m 
 
 Evelyn Campbell
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE THRESHOLD
 
 THE 
 
 THRESHOLD 
 
 A NOFEL 
 
 By 
 
 EV EL Y N 
 CAMPBELL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 ROBERT M. McBRIDE fcf COMPANY 
 
 1921
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 ROBERT M. McBRiDE & Co. 
 
 Printed in the 
 
 United States of America 
 
 Published October, 1921
 
 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 WHEN the sunlight fell at a certain slant through the 
 dingy windows, Roscoe Christy got up heavily from 
 the horsehair cushioned armchair where he had been sitting 
 most of the day and prepared to close his office. 
 
 This was a ceremony. First, he would replace the thick 
 calfskin books whose pages, yellowed by age, lay open upon 
 the table. The walls were lined with shelves that held hun 
 dreds of these books and he knew and jealously loved each 
 one of them. He would have lingered over this, but habit 
 made his hands too proficient. The books slipped into their 
 grooves like machinery and soon the last of them took its 
 place in an orderly row. After this he sorted and put away 
 papers which had occupied and whiled away the hours of 
 another day. They were all dusty and yellowed, like the 
 books, souvenirs of an era long passed . . . leases and 
 briefs which every one else had forgotten. Nothing re 
 mained but to empty the water glass and turn it down upon 
 the edge of the table. 
 
 By this time the sun had changed, leaving the room in a 
 faint grayness like that of early dawn. It was still bright 
 day out of doors, but these windows, veiled in grime, would 
 not let the light through. He found the right key upon a 
 crowded ring and went out, carefully locking the door after 
 him. 
 
 1 
 
 15629G6
 
 2 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 The office was in one of the old buildings which were a 
 part of the old Cresston, and the street on which he emerged 
 was full of mean little business enterprises that seemed to be 
 hiding here from the relentless spirit of renovation and ex 
 pansion which had laid hands on the town and was swiftly 
 metamorphosizing it. Not so long ago Horton Street had 
 been no worse than its neighbors, but now its shabbiness 
 was pitilessly betrayed by the magnificence of a new de 
 partment store which stood at the corner, a scant block 
 away. 
 
 He turned from this unsightliness into the broad square 
 which had been named for his family. In the center of it 
 the Courthouse stood with a majestic display of Gothic 
 columns which had cost the tax payers of Cresston dear. 
 The long, grassy slope of the lawn, shaded by ancient trees 
 that were never trimmed, was a favorite lobby for the men 
 who talked over the affairs of the nation in the open, and 
 for loungers who fed on stray bits of gossip, and for small 
 boys who did errands for a penny. But at this hour the 
 lawn was empty and the shade of the great trees had turned 
 it into dim aisles of coolness and beauty. Stray bits of 
 paper moving in the breeze that came from the hot west 
 were lifted lazily, like white butterflies hovering in the deep 
 shadow. . . . 
 
 The old building, the old, old trees, and the greensward 
 were like an oasis rimmed by the bright glittering of the 
 modern buildings that faced the Courthouse from four di 
 rections. When Christy Square was named, the Court 
 house had been magnificent, but now its greatness was sub 
 merged like the dreams of childhood which dwindle before 
 the realism of age. The Sheridan Building, pointing up 
 ward like a white shaft, caught the sun upon its glittering 
 window panes and seemed to look with tolerant wisdom
 
 THE THRESHOLD 3 
 
 upon its lowlier neighbors. The Merchants Bank, frown 
 ing coldly behind its marble mask, waited in sphinx-like 
 calm for old traditions to fall. The new fagades of new 
 shops, shaded by gay awnings, drew aloof in their bright 
 busyness from this dignified monument of old-fashioned 
 days. 
 
 Roscoe Christy did not pause on his way through the 
 Square but his eyes were fastened furtively on the building, 
 eagerly marking an open window here and there, small signs 
 that the place was not altogether deserted, or that some one 
 had been negligent. He always wanted to stand before the 
 Courthouse, like a lover at a window, but he never did. 
 He had lived in Cresston too long not to fear its ridicule. 
 
