I'm going to have you out this very day. And you shaU 
 fcee a piano, too a good one. No I won't tell you how ot 
 where. Wait till afternoon and you'll see." 
 
 Rose ran home from there. Guy Carter was the last of the 
 morning list of Dr. Reade's patients, to whom she went daily 
 to give massage or baths. The small house where an aged 
 aunt had taken in the mutilated young soldier on his return 
 from the French hospitals stood at the foot of the hill. Rose 
 was so used to mounting the hill at a brisk pace, she arrived at 
 the Graham terraced garden with plenty of breath left to put 
 her case to Mary Fletcher without a moment's delay. 
 
 Between rows of double pink and yellow tulips loitered 
 Mary, a basket filled to overflowing with the gay blooms, 
 youth and health in her face. She waved the basket at Rose, 
 coming on apace. 
 
 "What-ho, Nursie? Why the mad haste, the sparkle in 
 the eye?" 
 
 "Mary, it's your job I've found. And a big little lovely 
 job it is." 
 
 Mary whistled. "What if I shouldn't leap at it? I've
 
 232 FOURSQUARE 
 
 thought up one for myself. I'm going into the florist's busi- 
 ness. I'm mad over these tulips. I could worship them." 
 
 "Mad you may be, but it's my job you'll be taking. It's 
 a human plant you're to have, to set in the sun and tend 
 and bring to the flower. Listen." 
 
 Rose sat down on an overturned bushel-basket, left where 
 Bates had been weeding when he went to his dinner. In 
 brisk but eloquent terms she set forth the claims of the soldier 
 who was longing to write another musical "show," who had 
 only one arm and one leg but a burning brain to do it with, 
 and who 
 
 "Bring him up!" commanded Mary. "I'll fill the house 
 with tulips, set him in the midst of them, and we'll have the 
 first act blocked out before night." 
 
 "Whist! It's not to take him off his feet you are. He's 
 weak yet, and too much happiness won't do for him. You're 
 to leave him alone with the piano, not sit and smile at him.'* 
 
 "Can he sit at the piano?" 
 
 "Why not? His wheel-chair can be raised a bit." 
 
 "Very well arrange it to suit yourself. If he's as clever 
 as you think him something may come of it. I'll put off the 
 building of my greenhouse for a week or two. If he wrote 
 'Present Arms!' as you say, he must be jolly good at that sort 
 of thing. I saw that on the other side. It was great stuff. 
 Why haven't you told me about him before?" 
 
 "The time hadn't come. Besides, I didn't know so much 
 about what he'd done as he told me to-day. He was just a 
 poor doughboy to me, with an arm I'd got to make well." 
 
 It didn't take much, in these days, to start Mary's im- 
 agination. She had her way about the tulips, arranged 
 splendid masses of them in bowls and baskets, and left a 
 special study in effects upon the right shelf of the grand piano. 
 When Guy Carter arrived in his chair that afternoon, she met 
 Kim half-way down the garden walk.
 
 HANDICAPPED 233 
 
 "There's one thing you'd best understand before I take 
 you to the big house, Sonny," Rose had said to her patient, 
 on the way up. "You're not to get yourself excited with 
 the company of Miss Mary Fletcher. She's quite a grand 
 lady, in her way with her fame and her position in the town. 
 She's fairly young yet, but not so young as you, and she's keen 
 for an interest, now when she's forbidden to work at her own. 
 She'll dazzle the eyes of you, for she's that easy to look at; and 
 she'll be kind as an angel, for she'll be sorry for your trouble. 
 But you're not to go losing your head, or I'll regret the day 
 I brought you to her. Maybe you can write your music 
 better for seeing her and talking with her, and that's why I 
 think right to show you a sort of person mayhap you've not 
 just met with before. You'll forgive me for speaking this 
 plain to you? If one knows at the start one can keep his 
 guard up against trouble, eh?" 
 
 Guy Carter had swallowed hard, twice, before he answered: 
 *I guess I understand. You don't need to tell me there's 
 nothing for me anywhere except work." 
 
 "That's not what I'm telling you. There'll be plenty for 
 you, when you're well again. But Miss Mary well, she 
 belongs to another world than you and me, and if she's in 
 ours at all we may think ourselves lucky and let it go at that. 
 See Sonny?" 
 
 "I see. Don't worry." The young lips stiffened, the 
 white brow frowned a little. Plenty of practice the soldier 
 had had in meeting crises; in spite of his present disabilities 
 he was no soft thing, to need protection from a girl. He 
 wasn't going to presume upon his luck in being brought to 
 this.dignified old house with its tall pillars, whatever he might 
 find inside. If there was a piano inside, and if he might play 
 upon it, even with one hand, that was quite good enough for 
 to-day. 
 
 Rose's warning might seem premature, yet as Mar> ran out
 
 234 FOURSQUARE 
 
 to meet them one must admit that it was likely to be needed, 
 be it doughboy or general who came thus to her door. The 
 sheer charm of her, now that she was well again, was such as 
 to assert itself before she so much as opened her mouth; and 
 when she did open it the beguilingly mellow beauty of her 
 voice was likely to finish what her looks began. 
 
 "How you must have missed your piano," she said, as the 
 wheel-chair rolled into the drawing-room. "And this one's 
 just suffering to be used. Since I brought the tulips in, this 
 morning, it's looked to me as if it just must break out into 
 some kind of a rollicking spring song. I sat down and played 
 Schubert and Schumann on it, but somehow that didn't seem 
 to satisfy it. Maybe you'll know what it wants." 
 
 Guy gazed at the big instrument with its mass of single pink 
 and double yellow tulips the latter so rich in depth of colour 
 that they were almost of a rusty orange. But his eyes didn't 
 linger on the flowers; it was on the long white ivory line of the 
 keyboard that his look fastened so hungrily. 
 
 "I might, if I had two arms," he said, almost under his 
 breath. 
 
 "My heart, but you can do a lot with one, Sonny!" cried 
 Rose, and wheeled the chair toward the beckoning instrument. 
 Mary pushed the bench aside, and Guy found himself within 
 reach of those black-and-white keys, which had for many 
 months tantalized his dreams, sleeping and waking. Now 
 he sat looking at them, an excited flush slowly rising in his 
 cheek. 
 
 "We're going to run away and leave you alone with it," 
 said Mary Fletcher, smiling at him across the tulips con- 
 trary to instructions. But he hardly turned his eyes toward 
 her. Instead he stared down at his stiff left arm. Inch by 
 inch he lifted it till the left hand reached the keyboard; the 
 fingers touched it, moved along it, slowly striking here and 
 there.
 
 HANDICAPPED 235 
 
 "That's it! Give it something it wants to do, and it'll 
 be doing it," Rose encouraged. 
 
 Suddenly the right hand broke into a series of arpeggios, 
 tilting lightly up and down the keyboard. Laboriously the 
 left supplied a bass note, here and there. Over the tense 
 young lips crept a smile. Guy looked up. "You've said 
 something," he acknowledged. 
 
 Nurse and hostess went away, though both wanted nothing 
 better than to stay and watch developments. Somehow 
 both knew that nothing more satisfying than arpeggios would 
 be likely to come of their presence. Above stairs, however, 
 they listened. It was hardly possible to do otherwise. 
 After a time, Rose, missing Mary, went in search and found 
 her sitting on the top step of the staircase. She looked up, 
 holding up a cautioning hand. 
 
 "He's been still for quite a while I think he's writing it 
 down. I don't dare move, but I'm crazy to see. He's got 
 the motif for a song, I know." 
 
 The notes broke out again, more ordered than before. By 
 what gymnastics with the well right hand were the low el 
 harmonies being supplied one could only guess, but certain 
 it was that something full and immensely taking was being 
 evolved. It wasn't exactly rag, it distinctly wasn't straight 
 march, on the beat; but whatever it was, it was the sort of 
 thing which gets into one's brain. Some gay young Pierrot 
 might have capered upon the stage in it, turned sober, walked 
 with a stately step for a bar or two, then been off again in a 
 delirium of fantastic movements, only to come back to his dig- 
 nity once more, with a final grace both captivating and courtly. 
 
 In her lap Mary's hands clasped themselves tightly. "Oh, 
 I must go down now and tell him how clever how enor- 
 mously clever that is," she whispered. 
 
 "Hold him steady, then don't be praising him too much. 
 He'll be tired now and should stop. I'll take him back soon."
 
 236 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Mary smiled. Well she knew Rose's methods they were 
 always of the level head. Her own impulse was of course to 
 fly at the young composer and talk composition with him till 
 both their heads should reel. But for such an invalid that 
 wouldn't do, as she of all people ought to understand. So 
 she walked into the drawing-room very quietly, came around 
 to the piano, and laid her hand upon the wheel-chair. 
 
 "Nurse says it's time to stop. Did you get something? 
 I thought so as it came upstairs to me." 
 
 He looked at her then, and she saw the change in him. He 
 was no longer the invalid, he was alight with new fires. 
 
 "Did it sound like something?" he asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Indeed it did. I thought perhaps one of those pink-and- 
 white striped tulips had jumped out on the rack before you k 
 ind you were making a dance for him." 
 
 He shook his head. "It's for a fellow with a crutch, who's 
 just got back the use of his legs see? It's been bothering 
 my head ever since Miss Rose came to look after me. The 
 crutch's in the dance, because he likes to wave it about and 
 take a few steps with it, now and then, just to show how he 
 used to go. He's crazy with joy, you see, as anybody would 
 be." 
 
 "That explains it. I heard the crutch but didn't know 
 what it was. It's what gives the dance its originality and 
 charm." 
 
 "I'm glad," he said modestly. "Anyhow, it's good to get 
 it out where I can hear it. And on this piano. I never 
 played on this kind before. It makes all the rest sound 
 like brass." 
 
 "It is rather of a wonder-tone, isn't it? I had a man out 
 from the city the other day to tune it, and he made it all over 
 new. You shall come and play on it every day that Miss 
 CPGrady thinks best." 
 
 This was the beginning. When she watched him wheeled
 
 HANDICAPPED 237 
 
 down the brick walk she knew that a fresh interest was a*- 
 hand, but she didn't dream how presently it was to absorb her. 
 
 "I might have known," she said to Rose, a week later, 
 "that we couldn't have the boy who wrote 'Present Arms!' in 
 the house without striking sparks. Why, he's simply a crea- 
 tive genius in his line. To-day he worked out an idea for a 
 duet between the Poker and the Fire that was the most fas- 
 cinating thing you ever heard. The Fire gets to burning 
 dully, you see, and then the Poker, cold and hard, and merely 
 doing its duty stirs it up. The Fire doesn't like the Poker, 
 but it rouses up under the poking. And then, by an accident, 
 the Poker gets left in the fire and grows red hot kself 
 until somebody comes in and sticks it in a bucket of water. 
 Sizz-z-z ! I assure you the hiss of that poker takes you off 
 your feet." 
 
 "Does he write the words too?" 
 
 "That's the trouble. He's not very good at that pretty 
 ordinary, in fact. To tell the truth / wrote the words!" 
 
 Rose looked at Mary. The expression of her raised eye- 
 brows made Mary burst out laughing. 
 
 "I don't know when I've enjoyed anything so much. It 
 wasn't the least trouble. It was all in the music." 
 
 "I thought words had to be written first." 
 
 "Not with Guy. He'd like them first if he could get 
 them. But when he can't he does the thing into music, and 
 any idiot could feel the words that go with them. I can, 
 anyhow. I think we'll have to go into partnership. We 
 could do a perfectly corking thing together if " 
 
 She paused, frowning a little. "I think after all I'd rather 
 not explain. I've an idea what I might do. Let me thinlr 
 it out before I talk about it." 
 
 It was Mark Fenn with whom, a day or two later, she helJ 
 a consultation. 
 
 "He's wonderful," she said, "but he well he hasn't
 
 238 FOURSQUARE 
 
 heard the things he ought to hear to put an edge on his work. 
 Everything he does, clever and even enchanting as it some- 
 times is, has the same peculiar quality of the music halls 
 though it's of the very first class of them. He needs, I should 
 say, a course of Schubert and Grieg and even Beethoven. 
 Of course they're beyond him and above him and yet I 
 can't help feeling that he could appreciate them. Anyhow, 
 I think they'd perhaps explain to him something I can't 
 quite yet get over to him. Hearing folk-songs would be 
 good for him, too, to give him ideas for his own songs." 
 
 Mark was as interested as she had been sure he would be. 
 "There's no great music, at this season, anywhere within 
 reach. Would anything you and I could play for him reach 
 him, do you think?" 
 
 "I'd like to try. Suppose you and Harriet come over this 
 evening, if you will; I'll have Guy up, and perhaps Dr. Reade, 
 with Rose, and we'll make a little party of it. I think it will 
 impress him a good bit more if one or two others are there. 
 Then we'll have him play for us, if he will." 
 
 "Good! I'll tune up at once. My fingers will be soft for 
 want of practice, but we can probably make certain things go 
 pretty well." 
 
 There could be no doubt but that they did. That evening, 
 Rose, keeping watch without seeming to do so, saw that some- 
 thing was happening to her soldier. She had him out of his 
 wheel-chair and established in a corner of the davenport be- 
 fore the music began, where he could see the faces above the 
 keyboard as Mark and Mary played for him. The Doctor 
 couldn't come until late, so they began without him. Every 
 selection they made was for a purpose. 
 
 "Grieg and McDowell and St.-Saens first," Mary had de- 
 creed, "and then if he bears all that well, perhaps a Beetho- 
 ven prelude. What do you expect? That he'll respond to 
 the lighter music and grow bored with the deeper?"
 
 HANDICAPPED 239 
 
 "Hard to tell. I'm inclined to think he'll go where you 
 lead him or try to, at least, for your sake." 
 
 "No, no not at all. We've been most impersonal 
 through all our talks and try-outs." 
 
 Mark had smiled skeptically at this. Impossible, he said 
 to himself, that Guy Carter and Mary Fletcher could succeed 
 for an hour in being impersonal, be they never so absorbed in 
 their efforts at composition. With the best will in the world 
 to give the lad nothing but the association of workman with 
 workman, it wouldn't be possible for Mary to make herself 
 austere or be miserly with her kindness. As a matter of fact 
 the pleasure she couldn't conceal in the work itself was bound 
 to be the greatest of all attractions to the young composer. 
 To add to this the fascination of her own personality was to 
 expose him to a well-nigh irresistible appeal. Only one thing 
 could protect him and hold him steady and that, of course, 
 would be his ardour for his work. 
 
 When Dr. Christopher Reade came in, the evening being 
 well along, he recognized that his soldier patient had been 
 powerfully wrought upon by the music which had apparently 
 just ceased. Mark and Mary were still at the piano, dis- 
 cussing the musical score before them. Rose O'Grady and 
 Harriet Fenn were holding an interested conversation. For 
 the moment Guy sat alone with his gaze fixed upon the two 
 at the piano. His cheeks were very flushed, his eyes looked 
 suffused; the doctor didn't need to feel his pulse it was all 
 but beating visibly in the artery at his fair temples. Reade 
 sat down beside him. 
 
 "Enjoyed it?" he questioned, casually. "Sorry I had 
 to miss it." 
 
 Guy tried to speak naturally, but his voice trembled a 
 little in spite of him. "Never heard anything like it. It 
 made the stuff I know sound cheap." 
 
 " Where did you get your musical training?"
 
 2 4 o FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Didn't have any, sir. Picked up all I know around 
 hotels and theatres. Never heard much of any high-brow 
 stuff didn't think I'd like it." 
 
 "Are you sure you don't like it now because you rather 
 like the people who have been playing it?" 
 
 The boyish blue eyes met the keen brown ones without 
 evasion. 
 
 "Sure that was part of it," he admitted. "The house 
 always falls for the pretty girl even if she's got only a medium 
 good voice. But I guess I'd have liked this if I'd waked up 
 in the night all alone and heard it. Some things in it you 
 couldn't get away from." 
 
 The doctor nodded. "That's it. I got the last of it as I 
 came up the drive. It was Beethoven, wasn't it?" 
 
 "That's what they said. I never knew him except one 
 thing they used to play now and then in hotels. This was 
 different, though." 
 
 "Yes, I don't think they play the big things much in hotels 
 So this seemed really big to you?" 
 
 "You bet it did. There was one time I didn't know but 
 I'd go right up through the roof. Then I looked at my leg 
 Oh, say, " the boy broke off to go on again with a rush 
 "I didn't mean ever to say 'leg* again, Doctor." 
 
 "Never mind. The point is you're not thinking 'leg* 
 much, these days, are you?" 
 
 The curly, fair head was shaken emphatically. "You bet 
 I'm not. And if I could write a thing like that Beethoven 
 did, I'd why, I'd give my other leg." 
 
 "Did you know that all the later years of his life he was 
 stone deaf so he couldn't hear his own music, except in his 
 mind?" 
 
 Guy stared at the Doctor. "That a fact? Couldn't hear 
 a note? Why, he must have heard something to write it." 
 
 "Not a note. Not the faintest echo of one."
 
 HANDICAPPED 241 
 
 "Gee!" There was a long moment's silence. Then in 
 an awestruck voice Guy murmured: "I guess I won't say 
 any more about legs!" 
 
 Dr. Reade smiled, and leaving him went over to the piano. 
 "You've made a great impression," he said softly. "But 
 I think it's impression enough for to-night. Suppose you 
 let him down a bit now. I suppose you're giving us some 
 thing nice to eat or drink, pretty soon. I'm hungry as a bear 
 at this hour always, you know." 
 
 Mary sprang up. "Of course. We need a practical person 
 like you to bring us back to earth." 
 
 It was next morning, however, that she got the first result 
 of the experiment of the evening before. When Guy was 
 brought in by Rose, Mary took pains to remain out of sight 
 and sound. He was left quite alone and for a long time 
 nothing was to be heard of him. By and by, however, 
 tentative chords and phrases, lightly touched, began to make 
 their way out through the open French windows to the long 
 rear porch where Mary was writing letters upon a leather 
 pad in her lap. Now and again she lifted her head to listen. 
 At length Guy's idea, whatever it was, seemed to be taking 
 definite shape. Mary, to her delight, began to think she 
 could recognize in it a reflection of certain striking and beauti- 
 ful passages in that great music which she and Mark had 
 played for him. As the work proceeded she put down her 
 pad and pen and surrendered herself to the pleasure of listen- 
 ing without hindrance to the evolution of a new phase in 
 the boy's creative life. 
 
 But, finally, silence came again, and lasted so long that she 
 became uneasy. She stole to the open window, and looked 
 cautiously past the long chintz curtains swaying slightly in 
 the warm breeze. TO her dismay she saw the fair head down 
 upon one bent arm resting on the piano rack. Several 
 sheets of paper lay scattered on the floor near by. He might
 
 242 FOURSQUARE 
 
 be thinking something out, she reflected. But then, even 
 as she looked, he raised his head, drew his hand across his 
 eyes, and began once more to feel for the notes of which he 
 seemed not to be sure. 
 
 Mary decided it was time to give him help. She came in 
 strightforwardly and up the long room, to pause by his side. 
 
 "It sounds to me as if you were trying to recall something. 
 Was it anything you heard last night, and can I play it for 
 you?" 
 
 He looked up, and she saw that without a doubt he had 
 been crying, though now his eyes were dry. He spoke with 
 an attempt to hide his feeling. 
 
 "I'd like to hear anything you'll play for me. I don't 
 know what it is I'm trying to get. I lay awake with it most 
 of the night I suppose it was something I heard you and 
 Mr. Fenn play." 
 
 "I wonder if it might be this. It always haunts me for 
 days after I've heard it again." 
 
 Mary gently moved the wheel-chair aside, pulled the bench 
 into place and sat down. When she had finished she turned 
 to Guy, to find him watching her with hungry eyes. His 
 look startled her, though she wasn't sure there was in it more 
 than adoration for her music. 
 
 "That's it," he said, his eyes dropping. "I never heard 
 anything like that in my life. It got me. Everything I 
 ever wrote seemed like trash to me beside it." 
 
 "What you wrote isn't trash at all. It's very bright and 
 ingenious. One doesn't expect great themes in modern light 
 musical plays. But I thought if you could know some of 
 these wonderful things the masters wrote you'd be so much 
 the richer that perhaps you could put something of it into 
 your work." 
 
 "I'd like to," he answered, humbly. "But I guess I could 
 never do anything bigger than I've done."
 
 HANDICAPPED 243 
 
 "I'm not at all sure you couldn't. I thought I heard you 
 playing something that sounded different from anything 
 you'd done before. Could you play it for me now?" 
 
 He shook his head. "I don't believe so." 
 
 But he was looking wistfully at the keyboard again, and 
 Mary immediately moved him back into place. He felt 
 about for a little, then, with the flushing cheeks which always 
 denoted excitement, played a few bars. His left arm by now 
 was doing his bidding with much less stiffness, and needed 
 but little assistance from the right. 
 
 "Oh, but that's very lovely!" she cried softly. "That has 
 a new quality in it. That's not what I played for you just 
 now. Where did you get it?" 
 
 "Maybe I've stolen it." 
 
 " I don't think so. I never heard it. It must be your own. 
 Oh, please play it again." 
 
 He did so, and this time, evidently under the stimulus of 
 her presence and interest, he carried it further than before. 
 She sat listening breathlessly to the evolvement of an idea 
 which seemed to her distinctly beyond and above anything 
 which he had yet conceived. After a time, and with many 
 pauses and workings out of peculiar and rather surprising 
 harmonies, he carried it to completion. Finished, it was 
 but one simple theme, yet it was to Mary a thing quite 
 perfect. 
 
 She sat back in her chair and tried to speak quietly. Never, 
 that she could remember, had she been so interested in the 
 work of another or so anxious to be of use. 
 
 "Please write that down at once, won't you?" she urged. 
 " Don't let it get away." 
 
 "It can't get away. I can never forget it now. You'd 
 know I couldn't, if you knew. But, of course, I'll- " 
 
 He stopped abruptly, hunting about for the stubby pencil 
 with which he might put upon paper the unskilled musical
 
 244 FOURSQUARE 
 
 hieroglyphics of his own which only he could read, but which 
 would make secure his memory. When this was done Rose 
 had come for him and his hour was over. 
 
 But Mary was making fresh plans for him. Searching the 
 newspapers in hope of rinding something within reach, she 
 came upon news of a great May festival of music, in a city 
 which was distant less than a hundred miles. With eager 
 eyes she scanned the programmes for each day and evening of 
 the five days devoted to the event. Illustrious names were 
 there singers, violinists, pianists, soloists of high distinction 
 and backing all an orchestra of world-wide reputation. It 
 was just the thing and she would take them all, Guy, Rose, 
 Harriet, Mark even Dr. Reade, if he would spare the time 
 for a day at least. 
 
 Rose came in upon her while she was telephoning, catching 
 the last of her instructions. It sounded to Rose O'Grady like 
 the ordering of a young queen. 
 
 "Yes, your biggest and most comfortable car will do nicely, 
 and I want a chauffeur who can be trusted to come back over 
 those roads at night. We'll start by eight in the morning. 
 Yes, there'll be six of us, I think. Certainly that price is 
 quite right. And remember the new car it's really a 
 beautiful one. Thank you good-bye." 
 
 Mary turned, jumped up, caught Rose by the shoulders 
 and whirled her about or came as near whirling her as one 
 could with a sturdy figure like Miss O'Grady's. 
 
 "We're all going to the May musical festival for a full day 
 of it. We'll have a delightful trip, in that really stunning new 
 car at the Blackmore garage you and the Fenns and Guy 
 and I and do you suppose the Doctor will go ? I want him 
 so much!" 
 
 "And for what is all the extravagance?" Rose inquired, 
 surveying her ex-patient with amazement. 
 
 "Oh, Rosie! Don't pretend you don't know! To fill out,
 
 HANDICAPPED 245 
 
 soldier full with glorious music, of the best there is in the 
 world." 
 
 "Fill him full with music? And isn't he crammed to the 
 eyes, now the young wonder he is?" 
 
 "Yes but his work is only second or third rate, as yet, for 
 lack of training. Mr. Fenn and I can give him only a shadow 
 of a shade of the real thing. Oh, come don't look so dis- 
 approving, sweet Rosie O'Grady! I'm not going to hurt the 
 boy. He needs every bit he can get." 
 
 "Yes and then he'll go bankrupt when he's back in the 
 world again and away from such as you if there's any such 
 as you." 
 
 "Rosie," Mary held her off and spoke with intense con- 
 viction "you know and I know that some things are worth 
 going bankrupt for. Only he won't go bankrupt. If he 
 has to take pain along with happiness or after it he'll only 
 .Nave the bigger treasury in his heart and mind to work with. 
 The boy's a genius, in his way. I want to give him a real 
 chance. Hearing this music is only the preliminary to a plan 
 I have for him oh, such a plan, Rose! He's going to do the 
 finest thing of his life so far, and it will be worth all it costs 
 be sure of that." 
 
 "I hope so." 
 
 "I know so." And Mary rushed away to see Harriet Fenn 
 and give her invitation. 
 
 When Rose, that day, had Guy Carter's arm under her 
 skilful fingers, working upon it with one of the long treat- 
 ments which were slowly but surely releasing it from bondage, 
 she spoke the word to him which was clamouring for utter- 
 ance. With each day that had gone by she had become surer 
 that it must be spoken. 
 
 "Sonny," she began, "do you mind a thing I said to you 
 when I first took you to the big house on the hill?" 
 
 "What was that, Miss Rose?" But the arm had given a
 
 246 FOURSQUARE 
 
 twitch beneath her fingers. "About not thinking myself 
 as good as the place I was going to? Don't worry. I think 
 less of myself every day." 
 
 "Nobody wants you to do that. Think as well of yourself 
 as you can you've every right. It wasn't that I was re- 
 membering. It was I think you know. And I'm a bit 
 afraid the warning's doing no good." 
 
 Guy was silent. He turned his head away. 
 
 "I'm not going to inquire into your affairs, lad. It's none 
 of my business that I know. But I just want to say this to 
 you. If you can take what comes to you and be thankful, 
 and let it make you bigger and better and not eat your heart 
 out with wanting what you can't have it's all right. You 
 can put it into your music, maybe, where it'll do you no 
 harm." 
 
 "Why are you saying this to me?" Guy was trembling a 
 little now. "Have I said or done one thing to make you 
 think I was a fool?" 
 
 "Not a thing that you could help. And I'm not blaming 
 you. You wouldn't be human if you could be with such and 
 not be carried away with what you see and hear. I'm just 
 fearing that it'll be too much for you, Guy, lad this party 
 she plans for you and when you hear the grand music she 
 talks about, you'll be thinking thoughts that'll break your 
 heart with the ache of them." 
 
 "I don't care." His tone was defiant. "Let me think 
 'em. I'd rather than not. So would you wouldn't you? 
 than not? Even if you never had what you wanted?" 
 
 She looked at him, and into her Irish blue eyes came a 
 touch of mist. She shut them for an instant, pressing her 
 lips together, and Guy noted how the thick lashes met and lay 
 upon her cheek. But when the lashes were raised she was 
 smiling again, with a spirited lift of her round chin. 
 
 "That's just what I've been telling you," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 BEETHOVEN 
 
 SYMPHONY No. 9, D Minor, Opus 125 
 
 Ludvig von Beethoven 
 Allegro ma non troppo 
 Scherzo: molto vivace 
 Adagio molto e cantabile 
 Choral Finale: Schiller's "Hymn to Joy." 
 
 HAT was the way the final number 
 of the evening looked on the pro- 
 gramme which was afterward put 
 away among Mary Fletcher's choicest 
 treasures. It was beautifully printed 
 on heavy paper of quarto size, a thin 
 book containing the full programmes 
 for the five afternoons and evenings of 
 the May Festival, and illustrated with 
 photographs of the soloists and of the 
 orchestra conductor, himself among 
 the famous of the world. For its own 
 sake it might well be preserved by 
 all music-lovers who turned its pages 
 during those hours. Even Harriet 
 Fenn, who of all Mary's five guests 
 knew least w T hat it was which she had 
 had the privilege of hearing, laid that 
 programme away with the slim pile 
 of such mementoes in a certain desk 
 drawer at home, conscious that it was 
 worthy of its honour. 
 247
 
 248 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Mary had heard that Beethoven Ninth Symphony before, 
 once in her life, under circumstances entirely different. With 
 a party of schoolgirls, chaperoned by a teacher, boxes of 
 chocolates in their laps, subdued whisperings on their tongues, 
 Mary had supposed she had listened to the greatest music in 
 the world. Her programme had so informed her, and her 
 teacher had attempted to prepare her, with the rest, for the 
 hearing of the imperishable masterpiece. Though at certain 
 points in the rendition she had experienced something ap- 
 proaching the thrill she knew she ought to feel, for the most 
 part she was secretly wishing things to come to a conclusion. 
 It was really only when the climax arrived, at the very end, 
 with chorus and orchestra and soloists pouring out their 
 utmost in the "Hymn to Joy," and the audience rising 
 spontaneously to its feet, that Mary with the other schooL 
 girls quite understood that it had been a great hour. As they 
 later emerged into the street they were saying to one another, 
 "Wasn't it perfectly wonderful?" So it had been, but it 
 was more than doubtful if they had known it. Perhaps Mary 
 herself was the only one who even dimly comprehended that 
 they hadn't known it, or guessed the reason why. 
 
 But she knew now. Between that day and this had lain 
 experience of struggle and pain and life, and he who listens 
 with understanding to the Ninth Symphony must have known 
 these, not vicariously but for himself. Throughout the 
 marvellous first movement she sat with head bent and eyes 
 closed, letting the waves break over her, every nerve strung 
 to tensity. There were moments when she felt the grandeur 
 of the theme unbearable, when she lived and breathed with 
 the composer in his suffering. The words of Richard Wagner 
 interpreting the movement printed themselves on her brain 
 oh, yes she knew all about it! "Power, resistance, to strive, 
 to long, to hope, almost to attain, again to vanish, to search for 
 anew, to struggle again " Small wonder that in the
 
 BEETHOVEN 249 
 
 listening she lost all sense of time and space; all that she knew 
 was the sounds which beat upon her ears, the reaction of her 
 whole being to the all but intolerable stimulus of those 
 anguished violins. 
 
 The rest was easier to bear. Relief came in the second 
 movement, peace in the third. With the beginning of the 
 fourth pain cried aloud again a cry of disappointment 
 imperfect understanding it made one realize how like life 
 it all was, with no rock upon which to set one's foot. But 
 then came the "Hymn to Joy," with orchestra and chorus 
 lifting the glorious tones to the vast roof. Once again Mary, 
 with an audience on fire, rose to her feet; tears of joy, indeed, 
 at the beauty and might of that outburst of emotion, filling 
 her eyes, her heart beating wildly. Beside her rose Mark 
 Fenn, and on her other side Guy Carter was being helped to 
 his feet by Rose. The boy was crying, too, trying his soldier 
 best not to sob. Mary put out one hand and seized his and 
 pressed it as tight as she could for the convulsive grip his 
 fingers took of hers. Then she looked around at Mark and 
 met his steady gray eyes and saw tears there, too. Quite 
 because she couldn't help it her other hand touched his, and 
 found instant response. 
 
 For one minute the three stood linked, gazing toward the 
 orchestra, while the final glory of the "Hymn" surged into 
 their souls, unconscious of all the world outside that magic 
 space. Then it was all over; the applause, thunderous, 
 deafening, began; and the hands dropped apart. Such hours 
 come only now and then in lifetimes, and each of the three 
 recognized that this had been supremely one of those. If it 
 had been raised to its highest power by the human com- 
 panionship throughout the experience, only one of the three, 
 perhaps, was fully conscious of that significance. 
 
 In the memory of each of them the long, swift drive home 
 through the spring night remained as a part of the whole, not
 
 150 FOURSQUARE 
 
 to be forgotten. There was little talk. Harriet Fenn was 
 frankly sleepy; while she had greatly enjoyed the less austere 
 parts of the programmes of the afternoon and evening, the 
 Ninth Symphony had been rather an ordeal. She had had a 
 heavy week of teaching; she had risen at daybreak to make 
 ready for the trip; she had been unable to translate into 
 terms comprehensible to herself the final tremendous com- 
 position; she was glad to be able to sit back now in her corner 
 of the car and watch out of half closed eyes the passing loveli- 
 ness of the spring night. 
 
 Dr. Reade and Rose O'Grady were also in a quiet mood; 
 two musical programmes of unusual length had been rather 
 more than they had been able to assimilate with comfort. Both 
 were capable of much enjoyment at such sources, yet the 
 practical, busy lives they led made them less susceptible to 
 the appeal of that which they had heard than the three of the 
 party to whose eyes the "Hymn to Joy" had brought the un- 
 controllable tears. 
 
 But with Mary, Mark, and Guy, though they hardly spoke 
 throughout the drive, absence of speech denoted anything 
 rather than apathy, or even the quite natural fatigue follow- 
 ing the long, full day. Each, in his or her own way, was 
 keyed to a high pitch, from which it was impossible as yet to 
 relax. In their ears the music of that last hour was still 
 sounding; every curve of the moonlit road brought fresh 
 scenes to recall poignantly the memories of the sombre themes 
 heard in the first movement of the Symphony, or of the 
 exquisitely melancholy yet peaceful ones of the third. And 
 the "Hymn to Joy!" To each of the three the remembrance 
 of the radiant and soul-stirring motif, appearing now and 
 then in brief ecstatic phrasings, foreshadowing the final out- 
 burst, then swelling into its full and overwhelming glory, was 
 something to be cherished with a jealous ardour, lest it fade all 
 too soois-
 
 BEETHOVEN 251 
 
 The last mile was covered, the car flew into the silent town. 
 
 "Well," said Harriet, sitting up abruptly, the first to speak 
 in many miles, "here we are! I don't know when I've 
 ever driven at night before. Everybody's sound asleep 
 hardly a light anywhere. I suppose this is the way" she 
 turned to Dr. Reade "you see it pretty often." 
 
 "Rather often. I like to see it once I'm out." 
 
 "It's dreaming awake I've been since we left the city," 
 Rose O'Grady said, in a voice quite unlike her own. " Dream- 
 ing awake." 
 
 As he left her Guy Carter gave Mary an icy hand. 
 
 "Were you cold on the drive, Guy?" she asked him solici- 
 tously. 
 
 "I didn't know I was in the car, I guess. No, I wasn't 
 cold, thanks." 
 
 Mark sent Harriet on ahead up their gravel path to the 
 brown house, giving her the key, and crossed the lawn to meet 
 the car as it came sip to the Graham porch. Rose jumped out 
 first and was off into the house, leaving Mary to say good- 
 night to Aer last guest. But instead of saying it both lin- 
 gered. 
 
 "Somehow I don't want this day to end," Mary said. 
 The two stood looking off over the silent, sleeping village 
 where, here and there, a belated light shone. 
 
 "It's been a great day." Mark lifted his face to the May 
 night sky. "One can go on a long while on the memory of 
 such a day and evening. I was thinking, on the way home, 
 that if I didn't have to teach to-morrow I'd be spendthrift 
 enough to build a little fire and sit by it the rest of the night 
 and remember that Ninth Symphony." 
 
 "I'd like to do that!" There was a happy laugh in Mary's 
 voice. "Go home and to sleep, and I'll do it for you by my 
 fire. 7 don't have to teach to-morrow. There are only two 
 or three hours to daylight, anyhow. I shouldn't sleep if I
 
 25* FOURSQUARE 
 
 tried. I'm going to do it! /'// keep faith with the * Hymn to 
 Joy/" 
 
 "You can't afford to be a spendthrift. I can. If any- 
 body's to keep faith with Beethoven to-night I'll be the one." 
 
 They looked at each other, smiling. Neither could be 
 quite sure that the other was serious. 
 
 "Are we a pair of sentimentalists? I don't care in the 
 least! I knew I was capable of it but I didn't think you 
 were!" 
 
 "You never can tell," Mark acknowledged, "what follies a 
 sober fellow like me can be capable of, when music like that 
 gets into his brain. In all my life I've never been so stirred 
 and exalted, I think. I'd like to prolong the splendour of it. 
 I don't call that sentimentalism. Whatever anybody calls 
 it I'm going to sit up." 
 
 "So am I!" 
 
 They didn't argue it. Both knew that if Harriet or Rose 
 O'Grady got wind of the extraordinary compact they would 
 prevent its fulfillment. If they heard of it afterward they 
 would deride it. Even as the pair delayed on the porch they 
 saw Harriet come to the lighted doorway of the brown house 
 and look searchingly across the lawn. But the two figures 
 were in shadow. Harriet went back, leaving the door open. 
 
 "Acts speak louder than words. That one says: 'Come, 
 come, brother don't you know it's two o'clock? " Mary's 
 low voice was sheer music. For some reason the thought 
 of the coming shared vigil was filling her with an extraor- 
 dinary pleasure. The idea was preposterous, of course, 
 according to people like Harriet; somehow that made it all the 
 more alluring! 
 
 " If I don't go Harry'll come over after me. Will you look 
 out of your window somewhere between now and morning 
 and see my study light burning?" 
 
 "Of course I will. And if you look out of vours you'll see
 
 BEETHOVEN 253 
 
 the light of my drawing-room fire. I'll play the motif of the 
 * Hymn to Joy ' just as the dawn conies up. If your windows 
 are open perhaps you'll hear it." 
 
 "They'll be open all the time." 
 
 Mark went away across the lawn. Mary ran up to her 
 room. She found Rose there, waiting. 
 
 "It's into bed you go, and to sleep. You're more weary 
 than you know." 
 
 "I'd like to sit up till morning," dared Mary, pulling the 
 pins out of her hair first of all, that she might secure a veil 
 behind which to laugh covertly at her stern young guardian. 
 
 "I've no doubt you would; it's just the kind of folly you'd 
 enjoy. And then to-morrow 'Rose, why do I feel so in- 
 dolent?' Come slip out of the wickedly costly clothes you 
 would wear to-day, and go to sleep thinking sensible thoughts, 
 not the crazy kind the music's put into you." 
 
 "How do you know it's put them in?" The heavy brown 
 locks fell over bare white shoulders now, for Rose's fingers 
 worked fast. 
 
 "One can see it in the eyes of you and of that boy Guy 
 and even the Professor's a bit daffy, him that has the steady 
 head if anybody has. I won't say I didn't lose my own now 
 and then with the fiddles singing all together thinking of 
 France and my soldier boys and my old mother and 
 other things. But I know enough now to go to bed and do it 
 right-side-to not taking down my hair while my frock's on!" 
 
 "Oh, Rosie O'Grady what a bark! But your bite's noth- 
 ing at all." Laughing, Mary made a gesture of futility. In 
 spite of herself her garments had been slipping from her, 
 under Rose's quick hands, and one of fine linen and lace had 
 dropped over her head and slid into place. 
 
 "Say your prayers now, and thank the good Lord it oc* 
 curred to Him to invent sleep especially for the hare' 
 brained like yourself."
 
 254 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Two minutes later her lights were out, a hand had patted 
 her shoulder, and she was left smiling to herself in the dark. 
 She knew well enough or thought she knew that Rose her- 
 self would be in bed in two minutes more, and asleep in five. 
 She lay waiting, stretching out deliciously, and admitting to 
 herself that she was extremely comfortable and that Rose had 
 upon her side all the rules of common sense. Nevertheless, 
 at the end of what seemed a safe period she rose cautiously, 
 dressed, and stole downstairs to the silent, shadowy drawing- 
 room. 
 
 She softly kindled a fire, drew up a chair beside it, then 
 went to one of the long windows facing toward the small 
 brown house beyond the hedge, and standing behind the 
 curtains looked across. At first she thought there was no 
 light in the study windows, and suffered a pang of dis- 
 appointment. Had Harriet, then, been as ruthless as Rose 
 and sternly driven her brother to his bed? Nonsense! 
 Mark wasn't that sort. As she gazed, her eyes discerned the 
 slight rise and fall of a dim light beyond the two windows 
 open, as she now discovered. It was plain enough that there 
 was a fire upon the study hearth, and no lamplight. Softly 
 she opened her own window, and set the two glass doors of it 
 back against the wall. The night was mild, her fire would be 
 all the warmth she needed and somehow those open study 
 windows across the lawn gave her the sense of being com- 
 panioned. She knew as well as if she could see him that 
 Mark was sitting before his fire, looking into it perhaps 
 drawing musingly on his pipe perhaps not. She wondered 
 a little about that, and decided that being a man he would 
 have the pipe, but that possibly, as he thought of the Ninth 
 Symphony, he might forget to keep it alight! 
 
 She went back to her seat by her own fire. It didn't occur 
 to her to wish that Mark were here, on the other side of the 
 fireplace, talking vrith her, or even sitting in silence. She
 
 BEETHOVEN 255 
 
 distinctly didn't wish that; there was something about the 
 keeping of this extraordinary tryst which actual companion' 
 ship in the flesh would have spoiled for her. No it wasn't 
 a tryst with each other they were keeping, really; it was one 
 with the great music they had heard; the whole point of their 
 doing this thing at the same time was that for them both it 
 was a sacred hour, and each must keep it alone or miss its full 
 beauty. Yet there was undeniably a heightening of that 
 beauty by the thought that another human being felt in the 
 same way about it; it was one of those discoveries of close 
 similarities of tastes and feelings that make one feel less alone 
 in the world, and arouse a joyful surprise at the happy fact. 
 That Mark Fenn, sanest and safest of beings, according to all 
 that people knew of him, could care to do this thing which 
 would be reckoned more or less erratic by ordinary sensible 
 people, gave Mary Fletcher the keenest pleasure. Nothing 
 that he could have done, in the course of everyday existence, 
 could have so made him seem akin or so interested her in him- 
 self. 
 
 It was a short vigil. By May light comes early, and it 
 seemed to Mary that she had been looking into the fire and 
 "dreaming awake," as Rose had said yes, even practical 
 Rose had said that, earlier in this night of nights but an 
 hour when, on an excursion to the window which faced the 
 east, she discerned the first hint of coming dawn. She stood 
 watching it until she was sure that the low clouds were begin- 
 ning to flush a very little, then she went to the piano. She 
 put her foot on the soft pedal, and sat wondering if Rose 
 would hear. 
 
 Her hands were trembling a little; it was astonishing how 
 great a matter it seemed it was going to be to strike those 
 first low chords. Over and over again she softly fingered 
 them, until, suddenly realizing that the faint light was actually 
 beginning to steal into the dim room, she determinedly
 
 256 FOURSQUARE 
 
 pressed the keys. Once begun, however, she forgot every- 
 thing except the wish to bring back to her own ears and to 
 those which must be listening across the way the memory 
 of a wonderful hour. So she played on, bringing out the 
 phrases with muffled power, until the room rang softly with 
 the basic melody of the "Hymn to Joy" and her own vivid 
 imagination supplied all that orchestra and voices had lent 
 to the perfect whole. As for the imagination across the 
 way 
 
 As her hands dropped into her lap, and she sat with fast- 
 beating pulses looking at the shadowy line of the keyboard, 
 something fell beside her upon the bench. A little bunch 
 of white violets among green leaves, fresh and dewily cool, 
 lay there gleaming softly in the dusky light. She caught 
 them up, breathing in their fresh fragrance, looking toward 
 the window. Nobody was to be seen, and nothing could 
 have made her run to the window to see whose was the 
 retreating figure she knew it could be but one. Besides 
 there was a big bed of white and purple violets beneath the 
 study windows; no need to wonder how he had got them for 
 her. It was a charming token, and if it was undeniably 
 romantic, all the better for that. No surprise could have 
 been greater than to have Mark Fenn attest his faithfulness 
 to the compact of the night in this to one of Mary's temper- 
 ament perfectly logical and fitting way. There was really 
 nothing else he could have done, she reflected, unless to 
 throw a note in at her and that would have been common- 
 place beside a bunch of white violets with the freshness 
 of the May night upon them. Altogether, their arrival 
 satisfied her desire to know that he had heard her music and 
 it really didn't matter what happened next! 
 
 What she confidently expected to have happen next was the 
 sound of Rose's step upon the stairs, but in this she was dis- 
 appointed. Now that it was all over, and the daylight
 
 BEETHOVEN 257 
 
 momentarily growing brighter, while the dying fire flickered 
 to a smoulder on the ashy hearth, she rather longed to be 
 properly punished. Nothing would now have pleased her 
 better than to turn from sentiment to gayety and flout 
 Rose's strictures on her folly with a merry laugh. She 
 mounted the stairs without much stealth, hoping against 
 hope to hear Rose's door open and Rose's delightfully stern 
 yet mellow voice with its touch of brogue challenge her on 
 the top step. But all remained silent. There was nothing 
 left to do but to return to her room, close the door, put the 
 violets in water, and slip out of her garments and into bed. 
 
 Sleep did not come quickly, though she was conscious now 
 that she was thoroughly tired. When it did come, it wa? 
 deep and long. And when it was over she had her wish. She 
 woke to find a pencilled slip of paper pinned to the blanket 
 on her bed, and recognized with satisfaction Rose's hand- 
 writing, round and curly, like herself. The little travelling 
 clock on her table near by marked the hour of eleven. Rose 
 had been long gone to her work, but she had left this de- 
 cidedly tangible reminder of a personality to be reckoned 
 with. 
 
 There's many kinds of craziness in the world, but few to equal 
 that which leaves the windows and doors downstairs open all night 
 and plays music to the stars and the windows next door and all 
 sensible folk that are trying to sleep. Get up now, and take a bath 
 cold enough to bring the blood out of your wild brain and don't 
 forget the exercises that I'm hoping may some day bring you back 
 to a proper balance. There's few like you in the world and that's 
 lucky, because such foolishness is catching, and it's the whole night 
 I've lain awake myself, minding the music that pulled the heart out 
 of my body and pinned it on my sleeve where it listened to your 
 "Hymn to Joy" and cried big blithering tears. And that's what 
 comes of sentiment making everybody unfit for good hard work! 
 So no more of it, says Rose O'Grady and I'm glad I had what I 
 had, and thank you kindly and don't do it again.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 WHITE FIRE 
 
 N HIS office the editor of The Centre- 
 piece was looking over a copy of the 
 June issue, fresh off the press. It 
 was a number in the preparation of 
 which he had taken a peculiar pleas- 
 ure, for the reason that it contained 
 the most gratifying "find" that had 
 come his way in many moons. Since 
 the day that Sibley Langley's manu- 
 script had reached his desk, endorsed 
 by his most discerning reader 
 " Different!" with a big dash under 
 the word and that particular reader 
 wasn't often taken off her feet he 
 had been eager for the day when he 
 might mail a copy of the magazine 
 containing that amazingly shining 
 piece of work to Mary Fletcher. It 
 had been rushed into print as fast as 
 the illustrator, tearing his hair over 
 the imperative order, could make 
 the pictures for it. It now appeared 
 leading all the rest, a tribute to 
 the fact that the joy in editorial 
 offices over a perfectly new author 
 whose work promises that something 
 "different" and distinctive so anx- 
 258
 
 WHITE FIRE 259 
 
 iously and often despairingly sought, is as real as any satis- 
 faction over the arrival of copy from the hand of the already 
 famous. 
 
 Kirkwood dashed off a note to go with the magazine, 
 which he had ordered sent to Miss Fletcher in the outgoing 
 mail. 
 
 I'm counting on your congratulations! There never was a 
 more generous reader of other people's work than you, and your 
 eyes will rest as gloatingly as mine on this drop out of the skies of 
 "Sibley Langley." Of course she's a woman, and a young one, at 
 that. She's a wonder, and too good to be true; but she is true, 
 and there's more of her to come. We've made a big departure in 
 showing a photograph of her in our list of contributors, but we've sev- 
 eral more manuscripts of hers already in hand, and so know this first 
 story isn't just a flash in the pan. I wish you two could meet 
 I can imagine no pair more congenial. To tell the truth, it seems 
 to me there's a certain quality in her work which reminds me of 
 you a quality which, of course, is only in its incipiency with her, 
 while in you it is developed to its highest power. But here's 
 hoping! I know you'll hope with me. 
 
 The letter added a friendly paragraph on other lines, but 
 made no further allusion to Mary as an author. It ended 
 with warm wishes for the coming summer and the desire that 
 before very long she would feel that she could see the writer 
 quite outside his editorial capacity. It asserted that he was 
 ever faithfully and devotedly hers; and the signature 
 was written with a dash which suggested haste and tension. 
 
 Leaving the office, magazine and letter already despatched, 
 Kirkwood went out of his way to stop at a small shop where 
 an old Frenchman, was accustomed to do the finest work in 
 hand binding and tooling known in the city. He worked 
 slowly and took few orders, but those who could secure his 
 services were considered privileged persons. Among his 
 leathers Kirkwood found him, and spent an hour cajoling
 
 260 FOURSQUARE 
 
 him into accepting a small order which was to be executed 
 with the greatest care, and in selecting the material and style 
 for the commission. 
 
 "This is a little priceless jewel, you see, Le Maire," Kirk- 
 wood said, as he finally turned over the short manuscript. 
 "When it comes from your hands I want it to look the 
 part." 
 
 The Frenchman nodded. "Je comprend," he replied. 
 "It is pairfectly clear. Monsieur will haf nossing but pair- 
 fection. I execute nossing but pairfection." 
 
 Kirkwood laughed. "Exactly! We understand each 
 other. I will call once a week till you give me the order and 
 I will pay well for as much haste as possible." 
 
 Le Maire shook his head. "I know not ze word," he said. 
 " Pairfection and haste; zey go not togezzer." 
 
 "I didn't mean haste," Kirkwood amended, smiling. "I 
 meant undelayed effort prolonged to completion. If 
 Le Maire executes the work nothing short of perfection is 
 possible that I understand." 
 
 In due course he received Mary's acknowledgment of his 
 letter and the accompanying magazine. He had looked for 
 it for some time before it came, yet was not surprised at the 
 delay. It thanked him very pleasantly for introducing her 
 to the work of Sibley Langley and praised the sample of it he 
 had sent her with a fair degree of warmth. Certainly noth- 
 ing was really lacking in that praise and yet, to Kirkwood, 
 knowing Mary's tendency to burst into flame over fine 
 craftsmanship, the full enthusiasm of appreciation he had 
 looked for wasn't quite there. Had he looked for it ? Rather 
 had he looked for the lack had a keen eye for it and re- 
 joiced when he thought he found it. 
 
 "Just a bit jealous, Mary?" he questioned her imaginary 
 self before him, and puffed harder on the pipe he was smoking, 
 with a satisfied twist in the corner of his expressive lips.
 
 WHITE FIRE 261 
 
 "Well you need to be made a bit jealous, my dear. You're 
 settling down too comfortably into taking care of yourself. 
 If we don't look out you'll be taking up gardening, or 
 thoroughbred puppies, or some other absurd activity. And 
 then what? If you're really well again and you must be, 
 by now it's the part of a friend to stir you up." 
 
 So he wrote back, almost by return mail, that he was 
 coming her way. Her letter had indicated that the next time 
 that happened he might stop off to see her. He had some- 
 thing to show her something he had obtained for her 
 which he could send to her by mail, if she preferred, but it 
 would cost him keen disappointment if he might not bring it 
 to her in person. Of course this really went without saying 
 it had nothing to do with her work. It was just a thing 
 he had wanted to do for her, and now that he had done it he 
 wanted to put it into her hands himself as a small boy, hav- 
 ing laboured over the drawing of a locomotive, desires to hand 
 it round and receive congratulations. Please ? 
 
 It was the first day of June that, having received the de- 
 sired permission, John Kirkwood, piloted by Eliza, walked 
 through the wide hall of the old Graham house to the open 
 door at the back which gave upon the rear porch. Standing 
 beside the housekeeper he looked with interest off over the 
 garden with its box borders and its masses of early summer 
 flowers, to the orchard beyond. He hadn't realized how 
 inviting it all was, up here in Mary's country home. 
 
 "Miss Mary thought she'd be back before you got here," 
 Eliza explained. "There's a path down through the or- 
 chard you'll find a fence and gateway at the back of it and 
 a bit of wood. It's a pretty walk, and she often takes it. 
 You might walk along and meet her, if you like. Or you can 
 sit here on the porch. It's quite warm to-day." 
 
 The broad rear porch was a pleasant enough place, for rugs 
 and wicker chairs and table made of it an outdoor living-room
 
 262 FOURSQUARE 
 
 upon which the long windows of the drawing-room opened 
 invitingly. But it had no charms for the editor compared 
 with those of going to meet his hostess. He set off at once 
 through the box borders, carrying his hat in his hand, and 
 stopping to pluck a sprig of the box to stick in his buttonhole. 
 He had passed through the orchard and proceeded for some 
 distance along a wooded path before he caught sight of th> 
 figure he was looking for, and hastened his steps to meet it. 
 