 The streets leading away from the Square were filling 
 with a slow and dwindling procession of home-goers who 
 tried to find shelter beneath the deep elms that lined the 
 shady avenues. Nearly all*of these were men, for Cresston 
 was an old-fashioned community where women s occupa 
 tions kept them in four walls at that hour, and each of these 
 men was going home to a woman who waited for him. 
 Some were young, with the buoyancy which even a hot day 
 could not conquer, but for one like this there were many of 
 the sort of which such processions are made : grayish, a little 
 round-shouldered, with baggy knees ; every one with an even 
 ing paper and sometimes a parcel or two. There was little 
 to distinguish one from another, for even their footfalls 
 seemed to sink into a rhythm of motion that kept them an 
 even distance from one another. These were the married 
 men of Cresston going home to supper and they kept the 
 threads of smoke going upward from their chimneys by the 
 thousand and one occupations which the smallest town 
 affords. During other hours they vanished mysteriously. 
 Like all other towns, Cresston seemed to get its work
 
 4 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 finished by gnome-like methods, but at five o clock the 
 workers were always going by with their newspapers and 
 little parcels, greeting each other with dry nods in a sort of 
 queer brotherhood which begins at the marriage license 
 bureau. 
 
 As Roscoe Christy, passing diagonally through the 
 Square, turned into Armitage Street, he nodded to many 
 men and was nodded to in tura by others ; sometimes he met 
 the fleeting smile with which people recognize a familiar 
 figure that is actually unknown to them. It was only to 
 the new element which had appeared in Cresston since the 
 war that his face was unknown. These people, these com 
 placent, efficient strangers who walked briskly in spite of 
 the heat, he observed without interest, or failed to see at all. 
 
 In Armitage Street the elms were wider branched as the 
 street itself was broader, and in the deep shade he took off 
 his panama hat and fanned himself as he walked along, 
 marking the changes of the day just finished. 
 
 It was a beautiful old street in a gay new gown, beneath 
 which some of its charm was lost, though to the people who 
 lived there, most of them gay, young married folk, glad 
 enough to be done with gray old ways, it seemed old and 
 staid enough still. Once the pretentious houses had stood 
 almost a block apart, but now they were building new bung 
 alows and villas behind the guarding elms along its length. 
 He hated the sound of the hammering which portended the 
 new phase which had overtaken Cresston. It meant that 
 life was flying by and would stop for no one who lingered 
 in the race. . . . 
 
 He passed the Pendleton house which had a large "For 
 Sale" sign tacked upon the railing of its gray, deserted 
 veranda. The family had moved away the week before, to 
 live upon a five acre tract upon the wrong side of town.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 5 
 
 They claimed that the house was too large for them, and 
 Mrs. Major Pendleton and her widowed daughter Rosalie 
 were going into the chicken business for their health, they 
 said, but this deceived nobody. It was known that the Pen- 
 dletons were ruined. 
 
 An old negro man, with hair as white as cotton and a 
 wrinkled face, was pushing a lawn mower back and forth 
 across the Withrow. lawn, and the clatter of the machine 
 sent out a pleasant, musical rhythm as it advanced and re 
 treated over the velvet grass. Colonel Withrow, tall and 
 elegant in his linen clothes, followed the mower with the 
 sprinkling hose, always watching hopefully for a tuft of 
 grass left uncut, but never finding it. When he saw his old 
 friend approaching he gave the hose to the negro, who 
 willingly abandoned the heavy mower, and went to the edge 
 of the lawn where an iron fence with needle-like pickets 
 separated the grounds from the trespass of the town. 
 
 "A warm day, a warm day, Roscoe," said the Colonel, 
 when the other was near enough for greeting. He wiped 
 his heated face with a fine linen handkerchief and flicked 
 it delicately in the air, his eyes lingering on the languid 
 movements of the hose wielder. "It is an outrage that a 
 man of my years should be forced to follow a lazy negro 
 around on a day like this, but if I left that fellow alone this 
 lawn would look as though a woman had been over it with 
 a pair of scissors. You can t trust to hired help in these 
 days." 
 