 He had been thinking a good deal of Sibley Langley on the 
 way up in the train. She had been a "find," not only on 
 account of the thing she could do with such freshness and 
 vivacity, but because she was distinctly attractive of person 
 to the jaded editor's fancy. It wasn't often that the two 
 attributes met so intriguingly in one. Miss Langley was a 
 young New Yorker, just out of Columbia, living in a small 
 apartment with her mother, and Kirkwood had gone toje,e 
 her there after reading that first manuscript. She was a tiny 
 creature, with velvet-brown eyes, masses of corn-coloured 
 hair, and a picturesque way of dressing. Exceedingly quick 
 of wit, daring of speech and manner, yet distinctly able to 
 keep herself and everybody else in hand Kirkwood had 
 thus far enjoyed to the full the contact with her brought about 
 by her successful appeal to his professional judgment. He 
 had made the most of the relation of editor to contributor to 
 give himself and Miss Langley some satisfying hours. 
 
 Her work, as yet, couldn't touch Mary Fletcher's to 
 himself he frankly admitted that. But Mary had several 
 years the advantage of her in age and experience; and it might 
 easily be, he told himself, that with a physical vitality which 
 seemed never to fail her, Sibley Langley could overtake and 
 pass Mary on a road where endurance as well as equipment 
 tells heavily in the long run. Mary had gone to pieces 
 early too early; he hadn't been able to forget that last inter- 
 view he had had with her; it had left upon his mind the fore-
 
 WHITE FIRE 261 
 
 boding that she might never again be the workman she had 
 been. He was sorry, first and foremost from the editorial 
 point of view. He was still more sorry as the memory 
 which recalled the painful interview so vividly also brought 
 back persistently to his mental vision the picture of loveliness 
 she had presented when she first came into the house from 
 her drive with Fenn before she caught sight of Kirkwood 
 himself. His heart had grown warm within him at sight of 
 her. It was the remembrance of that unexpected sensation 
 which, after all, had brought him now to see her. Sibley 
 Langley, with all her stimulating vivacity, hadn't been able to 
 efface the impression of a magnetic personality that Mary had 
 always made upon him. As he walked along the woods patk 
 to meet her he was aware of being agreeably keyed to antick 
 pation. 
 
 But he wasn't prepared for the Mary he now saw coming 
 toward him round a bend in the path. Possibly if he had 
 known a little more of Rose O'Grady he would have under- 
 stood that it was she who was mainly responsible. Those 
 increasingly cold baths, those exercises, not to mention early 
 hours and much sleep all had done their work. The girl 
 who came to meet him on the path she looked a girl was 
 not, couldn't be, the frail though interesting creature whom 
 two months before he had had to deal with as half invalid and 
 wholly under the domination of a mental obsession about 
 his influence over her. This was a vigorous young person, 
 who came along with a rapid, free step, her face like a ripe 
 peach with outdoor life, her eyes clear and steady, everything 
 about her proclaiming that in all her days she had never been 
 so well or so strong, or so full of the joy of living. The very 
 crisp lines of the apricot linen she wore seemed a part of the 
 changed picture. When he had last seen her she had been 
 wearing soft and clinging folds of a dull-blue silk! 
 
 He stood still in the path, hat in hand, and waited for her
 
 264 FOURSQUARE 
 
 to come up to him, as if he had been struck motionless by the 
 sight of her. But she was smiling at his sober face. Her 
 hand was extended with frank and friendly greeting. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. John Kirkwood, and it's glad I am 
 to see you, as Rosie O'Grady would say. The top of the 
 morning to you and it's on top of the world I am and I 
 hope you are the same." 
 
 "I am, indeed, to see you like this. The Irish brogue is 
 contagious, is it? as well as the good health of the nurse. 
 You're almost as rosy as Miss O'Grady herself, as I recall 
 her. And" he added in his own mind "a deal more en- 
 chanting to look at." 
 
 He stood regarding her intently, and her eyes met his 
 without evasion. It was she who now showed solicitude. 
 "Dear, dear! but how worn the editor looks! I haven't 
 seen a man from the Big Town for so long I'd forgotten that 
 harried expression. How could you stop rushing about long 
 enough to come up here into the calm country where the 
 clocks give us ten sleeping hours a night? You look as if it 
 would do you good to have a nap this minute. Come along 
 back to the porch and I'll put you on the couch till lunch 
 time." 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the sort. The sleeper was hot as 
 blazes, that's all, and I probably show a bit of hang-over from 
 the cindery night. Half an hour in this heavenly place will 
 make me fit as a fiddle. I'll admit I'd like to find a shady 
 spot and sit down in it with you." 
 
 She nodded. "I've some rustic benches in the orchard. 
 I put them there when the apple and peach blossoms were 
 out. Talk of heavenly places you should have seen it 
 then." 
 
 She led the way. Kirkwood's anticipation of the hour to 
 come mounted with each step beside her. Her dark hair, 
 carefully dressed so that each soft wave of it was lustrous
 
 WHITE FIRE 265 
 
 with the effect of health which was all about her, the curve 
 of her richly hued cheek, the gesture of her half-bare arm 
 brown with tan every aspect of her gave him delight. He 
 thought again and for the last time for a considerable period 
 of Sibley Langley, and knew that he had been mistaken 
 in thinking or rather in trying to think that he had found 
 in her just such another as Mary Fletcher. There was no sucK 
 another in the world certainly not while he was with her. 
 And he had never thought that of Sibley Langley, even 
 while he was with her. 
 
 He was conscious, as they sat down upon the bench in the 
 orchard, that he was about to do a thing which afforded him 
 peculiar satisfaction. Two days earlier he had gone to the 
 book-bindery and had brought away, in a silk-covered case 
 of its own, the slim book upon which the Frenchman had 
 lavished his imagination, and which he had given into Kirk- 
 wood's hands solemnly, as if with a rite. The editor had 
 praised him with words which had made the artist workman 
 flush with pride and happiness and respond eagerly: "It 
 is pairfect, Monsieur, though I, who did it, say so. Me, I 
 never did a more finished little piece. Take it and let the 
 hands often caress it it is better so, for the leather." 
 
 He put off for a little, however, the giving of his gift, be- 
 cause for the moment it was quite enough to be with her. 
 Although he had spent many hours in her society over her 
 work, or on the expeditions in search of material which they 
 had taken together, it was a new sensation to be sitting with 
 her in such a place as this country apple orchard, withdrawn 
 from the world, all June about them. The very sound of hei 
 voice was a felicity; he could hardly believe it the same voice 
 which he had last heard speaking tremulously of unhappj 
 things. 
 
 "What am I doing to fill my time?" She repeated hi 
 question. "Oh, a thousand things. I never was so busy."
 
 266 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "I suppose you don't gather the eggs or milk the cows? 
 Perhaps you pick the strawberries? I came past a big 
 patch of them. Of course you go out with a basket and cut 
 flowers for the house every morning?" 
 
 She laughed. "You have a great idea of activities in the 
 country, haven't you ? Strawberries and flowers yes, when 
 I have time which I mostly don't. I go for a horseback 
 ride every morning after a class I attend at the college. 
 Then- 
 
 "A class! That's interesting. In what? Domestic 
 science?" 
 
 "In dramatic expression and play-writing. It's wonder- 
 fully interesting. I went at first to take a young wounded 
 soldier friend of mine, but now I go for my own sake." 
 
 Kirkwood's eyebrows lifted quizzically. "A young wounded 
 soldier friend! Very romantic. Are you going to write a 
 play between you?" 
 
 "I hope so. In fact, we're working at a set of songs which 
 might fit into a musical play. He's a composer. Did you 
 happen to see * Present Arms!'?" 
 
 "What?" The eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Of 
 course you don't mean you're working with the composer of 
 'Present Arms!'" 
 
 "Yes isn't it great luck? He's a wonder and he's going 
 to be more of a one. He's frightfully crippled, you see, and 
 so he needs to be doing something to take his mind off him- 
 self." 
 
 "I've HO doubt working with Mary Fletcher does it. 
 But see here, Mary. I thought you were forbidden all 
 work for a long time." 
 
 "This isn't work, it's the most delightful play I could find." 
 
 He considered it. "I can't quite imagine a course at 
 Newfane College " 
 
 "Newcomb " she corrected him.
 
 WHITE FIRE 267 
 
 "Newcomb I beg its pardon. You see, it's never been 
 on my map. I can't imagine a course in play-writing there 
 anything but a sort of kindergarten." 
 
 "Can't you? The instructor is Mr. Perry Gilfillan." 
 
 Now he was astonished indeed. He couldn't believe it. 
 Perry Gilfillan needed no introduction, of course, but it didn't 
 seem quite possible that 
 
 Mary was laughing. "But he's here, and you must admit 
 I should be losing my chance if I didn't belong to his classes. 
 You see, if you just could grasp the idea that such people as 
 Mr. Gilfillan can sometimes be found in places outside of 
 Harvard and Columbia! To be sure, he's here only for this 
 year, but that doesn't mean that there aren't other men here 
 just as well worth while as he, if they aren't as famous. 
 President Wing why you must know who William West- 
 cott Wing is. He's the author of a group of books on psy- 
 chology that are known everywhere." 
 
 She had him there. He was bound to know such books; 
 but it hadn't occurred to him that their author could be one 
 and the same with the head of the small and to him ob- 
 scure college. He was rather more impressed by these two 
 facts than he was willing to admit, and presently he had 
 steered the conversation to grounds safer for himself. Mary 
 had begun to tell him a list of famous graduates of Newcomb 
 he didn't want to hear them. 
 
 "I shall begin to feel, if you keep on," he said in the rally- 
 ing tone she well remembered, "that I can never amount to 
 anything myself because I'm only Princeton." 
 
 "It's a handicap," she admitted gaily, "but you may be 
 able to live it down." 
 
 He drew his thin parcel from his pocket. "Before you 
 have me cornered any more hopelessly, I'm going to show 
 you what I came to bring you. I really don't think I can 
 wait much longer, anyhow."
 
 268 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "I'm so eager to see it." 
 
 He looked at her. "Are you? But you'll be willing to 
 wait while I tell you a bit about it." 
 
 "Of course." She settled herself in her corner of the 
 rustic seat. 
 
 His manner had changed. He spoke gravely. "I hap- 
 pen to know a man," he began, "a few years out of college 
 ten years out of preparatory school who in the course of a 
 talk with me on some material he had which he thought 
 would make a good article, showed me some letters from 
 the headmaster of that school. They seemed to him very 
 remarkable letters. When I read them I felt as he did 
 about them except that he had known and loved the head- 
 master, and I hadn't. But they certainly were remarkable 
 letters he hadn't overrated them. They were written after 
 his expulsion from the school, and they were intended to 
 prevent his going off the track with anger and disappointment 
 and recklessness. Imagine the conditions. It had been 
 absolutely out of the question to retain him in the school; 
 he had been found out in an act so flagrant that it would have 
 been a tremendous injury to both himself and the other boys 
 to keep him. It would have been against all laws of justice. 
 The school was well rid of him and his sort. And yet this 
 headmaster, who was one of the greatest of his kind, couldn't 
 let him go he had to follow him with these letters. They 
 did what they were intended to do kept him from going 
 to smash. When I had finished reading them I thought of 
 you. I thought you might like to have them in permanent 
 form. In the nature of the case they couldn't be given 
 publicity, the story was too well known. But for private 
 preservation well here they are." 
 
 Mary was staring at him. Her eyes now fell to the parcel 
 in his hands, which he was taking from its wrappings. The 
 blue silk-covered case came to view, containing the slender
 
 WHITE FIRE 269 
 
 book. Kirkwood drew this out and put it into Mary's 
 hands. 
 
 "I wanted very much," he said, in a low tone, "to do 
 something for you. This was the best the very best 
 thing I could find to do." And he laid the book in her lap. 
 
 She sat looking down at it in silence and wonder. Out- 
 wardly it was, as far as a book may be, like some fine jewel. 
 The deep lapis blue of the leather which bound it, the ex- 
 quisite hand tooling of the designs which formed its border 
 and backing, gold and rose and green in hues, made of it 
 something very perfect to look at. From the centre of the 
 cover shone in small lettering the title: "Letters of Arthur 
 Rand Fletcher, Headmaster, to an ex-Schoolboy." 
 
 With fingers whose touch caressed, Mary opened the 
 covers on the inner facing of blue silk bordered with gold 
 which gave the last touch of sumptuous detail to the binding. 
 Within, heavy white pages with wide borders met her eye, 
 but there was no printing upon them. Instead, there ap- 
 peared a perfect facsimile of the letters themselves, photo- 
 graphed From the original and then engraved upon copper 
 the costliest mode of reproduction known to art. Altogether, 
 it was impossible not to recognize that John Kirkwood had 
 lavished upon the small volume every consideration in his 
 power. Mary's own initials upon the centre of the back 
 cover of the book seemed to sign and seal its delivery into 
 her hands. Here was a gift unique one of which there could 
 be no duplicate in the world. That the daughter of Arthur 
 Fletcher should not be touched by such a tribute was in- 
 conceivable. 
 
 "Would you like to read them by yourself?" questioned 
 Kirkwood. "Or might I have the great happiness of reading 
 inemtoyou? It shall be just as you say. Only I want you 
 jo know that never have I, in all my life, read anything that 
 to stirred me, or did more to make a better man of me.
 
 270 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Still perhaps you would like to read them alone. Forgive me 
 for suggesting the other." 
 
 "Oh, but I think you've earned the right to read them to 
 me. Please do," she said, quickly, and put the book into his 
 hands. 
 
 Before he began to read Kirkwood described to her briefly 
 what the schoolboy, now a man of his own age, had become; 
 how he had reached a position of honour and influence; and 
 how he ascribed it all to these six letters which had reached 
 out after him, boyishly breathing fire and brimstone against 
 the school which had dismissed him, and had turned his 
 youthful cursings into tears of repentance. He couldn't go 
 back, but he could go to another school, as the letters urged, 
 and could there retrieve himself. This he had done. He 
 had done it so well that there had been another letter, which 
 he would share with nobody, of which he was more proud 
 than of any recognition which had ever come to him. 
 
 "And that's saying a good deal," Kirkwood finished, "for 
 he's made a name for himself already. I wish I could tell it 
 to you, but both he and I felt that the letters would have 
 more value for you if they remained impersonal, and you 
 could treasure them solely for the new and shining light they 
 shed on your father's character. It needed no more lustre, 
 yet the lustre is here." 
 
 And he began to read. 
 
 Throughout the reading she remained motionless. It 
 lasted for not more than ten minutes; there were six letters 
 in all, of varying lengths. Kirkwood read them reverently 
 and with tellingly restrained emphasis it could not have 
 been better done. 
 
 As a revelation of the great heart which had inspired them, 
 of the sensitive, understanding spirit which had conceived 
 them, of the virility of the man who sought so to impress his 
 beliefs and ideals upon this wild young nature which he had
 
 WHITE FIRE 271 
 
 sent against his will away from him, that it might not alto- 
 gether escape his lasting influence, the letters were human 
 documents of rare worth. As an example of sheer genius in 
 dealing with youth and audacity, so as not to alienate but to 
 capture and hold it against all odds, they were marvels of 
 wisdom and diplomacy. But to Mary they meant more than 
 even these. The personality of Arthur Fletcher seemed im- 
 prisoned beyond loss in the letters, as by almost no memorial 
 she had of him. They had been struck off at white heat 
 under intense grief and longing to save the soul of a boy and 
 they had saved it, they could hardly do otherwise. What a 
 record to have had preserved to his daughter! 
 
 When Kirkwood had finished he added no word of com- 
 ment to have done so at the moment would have been a 
 desecration. It was a long while before Mary spoke, and 
 while he waited he refrained from looking at her. But when 
 her smothered words came at last he turned to see the look 
 in her face he couldn't miss that. 
 
 "You were right," she said, with difficulty. "I didn't 
 know such letters were ever written, though I always thought 
 my father wrote the most wonderful letters in the world. But 
 nothing like these nothing like them. Oh I can't thank 
 you I can't!" 
 
 "I am thanked," he answered simply. 
 
 He sat watching Arthur Fletcher's daughter pass warm 
 and loving fingers over and over the blue of the leather and the 
 gold of the inscription, as if she were somehow touching her 
 father's hand. The editor's heart had never been so warm 
 with the best that was in him as in this hour. This thing 
 that he had been inspired to do for her had broken down the 
 barrier between them, he felt sure. It was the sort of thing 
 to take hold of her imagination, to call forth her gratitude, 
 as well as her recognition of his sensitiveness to that which 
 would mean much to her. He had been entirely sincere in
 
 272 FOURSQUARE 
 
 his admiration of the surpassing beauty and manly valour of 
 those letters; in all his experience he had never come upon 
 anything to touch them; it was his sincerity in making them 
 into this appealing gift which she was bound to recognize 
 and appreciate. 
 
 Presently they returned to the house and had luncheon 
 there, with Rose O'Grady. Learning from Mary on the 
 previous day that the editor was expected, Rose had said 
 with a little twist of her Irish mouth: 
 
 "It's playing with fire you are, is it? Well, just keep a 
 couple of pails of water handy and don't wait till you get a 
 conflagration before you're throwing them on. I'm not your 
 nurse now; I can't be keeping folks off with my two fists." 
 
 "He's just an old friend, Rose not my collaborator any 
 more, you know. There's nothing to fear from having him 
 come now that I'm myself again. There are no sentimental 
 relations between us there never have been." 
 
 "Well, confidence is a good thing," Rose admitted. "I'm 
 glad you've plenty of it. You may need it all. As I said 
 I'm not your nurse now. You'll best be minding that. It's 
 a handy thing, now and then, to have someone at hand to 
 stick a thermometer under an old friend's tongue and prevent 
 speech." 
 
 Mary had laughed at this, and had told Rose she was by no 
 means to fail her at luncheon time on the morrow. 
 
 "I might have Mr. Fenn over too, to balance the table," 
 she had reflected. 
 
 Whereat Rose had grinned and shaken her head. "To 
 balance the table, is it? More likely to unbalance it, Mary 
 dear. Who wants to see the two of them passing the time of 
 day to each other and little more ? No keep them apart 
 that's my advice. They care nothing for each other's 
 company you can be sure of that." 
 
 Mary had taken her by the shoulders. "Stop talking as if
 
 WHITE FIRE 273 
 
 they Why, I won't have it! Neither of them is anything 
 
 but a good friend. They've no possible reason to dislike each 
 other." 
 
 "Haven't they? Faith, men are queer creatures. Under 
 some circumstances they dislike each other for less reason 
 than a pair of eyes and a voice like Mary Fletcher's. You'll 
 never see them two walking down the street arm in arm, you 
 know so don't be looking for it. And I'll not have time to 
 change my uniform, to come to your table, so don't be looking 
 for that, either." 
 
 Rose in the crisp white of her uniform was a pleasant sight, 
 nevertheless. She was on her best behaviour, too, as she met 
 the editor on the shaded rear porch, where luncheon was 
 served. She saw him now at his best; she had to acknowledge 
 to herself that she had seldom heard cleverer or more enter- 
 taining talk. In high content over the success of his presen- 
 tation, Kirkwood laid himself out to be the guest who gives 
 as much as he receives, and he kept his two companions on 
 their mettle to respond to him. 
 
 When the hour was over and Rose gone, however, Kirk- 
 wood's mood appeared to change. He grew grave and rather 
 silent, and presently suggested that he and Mary return to 
 the bench in the orchard. It was a charming spot, he said, 
 and the furthest possible remove from the type of sophisti- 
 cated environment to which he was too used. He'd like to 
 remember that orchard. 
 
 So it was the rustic bench under the gnarled old trees which 
 was the scene of a fresh crisis in Mary's life not the sort 
 against which Rose had seemed to warn her, but one as signi* 
 ficant as any which she had yet met. 
 
 "You wrote me very satisfyingly," Kirkwood began rather 
 suddenly, "of your liking for the work of our new contributor. 
 Having said all that as agreeably as you would say it, I'd 
 very much like to know your real opinion of her."
 
 274 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Mary looked at him, to find his suddenly piercing gaze 
 fixed upon her. As a matter of fact she had never, in all 
 these years, become quite accustomed to meeting the direct 
 glance of those eyes; she had always wanted to evade it. 
 Just what it was which disturbed her she had no notion; but 
 the fact remained. The sensation had always been, as it 
 was now, of an acuteness of perception which amounted to 
 mind reading. In any case, she felt that she couldn't escape 
 answering by evasions which would put off a man of a dif- 
 ferent sort. 
 
 Therefore she considered a little before she spoke, her eyes 
 upon the book of her father's letters which she had brought 
 with her again. "I did give you my honest opinion," she 
 said. "I felt, with you, that she was a ' find.' I didn't 
 wonder you were rejoicing. Her originality is delicious} 
 her style is remarkably finished, at the same time that it 
 seems spontaneous. Altogether " But here she paused, 
 
 "Yes, it's the ;' altogether ' I want," declared Kirkwood. 
 "Or rather, the * nevertheless ' which I judge it will be, if 
 you're honest." 
 
 "Do you want to drive me to criticism?" 
 
 "Exactly that. I know you must have it. She's young, 
 you know she'll grow, I expect. Making allowance for her 
 youth what is it you find lacking?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 He hadn't expected that. Neither did he quite believe 
 it. His look bored deeper. "You can't quite mean that?" 
 
 "I mean just that. You must remember you're asking me 
 to judge her on a very insufficient basis. But, judging by 
 that one story, which took you off your feet, she has all you 
 are looking for." 
 
 Kirkwood got up from the bench and took a turn up and 
 down the uneven turf of the orchard, hands in his pockets. 
 When he paused again before Mary, who sat looking at him
 
 WHITE FIRE 275 
 
 with a sort of serene content with her own verdict mingled 
 with a little amusement at his apparent disconcertion, he 
 spoke abruptly. 
 
 "You're a wonder. I thought from your letter about Sib- 
 ley Langley that you were only human after all. I thint 
 now you must be superhuman." 
 
 "Indeed why? Can no woman appreciate another?" 
 
 "Yes, but she invades your field. Don't you see?" 
 
 "Let her invade it. I don't mind," asserted Mary, smil- 
 ing up at him. 
 
 A little stung, Kirkwood determined upon a frankness he 
 hadn't been sure whether to employ, in the degree, at least, 
 which he now felt possible. 
 
 "Mary," he asked, watching her closely, "will you permit 
 me to mention, for business purposes, and for just a moment 
 a matter we discussed when I saw you last?" 
 
 "Your book?" 
 
 " Your book. Would you be willing to have Sibley Lang- 
 ley finish it?" 
 
 The colour rushed into her face, which had had no lack of 
 it before. But she continued to meet his gaze steadily. 
 
 "You consider it my book, though it's your idea?" 
 
 "Absolutely yours. I agreed to destroy it, if you wished, 
 didn't I? Do you still wish that? I can't look at you and 
 not know that you've completely recovered from the state 
 of mind you were in at that time. You don't want me to 
 treat you as an invalid now?" 
 
 She shook her head. "Certainly not. I can hardly be* 
 lieve now that I could be so weak and irrational. Say what 
 you wish. But you can hardly expect me to be willing to 
 have another hand finish work which I began ?" 
 
 "No I don't wish it nor ask it. But, Mary it was a 
 splendid beginning. You have no idea, I know, what work 
 you did. A night or two ago I sat up till two in the morning
 
 276 FOURSQUARE 
 
 to go over the ten chapters you finished. For a first draft 
 they're well they're marvellous. It's a crime not to go on. 
 I say it for your own sake believe me far more than for 
 my own. That book will make you famous. Without un- 
 due pressure, working only as you wanted to, devoting 
 another whole winter to it, if you needed that much time " 
 
 He went over the ground while she listened. He saw to 
 his relief that there were no evidences in her face or manner 
 that a shred of her former hysteria on the subject remained 
 to harass her. She seemed to be considering the matter 
 with perfect self-possession. Her colour, indeed, was still 
 vivid it was an exquisite cheek at which he gazed as he 
 talked. He had taken his seat beside her again, and she sat 
 looking straight before her, no longer meeting his eyes. He 
 used every art of persuasion he knew, and then rested his case. 
 
 Mary got up and went a few steps to lean against the 
 trunk of an apple tree, facing him, her hands boyishly thrust 
 into the sash of her tunic. Kirkwood walked around behind 
 the bench and stood facing her, his arms crossed upon the 
 high back. The attitude of both was reminiscent of past 
 hours of discussion over plans for the book, when neither 
 could remain quietly sitting, but must range about bodily 
 as well as mentally, in search of ideas. Mary had said once 
 that she didn't think there was any article of furniture in the 
 living-room of her apartment that hadn't been used to sup- 
 port elbows, during the cogitations of the collaborators. 
 
 Now, as she stood looking at the ground, her lips opened 
 once or twice as if speech were upon them; then closed again. 
 Finally she lifted her eyes and met Kirkwood's. This time 
 she did not let her own shift from his until the thing was 
 said. 
 
 "If I can't do what you ask," she said, "it's because you 
 yourself have driven the last nail in my resolution not to do 
 it."
 
 WHITE FIRE 277 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "I want you to know," she went on in a level tone, "that 
 ever since I was myself again and somehow I think I'm 
 rather more than myself now I've been thinking about 
 that book. Not in the morbid way I was doing when you 
 came up before that's all like some frightful nightmare, 
 slipped away into the past so far I can't believe I ever 
 dreamed it. But thinking of it with longing. As far as 
 my ability to work is concerned, I never was so fit. I could 
 finish the book in a dozen flying leaps I know I could. 
 And I'd like to do it. I mean if I can make you under- 
 stand with one side of me I'd like to do it. And I'd like 
 to see your face when I had done it!" 
 
 His face at the moment was certainly a study in expres- 
 sions. With all his experience in concealing his emotions, 
 he was revealing now both eagerness and mystification. 
 
 "Of course," she continued, with a little rueful smile, 
 "being a woman, I was instantly jealous of your new 'find.' 
 If for no other reason the photograph of her in the magazine 
 would have roused my envy. She's adorably pretty and 
 I could easily guess how attractive in personality she must 
 be from her unexpected way of putting things in her pages. 
 As for her ability I've told you honestly how I feel about 
 that. Well anyhow, she made me think more than ever 
 about the book, and the possibility of finishing it. Why 
 should I let this new star eclipse me? I assure you it's 
 been the biggest temptation of my life to finish that book." 
 
 But at this he interrupted with sudden fire. "Why 
 should you call it a temptation? In Heaven's name why 
 that? Why shouldn't you finish what your judgment al- 
 lowed you to begin?" 
 