 "You ve had that negro in your family for twenty-five 
 years." 
 
 "But he s changed. He s not the same negro he used to 
 be. He looks the same, Roscoe, but he s changed, like 
 everything else." In one mind they looked along the street 
 at the white frames of new houses going up like magic
 
 6 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 among the trees; the hammering had ceased. But, when 
 their eyes met, each refused to recognize the gray and aging 
 face that replaced the youth he used to know. They could 
 not see that they were changing, too. 
 
 "I suppose you have heard the news about my son, 
 Peter," said the Colonel after a slight pause. "I will not 
 pretend that I am pleased. To an old friend I may even 
 declare myself seriously annoyed. In my opinion young 
 Harkness is an upstart, a complacent upstart who from the 
 beginning has not scrupled to win his way at anybody s cost. 
 In mentioning this to my son I emphasized the fact that it 
 was distinctly unpleasant to see my name linked with that of 
 Harkness, but this made no impression. Peter merely re 
 minded me that the young man s brilliant war record wiped 
 out all class distinctions. In the end I could only yield." 
 
 "You refer to the law partnership of your son and young 
 Cleve Harkness?" inquired Judge Christy. After a pause 
 he added, with grim if unwilling justice, "He has a bright 
 mind. ... It is possible for him to go far in such days as 
 these." 
 
 They were silent, both thinking with some bewilderment 
 of the present era in which youth, with effortless ease, 
 leaps beyond the experience of age. But while they ad 
 mitted this marvel they held tenaciously to a secret contempt 
 for endeavors that must surely fail. When the subject 
 seemed to be dismissed Roscoe Christy returned to it. 
 "They are to settle in the new Sheridan Building, I hear." 
 
 "Oh, yes," the Colonel returned with some pomposity, 
 "Peter thinks nothing of money when he is gratifying a 
 fresh fancy, and naturally the other, coming from the stock 
 he does, will go in for show and extravagance." 
 
 Young Peter Withrow, inheriting a large fortune from 
 his mother s father, annoyed his own parent unreasonably
 
 THE THRESHOLD 7 
 
 by a persistent independence of action. The Colonel would 
 have scorned the suggestion that he- was a little jealous, 
 but Peter s money remained a. thorn in his side, only a little 
 less piercing than Peter s outrageous behavior. 
 
 A long gray roadster came slipping into the quiet street 
 and paused humming softly at the curb. The driver, a 
 young man with a pleasant, quizzical face and eyes that 
 were a little near-sighted behind strong glasses, nodded to 
 the two elderly men who watched him disapprovingly. 
 When he joined them the Colonel said in a reproachful 
 tone: 
 
 "Judge Christy has been asking about your arrangement 
 with Cleve Harkness, but of course I could tell him very 
 little, only what I have heard from disinterested parties." 
 
 Peter Withrow laughed easily. He had a pleasant laugh 
 that showed good white teeth. He recognized his father s 
 little weakness. 
 
 "There isn t anything to tell," he said, "only that two 
 impudent youngsters are going after the old dog s bones." 
 Then he turned to Judge Christy, abandoning his light mood, 
 "Is it true, Judge, that you are to be named in the Primary? 
 I heard the report to-day, but I believed you were out of 
 politics for good." 
 
 Colonel Withrow looked anxiously from his son to his 
 friend. He knew that Peter was treading on delicate 
 ground and wanted to warn him with a look that the subject 
 of politics was one to be avoided. He felt a sensitive sym 
 pathy for the man who had fed on wormwood instead of 
 the sweetmeats of public favor and he spoke sharply. 
 "This town is made up of gossiping old women. No one s 
 affairs are safe." 
 