 "Because why you've just said it. In Heaven's name 
 I can't!" 
 
 They regarded each other steadily. If John Kirkwood
 
 278 FOURSQUARE 
 
 had ever felt that he could sway and control Mary Fletcher's 
 mind and will, he knew now that he had lost that power. 
 He was wild with pain at the thought, and yet curiously 
 enough and logically enough, after all he had never been 
 so interested in her, so absorbed in the wish to come nearer 
 to her and pursue this fresh study of her at close range. This 
 was a new Mary. Desirable as she had always been to him, 
 both as a writer and as a woman, she had in the twinkling 
 of an eye become infinitely more desirable. As for the 
 strange new beauty of her, as she stood there, it was almost 
 more than he could bear. 
 
 "I don't understand you," he said, after a minute. But 
 he knew he did. Her meaning was in her face, over which 
 had come an indescribable look, not so much of renunciation 
 as of exaltation. 
 
 "My mind was made up before you came," she went on 
 slowly. "At least, I thought it was, though I knew it might 
 be difficult for me to keep it made. I remembered your 
 wonderful powers of persuasion and I remembered the 
 fascination of work with you. I knew when you saw how 
 completely I have recovered and how well I am, you would 
 talk to me about the book. If you hadn't brought it up I 
 should have, myself. The thing had to be settled again 
 on a new basis than that of the author's breakdown. And I 
 knew it might be hard to resist you. But" and here she 
 looked down at the thin blue leather-bound book which she 
 had brought back with her to the orchard, as if it were too 
 precious to lay aside as yet "you brought me my defense 
 against you. Why John Kirkwood how can any argu- 
 ment of yours get past that!" And she held it up before 
 him, clasped in her two hands and pressed against he/ 
 breast. 
 
 He was silent, biting his Up with disappointment and 
 chagrin. The thing he had meant to soften her heart toward
 
 WHITE FIRE 279 
 
 him had only put iron into her will against him. Was ever 
 such a weapon turned upon him who had forged it ? 
 
 Mary was opening it to a page, toward the end of the last 
 letter in the book. She read it aloud, and in her voice 
 was something Kirkwood had never heard there before. In 
 spite of himself the hearing moved him too. 
 
 You're full of fire, lad and I'm glad of that. Fire is a good 
 thing under control. But I want yours to be a white fire not a 
 purple and yellow flame, dulling and smoking things up but clear 
 white and bright like the sunlight. The while fire, Sam try for 
 that! 
 
 She looked at him. In her eyes were no tears, yet the 
 effect of tears was there and joy and pride. 
 
 "I would rather," she said, "have had my father the 
 author of words like those, and the influence that changed 
 hundreds of boys' lives, than have had him oh, achieve the 
 most brilliant literary triumph that left God out. ' White 
 Fire!' You've given me my new creed, John Kirkwood 
 and I'm everlastingly grateful to you for it. Don't you see ? 
 Th fire that's in your book isn't white fire and I can't 
 write it. I can't write it. Don't you see? Oh, I want you 
 to see!" 
 
 If it had been his personality which had dominated her 
 in the past, for the moment at least the tables were turned. 
 Never had the man been so under the power of any emotion 
 as Kirkwood was just then. Infinitely desirable, hopelessly 
 unattainable or so she seemed even though she had sud- 
 denly and quickly crossed the space between them and 
 laid one beseeching hand upon his arm at that moment 
 Mary could do with him what she would. He looked into 
 her eyes with his own kindling to match them, and the best 
 that was in him once more responded to her challenge, as the 
 best in man ever does when a woman he respects calls for it.
 
 280 FOURSQUARE 
 
 He looked down at the hand upon his arm, then gently lifted 
 it to his lips. 
 "I see," he said. 
 
 Two days after he had gone Mary's manuscript came back 
 to her through the registered mails. With it came a brief 
 note. 
 
 I want you to know that the thing I said to you, in the spring, to 
 quiet your fears and make you well, I say again now, and mean it 
 in a different way. The book is yours you may destroy it your- 
 self. I can't the association with you has meant too much to me. 
 I can only hope, in spite of the burned bridge between us, there may 
 be a way across. I would paddle a little canoe all day and night 
 against wind and tide to get to you again. 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon. Mary knew the old church 
 on the village green would be open. She laid the manuscript 
 back in its wrappers and went down the hill with it under her 
 arm. In the silent place, sweet with roses arranged for the 
 morrow's service, she went to stand for a little before the 
 silver tablet on which were engraved the names of Arthur 
 Rand Fletcher and Eleanor Graham Fletcher, his wife. 
 Presently she lifted the package of manuscript in both hands 
 before the tablet, as one might make an offering before a 
 shrine. 
 
 "Oh, do you know? Do you care?" she whispered. 
 
 An hour afterward, back alone in the orchard, the sheets 
 burned to a blackened pile of ashes, Mary stood looking down 
 at them with wet eyes. But she was not unhappy; indeed, 
 her heart was strangely light. She knew, somehow though 
 she could have given no proof of it beyond her own intense 
 conviction that they knew and cared.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 Our OF THE ASHES 
 
 Y DEAR PROFESSOR FENN: 
 
 It gives me great pleasure to state that 
 at a meeting of our College Board, called 
 for the purpose of filling the chair of Psy- 
 chology made vacant by the death of 
 Prof. Harley Abbott, the presentation of 
 your name met with unanimous ap~ 
 proval. We realize that at this late 
 hour you may have been reengaged for 
 the coming year. But in the circum- 
 stances, and in view of the opening of 
 this field of perhaps larger usefulness, 
 we are hoping that your college may 
 generously release you. Permit me to 
 say that I am personally most desirous 
 of seeing you among my colleagues, and 
 trust that you will find it possible to 
 give me an early assurance of your ac- 
 ceptance. 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 JAMES SAYRE WINTHROP. 
 
 President. 
 
 It wasn't the first nor the tenth 
 time that Mark had read the letter. 
 It lay before him now, open upon 
 his desk, at the hour of midnight. 
 There was no delaying longer, he 
 must decide the question. Late as 
 it was, and weary as he felt it was 
 the end of the last day of the College
 
 a82 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Commencement, and he had been through a long round of 
 the exercises pertaining to the season, in the hottest June 
 weather ever known he knew that it was due to the senders 
 of the invitation to accept or decline at once. 
 
 Harriet had looked wistful, had even cried a little, against 
 her own will, but she had said "Go." Harriet would say 
 it she was that sort. It meant everything to her to keep 
 him, yet her honest opinion was that he couldn't afford to let 
 such an opportunity slip. Why, it meant an advancement 
 from a small and obscure place in a narrow world to a recog- 
 nizable position in a big one. The University whose College 
 of Liberal Arts had called Mark Fenn was one known every- 
 where, though it might not be placed quite at the top of the 
 list in point of age and renown. It was unthinkable that 
 Harriet should put a straw of personal preference in his way 
 and she hadn't. Indeed, she was proud and pleased about it, 
 and had pointed out that he might easily procure for her a 
 teaching position in one of the city schools, so that she could 
 still live with him and keep house for him. If the very 
 thought of leaving Newcomb and the old home had made her 
 sick at heart, she bravely suppressed it. On the other hand, 
 something had stirred within her at thought of that change. 
 She was still young enough to long for new scenes, new ex- 
 periences. Anyhow, she wouldn't stand in Mark's way, and 
 what was to come would come let it come! 
 
 Mark had also laid his letter of invitation before Mary 
 Fletcher. He had had no doubt at all as to what she would 
 say and she had said it. She had read it through and then 
 had looked up and cried out: "Oh, how splendid! Of 
 course you'll take it. You couldn't refuse. YouVe been in 
 this little place, buried, long enough. Now you'll get out 
 and do something!" 
 
 "What can I do beyond teach bigger classes the same 
 things I've been teaching the small ones? Bigger classes of
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 283 
 
 the same kind of young men and perhaps not teach them as 
 well because I can't come into personal contact with so many. 
 It's the personal contact that counts, you know. When I 
 can't remember all the names on my class lists, or recognize 
 half my students when I meet them on the streets, can I do 
 as much for them?" 
 
 "Of course you can! If you lost in one way you'd gain in 
 another. There's inspiration in numbers you'd find it so. 
 What speaker prepares himself as carefully to talk to ten as 
 to a hundred? Besides you'd be living near a great city; 
 you'd have a thousand stimuli to your mind where you have 
 one here. You'd have that much more to bring to your 
 classes. Why, I shouldn't think you could hesitate an hour, 
 Mark Fenn." 
 
 "Yet I have hesitated. It's my father's college it was 
 a great thing to him to have me teach in it." 
 
 "Of course. But would he keep you here, with such a 
 chance for promotion? Never! He wasn't that sort of 
 father." 
 
 A smile touched Mark's sober lips. "No, he wasn't that 
 sort of father. But he used to say that the best was none too 
 good for his students, and he always secured the best he cou!4 
 get for the. salaries the college could pay. It seems like 
 deserting him to go." 
 
 She looked at him with a quick, searching glance. " But 
 you want to go?" 
 
 He faced her. "Yes, in one way I want very much to go. 
 I'm human, and we all like to go forward. It's impossible 
 not to think of the things you've just mentioned the inter- 
 est of facing fifty men to every five I've had here; the attrac- 
 tion of the big city the libraries, lectures, music, plays 
 everything. The truth of it is I'm wild to go and I want 
 to stay. If you can understand that " 
 
 "I can. But I beg you to go. I believe it's every man's
 
 284 FOURSQUARE 
 
 duty to make just as much of himself as he can. Your father 
 would say that, I know. And I, as your friend, say it. 
 There's no other answer, Mark." 
 
 He had come, more and more, to feel this. Indeed, when 
 he had read the letter for this last time, he had suddenly 
 pulled a sheet of paper toward him and taken out his pen. 
 He might as well get it over. He knew his college would re- 
 lease him, though most regretfully. President Wing had 
 sailed for England two days ago, but he would be the first to 
 bid Mark accept this invitation; indeed, it was more than pos- 
 sible he had already been referred to. He could send a ten- 
 tative acceptance and then write to Dr. Wing. 
 
 Mark pushed the paper away again. One more short walk, 
 up and down the now quiet street, and he would be ready. 
 Best come to his decision and his letter fresh from the open 
 air, not with nerves and brain tired from sitting over a desk. 
 He filled his pipe, took up his hat, and let himself quietly out 
 upon the porch. 
 
 What was that faintly ruddy colour in the night sky, above 
 the top of the hill where the college buildings stood ? Could 
 the students be having a farewell bonfire? Not likely. All 
 but the graduating class had gone, and even part of those, 
 with the visitors, had taken the evening train. Those left, 
 tired with the many days of exercises and festivities, had 
 gone early to bed, expecting to catch the morning train. 
 After a full week of crowded streets and gala atmosphere, the 
 quiet to-night was restful. 
 
 Mark's eyes studied the sky in the north, as he strode 
 rapidly that way. It wasn't much of a colour, hardly enough 
 to attract attention at first; then suddenly it deepened, 
 spread, and became something actual, something to be 
 reckoned with. Mark quickened his pace up the hill; lost 
 the sky behind a line of tall oaks bordering the campus. Out 
 of sight of it his apprehension grew, until as he came out into
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 285 
 
 a clear space he saw at last that his fears were well grounded 
 there was a fire, either in the main building of the small 
 group which formed the college, or in the gymnasium 
 directly behind it. He rushed across the campus, shouting 
 loudly. 
 
 The dormitories, one on either side, were nearly empty of 
 men; here and there a window showed a white figure, respond- 
 ing to the cry of alarm. Two minutes later people were 
 appearing from all quarters; a few students were running for 
 the college hand fire apparatus. Mark had broken a window 
 and climbed into the office, was telephoning the village fire 
 department. In five minutes bells were clanging as the fire 
 truck plunged heavily up the hill. The main building was on 
 fire at the back and the flames were spreading straight up 
 from the lower floor to the roof. There had been nobody 
 behind to see what was happening; the fire had not shown in 
 front nor in the sky until the whole lower rear floor had been 
 consumed. 
 
 Mary Fletcher and Rose O'Grady had wakened at almost 
 the same moment when the village fire truck came clanging 
 up the hill past the house. They had met in the hall, running 
 to the front of the house, and now hung out of two windows, 
 side by side up under the pillars of the porch. 
 
 "It may be the college it must be!" Mary decided. 
 "There's nothing else up there that could make such a sky. 
 I'm going!" 
 
 "You're that. I'm with you. There might be something 
 we could do." 
 
 "We must call the Fenns. They mightn't have heard." 
 Mary was hurrying into her clothes. She pinned up her long 
 hanging braids with two hasty thrusts. 
 
 "The Professor'll be there before the firemen," Rose called 
 back. "Him that thinks his eyes of the ugly old buildings. 
 We'll waste no time letting him know."
 
 286 FOURSQUARE 
 
 As they ran past the Fenn gate Harriet came flying down 
 the path. "Have you seen Mark?" she cried. "I can't find 
 him." 
 
 "Come along. You'll find him in the thick of it." Rose 
 caught her hand. Together the three rushed on up the hill, 
 half the population of the village streaming ahead and behind 
 them. 
 
 "Oh oh!" Harriet stood still, panting for breath, half 
 way across the campus. "It's going the whole main build- 
 ing the one Father rebuilt. It burned half down once before 
 he went out and got the money for the new one. Oh, I 
 wish I knew where Mark is!" 
 
 "He's in that crowd of men, of course," Mary said, with 
 a conviction of tone she didn't feel. "There's nothing they 
 can do." Her own heart was beating hard. There was 
 something awesome, as there always is, about the sight of a 
 big building in the hopeless grip of devastating flames. "Oh, 
 but it's too bad!" 
 
 "The bit of stream they've got it wouldn't be putting 
 out a bonfire." Rose started on again. "There's men up 
 there, too, with the hose." 
 
 The three pressed closer. "I wish I knew where Mark is!" 
 Harriet kept saying, till Rose turned on her with her own 
 quick thrust to the reasonableness of things. 
 
 "You'll not be knowing, Miss Harriet, till the thing's over. 
 You'd not want him standing around keeping himself in a 
 safe place on the edge of trouble. The Professor's no coward 
 he'll be doing what he can." 
 
 y* I'm afraid he may try to get out the records or some- 
 thing," worried Harriet. "Father's records they were in 
 the office. They'd be the first thing he'd think of. The 
 office was right there in the middle, where it's the worst." 
 
 "Would any men have been asleep in that building?'* 
 Mary was trying hard to keep cool. It wasn't like Harriet
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 287 
 
 to be so upset without definite cause, yet it wasn't strange, 
 either. The mere possibility that Mark might be somewhere 
 within reach of those springing, cruel flames was enough to 
 alarm any sister. Even in the case of a neighbour and friend 
 one may be exceedingly anxious. 
 
 "Nobody but the janitor and his family. The dormitories 
 are at the sides over there and there. But the students 
 have mostly gone, Mark said to-night. These must be towns- 
 people. There's a lot of young men they aren't doing a 
 thing." 
 
 "What could they do except stand and gaze? They're 
 doing that bless their little hearts!" Rose glanced at them 
 contemptuously. "It's enjoying themselves they are they 
 aren't crazy about the college the town boys. Take your 
 hands out of your pockets, you gossoon!" 
 
 "Where'll I put 'em?" questioned the youth, passing Rose 
 and catching her last words. He whirled on his heel and 
 looked laughing into her face, ruddy in the firelight. Every 
 riotous Irish red curl on her head was standing out; she had 
 merely caught them up into a mop at the back; she looked 
 every inch a saucy girl of his own age. 
 
 "Is the janitor out and his family?" she came back at 
 him. 
 
 "Why, of course suppose so." 
 
 "Why not know so? It takes hands to get folks out and 
 things. There might be a statue of a lazy man you could be 
 carrying out, sonny. Or a book on 'What To Do When 
 Things Happen. '" 
 
 Before he could retor*. she had turned her back on him. 
 ''I've stood here as long as I can," she announced. "I'm 
 off to see what's happening close up. You'd best stay 
 here you weren't in the army like me. Maybe somebody'll 
 be needing a nurse." And without further words she ran 
 around the offending group of village young men with their
 
 288 FOURSQUARE 
 
 hands also in their pockets, and was lost to view in the crowd 
 beyond. 
 
 "Oh, let's go too ! " urged Mary. But Harriet held her back. 
 
 "We'll only be in the way. Rose might really help. And 
 maybe she'll find Mark. Oh look at that /" 
 
 It was the first crumbling of an upper turret which an 
 instant later crashed in with a great flare of leaping flame, 
 followed by a smother of smoke which rolled low across the 
 campus. 
 
 "They're doing as well's they can," said a man close beside 
 Mary, "but the water supply ain't good enough up here. 
 Pressure's low in dry times. They can't handle that fire 
 with what they've got. Building's bound to go all of it." 
 
 "She burned once before fifteen years or so ago," an- 
 other man commented. "Same trouble they couldn't get a 
 stream on her. Hill's no place for an institution, / say, with- 
 out an expensive water-pumping system which they ain't 
 got. Guess they'd better locate elsewhere if they want to 
 keep goinY' 
 
 On their other side Mary and Rose heard other critics. 
 These were village women. 
 
 "President Wing sailed day before yesterday, didn't he? 
 Guess he'll wish he hadn't when he gets the news." 
 
 "What'd he want to go ofFfor before Commencement was 
 over?" 
 
 "Something about taking a degree at Oxford, I heard. 
 Better'd have let the degree go and looked after his college. 
 He always did travel around a lot, / thought." 
 
 "Mrs. Wing go with him?" 
 
 "Sure, she did. Always goes when he does, summers." 
 
 "Wonder when they'll get the news." 
 
 "Wireless'll catch 'em," the woman said, importantly. 
 " But much good that'll do they can't get back till they've 
 been across."
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 289 
 
 "Come!" Mary breathed. "We must do something be- 
 sides stand here. Let's try to get around on the back side of 
 the building perhaps we can find something to do." 
 
 But the crowd was denser at the back of the burning build- 
 ing where the fire engine stood. They couldn't approach 
 nearer than a small hillock at the side of the gymnasium, but 
 from this point certain active forms other than those of fire- 
 men became visible. At the end of the building farthest from 
 the centre of destruction, which the flames hadn't yet reached, 
 but toward which, in spite of all efforts, they were rapidly 
 extending, men were rushing out from the windows piles of 
 books, which others were carrying into the gymnasium itself. 
 
 "They're trying to save the library," Harriet cried, ex- 
 citedly. "Oh, what a pity! Mark will be wild about losing 
 all those books. They can never get them all out in time. " 
 
 "Why didn't they have a separate library building?" 
 
 "Mercy! this is a small college, Mary they could never 
 afford it. But it's a splendid collection. Oh look! it's 
 breaking out 'way down at that end!" 
 
 "There's Professor Chilton." Mary leaned forward as a 
 tall figure with smoke-begrimed face and eyes red-rimmed 
 with smoke staggered toward the gymnasium heavily loaded. 
 "And there's Mr. Somers and Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 "Oh, the whole faculty are here, of course. I wish I could 
 see Mark! I'm going to push through there and ask some- 
 body if they've seen him." 
 
 But she didn't get far. At the moment there was a tre- 
 mendous crash, as the entire middle portion of the roof fell 
 into the blazing furnace of the interior, and there was a falling 
 back of the crowd which carried Harriet and Mary with it as 
 if they had been straws. 
 
 "Get back, everybody!" shouted a voice of authority. 
 " The walls may go down any minute. Get back farther 
 and keep back 'way back everybody!"
 
 2 9 o FOURSQUARE 
 
 "That's Mark!" Sister and friend spoke the relieved words 
 together. 
 
 "He sounds unhurt," whispered Mary, smiling into Har- 
 riet's tense face. 
 
 " I see him." Harriet strained her eyes to peer through the 
 uncanny, smoky-orange light. "I've been watching those 
 men on the roof I thought he might be there. I wish they'd 
 come down." 
 
 "Firemen know when to come. There they're coming 
 now down that ladder. It's no use they can't save a bit 
 of it." 
 
 They couldn't. It had been apparent from the first, yet 
 they had done all they could. In spite of the usual amount of 
 traditional enmity between "town and gown," the village 
 really was enormously proud of its college, and the burning 
 of the central and most important building would be con- 
 sidered a calamity affecting the whole community. The 
 village firemen had worked savagely and with every expedient 
 to overcome the obstacle of the low water pressure. Chemi- 
 cals had been used without stint. Mark himself had been 
 first in the building to tear down the various containers from 
 the walls and hurl them into the centre of the blaze. A small 
 engine, privately owned and operated byone of the rich young 
 men of the town, had also done its best. Had the fire been 
 discovered a few minutes earlier, such resources might have 
 been sufficient. 
 
 "I know what we can do," Mary said suddenly. "Let's 
 get word to Mark to bring the firemen and the faculty 
 everybody that's done any work and we'll have coffee for 
 them, on my porch. It'll be over in an hour more and 
 there's no wind, the other buildings will be safe. They've 
 worked like fiends they'll need it." 
 
 "Splendid!" The idea of action was a relief; Harriet 
 could rejoice at the thought, unhappy as she was over thaf
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 291 
 
 which was to her and Mark the destruction of what was all 
 but personal property. 
 
 The two made their way around the outskirts of the crowd 
 and hurried back to the house. Two hours later the Graham 
 porch was the centre of fresh activities. Grimy hands seized 
 Mary's steaming cups, and dipped into great pans of dough" 
 nuts, made in haste by Eliza. In the two hours leeway she 
 had turned out an incredible number, stimulated by thought 
 of the hungry men who w r ould enjoy them. 
 
 "There's nothing else that goes so good with coffee, Misf 
 Mary," she had said, when Mary proposed sandwiches. "1 
 made ninety-five doughnuts once in half an hour, when my 
 father's barn burned. I guess nobody ever beat that, if I do 
 say it. It most broke my heart, though, because I couldn't 
 make a hundred. My little brother was watching the clock 
 on me, and that got me nervous. I won't get nervous to- 
 night because I ain't so much connected with the college, as 
 you might say though I do think a lot of Miss Harriet and 
 Mr. Mark." And by the way she plunged into her self- 
 appointed task, even while her tongue ran excitedly, Mary 
 knew Eliza's hands would work with skill and rapidity. 
 
 "This is great stuff, Miss Fletcher," declared Edgar 
 Hamilton, the young instructor in chemistry who had by no 
 means failed to follow up his acquaintance with Mary, begun 
 at Harriet's dinner, last September. He began on his third 
 doughnut as he spoke, and Mary handed the big pan on to a 
 stalwart fireman who looked as if he had worked even harder 
 than Mr. Hamilton. "It's almost worth having the old 
 building burn for. Pretty antiquated, I thought it. I hope 
 they'll get a new one though I hardly think I'll stay to see. 
 My laboratory was wiped out like a drawing on a slate." 
 
 "Guess this'll put the kibosh on the college for next year, 
 won't it?" speculated the fireman at his elbow. "There 
 don't look like rouch left, with the main building gone, so."
 
 292 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Oh, I suppose things can go on, somehow, housing classes 
 about the town, as is usually done in such cases," Hamilton 
 explained, in his condescending manner which lost a little 
 from conjunction with his very dirty face. To do him 
 justice he had done his best to save his most expensive 
 chemicals, and had succeeded sufficiently to make him feel 
 that he had played his part with honour. "But it's a blow 
 to the institution it'll be hard to recover from. It wouldn't 
 be possible to have a new building under another year and I 
 don't know where the funds for it would come from, if it 
 were," he continued to Mary. "Somebody'll have to do 
 some pretty stiff work before they have enough, these days of 
 costly materials and labour." 
 
 "You speak as if you were already out of it," Mary com- 
 mented, with a touch of criticism in her voice which brought 
 Hamilton to modify in haste his attitude of aloofness. 
 
 "Oh, I'm interested, of course. But I've only been here 
 a year, and couldn't be expected to take it to heart like some 
 of the old timers Fenn, for instance. One would have said 
 he had a wife and large family of children in the building, 
 by the way he tore around. Now, in a way, I consider a 
 fire like that a blessing. When they do get a new building 
 it'll be up-to-date I hope which the old one certainly 
 wasn't." 
 
 "An old building has its charm, however, Mr. Hamilton, 
 hasn't it?" inquired mildly the pleasant voice of Professor 
 Chilton. The tall figure of the Englishman loomed up at 
 Mary's other side, as she was about to turn away, and she 
 paused to listen. "Up-to-dateness" in scholastic housing 
 was hardly likely to be an Oxford man's first requirement. 
 "One must consider the loss of ivy-covered walls a very real 
 one. The traditions which come down from father to son 
 must suffer more or less destruction at such a time." 
 
 He had been among the hardest of the workers, and his
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 293 
 
 appearance bore testimony to that fact. He was in his 
 begrimed shirt-sleeves, one of which was badly torn; his hair, 
 which grew in such a way as to leave two scholarly peaks at 
 either side of his forehead, was dishevelled; his eyes were 
 smoke-reddened and suffused. 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed," Hamilton admitted, with the respectful 
 inflection Chilton invariably called out, "the old building had 
 a certain dignity, in spite of its general look of decay. In a 
 way, Fm sorry it's gone. But I'm sorrier about the equip- 
 ment, which was really pretty good." 
 
 "It was admirable. In your own department, Mr, 
 Hamilton, I have understood that there was little you lacked 
 and you did well to try to save as much as possible. As for 
 the library I was amazed, when I first came, at its extent 
 and quality; no college need be ashamed of such a collection. 
 I am happy that so many volumes were rescued. Mr. Fenn 
 deserves great praise for the system of salvage he put into 
 execution. I fear he may have suffered some injury, how- 
 ever. Have you seen him since he came down?" 
 
 "I haven't, for a fact. The last I saw of him, though, he 
 was all right. Burned his hands a little, but nothing more. 
 Most of us did something of the kind." Hamilton exhibited 
 a cut finger bound with a strip of handkerchief. "Had to 
 smash a window in the lab," he explained. 
 
 Mary went on with her serving, but her eyes searched the 
 crowd for Mark. She hadn't seen Rose since she left her 
 at the fire, and had herself been too busy to miss her. Harriet 
 had reported Mark safe and sound, having had a message 
 from him that he would stay a while longer on the ground to 
 make sure all was safe. But Mary was beginning to wish 
 very much that he would appear, when she caught sight of 
 him, coming with Rose across the lawn from his own home. 
 His right arm was in a sling, and his face was a scorched and 
 cindery red, but he came with a vigorous stride, with which
 
 294 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Rose had some difficulty to keep up. Mary went to meet 
 the pair. 
 