 But Roscoe Christy stood looking down at his dusty boots 
 without denial or affirmation. All day he had been asking
 
 8 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 himself a question as he poured over his useless files, and, 
 now that another voiced it, the answer appeared logically be 
 fore him. Peter s brown shoes, meticulously well kept, 
 within a yard of his own worn half soles may have uncon 
 sciously dominated his resolve. But there was no unbend 
 ing of pride in his answer. 
 
 "Your information was correct, sir. I have been asked 
 to represent my party in the coming election and I shall ac 
 cept the nomination if it is offered me. I thought that I 
 was out of politics, as you say, but that was a mistake. As 
 a citizen of town or country, a man is at the service of his 
 fellow men while he can do his duty by them, and this I 
 shall try to do if I am returned. If the subject is discussed 
 again in your hearing, you may give out this information. 
 . . . Jasper, I see that your negro has dropped that hose 
 without turning off the water and the sod is being torn by 
 the stream. You are right ; the race cannot be trusted any 
 longer." 
 
 He broke off suddenly as though he had said more than 
 the subject of the negro s delinquency could cover, and with 
 a brusk leave-taking went on his way. 
 
 "You ll be elected, never fear, Judge," Peter called after 
 him cheerily, but he did not seem to hear. The Colonel, 
 forgetting his precious turf, looked wistfully into the past 
 and Peter grumbled under his breath, "I wonder why the 
 poor old fellow never made a success of things ?" 
 
 As the father and son walked up the nagged path to the 
 house, the former said gravely, "Success has its favorites. 
 The whipper-snapper you have linked your honored name 
 with may become a Cabinet member, when by heredity he 
 should be varnishing chairs and tables, while yonder goes a 
 man who was born to rule a state."
 
 THE THRESHOLD 9 
 
 They looked again, but he had passed out of sight beyond 
 the drooping elms whose branches almost touched across the 
 street like the feeble clasp of old fingers. The Colonel 
 added firmly, "Yes, sir, he ought to rule a state, and he can 
 not pay his office rent. What is justice?"
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 FROM one corner of the Christy premises a bird s-eye 
 view of Armitage Street could be had, and young 
 Donnie Christy, gazing pensively on the early evening 
 prospect from his vantage point upon the post, beheld 
 among others the homecoming figure of his father. It was 
 part of his secret boy-business to watch for approaches from 
 this look-out, and, discovery being contrary to his plans, he 
 dropped like a plummet from the post and went quietly 
 through the tangled orchard until he reached the plum grove 
 near the back of the house. 
 
 His mother was there with a neighbor, Mrs. Stevens, a 
 young married woman who was perpetually talking of her 
 three children and the plans she and her husband had made 
 for their future. Donnie loved to hear these predictions, 
 which seemed to hint at some magic power, and when he 
 saw Mrs. Stevens he stopped to listen. 
 
 There were six plum trees in the group which Mrs. 
 Christy loved to call "the grove," and the two women had 
 been gathering fruit, small, plump, red globes, into a shallow 
 pan which Mrs. Stevens held with an air of mentally weigh 
 ing its contents. She had, it appeared, grown ambitious on 
 the subject of jelly. 
 
 "When I tasted that glass you sent over to Gran ma Dale, 
 I vowed I never would let a summer go by without putting 
 up a few dozen of your plums/ she said, and added politely, 
 "Of course, if you can spare them." 
 
 10
 
 THE THRESHOLD 11 
 
 Mrs. Christy delivered choice fruit by threes and fours to 
 the granite pan. I m not putting up much fruit the last 
 year or two," she said. "The children are growing up un 
 til they don t care for jelly as they did." 
 
 For years the plentiful fruit upon the Christy place had 
 been free to those who came with baskets to gather it. 
 Mrs. Christy always assisted, apologizing for the poor 
 quality of the fruit with the excuse that the Judge had no 
 time to trim or prune. This was a fallacy accepted in the 
 same spirit it was given. The Judge had plenty of time, 
 only the condition of the trees was emblematic of the 
 deeper, wider-spreading ruin which had befallen the family ; 
 but Mrs. Stevens, a newcomer in Cresston, knew nothing of 
 these gentle traditions. She admitted that she could hardly 
 "place" the Christys, but in the secrecy of her thoughts she 
 gave them pity. The situation was approaching a delicate 
 angle, and two high spots of color appeared on the visitor s 
 cheeks. 
 