 "Broken?" 
 
 "Not a bit. Merely singed and Miss O'Grady would 
 put her mark on it." 
 
 "It's burned to the deep tissue," said Rose, "and him 
 rarin' about the place and gettin* dirt in it. It's in bed he 
 should be, this minute, but he's got something on his mind 
 again, and I can do nothing with him." 
 
 She looked after him, for he hadn't lingered to be condoled 
 with. "There goes a regular fellow," said she. "Not in the 
 army have I seen such a dare-devil and me thinking him all 
 books and no brawn. It was books he was lifting by the ton, 
 after he was burned, but it wasn't for books he risked his life. 
 It was for a couple of old tin boxes and a bundle of papers he 
 got out of the middle of the building after it was all afire. 
 They may have been important, but they weren't worth his 
 life. Still, I'm glad he got them," she concluded, with a 
 twinkle in her Irish eyes, "for I judge he couldn't have lived 
 without them anyways. He put them to bed in his desk 
 before he'd have his arm dressed, and me waiting with the 
 bandages. What have you got over here? Coffee? Faith, 
 will you hand me a quart of that same? That was right 
 clever of you to think of it the men need it." 
 
 She needed it herself, Mary saw. Rose drank thirstily and 
 smiled at Eliza, bringing a plateful of doughnuts. 
 
 "Your wings, Eliza," she murmured, "look to me bigger 
 and whiter than ever, and that's saying something." 
 
 "These are the last, Miss Rose. I've fried a hundred and 
 sixty-three, and the flour and lard's given out and I guess 
 the men are full. These are for you and Mr. Fenn. I saw 
 you coming and him with his arm hurt. Where is he?" 
 
 "Bless my heart, the man's going to make a speech! Let 
 me get where I can see him." And Rose, her hands full,
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 295 
 
 hastily moved nearer the spot where Mark stood, calling to a 
 departing group of men at the edge of the lawn: 
 
 "Come back, please. I want to say something to every" 
 body!" 
 
 They gathered around, students, men of the faculty, towns- 
 men, a motley little crowd, among whom, in the lights which 
 came from the house windows, it would have been difficult for 
 a discerning eye to distinguish the professor of mathematics 
 from one of the village plumbers, or a member of the graduat- 
 ing class with his diploma in his packed trunk from the young 
 postman who stood beside him. All looked alike of the 
 common people, who had been to a fire and seen as much 
 service there as their varying personal qualities had inspired 
 them to offer. 
 
 All now regarded with interest the figure of Mark Fenn, 
 in his soiled and burned shirt-sleeves, with his arm in a sling, 
 as he stood at the edge of the porch and began a short speech. 
 If his words remained indelibly impressed upon the memories 
 of certain of those who listened, it was because they came 
 with a tensity and force which were bound to command 
 attention. It was undoubtedly the hour and the place and 
 the man together, and when that conjunction occurs there 
 is no need of record by pen and paper. Years afterward, 
 Mary Fletcher thought she could have repeated that speech, 
 word for word. 
 
 "Boys, our biggest building's gone. It's a terrific loss; we 
 haven't an hour to mourn about it. The President's away 
 he can't get back under a month, and we can't wait for 
 him to come and take charge. I've been all over the ruins, 
 and I believe there's a lot of material left. The first thing 
 to be done is to clear away the debris, and it'll take time to 
 get workmen here. Labour's high. We here can do it our- 
 selves. We must have a new building well under way by 
 fall; we must have the news of it go out at once, so not a boy
 
 296 FOURSQUARE 
 
 / 
 
 will change his mind about registering here for next term. 
 You'll say you can't help saying where's the money 
 coming from? That's what I want to tell you. I'm going 
 out to get it starting to-morrow morning. I shall spend the 
 summer at it. If I can tell the people I go to that everybody's 
 already at work here, hard and fast, that will make them 
 realize we mean to do our part. I'm calling for volunteers 
 and there are two men from the engineering department I 
 want to have sign up first. Under their direction" and 
 he looked down into two eager faces below him at his left 
 "that debris can be cleaned up with mighty little expense. 
 How about it Collins and Underwood?" 
 
 "Here, sir," responded Collins, and Underwood was but a 
 breath behind him. Both were beaming approval. 
 
 "I know what that means," Mark asserted, "for I know 
 something of their plans. Now, men of the faculty, nobody's 
 authorized me to do this thing, but I'm going to do it 
 just the same. I want your help. How many of you will 
 stay in town this summer and put things through?" 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Somers, the mathematics 
 head, spoke. 
 
 "Excuse me, Fenn, but I can't help doubting the wisdom 
 of this. With President Wing away, have we the right to 
 take things into our own hands? The times are difficult 
 raising the money won't be easy. Personally I'm ready to 
 do my part, of course. But the cost of materials is very 
 high, and it seems to me it might be for our advantage to 
 defer building until another year, when prices may be lower. 
 Rushing it through this summer " 
 
 Here murmurs right and left interrupted him, and for a 
 minute or two discussion became general and excited. Both 
 sides were strenuously upheld. Mark allowed the talk to 
 continue long enough to satisfy the need for expression, then 
 he called out again, asking for another hearing. And now
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 297 
 
 he spoke in a different tone. He had taken them by storm 
 with the practical side of the matter, because he had felt it 
 necessary to startle them before he tried to persuade them, to 
 get their attention. The hour was late it was indeed nearly 
 morning, and though the coffee had somewhat refreshed them 
 they were weary. In a way he knew it was no time to enlist 
 them on his side, and yet he felt it his only chance. When 
 these men had returned to their homes and their wives, and 
 had begun to discuss the matter over breakfast tables, those 
 summer plans most of them had made would appear more 
 alluring than ever. Besides, one or two of the faculty were 
 expecting to leave within a day or two, not to mention all 
 these of the graduating class who had not already gone. He 
 must capture their wills to-night, or fail. 
 
 "Men of Newcomb," he said and the change in his tone 
 arrested them all, for he was no longer speaking to the crowd 
 in general, but to his colleagues in the faculty, whose support 
 he must have "in a biography of a distinguished educator, 
 there occurs this phrase, which has burned itself into my 
 memory ' The power of a great and challenging expectation. 9 
 It has come to me with tremendous force to-night that **e 
 have in our hands an extraordinary opportunity. Newcomb 
 is a small college and is known where it is known as such. 
 If we can do the big thing of creating a Challenging expec- 
 tation ' in the minds of our public by pushing through this 
 rebuilding in one summer season, we shall do more 'o bring 
 new boys here than we have ever done. If we can make them 
 feel the spirit of the place the big, indomitable spirit which 
 you and I know really exists here they will flo< k to us 
 nothing can keep them away. The thing can he done, I 
 know it can. It means self-sacrifice. I put it up to you 
 for the sake of Newcomb, and of William Wescott Wing, will 
 you stand by me and see it through?" 
 
 He had barely paused when the Englishman from Oxford!
 
 29 8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 whose homeward passage on a ship sailing two days later had 
 long been booked, the newest comer of them all except Edgai 
 Hamilton, spoke quietly from the shadow of the tall white 
 pillar near by. 
 
 "If you will permit me, I will accompany you, Mr. Fenn, 
 on your trip to raise the funds." 
 
 After that there was but one thing for all of them to do 
 to agree. As Mary watched the faces in the light upon the 
 lawn, she was almost startled by their transformed expression. 
 Mark's simple yet magnetic words had struck the spark of 
 loyalty. These American college men couldn't allow them- 
 selves to be outdone by one from across the water, whose 
 name was better known than any of their own. As they 
 dispersed they were talking earnestly, college men and towns- 
 men alike, of the thing that was to be done. There could 
 be no doubt that Mark's work was well begun. 
 
 As the lawn cleared Mary came up to Mark. He had 
 rather suddenly backed up from the edge of the porch to lean 
 against the wall of the house, as if with the end of the neces- 
 sity for endurance, fatigue and pain were all at once :'n the 
 ascendency. But his smile at her was very bright. 
 
 "You look as if you were worn out and yet quite happy 
 Can you possibly be both ?" she asked. 
 
 "Both easily." 
 
 " But you haven't given up the new offer? You'll do whar 
 you can this summer, and then go in the fall?" 
 
 He looked at her steadily. "No I've decided to stand 
 by the old college and my father/' he said. 
 
 For a moment she studied him. "Is standing by your 
 motto?" 
 
 "I didn't know it, if it is." 
 
 "And haven't you really any ambition to get away into a 
 bigger life ? " 
 
 " I can think of no bigger life than Newcomb now offers.
 
 OUT OF THE ASHES 299 
 
 If I can help seize this chance to bring new life to this college 
 as I'm sure can be done won't that be a more 'challenging 
 expectation ' for me, than merely bettering my salary and the 
 size of my classes? Anyhow, it's settled. I'm sorry if 
 you're disappointed." 
 
 A little smile touched her face and he saw it suddenly 
 glowing with a look he hadn't expected. 
 
 "I want you to know," she said, "that never in my life 
 have I been so proud of a friend. And everything I can find 
 to do to help you I'm going to do. It may be more than you 
 would think."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 PARTNERSHIP 
 
 OY with proof, Miss Mary. Says it's 
 got to go right back, if you want the 
 letters ready to go out to-night." 
 
 "Yes, Eliza thank you. Tell him 
 I'll have it ready in ten minutes." 
 
 Mary received the two slim galleys, 
 picked up a pencil and with a trained 
 eye ran rapidly through them. She sat 
 at a fine old desk in a small room be^ 
 yond the drawing-room which had tak- 
 en on the business-like look of an office. 
 Herself trim and fresh in blue linen, 
 she had very much the air of a woman 
 of affairs. She drew quick lines and 
 signs, here and there; wrote in a brief 
 paragraph and expunged another; ran 
 over the whole once more and took it 
 out herself to the waiting boy. 
 
 "Tell Mr. Simmons to send it up 
 by four, if it's a possible thing. Bring 
 it yourself, won't you, Kim? Then 
 you'll know it's done." 
 
 "You bet I will, Miss Fletcher." 
 The answer held a note of pride. Af- 
 ter this method accompanied by a smile 
 and nod, as of confidence, was Mary 
 accustomed to annex her henchmen. 
 300
 
 PARTNERSHIP 301 
 
 She turned back to her desk. Beside it Harriet Fenn sat 
 addressing envelopes stiff, correct, square envelopes, cal- 
 culated to impress the recipients favourably. Harriet's 
 handwriting was distinctive firm and clearly black; just 
 the sort to go with the envelopes. 
 
 "The letter reads pretty well," Mary said, with gay as- 
 surance. "I didn't know how well till I saw it set up. I 
 never produced any short story that gave me more satis- 
 faction. If it doesn't bring results then I've lost my grip on 
 English. But it's going to go right into their hearts and 
 their pockets or I'll change my profession." 
 
 Three hours later Harriet, reading the top sheet of the 
 great pile that had come from the printer's, drew a long sigh 
 of wonder. 
 
 "Mary, how did you do it? That's the most irresistible 
 appeal I ever read. We have circular letters from schools and 
 colleges coming in every week, and most of them go into the 
 waste-basket. But nobody could put this there nov after 
 the first glance." 
 
 "Will they give it the first glance, Harry? Yes, I think 
 they will. It's too stunning a make-up not to get that slant- 
 wise look which will arrest it on the way to the waste-basket, 
 and if they read as far as the third paragraph they're gone. 
 The whole thing is cumulative if I know the meaning of the 
 word. Excuse my conceit, but big things aren't done without 
 a certain amount of confidence and cockyness in the doers." 
 
 " Be as cocky as you like, Mary. If you do this thing we'll 
 bless you forever. And I'm almost beginning to believe you 
 will, tremendous as it looks to me." 
 
 "It's not tremendous at all. A thousand seats at a hun- 
 dred dollars a seat is only modest modern method. The old 
 graduate who won't give up a hundred dollars for his college 
 in trouble isn't worthy the name. As for the music, the 
 pageant, and the play we're putting on for him, if they're not
 
 3 o2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 worth coming for they're not worth anything. I'm going 
 absolutely crazy over that, and so will you, when we give 
 you a chance to hear what Guy and I've worked out. Listen 
 to this it's Guy's latest idea for one of the songs, in the 
 first and jolliest act, before things grow serious." 
 
 She sprang up and across the hall to the drawing-room. 
 Harriet followed, to stand listening in delight to the march 
 and swing of the chorus that Mary dashed off the keyboard, 
 and to watch, as she was always doing in woncTer, the cap- 
 tivating sparkle of Mary's personality when she was in the 
 mood. With the last notes Dr. Christopher Reade's voice 
 was heard calling in at the French window: 
 
 "What's that, in Terpsichore's name? I tried to get by 
 but couldn't. I thought I was tired but decide I'm not 
 while I'm hearing that." 
 
 Mary swung round upon the bench. "Pretty snappy? 
 That comes in the first act male octette just off the foot- 
 ball field. Guy's caught the spirit right off the gridiron, 
 hasn't he? That song will be roared all over the country, 
 next fall." 
 
 Dr. Reade came over to her, regarding her intently. 
 
 "This isn't hurting you a bit, that I can see," he admitted. 
 "One trace of nervous fatigue, and I should put on the brakes. 
 You're actually thriving on hard work." 
 
 "I'm glad you admit it. And it's the best fun I've had 
 in years. Did you go by the campus this morning?" 
 
 "I did and was tempted to get out and put my shoulder 
 under, just to have a share. Things certainly are moving." 
 
 They were moving everywhere. It was the last of August, 
 and in the ten weeks since the fire wonders had been accom- 
 plished. A faculty on its mettle, a large group of students 
 all who lived within a radius of many miles and considerably 
 many more from a farther distance a townspeople becoming 
 daily more and more interested, were doing the work of at
 
 PARTNERSHIP 303 
 
 least a hundred workmen. Material was coming in daily, 
 and the new building was beginning to show definite outlines 
 of construction. The architect had been summoned from 
 the ranks of the graduates, and had executed his drawings in 
 hot haste, alive to his chance to show what could be done 
 by a man with vision and resource. The contractor was a 
 Newcomb citizen, very proud of his appointment. The two 
 young engineers whom Mark's discernment had picked 
 for the task of organizing the unskilled labour offered by 
 the students had proved to be steam engines for work, and 
 had thrown themselves into their task as only those can who 
 have their spurs to win and an unusual chance in which to 
 win them. 
 
 Of course there had been obstacles, delays, all the usual 
 happenings attendant upon such undertakings. Some of 
 the faculty had been dissatisfied with the architect's plans, 
 criticizing them as too ambitious. The architect, Wilfred 
 Barton, backed by Mark and Chilton, had had to use every 
 argument to convince certain of the opposers that this was 
 the time to build for the future. The long, low building pro- 
 posed, of college Gothic style, with its central archway lead- 
 ing to what would sometime be an ivied quadrangle, after 
 the English manner, seemed to certain practical men the 
 idealistic aping of a form not suited to the more modern at- 
 mosphere of the younger country. They hadn't hesitated to 
 say so. 
 
 "Why not? Must energy express itself in skyscrapers? 
 We've all the space we need to expand in; why not have long, 
 broad lines instead of chimney-stack ones ? We don't want 
 to look like a cotton mill, nor a motor factory!" 
 
 Mark had had his way. After all, it was he upon whom 
 the mantle of his father had descended. The son of a man 
 who kad had the courage to rebuild fifteen years ago, when
 
 304 FOURSQUARE 
 
 the resources of the college were far smaller than now, held 
 certain definite rights by virtue of his assuming this renewed 
 burden. Also, Mark Fenn had the confidence of his associa- 
 ates, both in the college and the town. He was known, not as 
 a visionary, but as level-headed in all matters of practical 
 importance. And there was no doubt but that the architect's 
 plans, as submitted and exhibited in a prominent down-town 
 window, were of a beauty and dignity to impress all imagina- 
 tions except those whose one principle seemed to be that 
 utility must be ugly. 
 
 It was a busy summer. Mary Fletcher's campaign took on 
 large proportions as her ideas expanded. The replies to the 
 first letters she had sent out came in gratifyingly, and by the 
 first of August she had sold more than half of her hundred- 
 dollar seats in the amphitheatre to be erected on the campus. 
 By the end of the month only two score remained. As a 
 publicity expert she knew no limits. Cartoons, posters, 
 columns in newspapers, even a magazine article with photo- 
 graphic illustrations, were achieved by her hand. Every 
 particle of her skill in writing, every ounce of her new energy, 
 she threw into the scale against the general apathy of an unin- 
 terested public at large. 
 
 Early in August John Kirkwood had written to ask if he 
 might take two seats in the front rows, and added : 
 
 Why haven't you told me about it? Only by chance did I come 
 upon your magazine article. It's corking. I'm amazed and de- 
 lighted. Can't I help? How about a row of thousand-dollar 
 boxes? I believe you could swing them fifty of them, at least, and 
 add that much more to your exchequer. Mayn't I come up and 
 see the good work in action, right now? I might have some other 
 workable suggestion for you, if you don't think the boxes practical. 
 
 Mary had written back: 
 
 You may come for the fete not before, please. But I don't 
 want to try the thousand-dollar boxes, though that idea does appeal
 
 PARTNERSHIP 305 
 
 gorgeously to the imagination. I shouldn't want it to fail and 
 we're certain of the audience on the lower basis. Thank you for 
 your interest and I'm delighted to reserve seats II and 12, row G 
 for you. You'll be in good company. The President and Mrs. 
 Wing will be next you on the right. 
 
 With this he had to be content, but he employed himself 
 with helping to spread the publicity in his own immediate 
 neighbourhood. Presently he sent her in orders for ten more 
 tickets, for which she avowed herself duly grateful. As a 
 reward she sent him a photograph of the campus in its present 
 state of activity, which he searched vainly for a hint of her 
 own figure. 
 
 One early September evening, at a small railway junction 
 not far from Newcomb, Mary was pacing up and down, look- 
 ing up at the summer-night stars, when the train going in the 
 opposite direction to the one she awaited drew in. Only a 
 few passengers alighted, and she was abstractedly observing 
 the uninteresting outlines of those in advance when a figure 
 of a different character detached itself from the rest and came 
 rapidly toward her. The light from the station windows was 
 full upon her face, and now fell upon that of the traveller ap- 
 proaching. She could see Mark's smile break out vividly as 
 he neared her. She took an eager step to meet him, and their 
 right hands met in a strong clasp. 
 
 "What unbelievable luck!" He was gazing into her 
 face. 
 
 " Isn't it ? And I've just learned my train is twenty minutes 
 late." She wasn't trying at all to hide her pleasure. Why 
 shouldn't they be glad to meet? There was so much to tell 
 each other. 
 
 "If it hadn't been I'd have found a way to delay it, if I'd 
 had to flag it down the line myself. Well! Is it really you? 
 Last time I rounded up at Newcomb you were off on Heaven
 
 306 FOURSQUARE 
 
 knew what aggressive feature of your campaign. Is it an- 
 other that takes you now? Mary, I've just seen the article 
 in The Olympus. It's a winner!" 
 
 "Is it? Time will show. And the last seats are filling 
 fast now. How does it go with you? Any new big sub- 
 scriptions?" 
 
 He ran his hand across his forehead, pushing back the chest- 
 nut locks; his hat was still in his hand. "Two but not as 
 many of late as I want and need. August's been a bad 
 time for seeing men. Many were off on vacation, and those 
 who weren't were tired and irritable. But the thing's going 
 forward it's got to go." 
 
 "I believe you're tired yourself." She scanned his face 
 more closely, while he smiled back at her, trying to let the 
 lines of fatigue relax. 
 
 "It's been abominably hot as you know. You're prob- 
 ably tired yourself, though you surely don't look it. Mary, 
 how is it you keep so fresh and flexible ? You're working as 
 hard as I harder, if the truth were known." 
 
 "Not a bit of it. I'm having the experience of my life. 
 I never was so interested absorbed. And you know I've 
 not only the business end of my plans to look after, there's the 
 pageant and the musical play. Guy's doing such glorious 
 work, it keeps me inspired. We're pushing along on the last 
 act, now the thing is mounting, mounting, to its climax. 
 I'm so thrilled with it I go to sleep every night with one of 
 his songs in my brain." 
 
 "Tell me about it. Can't we find a place to sit?" He 
 looked about him. The box of a station was shadowy, ex- 
 cept where the light poured from the window of the agent, 
 whence a fitful clicking of a telegraph key broke the quiet. 
 The passengers had already scattered, except for one who 
 paced at the farther end of the platform. Far in the distance 
 could be heard the faint rumble of the receding train. A rod
 
 PARTNERSHIP 307 
 
 or two down the line stood a pile of railway ties. Mark led 
 the way toward this unconventional resting place. 
 
 "Wouldn't you rather hear first where I'm going to-night? 
 I'm so proud of this latest idea." 
 
 "Tell me that, then. Anything, so that I hear you speak. 
 It seems a year since I heard the sound of your voice!" 
 
 "Why, Mark!" She was smiling. "I believe you're 
 homesick." 
 
 "That may be it. Whatever it is, it's medicine for my 
 nostalgia to meet you here. If I'd reached Newcomb again 
 to find you gone I'd have been unhappy. I've so much to 
 tell you and so much to hear. Well where are you going? 
 And will you be back before to-morrow night?" 
 
 "I'm afraid not. I'm going to Stevenson and the old 
 school. I'm going to tell my story to the boys. For my 
 father's sake and mine they'll be interested in David Matthew 
 ^enn, his friend, and in Mark Fenn, my friend, and in New- 
 comb. They're a rich and generous young group. I think 
 they'll take ten tickets, at least. If they don't I've lost 
 my powers of persuasion." 
 
 "You're not speaking there this evening?" He glanced at 
 his watch it was half-past nine. 
 
 "I was to have spoken at the close of a concert, but unless 
 it's prolonged my late train won't get me there in time. I 
 should have taken the morning train, but was too busy. 
 You see we have rehearsal every morning now." 
 
 "Since you're to be too late, you'd better go back with me. 
 Then you'll be present at to-morrow morning's rehearsal." 
 
 "Uh, no I wish I could. But I've wired from here, and 
 they're expecting me. Indeed, they proposed to send a motor 
 over, but the train will make it sooner. I imagine I shall get 
 my speech in this evening." 
 
 "I wish I could hear it. Why can't I? It would be a 
 new experience to hear you, in such a place."
 
 3 o8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "Come along. I'll be delighted to have you if you're 
 not too tired." 
 
 Had he been so weary? His sense of fatigue, already for- 
 gotten, vanished completely under this stimulus. The re- 
 maining time passed all too fast, and the incoming train was 
 boarded by two people who looked as if they were setting 
 out on a happy adventure. 
 
 At Stevenson, reached quickly enough once the train was 
 off, they were met and rushed in the twinkling of an eye to a 
 classic-looking building covered with ivy, ablaze with lights, 
 from whose windows came sounds of music. Inside, three 
 hundred youths gave Mary Fletcher a spontaneous and 
 thunderous round of applause the moment she appeared with 
 the headmaster, while a smiling faculty greeted her with 
 warmth. Most of the house-masters and instructors had been 
 there in her father's day, and those who had not knew Mary 
 by the traditions. All her infancy and girlhood had been 
 spent here; there were many stories now current of the days 
 when to secure a dance with Dr. Fletcher's vivaciously lovely 
 daughter had been the most coveted prize in a chaperon's 
 gift. As the present incumbents looked at her now in her 
 rich and still youthful maturity, they could easily believe any 
 tales of her popularity. 
 
 Standing at the back of the hall, according to his desire, 
 having refused to take a more prominent place, Mark now re- 
 ceived a totally new impression of Mary. Versatile as she 
 was, he hadn't imagined just how wonderfully she could do 
 this thing she had set herself to do. He had known, of course, 
 that she would make a charming speech, and that her per- 
 sonality would easily influence, even coerce, the school's stu- 
 dent body as if it had been one susceptible boyish mind and 
 heart. But what he hadn't realized was the effect the sight 
 and hearing of her was to have upon himself; how utterly she 
 was to capture and hold him, as if he too had been a lad of
 
 PARTNERSHIP 309 
 
 sixteen with every tendril of his growing nature ready to 
 reach out and grasp at her. Yet it was to his best judgment 
 as well as to his sensibilities that she appealed; the quality of 
 her the high, fine attributes of her mind and spirit as well 
 as the magnetism of her face and voice, the whole distin- 
 guished, beautiful presence of her as she stood there speaking 
 it was all Mark could do to keep himself in hand. He 
 wanted to take her away from them all and tell her just 
 what she had become. 
 
 There was a rush at her when she had done. For half an 
 hour she stood at the end of the long room while the boys 
 filed by her, shaking her hand, saying, "One seat, please, 
 Miss Fletcher," or "I'm going to write my father about 
 this; I think he'll want to subscribe." Several of the richer 
 boys of the school said in low voices, and with an evident 
 effort not to swagger: "I'll take two seats." And one 
 young nabob whispered: "Two seats and I'll pay a thou- 
 sand for 'em if you'll make 'em on the front row. That's what 
 I think of your speech, Miss Fletcher." 
 
 Altogether, when Mary's eyes met Mark's once more, as 
 she rejoined him, they were full of a joyful triumph but of 
 more than that. He had little chance to talk with her. He 
 was taking his train back to Newcomb at midnight, and she 
 was going on in the morning to another engagement, this time 
 with a girl's school. But there was a moment or two, and he 
 made the most of it. 
 
 "I've always known," he said, "that the greatest thing I 
 could do for any pupil of mine was to enlarge and enrich his 
 chance at sometime possessing a personality with which to 
 accomplish his life. But I never knew as I do now just what 
 Heaven and your parents and teachers gave you. And how 
 it has grown, Mary ! What things you can do with it. You 
 look to me to-night like one with a tremendous force in her 
 grasp the force of herself. I congratulate you and envy
 
 3 io FOURSQUARE 
 
 you and am wonderfully happy about you. I'm as proud 
 of you as if I'd made you, myself." 
 
 "I suppose you don't know that you've done your share," 
 she answered, quite simply, but with a sudden deepening o{ 
 the content in her eyes which the success of her effort had 
 brought there. 
 
 "I wish I thought so. I've done little, I fear, but look on 
 at the development. It's been an interesting thing to 
 watch. And to-night I saw its full flower." 
 
 "It wasn't much of a speech. I just talked to them, as 
 I would to my young brother if I'd had one." 
 