 "I couldn t think of accepting these plums without making 
 some return," she began, in a thin, unnatural voice. "What 
 are plums selling for, Mrs. Christy?" 
 
 Mrs. Christy, meeting a distinct situation, became calm. 
 Her once pretty mouth drew into a firm line that was some 
 how ascetic and sweet. She knew that money was about 
 to be offered for the plums by one who might be termed an 
 innocent purchaser and she debated with herself whether to 
 take it. It was very difficult, but she steeled herself to the 
 demand and silenced the conscience which reminded her that 
 the shallow pan of fruit belonged to the poorest yield the 
 grove had offered for years. But Mrs. Stevens would un 
 doubtedly offer as much as forty cents, and it strengthened 
 her to enumerate in her mind how many small, important 
 things forty cents would buy. The plums had always
 
 12 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 rotted or been given away and to be paid for them was like 
 finding the money lying in the grass. 
 
 Donnie, in the background, looked anxiously at his 
 mother. Even he recognized a situation that seemed to 
 place Mrs. Christy in the position of a market gardener, 
 but he was relieved when he heard her saying coolly, "I 
 could not say ... It has not been a trouble, Mrs. Stevens, 
 you are quite welcome to the plums." 
 
 But the purchaser, unsuspicious of the truth, rejected this 
 alternative with energy. "But William wouldn t have it that 
 way. He can t be beholden to any one, and I d hate to- tell 
 him these plums were a gift I deliberately asked for. Do 
 you think fifty cents would be too much?" 
 
 Mrs. Christy gasped with the sensation of cold water in 
 her face. Having been mentioned, the sum sounded both 
 arrogant and small. As the price of her pride it was in 
 finitesimal and she longed to repudiate it utterly, but a strain 
 of stubbornness in her nature held her to her purpose. 
 
 "I wouldn t say they were worth fifty cents," she mur 
 mured evenly, her eyes on the pan, "forty might be reason 
 able." 
 
 In a moment the transaction was completed. Mrs. 
 Stevens counted over four dimes, one more than she had 
 meant to give, and in a little while departed. "The fruit is 
 a little over ripe," she said, acidulously, as she opened the 
 gate, "I wish you had gathered the greener ones." 
 
 Mrs. Christy stood with the four dimes against her palm, 
 looking at the evening sky which showed a faint smudge of 
 smoke from the kitchen fire, and Donnie, yielding to an 
 inner urge, came and stood close to his mother. 
 
 "Gee," he said, furtively, "what d you sell them old sour 
 plums for?" He watched her face wonderingly, as though 
 the familiar presence had suddenly become enigmatic.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 13 
 
 "What of it?" She turned on him in swift defense. 
 There was something half childish in Mrs. Christy which 
 made argument with Donnie an understandable thing. 
 "Why shouldn t I sell them? Is there any one in Cresston 
 who isn t selling things, anything? It s the way people 
 get rich ! I I wish I d been selling plums all these years. 
 . . . Who cares for the things they get for nothing?" 
 
 But this was beyond Bonnie s perspective, though it sug 
 gested a fact which hurled him suddenly from illusion. He 
 had no language in which to clothe his discouragement; he 
 could only shift from one foot to the other in his favorite 
 attitude. "Gee, Ma," he whispered, "Gee ! I thought we 
 was rich." And then because it has been provided that the 
 hearts of little children shall not be sorrowful, he quickly 
 forgot what he could not understand. "Pa s comin ," he 
 announced, remembering his reason for seeking her. 
 
 The excitement Mrs. Christy had shown in defending 
 her action died swiftly. She became at once the familiar 
 person of every day. She became conscious of the money 
 in her hand. 
 