 "You just talked to them. And all the while you were 
 giving out the very essence of yourself filling their cups of 
 interest and adoration till they spilled over in response. 
 They're not giving to Newcomb, Mary they're giving to 
 you!" 
 
 "No you're wrong. They're giving to the memory of my 
 father, because he was your father's friend and would have 
 stood by him in this crisis." 
 
 He shook his head. "They're giving to you. Just as I, 
 as I go on about my work of getting my funds, will be giving 
 after to-night not so much to Newcomb or even to my 
 father's memory as to you. Because you've gone into part- 
 nership with me in this thing, and the paramount interest 
 has become since I heard you speak to-night to pull it 
 through with you! It's put heart and courage into me 
 given me the sense of being doubly strong. You've given 
 me the very most subtle and beautiful thing in human friend- 
 ship to-night, Mary whether you know it or not: a sort 
 of transfusion of the blood of all virility the thing the gods 
 drink of and then do godlike acts." 
 
 She could only look at him in amazement. They had been 
 taken into some secretary's office to wait while somebody 
 attended to other guests and then came back for them, to take
 
 PARTNERSHIP 311 
 
 Mark to his train and Mary to a hostess who was expecting 
 her. For the moment they were still alone and the sounds 
 of the departing audience had died down to silence. 
 
 He smiled back at her, but his eyes were deep with feeling* 
 
 "I know," he said. "You hardly recognize the staid Mark 
 in such a speech. You almost think I've lost my head. You 
 see," he went on rapidly, "I was so tired and discouraged to- 
 night when I met you at the station, I felt like giving it all up. 
 The day had been full of disappointments I'd no time to tell 
 you. Of course I shouldn't have given up never it's not 
 in me to do that. But I was discovering the need of some 
 elixir of life to help me pull the terrific load I'd taken upon 
 myself. Well I've had it drunk deep of it. I can do any- 
 thing now, I think!" 
 
 "Do you mean / gave you that?" 
 
 "You. Nobody but you. And nobody but you could 
 have given it to me." 
 
 The colour poured into her face, making it so warmly vivid 
 that she felt the impulse to put up her hands for an instant to 
 cover it, like a child. But it was with all a woman's self-con- 
 trol that she met this strange new look of his which accom- 
 panied this strange new thing he had said. 
 
 "If that is true," she answered slowly, "I've only paid 
 something of the debt I owe you. It's what you've been 
 giving me, all along. Only I never knew it till just a 
 little while ago." 
 
 They stood looking into each others' eyes for a moment, as 
 if in wonder at the recognition of mutual bestowment which 
 had taken place. And then the too-brief interview was over; 
 others came; they were piloted to the place where the waiting 
 motor was to take Mark to his train. 
 
 As Mary, crossing the velvety turf of the lawn which lay 
 between the hall of the evening's affairs and the home of the 
 headmaster, whejre she was to be entertained, looked back
 
 3 i2 FOURSQUARE 
 
 at the lights of Mark's car disappearing down the road, her 
 companion, Dr. Simonds, the head himself, spoke words to 
 which her ears listened eagerly. 
 
 "That was a particularly interesting man, your friend, 
 Professor Fenn. I shall hope to see him again. I had only a 
 word with him, but in our short talk his quality showed very 
 plainly. Curious, isn't it, Miss Fletcher, this matter of per- 
 sonality? A look, a bearing, half a dozen sentences ex- 
 changed and the thing is done. One has an impression as 
 swift and distinct sometimes as permanent as the register- 
 ing of the sun upon the sensitive plate of the camera. A mo* 
 "nent's contact and I want to see the man again know that 
 I should like him feel that I should believe in him. I'm 
 glad you brought him." 
 
 "I'm glad too," said Mary to herself. "Oh, how glad I 
 am!"
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 
 
 OW very, very interesting and origi- 
 nal ! What a conception ! Is it yours, 
 Mary ? Of course it must be." 
 
 "You do me great honour, Sandy. 
 But it isn't mine, except in the vaguest 
 form imaginable. It's P^rry Gilfillan 
 who has worked it out. It is pretty 
 fine, isn't it? Oh, I'm so glad you 
 could be here. It needed you to make 
 the whole thing perfect for me, you 
 know." 
 
 Alexandra Warren, prepossessingly 
 trim and tailored, had been brought 
 by Mary straight from the train to 
 the college campus, to view the active 
 preparations for the event which was 
 now only two days off. The two 
 stood looking toward a scene in which 
 many workmen were engaged work- 
 men who were palpably of the student 
 class, and whose looks were as eager 
 as their voices. Seats for the thou- 
 sand patrons of Mary's bidding had 
 been prepared in amphitheatre form 
 looking toward the great stage formed 
 by the foundation and flooring of the 
 long building in process of erection-
 
 3 i 4 FOURSQUARE 
 
 Its walls at back and side had risen to the height of one story, 
 but the front had been left open, with only the steel construc- 
 tion pillars showing, and these had been garlanded out of sight 
 with ropes of evergreeen. Shrubbery had been temporarily 
 planted to screen and soften the foundation stone, and a 
 picturesque enclosure for an orchestra had been arranged. 
 
 "All that's rough and unsightly is to be hidden with 
 masses of green," Mary explained. "And the whole interior 
 is to be hung with a wonderful drapery of blue and purple. 
 That can't go up till the last minute, for fear of rain. Oh, 
 pray, Sandy, just pray that this September heat and haze 
 may last three days longer. It's ideal to-day it must last!" 
 
 "I think it will. It's the season for such weather you've 
 probably chosen wisely. What a stage, Mary and what a 
 setting all around!" 
 
 "Yes, isn't it perfect? But we mustn't stay to look at it. 
 I've a rehearsal in fifteen minutes we must go down to the 
 house, where I'll give you time to get out of your smart 
 travellies and into something cooler. You're looking wonder- 
 fully well, Sandy. It's been good for you to be loose from me 
 for so long." 
 
 The two gave each other that comprehensive survey which 
 two friends may exchange, smiling yet searching. 
 
 "It certainly seems to have been good for you. Mary, 
 you've the only word I can think of to express it is 
 bloomed! I never imagined such a change. And with all 
 this work on your shoulders how have you managed it?" 
 
 " It's sweet Rosie O'Grady, of whom I've written you so 
 many pages. She makes me keep myself fit. That's the 
 whole story. Wait till you meet her and you'll understand." 
 
 They went down to the house talking busily all the way. 
 The big guest-room above the drawing-room was in its usual 
 peaceful order, but it seemed to Alexandra that the entire 
 remainder of the house was given over to the activities of the
 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 315 
 
 approaching festival. People were constantly coming and go- 
 ing. From the drawing-room rose the sound of musical voices 
 solos, duets a male chorus, accompanied by several instru- 
 ments. On the rear porch a group of girls and women were 
 sewing on masses of purple and blue cloth the draperies 
 of which Mary had spoken. 
 
 "I'm most anxious for you to know my young composer," 
 Mary had said. When Alexandra came down in her kilted 
 green-and-white skirt and green sweater, her small green silk 
 hat pulled well over her smooth hair, Mary gave a little cry of 
 pleasure and led her toward the drawing-room. 
 
 "The rehearsal's over, and you'll be a refreshing sight for 
 Guy's eyes. He's crazy over those jade greens worn so much 
 now; the boy's developed a splendid colour sense along with 
 his other creative instincts. It was he who insisted on the 
 blue and purple for our backgrounds says he's been hearing 
 blue and purple all through his composition. Mr. Gilfillan 
 was amazed at him and so interested in his ideas. We have 
 a lot of jade green to go with one of his songs and I'll admit 
 it does fit. Come they've all gone out on the porch, and 
 he's alone in here for the minute. I've arranged it that 
 way I want you to get your first impression of my young 
 genius." 
 
 As the two went into the long, dignified old room that Alex- 
 andra had remembered with such warm admiration, she re- 
 ceived quite as distinct an impression as Mary could have 
 wished, though not, perhaps, wholly the one that Mary had 
 intended. A slim figure in blue coat and white flannel 
 trousers, a blue tie knotted under the pointed chin, fair hair 
 thrust back from the wide forehead, got to its feet from the 
 piano bench with a pair of crutches and stood waiting. Blue 
 eyes on fire with excitement gazed straight at Mary; Guy 
 Carter seemed not to have so much as a glance for the visitor 
 until Mary presented him. Then he gave her a stiff little
 
 FOURSQUARE 
 
 formal bow which showed her the top of his head, and looked 
 directly back at Mary. Even in that very first sight of him 
 Alexandra recognized the fact he was Mary's, every nerve 
 and fibre of him. 
 
 But he was also the man of action, of authority. Boyish 
 as he looked, Alexandra understood that the composer of 
 "Present Arms!" who had now achieved a new musical play 
 called The Light on the Road, was a personage to be con- 
 sulted, deferred to, sometimes even to be pacified. Tempera- 
 ment, in all its variety of manifestations, was to be reckoned 
 with in a young genius of unstable physical equipment who 
 had been working for many months at high pressure, and 
 whose hopes were now upon the verge of fulfillment. The 
 first words from his lips gave evidence of the tension under 
 which he was seeing through these last rehearsals. 
 
 "I've been having the devil's own time with that Mr. 
 Hamilton," he burst out. "He^thinks he knows it all, and he 
 comes mighty near singing off key. -I've got to have the 
 horn give him the lead, every time, to keep him on it. 
 And that makes him mad and then we have it. Oh, this 
 last-minute stuff is enough to drive a fellow out of his 
 senses!" 
 
 "I know I feel much the same way. When I get too 
 much wound up I run off by myself and calm down. But 
 really, everything's going splendidly, Guy. And I do want 
 my friend, Miss Warren, to hear from you just a bit about 
 the play. If you have time to tell her, it will be the only 
 chance." 
 
 Guy frowned. "I'm afraid I haven't got the time, just 
 now. Well, just a word, then. But why don't you tell her, 
 Miss Fletcher? She wrote the whole thing, you see," he 
 turned to Alexandra "I just put the music to it." 
 
 "Suppose, after all, neither of us tells her," Mary suggested 
 quickly. She saw that Guy was really very much on edge,
 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 317 
 
 for some fresh reason she didn't understand. "We'll let it 
 break upon her without warning, as it's to do on the rest of 
 the audience." 
 
 "Much better," Guy murmured, with a look of relief. 
 "Now I'm off for the stage. If I'm not there for orchestra 
 practice something'll go wrong." 
 
 Alexandra met them all presently those whom she had 
 known before and the new members of Mary's personnel. 
 Rose O'Grady came rushing in for luncheon, fresh from the 
 task of bandaging an injured shoulder. A big sophomore, 
 who was to be a soldier in the play, had received the brunt of 
 a falling beam and must be made fit again in ^ hurry. Alex- 
 andra was delighted with Rose, as Mary had foreseen. 
 
 "She says you've done it, Miss O'Grady transformed her 
 from a pale shadow to this splendid creature I see before me. 
 Your methods ought to be spread abroad." 
 
 "Faith, 'tis no secret. Health may be had for the bit of 
 pains any one should be ashamed not to take. Miss Mary's 
 learned the law of supply and demand, that's all; to supply 
 more than she demands that's the whole story. Nature's 
 a fine debtor but a hard creditor. Miss Mary had to pay ? jr 
 bill and go to prison too. Now the balance is in her 
 favour, praises be. And it's proud I am to have helped teach 
 her the lesson." 
 
 "Lessons lessons I've had plenty of them, Sandy. Dr. 
 Reade's been another teacher. And here he is this minute 
 and Professor Chilton with him. I asked them up to meet 
 you. Mr. Chilton's just in from a trip for funds. Come 
 out to the table, everybody. I hoped Mr. Fenn would be 
 here, too, but he's still missing." 
 
 Alexandra felt her interest quickening every minute. It 
 was like Mary, in the midst of all the rush, to ask guests to 
 luncheon to meet her friend. Harriet Fenn came over, also 
 it was quite a party, though so informal that two extra people.
 
 3 i8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 arriving on errands, were urged to remain and places hur- 
 riedly arranged for them. Several times Mary was summoned 
 from the table; messages were brought to her by note and 
 wire; altogether the atmosphere was electric with the sense of 
 something coming to which all were keyed. 
 
 "It's really rather a big thing these people are putting 
 through," Dr. Reade observed to Alexandra, next whom he 
 sat. "I'm an outsider, of course, having no part except 
 that of general promoter as the chance comes in my practice. 
 But I've been watching it all for weeks, and I'll admit I'm 
 almost as excited and enthusiastic as they. The propaganda 
 has got into my blood, too it's been of a rather unusual 
 effectiveness." 
 
 "I don't think such a thing has ever been done, in just such 
 a way, has it?" Alexandra questioned. 
 
 "Not to our knowledge. Festivals and pageants and plays 
 on classic lines have been done a thousand times, of course. 
 And money has been raised, and all the rest of it. But 
 there's been something about this whole campaign that's 
 made it unique. One person has dominated it, and that 
 person will be the centre of it all to the end a mere girl, at 
 that a girl in effect, at least. And without making herself 
 any part of the show itself staying constantly in the wings. 
 But inspiring, stimulating, keeping everybody up to the 
 mark. I tell you, Miss Warren, it's remarkable." 
 
 "And you, as her physician, have felt it safe to let her do 
 it?" 
 
 His answer was a significant glance toward Mary herself, 
 where she sat at the head of her table, the silver bowl of roses 
 in the centre of the table not fresher or more enchanting than 
 she. 
 
 " You see for yourself. There's no rouge or powder on that 
 skin, no ' beautifier ' in those eyes. There's certainly no sup- 
 porting drug in her system. I admit she's astonished me
 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 319 
 
 I can't wholly account for it, closely as I've watched her. 
 She seems to have come upon some hidden spring of vitality 
 and to drink of it all the time. She's done work enough to 
 tire out a strong man but, well what can be said except that 
 it's been a tonic of the most powerful sort ?" 
 
 Alexandra was obliged to believe him. But her interest, 
 not to say her wonder, was intensely aroused. It was im- 
 possible not to see that Mary was, as Dr. Reade had said, 
 the focus upon which all rays converged, the very burning 
 point of fire and energy. Alexandra had never known Mary 
 except as a writer, absorbed in the production of her own 
 wares; keen for experience that she could use, avid for sen- 
 sation of every sort; constantly feeling her own pulse to get 
 her own reactions. Though Alexandra had never been will- 
 ing to admit it to herself, Mary had been thoroughly self- 
 centred; her ambitions had been all in the way of her own 
 fame; it had been only her personal charm which had held her 
 friend to her Mary had never returned to her a tenth of the 
 real devotion Alexandra had lavished upon her. So it had 
 been with every relation Mary had taken she had not 
 given in return except as she had cared to give. Now, every- 
 thing seemed changed. Instead, for instance, of poking fun 
 at Newcomb, the small college in the small town, with no 
 country-wide reputation, she was working for it, heart and 
 soul. She was throwing into this effort everything she had 
 to give, lavishing upon it her stores of wit and invention, 
 challenging the world to come and see that here was every 
 educational advantage that could be found anywhere. How 
 had it happened? What had made the difference? Her 
 friend wanted very much to know. Meanwhile, of one thing 
 she was certain. Not in her most attractive aspect of days 
 gone by had Mary given promise of that which she had be- 
 come a creature vital, forceful, and yet so lavish in her use 
 of her own beauty and power that there was left no hint of the
 
 320 FOURSQUARE 
 
 old arrogance, only a warm and life-giving touch upon each 
 other being with whom she came in contact. 
 
 "And you haven't a part in the play or in anything?" 
 Alexandra marvelled, as on the second morning after her 
 arrival she watched Mary dress for the day. It was the great 
 day, and it had dawned in all its September gorgeousness. 
 The heat was that of summer and rather greater than was 
 quite desirable, but the cloudlessness of the sky and the 
 promise of freedom from the difficulties which rain would 
 have produced in all this outdoor festival-making reconciled 
 everybody to the undue warmth. 
 
 Mary's glance was understanding. "Not a part. Are 
 you surprised? I suppose you expected me to put myself 
 in the centre of the stage. Ride a white horse at the head of 
 the pageant, and be crowned queen or something in front of 
 the blue-and-purple drapery. I admit it would be quite in 
 character and rather fun to ride the white horse, at least. 
 But I have quite all I want to do, behind the scenes, and I 
 shouldn't be half as happy in front of them. As a compro- 
 mise I'm going to look as nice as I can, in my role of general 
 handy man. Tell me how you like me." 
 
 It seemed to Alexandra that Mary actually shone! It was 
 only a trim little white serge suit she wore, with white shoes 
 and tight little white hat with crisp-looking wings, but she 
 might have posed as a model for a feminine Hermes of modern 
 times, so winged was the whole look of her. Her eyes were 
 darker than ever under the close-drawn hat-brim their 
 glance was the quickest, most shining thing imaginable. 
 
 "The Professor's back he's asking for you downstairs, Miss 
 Mary," Rose announced, coming in. "Whist! and it's more 
 new clothes, is it? I believe you got them for the occasion." 
 
 "Of course I did! Think of the people I'm to meet to-day. 
 I'm going to the train now to welcome two college presidents
 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 321 
 
 and a real dignitary in the literary line. It's my duty to 
 impress them with the fact that we're not a back-woods 
 institution, and what can do it so certainly as the right 
 clothes? Besides you two look pretty smart yourselves 
 Miss Warren in that clever gray and lavender effect, Miss 
 O'Grady in what I call a mighty knowing black and white, 
 and just the thing to go with her wondrous hair if I did 
 choose it for her. Who's to say anything about new clothes?'* 
 
 Mary was off down the stairs. Rose's following glance 
 returned to Alexandra. 
 
 "I'm glad the Professor's back. He's looking worn with 
 the work he's been doing all summer it was a task for a 
 Titan. But when he catches sight of Miss Mary Fletcher 
 as she's looking to-day I'm thinking he'll forget how tired 
 he is. It's an odd thing, Miss Warren, when you think of it; 
 but dusky eyes and hair like hers under a little white hat 
 like that can look to have more colour than a whole rainbow! 
 She'll dazzle the eyes of him and his eyes need dazzling, he's 
 been looking so long at folks explaining why they should like 
 to give more but can't. " 
 
 Downstairs Mark and Mary were meeting in the cool and 
 shaded drawing-room, rich with flowers from the garden 
 everywhere. 
 
 "I was beginning to be afraid you wouldn't be heie in 
 time to play host," she said, as they shook hands. 
 
 "I delayed twenty-four hours and have ten thousand 
 dollars to show for it. But I wouldn't have missed being 
 here to-day for ten thousand more. Mary, you haven't been 
 through a campaign, you've been sitting on an island in the 
 sun!" 
 
 "A pretty populous island, then," she assured him, "with 
 all kinds of craft coming into my harbour." 
 
 They were openly taking observations upon each other, 
 and the result seemed satisfying.
 
 322 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "You're not looking half as worn as when I saw you, that 
 evening at Stevenson," Mary said. 
 
 "I'm not half as worn. In fact, I'm not worn at all. From 
 that hour I've been carrying no load the load carried me. 
 I was a trifle weary when I came into town an hour ago, but 
 hot water and clean clothes have made me feel like a new man. 
 And now that I see you Mary, this is a wonderful day! I 
 think it's going to be the greatest day in my history I hope 
 it is in yours." 
 
 "I'm sure it is. And I suppose we must both be off this 
 very minute. I'm meeting some personages at the train in 
 just fifteen minutes the car is waiting for me. Don't you 
 want to go along? And aren't we in luck to have such 
 weather?" 
 
 They went out upon the porch, still saying casual things. 
 Yet each was aware of the other in the way which means 
 Btrong mutual interest. As never before Mary was conscious 
 that Mark Fenn looked every inch the man in a way she had 
 always known him to do, yet never fully appreciated until 
 now. As they stood waiting upon the station platform she 
 felt herself proud of his companionship. She recalled what 
 the headmaster of Stevenson had said of him the impression 
 had been instantly one of force and charm. She realized 
 now that he must make that impression upon any intelligent 
 stranger; she was glad to have him by her side as she received 
 her distinguished guests. 
 
 The train drew in. Mary looked for President Wesley and 
 Dean Grier, and saw them far down the platform. As she 
 and Mark went to meet them a tall figure stepped off the 
 Pullman at her side and turned to help down a slenderly small 
 one which followed. Mary stopped short, for John Kirkwood 
 wheeled, sweeping off his hat 7 and drew forward by one hand 
 the girl who accompanied him. 
 
 "Maryl This is great luck, though we meant to surprise
 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 323 
 
 you. Miss Fletcher, let me present Miss Langley. How 
 do you do, Professor Fenn! Miss Langley, this is Professor 
 Fenn, of Newcomb destined some day to become its presi- 
 dent." 
 
 For the instant Mary forgot her expected guests for these 
 others, one of whom was most certainly unexpected. She 
 gave Sibley Langley her hand, looking down into a piquant, 
 laughing face, whose bright and rather intriguingly narrow 
 brown eyes seemed to be turned upon her like a pair of little 
 telescopes. Miss Langley was a slip of a thing, perfectly 
 dressed, with a touch of daring in her modishness, and all the 
 air of one accustomed to be liked and entirely at home every- 
 where. Yet her manner to Mary had in it a pretty hint of 
 deference, more effective than the words she was too wise to 
 speak. 
 
 "Will you forgive us ? " Miss Langley had a musically soft 
 voice, with a suggestion of a Southern drawl which hardly 
 matched the quick glances of her eyes. "I so wanted to 
 come I fairly bribed Mr. Kirkwood to bring me, though Fm 
 sure he didn't quite approve of it. I knew you would take 
 care of me somehow, among your guests." 
 
 "Yes, of course, I shall be charmed to have you as my 
 guest," Mary said, "even though we're just a bit too full 
 at the house to be able to look after Mr. Kirkwood. It 
 was really very wonderful of you to come and to surprise 
 us." 
 
 "My sister and I will take care of Mr. Kirkwood, with 
 pleasure." Mark came to the rescue. "And now, Mary 
 here are your other guests " and he gently turned her about 
 barely in time to halt the two strangers in silk hats and 
 formal morning dress who had been approaching and upon 
 whom he had been keeping a watchful eye. 
 
 Kirkwood and Miss Langley at a few paces distant 
 watched the meeting, the eyes of both missing nothing.
 
 3 2 4 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "You didn't prepare me for Professor Fenn," Miss Langley 
 whispered. " ' Country college professor ' doesn't seem to fit 
 him. He's stunningly good looking in his severe and quiet 
 way." 
 
 "He's been to a real tailor in preparation for this event," 
 Kirkwood murmured in return. "I'll admit he does look 
 rather more sophisticated than I remembered him. How 
 does his companion strike you?" 
 
 "Oh as all you could ask, of course. That goes without 
 saying. She's very charming. Only I thought of her as 
 more of an invalid." 
 
 "Invalid!" Kirkwood had some ado to restrain his mirth 
 as his absorbed gaze continued to rest upon Mary. "Good 
 heavens! She looks like Hebe and Diana combined. Never 
 was she so young and valiant." 
 
 The big car took them all to the Graham house, where Miss 
 Langley looked about her in amazement. She hadn't been 
 prepared for the dignified old place. Mary took her to her 
 own room, mentally arranging for herself a couch in Alex- 
 andra's. 
 
 "Such a delightful house," the young guest said, with real 
 appreciation. "Only I somehow know you're giving me your 
 room, Miss Fletcher. I'd beg you not only if you'll let 
 me say so itVsuch a lovely honour to have it. I shan't for- 
 get. Mr. Kirkwood has always raved about you so and 
 now I know why." 
 
 "Mr. Kirkwood has many enthusiasms among them 
 yourself, Miss Langley. And it was so good of you to come 
 to do honour to our great day. You won't mind, though, will 
 you, if I'm a very casual hostess? There are so many last- 
 minute things to see to, you know." 
 
 "Oh, of course. And we shall be entirely self-reliant 
 just don't have us on your mind, please. Mr. Kirkwood and 
 I simply wanted to prove to you how interested we are."
 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 325 
 
 Mutual felicitations and conventionalities thus quickty 
 disposed of, Mary soon vanished, not to appear again till 
 luncheon. Meanwhile, Alexandra Warren and Rose O'Grady 
 assumed the care of the various guests who arrived from time 
 to time, now and then meeting to exchange amused com- 
 ments. Though so different in personality and experience, 
 the two had taken to each other as those do who find common 
 ground. 
 
 "That little person with the eyes like gimlets," said Rose, 
 in a corner of the wide hall where she had run upon Alex- 
 andra unexpectedly, "is losing nothing she can bore them 
 into, at all. I hear she's a writer. I'm thinking her next 
 novel will have us all in." 
 
 "She's very pretty and clever, isn't she?" Alexandra re- 
 turned, smiling. 
 
 "She's gone a bit crazy about the Professor. She's had 
 him walking down the garden with her and him looking at 
 his watch every two minutes when she chanced to be turned 
 the other way which was seldom. I thought she'd be break- 
 ing her little neck, looking up at him. He got away, though, 
 sooner than pleased her. And him wanting to be with Miss 
 Mary and never getting a chance." 
 
 "Nobody can get a chance at Mary to-day. Yet she's 
 everywhere." 
 
 She was everywhere. The last draping of the blue-and- 
 purple-curtains with Mr. Perry Gilfillan at her elbow. The 
 final hearing of one brief scene which had gone badly at 
 rehearsal the evening before. A consultation with Guy 
 Carter, who was so nervous .he could hardly control himself, 
 yet ready to be wildly happy at a hint from Mary that she 
 understood and didn't think him a weak fool because of his 
 shaking fingers. 
 
 "If you're only satisfied I can bear everything else," he 
 Said, his strained gaze on her face. "Oh, Miss Fletcher, if
 
 3 a6 FOURSQUARE 
 
 you could see yourself to-day you wouldn't wonder I want 
 to please you." 
 
 "Listen to me, Guy. If everything else went wrong- 
 which it won't, it's going to go splendidly one thing you've 
 done would be worth it all to me." 
 
 "What's that? Please tell me maybe it'll steady me." 
 
 "The music for the last song "The Light on the Road." 
 That's mine, Guy, to keep." 
 
 "Oh! " 
 
 But she didn't dare to linger with him his heart was too 
 plainly on his sleeve when she was by. She ran away to 
 others who needed her an anxious young soprano, a group 
 of boys who had a difficult small part and only wanted her 
 encouragement. There were the usual number of small 
 details to be seen to last minute happenings which it took 
 resource to adjust: a lost trumpet, a torn flag, the non- 
 arrival of a painted brick wall promised yesterday and still 
 unaccounted for. Mary did her best to keep cool, but now 
 and then had to set a watch upon herself lest she lose the 
 poise she needed so much to hold. 
 