 "It s a little early for him," she exclaimed, in a pleasant 
 flurry that entirely banished the subject of plums. "I won 
 der if something has gone wrong in town. Everybody tries 
 to make it hard for your Pa. He has so many law cases 
 and folks are so hard to deal with, I suppose he s all tired 
 out." Then as she noticed for the first time a flicker of 
 incredulity in the eyes of her son, she added forcefully, 
 "Wait until you re a lawyer yourself, with people after you 
 morning and night, you ll know, then." 
 
 "I ll not be any lawyer when I grow up." 
 
 "Donnie!" His mother s shocked voice accused him of 
 treason, but he endured it dumbly, digging his toe in the 
 trodden grass beneath the plum trees. He was astonished
 
 14 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 when she changed the subject brightly. "I m going to make 
 your father some strong coffee for his supper," she ex 
 plained. "I expect he s all tired out and coffee always 
 rests him. And you, hurry now! Run over to Poland s 
 shop and get some nice round steak; take this money. It s 
 just enough. Hurry, now." 
 
 He obeyed. At the corner a scouting boy whistled be 
 tween his bent fingers, the long blast and the two short 
 ones that meant important business at hand. But Donnie 
 with his cap over his eyes, signaled a grudging answer. 
 He was not interested in boy-business at that moment, for 
 his mind was occupied with a complex question to which 
 there seemed no answer. Everything he had known and 
 believed in became twisted and unreal and for no reason 
 that he could see. His father was a great lawyer and 
 Christy Square was named after his family. That alone 
 had given him prestige which he accepted naturally as his 
 right. . . . But his mother sold plums to Mrs. Stevens, 
 whose husband drove a feed wagon on busy days. He 
 could not reconcile these inconsistencies and the effort 
 crowded and saddened his mind. It gave him some relief, 
 however, to repeat his threat though he had only himself 
 for audience. "I ll not be a lawyer for them," said Donnie, 
 going home through the alley with his butcher s package; 
 "driving a wagon is a lot more fun." 
 
 The Christys, because of diverse ages and tastes, were 
 rather a silent family at meals, and it was not until supper 
 was nearly over that Judge Christy began to speak, address 
 ing -his wife who was his invariable audience. To him she 
 was not an individual but a concourse of vague, indistinct 
 figures who, in his imagination, listened meekly to his dia 
 tribes. Mrs. Christy, helpless to release herself, writhed
 
 THE THRESHOLD 15 
 
 beneath this implication of plurality without considering 
 rebellion. 
 
 "I said to Wickersham in the middle of the Mahoney case, 
 Sir, if this decision is for the defendant, it will prove that 
 there is a menace beneath our politics darker than murder 
 or bloodshed, for actual crime can be sought out and 
 punished, but intrigue, dishonor and infamy can hide them 
 selves forever beneath a silver dollar. I told him that, 
 madam, and what happened?" He began in the middle of 
 his stormy story as though his wife, whose intellect struggled 
 vainly to keep pace with his own, could fill the lapse by her 
 own deduction. . . . -The poor lady was trying to remember 
 if a pan of biscuits had been left in the range, but not daring 
 to investigate she tried to assume a curiosity she was far 
 from feeling, admitting helplessly that she could not imagine 
 what had happened. 
 
 The verdict came in for Mahoney, of course. I could not 
 believe the news when I heard it. I said it was a lie. I 
 warned Wickersham what it would mean to the town, and 
 he laughed. Laughed in my face! If it had not been for 
 Canfield ... he took me off in a corner and said to me, 
 Now, Roscoe, now, Judge ! You can t do anything with the 
 party which has the upper hand, and these new peopJe have 
 it. They are in control of the town! After a moment I 
 was calm, I saw that he was right. But after all, it was 
 lucky I w r as not carrying a firearm." 
 
 Mrs. Christy flinched as she never failed to flinch at that 
 threat. "Oh, Roscoe, don t say that ! There s so many who 
 would hold it against you if they heard " 
 
 "Never mind. If all the shysters and tricksters were shot 
 down as they deserve the world would be better off. 
 Politics ! The very word is a farce. The day of politics is
 
 16 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 over. We re handled like so many sacks of cornmeal 
 Think of a man like Jasper Withrow, cultivated, a gentle 
 man, and a member of Congress at thirty-five, yet dependent 
 on his son s bounty. What brought him so low but politics? 
 Yet we see the upstarts thriving on every side " 
 
 At this pause, Antonia, who sat at his right hand, made 
 a movement to rise but he ordered her to keep her place. 
 She obeyed with an expression of slight disdain that changed 
 the current of his thoughts. . . . 
 
 "Why don t you help your mother more? I saw her 
 ironing for you the other day ironing! It never hurt a 
 girl to work around the house a little. When your mother 
 was young she had a negro at her elbow every second, yet 
 she could always get up a meal on mighty little." His 
 glance roved over the table, and Antonia, who was not 
 afraid of his tirades, confirmed this in her low, rich voice. 
 
 "That is a special talent of my mother s." 
 
 But Mrs. Christy, aroused from her apathetic role by 
 the possibility of conflict between these two, hastened to 
 present her own breast to the breach. 
 
 "I don t want Antonia to do kitchen work. There s 
 little enough of it. And if she marries any Cresston young 
 man she ll have plenty of her own." 
 
 Antonia s delicate dark face tilted slightly forward as 
 though to conceal the thoughts that were mirrored there; 
 at her mother s words she flushed faintly and her long 
 lashes unveiled a glance of defiance. "You know that I 
 want to work, father," she said, quietly. 
 
 She had offered this solution before, and the result was 
 always the same. Her father s face turned purple and he 
 made a furious gesture, as though striking out at some 
 invisible presence before which his arm was futile. But 
 the effect of his anger was made ridiculous by the crumbs
 
 THE THRESHOLD 17 
 
 upon his waistcoat, and Antonia did not shrink from him. 
 He shouted : "I have told you not to repeat that insolence ! 
 Your place is here with your mother, as a modest young 
 woman. Where do you get these notions? Let me hear 
 no more of them." The tirade ended limply; they had 
 heard it so often before. Mrs. Christy folded and unfolded 
 her napkin and Antonia, looked from beneath her heavy 
 lids at nothing. He coughed a little and went out on the 
 front porch with the evening paper. 
 
 "Why do you aggravate your father," fretted Mrs. 
 Christy, searching through kitchen shelves for clean towels. 
 "It s like bitter root for him to think of you clerking in a 
 store. There never was a Christy woman yet who worked 
 out. Stop, Antonia, why won t you take this towel and 
 let me put my hands in that hot water ?" 
 
 Antonia laughed. She looked beautiful washing dishes, 
 and with laughter she became a vibrant thing of light and 
 color. As she splashed and rinsed the china she mocked 
 her mother. 
 
 "And who are the Christys to-day, mother dear? What 
 about the plums you sold to buy our supper? Why 
 shouldn t I be the first to work if it would save you 
 save you " 
 
 Her voice broke like a string keyed too high ; her eyes 
 misted ; she bent her face over the steaming pan, pretending 
 that the moisture came from there. But her mother beamed 
 happily. She loved to plan, and never having outgrown 
 fairy tales, she at once saw herself clothed and jeweled by 
 the hand of her daughter. "You dear child," she murmured 
 ecstatically, "I know you d give me everything if you 
 could." 
 
 They silently busied themselves with the dishes for 
 awhile and when the work was finished Antonia went to
 
 18 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 her mother and dropped a swift kiss on the parting of her 
 pretty hair. 
 
 "I m going for a little stroll, mother." 
 
 "Alone ?" 
 
 Mrs. Christy s voice was slightly wistful. Antonia was 
 always alone; she did not make friends with girls who 
 gave parties and had callers every night. This isolation 
 always saddened her mother who loved laughter and light. 
 
 "I will not be long," Antonia promised. She did not 
 understand; she thought that her mother was lonely and 
 missed her when she was gone for a little while. 
 