 Just before luncheon she came into the house by way of a 
 small side entrance under the staircase, and evading the sight 
 of any guest made her way up to Rose's room. Here she 
 slipped out of her outer garments and lay down upon Rose's 
 bed with both arms outstretched. Two minutes later the 
 owner of the room appeared in the doorway and stopped 
 short, nodding her approval. 
 
 Mary waved a white arm at her. "Just catching up," she 
 said. 
 
 Rose came over. "You're the wise girl," she approved, 
 and passed her own cool fingers up and up tke satiny firm 
 skin, nurse fashion. "You're doing nobly but you have to 
 breathe, now and then. We're all quite busy with the 
 questions they're all asking. Faith, I know those questions
 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 327 
 
 by heart. 'What is the size of Newcomb, can you tell me, 
 Miss O'Grady? ' 'When did I understand the new building 
 was begun?' 'Miss Fletcher seems to have accomplished 
 great things it is quite remarkable, isn't it?' But the little 
 one with the piercing eyes has it all over the rest for curiosity. 
 What she doesn't know about Mary Fletcher by now is what 
 Miss Alexandra and Rosie O'Grady haven't told her!" 
 
 Mary laughed. " How do you manage it ? And what does 
 she want to know?" 
 
 "Everything and then some. But she's clever. You 
 hardly know she's asking questions till you find yourself 
 biting your tongue to pinch back the answer. But the thing 
 she wants to know is if Miss Fletcher is engaged to marry 
 anybody." 
 
 "She hasn't asked that!" 
 
 "Oh, no she hasn't asked that. Of course not. She's 
 the lady entirely. But I've had a hard time not to tell her. 
 Ail roads lead the same way and no sign-post till you've 
 nearly taken them. She's a beguilin' way with her that 
 innocent. I could quite like her if I didn't heartily dislike 
 her!" 
 
 "Rosie I love you!" 
 
 "Do you, now? Then play up to her. Don't walk 
 away and leave her guessing the way you like to do. Load 
 your pistols, shake hands, walk back ten paces and fire!" 
 
 "You homicidal person! Suppose I don't care to?" 
 
 "Oh, well there's no need. You've everything in your 
 own hands and on your hands too. I just like to see a 
 bloody deed now and then, instead of such politeness. It's 
 more satisfyin'." 
 
 Rose was always refreshing, and when, a few minutes after- 
 ward, every smooth hair again in place, Mary slipped down to 
 rejoin her guests at luncheon, she felt almost as fit as in the 
 morning. A cup of her own deliciously strong and fragrant
 
 328 FOURSQUARE 
 
 coffee completed the revival, and after it she was ready for 
 the afternoon, with all its demands. 
 
 The pageant, a thousand participants, wound its pictur- 
 esque way along the campus, passed across the great stage 
 before the classic blue-and-purple draperies. In the seats a 
 thousand patrons watched and applauded. From the or- 
 chestra rose martial strains. A concert, with soloists from 
 abroad, and a fine male quartette from at home, occupied two 
 hours of the afternoon. The college glee-and-string club did 
 itself honour. President Wing made a welcoming speech. 
 Crowds filled the campus, standing; the steps and windows 
 of the surrounding buildings were thick with interested 
 people. But the event of the day was to come in the evening; 
 with all its varied interests the afternoon was only prelimi- 
 nary. 
 
 "Are you having a good time, Sandy? It's a shame I 
 haven't a minute to give you." 
 
 "A beautiful time, dear. Your Professor Chilton has been 
 with me all the afternoon a most stimulating companion." 
 
 Mary gave her friend an appraising glance. Both were 
 dressing for the evening. 
 
 "Sandy, remember the evening of the Fenns' dinner? 
 When you walked away with the Englishman and the Ameri- 
 can, and left me stranded with the Hottentot and the Zulu ? 
 You were wearing that dovelike gray crepe and I a crazy 
 concoction of brilliant colours. Before the evening was over 
 I came to feel like an Indian squaw beside a Caucasian lady of 
 quality." 
 
 Alexandra laughed. "Maty how often have I heard you 
 say that restraint is the first law of expression." 
 
 "So I've come to believe, in dress as well as in speech. 
 Well, behold then what I'm wearing to-night. I've taken 
 a leaf out of your book. And the odd thing is that I've never
 
 BLUE AND PURPLE 329 
 
 felt more brilliantly costumed than I did when I tried these 
 things all on." 
 
 Over her white shoulders slipped a frock of pale gray, 
 mistily thin and sheer, Parisian to the last line. From a big 
 bandbox she took a wide flat little hat of the same gray, whose 
 only decoration was a band of gray willow, ready to flutter to 
 a breath of wind. Smiling at Alexandra she set the hat upon 
 her head, held out both arms, model-wise, and turned slowly 
 about. 
 
 "It's quite perfect, dear. I never saw you lotfk so lovely. 
 To use the present-day phrase you're stunning! And with 
 all your splendid colour you don't need a touch of colour in 
 your frock." 
 
 Mary put an eager question. "Is it silly and frivolous of 
 me, at the very most thrilling hour of our whole campaign, 
 to be thinking so much of how I look? Much depends on me 
 to-night, you know. Somehow I wanted to appeal in looks, 
 if I could, to all those critical eyes. I suppose it's the old 
 story of the feminine reliance upon personal charm, and yet 
 one needn't be a frump just to prove one's sincerity and 
 reliability, need one ? " 
 
 "One certainly needn't. Why shouldn't you delight our 
 eyes as you've done all day? One who's accomplished what 
 you have, all summer, has surely proved both her sincerity 
 and her reliability." 
 
 "I hope so. I just didn't want to seem to you quite the 
 old Mary, always setting the stage for her own performance. 
 You know, Sandy," and now Mary's face grew sober with a 
 look new to Alexandra until this day, when she had observed 
 it many times the peculiar look of one who is absorbed in 
 something quite outside and beyond herself "I've been 
 living with some very wonderful people, these last six months. 
 Every one of them, each in his or her way, has done some- 
 thing to me. My doctor and my nurse began it Dr. Christo-
 
 33 o FOURSQUARE 
 
 pher Reade and Rose O*Grady are oh, so tremendously real 
 and splendid. One can't be with them and not learn to 
 despise all kinds of affectations and poses. It's like carrying 
 a painted face out into the sunshine to try to deceive or mis- 
 lead them it simply can't be done." 
 
 "Mary! I knew you'd grown, my dear but I didn't 
 know how much. This one thing you're saying would show 
 me, if I hadn't been watching you all day. And how about 
 the other people " 
 
 "Guy Carter his genius his insight yes, that boy has 
 remarkable insight into human nature he gets down to the 
 very springs of human action, young as he is. One can't de- 
 ceive him, either or want to. As for Mark Fenn," Mary 
 paused, closing her two hands into fists and then bringing 
 them up before her with the gesture which a speaker uses 
 when he wishes to denote force "he's been like a rock a 
 wall a tower " 
 
 She broke off, drawing a quick, deep breath, and smiling. 
 
 "I must go. There never was a day so full. Bless you for 
 seeing to so many people for me I don't know what I'd have 
 done without you. Oh, if the evening only goes as I want it 
 to I'll be gloriously happy! If it does I think I'll almost be 
 content never to write another word." 
 
 Alexandra smiled. "Mary! What a statement!" 
 
 Mary turned at the door, looking back at her friend. 
 
 "Which, being interpreted," she said, her face lifted, her 
 eyes starry, "means that I'll want to write a hundred thou- 
 sand words and make them bigger, truer, surer than anything 
 I've ever dreamed of. * Else wherefore born?" 1
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 
 
 HE violins ! There seemed a hundred 
 of them crying softly in the night, as 
 the curtains rose on those deep blues 
 and purples of the long draperies, 
 darkened to all but obscurity. The 
 thousand lights upon the campus and 
 about the amphitheatre had faded, 
 one by one, till all were gone. Little 
 by little the scene upon the great 
 stage had become dimly visible a 
 marvellous effect of darkness and 
 mystery. Throughout the opening 
 overture nothing changed or moved 
 the story was told by the music 
 alone. 
 
 In the wings Guy Carter, leaning 
 toward the front, beat the measures 
 with an invisible baton. If he could 
 have been his own conductor he would 
 have been more content. As it was, 
 a hundred rehearsals couldn't have 
 satisfied him. The orchestra Mary 
 had procured for him was one of high 
 quality, the conductor a man of ex- 
 perience. But Guy was ablaze with 
 excitement and anxiety; from the 
 first moment, if a tempo lagged or
 
 332 FOURSQUARE 
 
 quickened with the variation of a half-beat from his intent, 
 he was ready to tear his fair hair and cry out a command. If 
 after that first subdued singing murmur of the violins their 
 volume increased too fast, he was wild with distress. Rose 
 CXGrady standing behind him, laid a steadying hand upon 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "It's opening well, sonny it's wonderful and beautiful," 
 she whispered, at one crisis. "It's just overkeyed you are . 
 let down ! You've got a lot before you." 
 
 "I can't!" 
 
 Mary Fletcher was also listening from the wings. She 
 could see the audience a dim gray sea, the faces indis- 
 tinguishable. She knew where her guests sat seven rows 
 from the front and in the middle. She had seen Mark take 
 his place, alone in the last seat at the extreme edge of the fifth 
 row. Her heart was beating hard. 
 
 Mark had had no preconceived idea as to what he was to 
 see and hear. On his brief returns to Newcomb, throughout 
 the long summer of travel and speeches and personal inter- 
 views, he had now and again inquired of Mary what it was all 
 to be about, but he had received no definite information. He 
 hadn't been invited to any rehearsals, nor had he been con- 
 sulted in any way. In the beginning Mary had put a ques- 
 tion: 
 
 "Can you trust us to do the right thing, Mark? Are you 
 willing to leave it all in our hands?" 
 
 "To the last detail," he had answered. And he had di- 
 vined, at length, that she preferred not to have him know even 
 the general plan of it. So be it for he did trust her. Now, 
 however, as he had watched the great audience assemble, and 
 had taken his own place, he was conscious of a sense not only 
 of anticipation but of anxiety. After all, it was his ground, 
 his college, his partially completed building, transformed into 
 this impressive stage and background. Among the audience
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 333 
 
 were many whose critical intelligence was trained and keen; 
 he noted here and there men and women whose opinion was 
 important; in a word, as he waited it began to seem to him 
 that Newcomb's whole future was in the balance, that it was 
 to be judged by the quality of this performance. And it was 
 all in the hands of Mary Fletcher and Guy Carter, unques- 
 tionably two clever young people who might or might not 
 have had the vision needed for this hour of judgment for 
 that was what it now seemed to him. With all his honest 
 confidence in Mary, had he been quite safe in trusting her 
 wren so heavy a responsibility ? Wouldn't he have been wiser, 
 perhaps, to have exercised his undoubted right of censorship ? 
 
 He thought of her as he had last seen her he had caught 
 a glimpse of her in the attractive gray apparel of the evening 
 as she came out of her house with her guests. She had looked 
 so young and for the moment so little like one upon whose 
 shoulders rested the burden of the coming test of power: 
 was she really equal to it? With all her gifts and he re- 
 called with a stirring of the hart her talk to the boys at 
 Stevenson; remembered the fine tone of the letters and 
 articles she had sent out during the whole campaign still, 
 with all these to witness her ability, could she possibly have 
 conceived and executed the dramatic offering worthy those 
 tall, wreathed pillars, those impressive blue-and-purple drap- 
 eries, this whole atmosphere of poetic beauty and challenge 
 to high imagination? 
 
 He was indignant at himself for even the shadow of a 
 doubt of her. Yet when he remembered her collaborator a 
 mere boy, whose only previous test had been that of a success- 
 ful war-time musical comedy, expert and excellent work 
 though it had been could Mary really have been able to 
 make him rise high enough for this supreme effort? As the 
 curtain slowly rose and the lights darkened, Mark had to 
 fold his arms tightly across his breast and let his hands grip
 
 334 FOURSQUARE 
 
 the muscles of those arms, to keep down his rising fear that 
 somehow, somewhere, so crucial a submitting to the verdict 
 of the educated public might fall short. He well knew that 
 it might as well fall short by a wide space as a narrow one; 
 there could be no real approval of anything that was not fully 
 fit. 
 
 The opening overture was unquestionably reassuring. 
 In the soft gloom, only a faint light showing a stage which 
 recalled the best of Grecian art, the music of the orchestra 
 fulfilled and satisfied that first demand for harmony and 
 prophetic suggestion which prepares an audience for that 
 which is to come. Mark felt his pulses quiet a little under 
 the inducement of what seemed to him a dignified and worthy 
 inaugural. He thought he recognized in it the influence of 
 Mary's effort to inoculate Guy's methods with the germ of the 
 best in musical accomplishment. Certainly there was no 
 trace of commonplaceness in this opening, to which the audi- 
 ence was listening in that complete hush which speaks of 
 interest already captured. There is no audience so courteous 
 that it can wholly simulate this attitude. 
 
 But now the play opened. 
 
 As he began to recognize the theme of it Mark also began 
 to be astonished. How had she chosen such a theme as 
 this? And yet how not? considering the blood which 
 flowed in her veins. Had ever such a central figure been 
 made the subject of a drama? It was the figure of him who 
 throughout the years has played one of the most significant 
 roles in life, yet perhaps of all the least appreciated. The 
 teacher! 
 
 In the opening act the first scene showed the child the 
 second the youth the third the young collegian. In each 
 scene his teacher was beside him, showing him the way. And 
 in each scene his teacher was also his friend his under- 
 standing, inspiring friend. This was the whole first act.
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 335 
 
 The actors in it were few and well chosen simplicity in word 
 and action was its keynote the attendant music having the 
 same character in motif and development. Here and there 
 touches of humour in the bright dialogue kept the audience 
 smiling, yet when the curtain fell it was to leave an impres- 
 sion of quiet power the power of one life upon another from 
 the very first days of education. 
 
 The second act was of a different complexion. Life, its 
 storm and struggle, was at hand the whole aspect of things 
 had altered; no longer was the teacher at his pupil's side. 
 But his teaching remained his influence persisted. And 
 another teacher had arisen human friendship the friend- 
 ship of one who had himself been taught. As the act mounted 
 to its climax it grew more and more noble in its conception, 
 and with its closing scene a song came ringing through the 
 still air which seemed to Mark to fall at his very feet. 
 
 Months earlier he had given to Mary Fletcher a book 
 known and beloved of many who had found in it much 
 beauty and wisdom, written almost a quarter of a century 
 before by one in his youth, yet who had even then shown the 
 marks of that genius which afterward made him one of the 
 first of the preachers and teachers of the world. Mark had 
 underlined certain words which to him had taken on a per- 
 sonal meaning. Mary had thanked him for his gift, but had 
 never afterward alluded to it. Fearing that the message of 
 that marked paragraph had been one with which she could 
 not sympathize, he also had been silent. And now here 
 was this song! What could it be but the answer to that 
 message? 
 
 This was the paragraph he had marked: 
 
 But whatever be the method by which a true friendship is formed, 
 whether the growth of time or the birth of sudden sympathy, there 
 seems, on looking back, to have been an element of necessity. It 
 is a sort of predestined spiritual relationship. We speak of a man
 
 336 FOURSQUARE 
 
 meeting his fate, and we speak truly. When we look back we see it 
 to have been like destiny; life converged to life, and there was no 
 getting out of it, even if we wished it. It was not that we made a 
 choice, but that the choice made us. If it has come gradually, we 
 waken to the force which has been in our lives, and has come into 
 them never hasting but never resting, till now we know it to be an 
 eternal possession. Or, as we are going about other business, never 
 dreaming of the thing which occurs, the unexpected happens: on the 
 road a light shines on us, and life is never the same again. 
 
 And this was the song which, in a clear, bell-like con- 
 tralto, every syllable so distinct that he could not miss a word, 
 came across the space to Mark Fenn and dropped like a divine 
 gift of gratitude and love into his heart. For such he knew 
 and knew not how he knew it was. Somehow it wasn't 
 possible to doubt that no matter who sang it, or who wrote 
 the fitting music for it, it came straight from Mary Fletcher 
 to Mark Fenn. It was for this moment that she had kept 
 it all a secret from him blessed secret that was between 
 them, though proclaimed in a thousand ears! 
 
 A heavenly mystery has come to me, 
 Where once my eyes were held they now can see. 
 I do not know, indeed, just how it came, 
 Or how to speak of it, or guess its name. 
 It did not creep upon me unawares, 
 Or come in answer to beseeching prayers; 
 But as I walked along life's rugged road, 
 My shoulders bent beneath a heavy load, 
 The song upon my weary lips grown still, 
 My only hope to keep a steadfast will 
 What sudden shone upon my blinded sight? 
 I only know "Upon the Road a Light!" 
 
 And now life never can be quite the same. 
 A purpose new is mine, a higher aim. 
 My heart is freer far, my pulse more strong; 
 The way is easier, and not half so long.
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 337 
 
 The song is sweet upon my lips again, 
 
 I sing and sing a blessed new refrain. 
 
 The road may wind and climb I upward leap, 
 
 No path too stony, and no height too steep. 
 
 My friend keeps pace with me; I hear his voice; 
 
 I feel his faith; he makes my soul rejoice. 
 
 All things are changed since shines this vision bright, 
 Undimmed, unchanging "On the Road a Light!" 
 
 With the ending of the song and the fall of the curtain Mark 
 left his place; he couldn't sit there and exchange comments 
 with those nearest him. As he went he heard the warm 
 applause, continued to the furthermost limit of friendly cus- 
 tom with its recall of actors and musicians. He caught the 
 looks on faces, recognized that people were saying kind, de- 
 lighted words on every hand; heard one man on the outskirts 
 whom he knew to be a critic of considerable distinction ob- 
 serve in a tone of characteristically grudging admission, "For 
 this sort of thing it's rather remarkably well done, you know." 
 Mark understood that from him even such modified com- 
 mendation was worth considerably more than any ordinary 
 ecstatic praise. 
 
 He made his way round to the "stage entrance" in this 
 case an unfinished doorway at the back of the building 
 reached by a wide plank. Following one clue after another 
 he at length found Mary. He put a low-voiced question. 
 
 "Would it be possible for you to come around and see the 
 last act from the front, somewhere, with me?" 
 
 Her eyes met his, in the dim light of the "wings." 
 "I'm afraid I can't be spared. I'm truly sorry." 
 "Then may I stay here with you?" 
 "You'll miss our most glorified effect, if you do." 
 "I don't mind. I can see a good deal from here, I'm sure. 
 And hear it all. Mary please let me stay. And when you 
 can, come here with me?"
 
 338 FOURSQUARE 
 
 She nodded. "If you really prefer." Then she was off, at 
 the appeal of an anxious young actor. 
 
 He saw what she was doing. She was holding them all 
 together, these amateurs who were trying their best to put 
 into hers and Guy Carter's work the thing asked of them an 
 all but professional interpreting of the spirit of the whole. 
 Perry Gilfillan was behind the scenes, he who had studied and 
 worked for many years at just this sort of presentation, so 
 that he had made a name for himself and his presence was 
 invaluable. Yet it was Mary to whom all looked for that 
 last word before they made an entrance, for her criticism 
 or her approbation; it was she who kept things tight and yet 
 not on over tension. She, more than Gilfillan himself, was 
 responsible for the fine restraint noticeable throughout all 
 speech and action the very mark of quality, even in the 
 portrayal of passion. Not a turn of head, not a lift of arm, 
 but she had worked it out for herself, according to what 
 Gilfillan himself had admitted to be a rather marvellous 
 dramatic instinct. 
 
 He came upon Mark in the wings, just before the final 
 curtain rose, and poured out upon him the enthusiasm roused 
 in him by Mary's coaching and by her efficiency behind the 
 scenes, as well as by the performance itself. Mark wasn't 
 eager to talk to anybody, but he found himself listening 
 willingly to the expert's judgment. 
 
 "She's simply the whole thing," Gilfillan said, with a nod 
 of his bushy head toward a stage entrance where Mary stood 
 with her hand upon the shoulder of a slim young figure in the 
 costume of a page. "On my word, while Carter's supposed 
 to be the composer of the musical setting for her text, I'm 
 inclined to think it's a case of pure evocation. She's worked 
 through his brain she's made him capable of something be- 
 yond and above him. The boy worships her, of course who 
 wouldn't? All of us are at her feet. To tell the truth, I
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 339 
 
 never was much impressed by her popularity as a writer; 
 her stuff usually struck me as the sparkling, glittering, no- 
 count sort not worth a man's serious consideration. It didn't 
 interest me. But I tell you this is a different brand it's the 
 real thing. Faulty, of course, here and there but the 
 conception is, to me, very fine indeed, and worthy of a 
 mature mind. You can't say she hasn't done a big thing for 
 the cause of education in this presentation of the teacher as a 
 figure of heroic size. And he deserves it he deserves it. 
 But it's taken this brilliant young woman, with the person- 
 ality to attract the best of any class and the genius to exploit 
 it, to throw herself heart and soul into the glorification of the 
 humble teacher like yourself and myself. See here you 
 must be appreciating this thing. I'm not at all sure you 
 didn't inspire it!" 
 
 Mark shook his head. "It comes of a life-long association 
 with the teaching world. You knew her father?" 
 
 "I didn't but his name is one of the high lights in the 
 history of the great private schools, of course. The curtain's 
 going up. You should be in front, Fenn. Don't miss this." 
 
 Gilfillan hastened away. Mark found himself a corner 
 just behind the prompter where he could see as much of the 
 stage as might be covered from the wings. He looked and 
 listened with considerable abstraction to the short last act. 
 His mind and heart were occupied with just one thing On. 
 the Road a Light! 
 
 Mary came to him once and remained a possible five 
 minutes. Together they watched a most appealing scene 
 upon the stage representing the reunion of a group of mature 
 men and women with a former beloved teacher, himself a 
 bowed but still vigorous old man. The dialogue was at once 
 humorous and tender, and so convincingly human that it 
 brought a choke into the throat in the very midst of the 
 laughter. The music which accompanied the scene was that
 
 34 o FOURSQUARE 
 
 of which Mary was surest, and into which she had led Guy to 
 put his best work. 
 
 As the act drew to a close Mary whispered: "I'm going 
 with you in just a minute to the back of the audience. I 
 want you to see the final effect from there." She slipped 
 away, but returned, and Mark followed her as she led the way 
 out and around the edges of the audience to a position where, 
 standing, they could see plainly over the heads of everyone. 
 The curtain had fallen, but it now rose again. 
 
 A large group of people in the costumes of Orientals sat and 
 stood about a central figure, one familiar to all students of 
 religious art. A veil had been dropped between audience 
 and stage, so that no face was distinct, but the effect was that 
 of a great painting, dimmed with age, the colourings softly 
 blending. As the audience gazed in silence a light slowly 
 began to show, seeming to emanate from that central figure, 
 which towered above the rest, in the attitude of Him who 
 who speaks with authority and yet with gentleness. The 
 picture grew in loveliness and meaning as the central light 
 increased, and the rest of the scene grew slowly dim. No 
 eyes, however prejudiced, could deny the beauty of the 
 spiritual suggestion, nor its power. No words were needed 
 to name that scene. "The Great Teacher" it set forth, 
 no other. 
 
 If Mark had been touched and roused before, he was now 
 so deeply moved that speech would have been at the moment 
 beyond him. What a thing it was to have done this was his 
 overwhelming thought what a chance to have seen and 
 seized! To carry the theme of the play, with all its human 
 appeal, on to the Divine to have dared to try to lift it even 
 * to the Heaven's heights far and steep ' this had been a 
 conception approaching the sublime. To begin with simplic- 
 ity and laughter; to catch all hearts with a hundred human 
 touches even while the theme grew graver; then, at last, to
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 341 
 
 bring to it even the light which shines from another world 
 this was art at its best. Indeed, it seemed to Mark more 
 than art; it was inspiration itself the fire of an imagination 
 so near to genius that one must look upon it with reverence. 
 
 Now, as the vision held, a chorus began, singing in the dis- 
 tance, gradually swelling, like some great processional. It 
 was the whole student body, marching two by two, clad in 
 white cassocks and cottas, like a choir. The lines wound out 
 upon the stage, gradually hiding from view the scene behind 
 them, and the music of the song was Mark recognized it 
 with a thrill of remembrance that of the Beethoven Choral 
 from the Ninth Symphony, the Hymn to Joy. 
 
 The curtain fell. The applause broke out, and swelled to 
 an acclaim which would not be denied. The call for the 
 author and composer of the play arose, and Mark hurried 
 back with Mary, no word spoken between them. Then Mary 
 and Guy came out before the curtain, a pair whose appear- 
 ance made the tumult break out again. Guy upon his 
 crutches and in his uniform Mary had insisted upon this, de- 
 claring that the one would explain the other, without need 
 of words Mary herself a figure of shining appeal, stood and 
 waited for a long minute. Guy's head was bent, Mary's 
 smiling face turned toward him, as if she would have the 
 honours go all to him, who had so little else to make him 
 happy. Then Mary spoke. 
 
 "We want you to know," she said and the thrilling caden- 
 ces of her voice carried to the last row of the audience, though 
 she seemed not to be lifting it unduly "that we are very, very 
 proud and content, not so much to have pleased you though 
 that makes us happy indeed as because we feel that our 
 theme has been one with which it has been not only a joy but 
 a mighty privilege to work. In our hearts, as we tried to 
 build the tale, was the inspiration of a memory beloved in the 
 history of Newcomb that of a man who gave all that he was
 
 342 FOURSQUARE 
 
 and had to her upbuilding. If, in our small way, we may 
 have brought one more leaf to add to the laurels which rest 
 richly upon the mention of his name, we have accomplished 
 our purpose. And if you, who have listened with such gener- 
 ous approval, would join us in our effort to pay to the mem- 
 ory of David Matthew Fenn something of the great debt we 
 
 owe him here at Newcomb, won't you " 
 
 And she lifted both arms with a gesture at once command- 
 ing and beseeching. The audience rose to its feet with that 
 instant unanimity of response which gives its full consent. 
 The moment was one of real emotion, long to be remembered. 
 
 The affair broke up, people crowded upon the stage to 
 speak with sons and daughters. Rose and Alexandra piloted 
 Mary's special guests back to the house, the party supple- 
 mented by the members of the faculty and their wives. 
 Torch-lights and lanterns here and there about the garden 
 made an effective scene of it. There was soft music some- 
 where on the grounds. 
 
 As hostess, every moment of Mary's was taken care of. 
 She turned from one to another who claimed her attention, 
 and had no time to spare for the one person who was in all her 
 thoughts. But she observed that he was never far away, and 
 every now and then she caught his look across the space be- 
 tween them a look which said: "Something has hap- 
 pened!" Her heart beat high. She had a strange sense of 
 an invisible bond tying her to this man. She divined that he 
 must be feeling it as she did. She had made her confession 
 and her vows of friendship to him in that song, wittingly and 
 willingly. She hadn't known till she had heard it go to him 
 from the singer's lips how full a confession or how great a vow 
 it was. Not until she had seen his face, as he came to her be- 
 hind the scenes, had she fully understood that to him it had 
 meant everything. If she had admitted that to her his
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 343 
 
 friendship was all that the song declared, then there could be 
 but one conclusion. Friendship of that degree, with no bar- 
 rier to prevent, must as inevitably become love as the tide 
 rolling up the beach must reach its high-water mark. Though 
 hardly a word passed between the two it was a great and 
 memorable hour. 
 
 Soon after the return to the house John Kirkwood managed 
 somehow to bring about a brief interview with Mary. More 
 than once during the day he had tried his best to see her alone, 
 but her guests were too many, the demands upon her time too 
 frequent. Now, however, he deliberately led her away from 
 the house down across the lawn toward the garden. 
 
 "You must give me ten minutes," he had whispered. 
 "You owe me that much." 
 
 "Of course. I'm so sorry " 
 
 "No, you're not. You haven't wanted to see me alone. I 
 understand that. ... At least you don't mind my tell- 
 ing you what you already know: you've done a big thing 
 to-night." 
 
 "I didn't do it alone." 
 
 He gave her a comprehending glance. "I know you 
 didn't," he said, with a bitterness of inflection he couldn't 
 keep out of his tone, and he smothered a hard breath. "So 
 your life is dedicated to Newcomb College. May I offer my 
 felicitations?" 
 
 Mary looked at him quickly, saw the pain in his eyes, and 
 was gentler with him than at the first sound of his words she 
 had had a mind to be. 
 
 "I can't just understand how you came to say that. 
 Surely you haven't had any evidence of my dedica- 
 tion?" 
 
 "I wish I hadn't. But it's written all over you for my 
 eyes, at least. You must remember that I've had unusual 
 advantages for acquiring the ability to read you. Just
 
 344 FOURSQUARE 
 
 now you're a peculiarly open book, my dear to me, at 
 least!" 
 
 Mary was flushing; she turned her head away in silence. 
 What use to deny the truth? She understood the disap- 
 pointment behind his words and forgave him. 
 
 "I suppose I'm rather brutal. But I imagine you read me 
 quite as clearly as I read you, so you can't hold it against me. 
 I came here to see if there remained a ghost of a chance for me 
 I found there wasn't. If I take it hard you needn't blame 
 yourself you've been perfectly fair. But that hasn't pre- 
 vented your drawing me. It's all happened since I saw you 
 up here last June. Before that you were just a talented 
 and very charming girl to whom I was devoted. Since 
 then you've become do you care to hear it? the woman 
 I want. That I know I can't have you doesn't help it any 
 naturally." 
 
 She looked at him now, clear-eyed. "John Kirkwood," 
 she said, " I'm not the woman you want. It's a very different 
 sort of woman you want." 
 
 He spoke quickly with a frown. "Don't tell me what 
 you're going to. I haven't the least inclination nor 
 thought ' 
 
 She was silent, checked not in what she had been about 
 to say, which was not what he had surmised but in the 
 effort to put what had seemed must appeal to him. After a 
 moment he spoke again. 
 
 "I shall go on now as I was. Back in the office, in the 
 old grind, with the old methods. I ought to be content, 
 since I have everything my own way. Have it that is 
 in everything except this one thing that matters most." 
 
 "You don't want it most." 
 
 "Why should you say that?" 
 
 "Because I know. We shouldn't fit, you and I." 
 
 "We did fit wonderfully, once."
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 345 
 
 She shook her head. "Not in the ways that count most. 
 We should fit less, now." 
 
 "You mean you've gone ahead of me?" he suggested, 
 raspingly. "For of course you have. I admit it." 
 
 "I didn't mean that you know I didn't. And I think you 
 know what I do mean. Please say so honestly, John Kirk- 
 wood." 
 
 She looked straight into his eyes, and his own dropped 
 before them. He raised them again, after a moment. "Yes, 
 I know," he admitted. "You've adopted a set of ideals I 
 consider puritanic. But that doesn't mean we couldn't find 
 common ground. However I'm too late. I wish you 
 well of your college professor. By and by, perhaps, when 
 you've had time to get tired of your sober little town, you'll 
 come down to our big one and we'll show you around. 
 Some things may shock you " 
 
 He turned away, with an attempt at a laugh, but she saw 
 that he was really very unhappy and so again quite forgave 
 him. She did this the more readily as a slim little figure 
 ip a coral crepe frock and a striking feathery wrap came 
 toward them. She had caught a sudden glimpse of his face 
 as he saw Sibley Langley approaching across the lantern- 
 lighted turf. 
 
 "I'm sorry to interrupt. But Miss Fenn's looking every- 
 where for you, Miss Fletcher, and I promised to try to find 
 you. It's something urgent, I believe." 
 
 "I'll go at once thank you." 
 
 "We'll go back with you." Miss Langley laid her hand on 
 Kirkwood's arm. "Come, John don't glower so. We'll 
 come back again and try that lovely path through the gar- 
 den." 
 
 "Just a minute, Mary " Kirkwood all but shook off 
 
 the detaining small hand; it couldn't quite be done. He took 
 a stride toward Mary, who was poised for flight. "I want
 
 346 FOURSQUARE 
 
 to tell you," he said distinctly, "that the thing you did to 
 night was by far the best of its kind I've ever seen done 
 Your parables and your mysticism got even me for the hour. 
 I can't follow you but I shall never forget." 
 
 "Oh, it was beautiful!" cried Sibley Langley. "We're so 
 glad we came, aren't we, John?" . 
 
 Then Mary made her escape. She was very sorry for him, 
 but she knew that though he might not forget, neither might 
 he long remember. His was another world, where remember- 
 ing such exalted hours isn't much done. 
 
 She found Harriet in the house, looking everywhere. At 
 the sight of her Harriet's relief expressed itself in an excited 
 whisper. 
 
 "Oh, I was so afraid I wouldn't find you in time. Mark 
 has to go away again in a hurry. He wants to see you. Run 
 over to our house with me, will you?" 
 
 "Go away again!" 
 
 Startled, Mary excused herself to the people who would 
 have claimed her. On the way across the lawn Harriet 
 made a hurried explanation. 
 
 "There's a man here a very influential man a Mr. 
 Lloyd who's become so interested in Newcomb he's made a 
 plan to acquire a big sum of money for us perhaps even an 
 endowment. He knows an old, very wealthy philanthropist 
 who's almost at the point of death. He's looking for places 
 to leave his riches. Mr. Lloyd has offered to take Mark to 
 him and introduce him he's sure Mark can put the case 
 better than he or anybody can. Mr. Lloyd's leaving in half 
 an hour and Mark's agreed to go with him. We've been 
 rushing around getting ready. Mark's been having a con- 
 ference with the trustees they're still here. But he told 
 me he must see you for just a minute." 
 
 They were at the porch. Through the open study windows 
 the heads of gray-haired men could be seen; their voices talk-
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 347 
 
 ing earnestly were audible. Harriet led Mary past the study 
 door and into the small parlour opposite, where an old-fash- 
 ioned prism-hung lamp burned with a goldenly mellow glow. 
 A moment later Harriet had gone, a door had opened and 
 closed and Mark came in. 
 
 He was tense with an excitement unlike anything she had 
 ever seen in him before; it showed through his evident effort 
 at repression. 
 
 "Mary, this is the biggest chance Newcomb's ever had. 
 All this last hour I've wanted to call you over to take a part 
 in our plans, but somehow felt I'd better not. You know 
 our trustees grateful as they are to you they'll want the 
 honour of putting this thing over by themselves. You under- 
 stand " 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "I'd rather be hung, drawn and quartered than go off" again 
 to-night to-night of all times in the world. Yet as Lloyd 
 puts it I see no other way. Harriet told you? Anything 
 might happen to cut off a life that hangs by a thread " 
 
 "I understand." 
 
 "Of course you do." Mark relaxed a little, with a breath 
 of relief. He stood looking down into her uplifted face for an 
 instant, as if with the need for explanation so entirely out of 
 the way, he must think how to say the little else he had time 
 for. Mary waited without speaking, knowing somehow that 
 he wished her to wait. 
 
 "I have to leave everything I wanted to say to you about 
 this wonderful thing you've done. It can't be said in a hurry 
 I'd rather leave it than try to say one word of it. Only 
 this you must know how it all went to my heart, Mary. 
 Never in my life. . . . And your tribute to my father. 
 . . ." He threw back his head, with a shaken breath. 
 "No, I won't try to say even that it must wait. There's 
 just one thing I want to leave with you "
 
 34 8 FOURSQUARE 
 
 He turned to the high chimneypiece behind him, and took 
 down a small package which had been lying there. He put 
 it into Mary's hand. 
 
 "This just came home to-day. It's nothing very much 
 only a bit of work of mine but J wanted you to have the 
 first copy. I meant to show it to you myself, but there's no 
 time. At least I can leave it with you. I wanted to surprise 
 you or I'd have told you about it long ago." 
 
 "Why, Mark!" Through the wrapping her fingers could 
 feel a small book. 
 
 " It's nothing at all hardly worthy of print. Yet I needed 
 it for a purpose something for my graduating classes to take 
 with them into the world. . . . Mary, I must go." 
 
 Even as he spoke the study door opened, a confusion of 
 voices sounded across the small hall. Somebody said loudly: 
 "Where's Fenn? We must be off in five minutes." 
 
 Mark was speaking hurriedly again. "I may be back in a 
 day or two it may be a week or ten days. Meanwhile I 
 want to say this to you " 
 
 Harriet put her head in at the door. "Mark I'm awfully 
 sorry to interrupt " 
 
 "Yes I'll be there. . . . Mary" his voice dropped 
 to a whisper "the light on the road will go with me all the 
 way!" 
 
 He grasped her hand, looked closely once more into her 
 face a look which Mary with a sudden letting go of her 
 reserves gave back with full intent to give and take all 
 that there was in this supreme moment such a moment as 
 might never quite come again. The disappointment that he 
 must go away, just in this hour, was so great that it had shown 
 her, as nothing else had yet done, what it all meant and how 
 much she had to give. 
 
 Not until she was alone for the night did Mary open the 
 small package Mark had given her. She found it to contain '
 
 THE LIGHT ON THE ROAD 349 
 
 a st!m book bound plainly in brown cloth. Upon its back in 
 black lettering was the unpretentious title: 
 
 FOURSQUARE 
 
 TALKS TO MY CLASSES, 
 
 BY 
 MARK MATTHEW FENN. 
 
 Upon the fly-leaf was the inscription: To Mary Rand 
 Fletcher, from her friend, M. M. Fenn. The date followed. 
 
 The whole thing was as simply done as that. It was like 
 Mark, thought Mary, to make as little as possible of his own 
 performance; not even to adorn his inscription to herself with 
 a single flourish of presentation. She smiled down at the 
 little book, realizing that she liked the look of it for its very 
 simplicity. Then she sat down to glance at its contents. It 
 was very late nearly one o'clock, when she began to read the 
 first chapter. At three she had finished the book. 
 
 Now she knew him! She hadn't known him before, she 
 had only guessed at him, or so it seemed to her. But now he 
 Stood before her precisely as he was. "Foursquare" that 
 was Mark's very self. Did he himself realize what he had put 
 into the little book? 
 
 The six "Talks" were six expositions of his own views of 
 the responsibilities entailed upon those who have had the 
 chance to study and the time to think the necessity laid 
 upon them to make their- lives of value. Somehow into a 
 hundred small pages he had packed stores of straightforward, 
 logical, man-to-man address to the judgment, coupled with a 
 fine persuasiveness so cogent that it could hardly fail to ap- 
 peal to the will of those who read. The language was clear, 
 vigorous Anglo-Saxon without the slightest attempt to gar- 
 nish it with scholarly words and phrases. On the face of it, it 
 would have been as intelligible to a workman with a common- 
 school education as to a college graduate. Yet beneath its
 
 3S o FOURSQUARE 
 
 surface lay a depth of rich meaning which the trained mind 
 would be sure to recognize and appreciate the touch of the 
 student of life upon other students, confident of understand- 
 ing. Altogether the little book was one of those virile, con- 
 vincing expressions of personal belief which often have a far 
 greater part in making concrete and workable the opinions 
 and creeds of other minds and lives than many bulkier, more 
 ambitious efforts. In a word, Mark Fenn was putting into 
 the hands of his outgoing classes a bright lamp whose clear 
 flame was of that very "light upon the road" so needed in a 
 world where darkness is often rendered only the more con- 
 fused and impenetrable by the smokily flaming torches of 
 those who ostensibly seek to make visible the way. 
 
 Still holding the little book Mary went to a bookshelf and 
 took down another thin volume of a very different outward 
 character bound in costly blue leather "The Letters of 
 Arthur Rand Fletcher, Headmaster, to an ex-Schoolboy." 
 Different in external dress, to be sure but how like how like 
 in contents! Each the declaration, the manifestation, of a 
 life fearless and forceful, bent upon touching other lives with 
 the touch which invigorates and sustains, helps not hinders 
 the all-powerful human touch of the brother and the man. 
 
 Mary laid the two books together, cover by cover, plain 
 brown cloth by rich blue levant, and looked at them as one 
 regards the greatest treasures one possesses. It seemed to her 
 that the minds and hearts of the two men they represented 
 were beating sturdily in unison and that the echo of that 
 heart-beat throbbed in her own happy breast.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 A LITTLE BROWN BOOK 
 
 ND may you be interrupted?" 
 
 Rose stood in the doorway of the 
 square room at the back of the house, 
 its windows opening on the rear porch, 
 in which Mary Fletcher had assembled 
 all the books she possessed, a goodly 
 showing. They had been reinforced 
 by many hundreds from her father's 
 collection the shelves reaching to the 
 ceiling making an interesting back- 
 ground for the workshop which the 
 room had now become. 
 
 Mary did not look up from the type- 
 writer before which she sat. She 
 waved a protesting hand at the in- 
 truder and finished her paragraph. 
 Conscious, however, that Rose had 
 not retired but still stood waiting, 
 she wheeled about in her chair. 
 
 "Rosie O'Grady," sh said, "with 
 all your astuteness, haven't you rec- 
 ognized the fact that nobody can turn 
 the door-knob of the writer when he's 
 in a frenzy of work without interrupt- 
 ing him? Much less stand looking 
 on ! Don't you know you may put to 
 flight some perfect phrase that never
 
 352 FOURSQUARE 
 
 can be recaptured ? Now go away, like a good, kind creature, 
 and don't come back. I'm working! Let it be understood 
 now and forever. I'm willing to be human and decent at 
 other times but when the mood possesses me at last I'm 
 not accessible to anybody, and that's all there is about it. 
 And I'm sorry I sound brutal, but only so can things be done." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Mary Fletcher, and well I understand it. 
 But you have to be human right now, and that's all there is 
 ftbout that. The biggest thing you can ever do at that 
 clacking little machine can't be compared with the thing 
 that's for you to do this minute." 
 
 Mary stared at her. There was no mistaking Rose's tone 
 it was one not to be denied. Mary ran slim, warm fingers 
 through her hair, pushing it back from her eyes, which had 
 been glowing with absorption in her work. 
 
 "Tell me quickly, then," she commanded. 
 
 "Mr. Perry Gilfillan's wired Guy that he's to go abroad 
 with him and study. He's to leave town this day noon. He- 
 can't go without saying good-bye to you. He's here in the 
 drawing-room, crazy with joy and grief. Now do you 
 know what's before you? You can put down your made-up 
 people and go lay a kind hand on the shoulder that aches for 
 the touch of you." 
 
 Mary sprang up. "Oh, Rose! Of course I will. How 
 wonderful how splendid!" 
 
 "It is that. But of course you know what you've done 
 to the lad. So you've to help him through a hard hour. And 
 don't be in too much of a hurry to get back to your white 
 paper. It's not the equal of a human heart to write on!" 
 
 Mary laid a hand on Rose's arm. Her face had changed. 
 "Do you really think I need to be told that, you dear, wise 
 person?" 
 
 "Not when you're once down out of the clouds. I just 
 want to be sure you're down," said Rose O'Grady, her
 
 A LITTLE BROWN BOOK 353 
 
 severity relaxing. " Poor boy, knowing you's been the making 
 of him, and he understands and is brave as the soldier he is 
 But saying good-bye to you that's not just easy." 
 
 "I'll make it easy!" And Mary went out of the room as 
 one who summons all her powers to a certain end. 
 
 An hour afterward she had returned from the station, where 
 she had taken Guy with Rose in a hurriedly summoned 
 motor. Gone for the time was the eager fitness for work, but 
 she couldn't mind. There had been a half-hour alone with 
 Guy when she had given him every particle of herself as a 
 friend she could venture to give, forever enriching for him the 
 memory of one he could only worship from afar. He had 
 gone away with a touch of her lips upon his fair brow, and had 
 left upon her hand the fervidly reverent imprint of his own. 
 He had told her that everything was right with him, and that 
 be would study and work till he made her proud of him. 
 
 ''I'm proud of you now, Guy Carter," she had said. "And 
 I want to tell you something. This last year I went through 
 A long, dark time of discouragement, when I thought I could 
 never work again. It's all past now, but it was just as I was 
 beginning to recover that you came along. And you, Guy, 
 helped me to get on my feet again." 
 
 He couldn't believe her, and said so, his worshipping eyes 
 on her face. 
 
 "Oh, but you did! It was the sight of you, so crazy to 
 make the most of yourself and your time that you went to 
 work with one hand one hand and a hurt, tired body unfit 
 for work. But with a perfectly unbeaten spirit, Guy a 
 wonderful, beautiful spirit, of never giving in to hard luck. 
 And working with you I caught it ! Can you guess that if 
 you had had a thousand gifts in your power, you couldn't 
 have given me a greater one?" 
 
 The joy of that assurance had been almost more than he 
 cou'd bear. But it did for him what she had meant it should
 
 354 FOURSQUARE 
 
 sent him away on that winged exaltation of the soul which 
 is the most powerful aid there can be to keeping a heart brave 
 through a parting which is harder than anything it has ever 
 known. He would prove to her he would prove to her 
 that he was a man; and he did. The last look she had of him 
 showed her the same smiling face with which he had once 
 gone away from a humble home to the Great War, and when 
 he waved his crutch in farewell it was she who was nearer to 
 tears than he, so pitiful and plucky was his aspect. Her 
 thoughts did homage to the young soldier who so loved her 
 that he could go away to work for her, knowing he could have 
 no other reward from her than her pride in him. 
 
 But if anything had been needed to send her back to her 
 own work, after a rest of some hours, with a greater longing 
 than ever to create a worthy thing, it was the memory of Guy. 
 Now indeed her fingers flew at the bidding of her brain. 
 Deaf and blind to everything she worked on into the evening, 
 and stopped only to go for the bedtime walk which meant the 
 cooling of the fires sufficiently to bank them for the night and 
 sleep. Next morning she was at her task again betimes, and 
 all day she worked, now and then flinging herself out into the 
 garden for a run down into the orchard, and returning each 
 time with cheeks and eyes aglow, to shut herself again into 
 her workshop and make the chips fly as before. 
 
 At luncheon Rose put in a word of protest. 
 
 "I know you're happy, by the look of you, and that's good 
 for you. But you're still made of flesh and blood and nerves, 
 and you have to take them into account, and not overdraw." 
 
 "Rosie, when I can work as I'm working now, I can't tire. 
 If you knew what it is to me to be fit to make things go like 
 this, after all the hours and weeks and months of drudgery! 
 Such bad hours will come again, of course, but let me drain 
 the cup of energy while it lasts. I'll stop in an hour or two 
 more, I promise you when the first shadow of my first real
 
 A LITTLE BROWN BOOK 355 
 
 ftook is done bless it! It is real, Rosie whatever the 
 other things were. Sham, I think mostly, now sham and 
 shadow. But this breathes, I know it does." 
 
 "I believe it," said Miss O'Grady, unexpectedly. "And 
 I know the reason why." 
 
 "What is it? I wonder if you do know." 
 
 "Because you yourself breathe now, to the bottom of your 
 lungs. You used to use only the top of them, before." 
 
 "You're right as you always are," and Mary came around 
 the table to put her arms about Rose and lay her cheek 
 against Rose's curly red hair. 
 
 "There now don't be making me foolish about you 
 there's enough already." But Rose patted the hands which 
 held her, appreciating to the full the unwonted caress of one 
 she loved to the depths of her warm Irish heart. 
 
 When the chapter was done Mary went for a wild gallop 
 on horseback, returning to bathe and dress for dinner, re- 
 freshed and radiant. As evening came on she went back to 
 the place of books and work, turned on a light, and sat down 
 in a big easy chair to reread the pages she had written. It 
 was while she was engaged with them, more critical yet more 
 nearly content than she had ever been with any effort, that 
 a step was heard in the hall and a well-known voice saying: 
 
 "In here? Thank you, Miss Rose if you think she won't 
 mind." 
 
 "She drove me out this day but you faith, I'm wishing 
 you better luck, Professor," answered a second voice. 
 
 Mary sprang up as Mark came in and closed the door be- 
 hind him. The sheets of the finished first chapter slid un- 
 heeded to the floor as she went to meet him. 
 
 "Mary! How good it is to see you!" 
 
 "Mark! When did you come?" 
 
 "An hour ago. I wanted to come straight over, but Har- 
 riet wouldn't let me. Said she'd heard the typer clicking all
 
 356 FOURSQUARE 
 
 day, and Rose had warned her and everybody to keep away. 
 But I prowled around and noted complete silence, so I 
 ventured. But I'd have come anyway, so don't give me 
 much credit. What are you doing?" 
 
 "Tell me first what you've been doing. Come and sit over 
 here. I want to hear it all." 
 
 He told it rapidly, the almost unbelievable good news. 
 The great philanthropist had been favourably impressed 
 from the first, had been about to set his hand to the papers 
 which would give Newcomb a large sum of money; then had 
 suddenly been taken with a relapse which had seemed to 
 indicate the immediate end. Mark had been urged to de- 
 lay, however, and had done so, hoping against hope. Finally 
 the old man had rallied, his mind perfectly clear after days 
 of semi-consciousness, and had executed the deed-in-gift 
 which assured to Newcomb a permanent income of such size 
 that all things now seemed possible. In effect it would 
 transform the college, setting it on a permanent foundation. 
 
 "Oh, how splendid! So you're gloriously happy. And so 
 am I as if I'd always cared for Newcomb as I do now." 
 
 "Do you care for Newcomb?" he asked, watching her face. 
 "Really care for it the old, poor, obscure little college with 
 no discernible future up till now and its reputation still to 
 make, as far as the most of the world is concerned ? Even 
 money won't give it position, Mary, you know we've got to 
 put into it something that even money won't buy." 
 
 "I know. But you have that to put into it, if no other 
 man has. Mark I've read your book!" 
 
 "Have you?" 
 
 She was looking at him with something in her eyes which 
 he had never seen there before, and which startled him with 
 the recognition of its source. It was the look of the woman 
 who has to lift her eyes to a man because she feels him head 
 and shoulders above her. He looked back at her, and in his
 
 A LITTLE BROWN BOOK 357 
 
 face was the look of the man who can't quite believe that he 
 can have inspired such a feeling, because he doesn't think 
 himself worthy of it. But it was there, in her face, and with 
 it something else he had hoped to find there. The two 
 things together might well make his heart leap. 
 
 "Before I tell you what I think of it," she said, a trifle un- 
 steadily smiling and drawing a little away from him as he 
 would have come nearer, "I want to read you my chapter. 
 It's the beginning of the book I've been hoping for two years 
 to write only I couldn't find it or find myself. Will you 
 listen?" 
 
 His smile said that he would listen, if that was what she 
 decreed. Listening wouldn't be hard, since he might look at 
 her, even if he should find it difficult to keep his mind upon 
 her work rather than upon herself. So she settled herself 
 by the reading light, and he brought his chair opposite hers- 
 and took his place. The reading began, in Mary's low voice 
 with its rich cadences which made hearing her a delight, no 
 matter what she read. 
 
 Not a sound from him broke the stillness, except her 
 spoken words, till she had finished. Even then, for a long 
 minute, he neither moved nor spoke. Then he left his 
 chair, came over to her, and taking both her hands drew her 
 to her feet. His eyes looked into hers and there were hot 
 tears in his own. 
 
 "Mary!" he said, under his breath. "Do you know 
 do you know what you've done?" 
 
 She shook her head. "I know what you've done," she 
 said. "You've given me, in your book, something that's 
 made mine possible." 
 
 "No! My plain little talks I hardly had time to put 
 them in shape. They're nothing compared with what 
 you've just read me. Why, Mary I didn't know you were 
 capable of such work."
 
 358 FOURSQUARE 
 
 "You've made me so." 
 
 "It can't be!" 
 
 "But it is. That little brown book why, it set me on 
 fire! There's something in it I can't quite analyze it but 
 it's the thing I need to make everything possible. You make 
 me see feel believe. It's as if oh, I don't know if I can 
 tell you " 
 
 "I wish you'd try." 
 
 "It's as if" she spoke slowly and carefully "I'd not 
 had power enough not force not will not purpose. And 
 then as if I'd been connected up with just all that. Mark 
 it was all in the little brown book!" 
 
 "Oh, Mary!" It was all he could say for a moment. 
 Then he managed to add a question: "But your play? I 
 thought that was everything till you read me this other, 
 bigger beginning. I wasn't responsible for that, in any way." 
 
 "Weren't you? Oh, Mark!" 
 
 But now it was she who could say no more. There was no 
 need. He could hardly have borne more just then. The 
 only relief to his surcharged heart was to pour out to her 
 in a few broken sentences his amazement, his pride, his love, 
 and then to take her in his arms. ... In the silence 
 which succeeded speech he told her even more. 
 
 THE END
 
 The greatest pleasure in life is 
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