 In the soft early twilight she stood irresolutely upon the 
 doorstep. One way lay along the wide elm-shaded street, 
 but a secret call sent her strolling through the thick dark 
 ness of the orchard to the fence corner that commanded a 
 lojng view of Armitage Street, lighted here and there along 
 its shadowy lane with bluish arc lights that cast a ghastly 
 aura over the earth and made a haven of delight for millions 
 of mad insects. From the next block some one turned 
 rapidly into the ; street, and his footsteps rapping smartly 
 against the pavement, approached the corner where Antonia 
 stood half hidden by the fence and foliage. Her light dress 
 was an indistinct patch of gray against the dark trees and 
 the passer-by was almost abreast, his eyes fixed upon dis 
 tance, when an indistinct movement of her blurred outline 
 called to his drowned consciousness. It was only Antonia 
 putting her hands ta her hair, but to him it was a gesture 
 that called him to her side. 
 
 "Antonia! Why didn t you speak? I might have passed 
 without seeing you !" 
 
 "How could I be sure that it was you, Cleve?" 
 
 The bluish light from the street lamp revealed the im 
 maculate whiteness of tennis flannels, inevitable summer
 
 THE THRESHOLD 19 
 
 evening dress of Cresston. She had thought of him in 
 khaki for so long that the change seemed to put a distance 
 between them which had not existed before. She moved 
 further back into the shadow. 
 
 "Don t stop. You, are going to a party." 
 He smiled and came closer, peering into the shadow 
 in pursuit of her. "Not a party . . . just an hour at 
 D upagny s," he explained rapidly. "Peter and I are looking 
 after some of Dupagny s business, and of course I must 
 go there when they make a point of it." 
 
 She murmured indistinctly, "Of course you must go." 
 He came an eager step nearer. Everything he did was 
 eager and interested and full of life. "I know what you 
 are thinking, Antonia. After that wonderful talk we had 
 the other day! But you are wrong. I don t really care 
 about the silly parties and the silly women who give them, 
 and after I get into harness and the fight begins, I intend to 
 drop it all. I haven t forgotten a thing you said. Nobody 
 no girl ever spoke to me like that about the future and 
 its opportunities and all that. . . . By Jove, you are won 
 derful ! I went to sleep that night pounding at a volume of 
 Decisions and woke up feeling that I could conquer the 
 world. . . . I m in earnest, Antonia, about cutting dances 
 and tennis, and it s all because of that bully lecture of 
 yours." 
 
 It w 7 as much of Cleve Harkness charm that he was 
 always in earnest over what interested him at the moment. 
 He did not play or quibble with words and this gave the 
 ring of authenticity to all that he said. This frankness 
 carried him into hearts from which he might have been 
 excluded for a number of very excellent reasons. He was 
 believed. 
 
 Otherwise, he was a good looking young fellow, clean
 
 20 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 and blond, with an attractive mouth set above a well cut 
 chin. He looked amazingly well in his clothes, and those 
 who remembered the patched trousers of his boyhood forgot 
 them at sight of his first tailored coat. He was so intent 
 upon convincing Antonia of his earnest purpose that he 
 sought her hand through the fence and held it in a warm 
 clasp while he repeated, "You were wonderful !" 
 
 "I did not intend to lecture," she said faintly. 
 
 "Antonia! . . . You serious little thing." His voice 
 dropped to a murmur, "I have hardly seen you since I 
 returned and if you knew what your letters meant to me 
 when I was across ! Our talks have been so few, you must 
 not blame me for treasuring what you say. Antonia . . . 
 will you will you be here when I return . . . it s only 
 for an hour. . . ." 
 
 She withdrew her hand so quietly that he hardly knew 
 when it was gone. "I must go now. . . . Mother will be 
 calling me. I did not think of seeing you to-night." She 
 was turning away when with a dexterous movement he 
 caught her hand once more and drew her into the light. 
 
 "Don t be cross. I wonder why I m always offending 
 you. I did not mean to suggest your waiting. . . . It s 
 only that I want so confoundedly to see you. and after 
 an hour with those people ... it would be glorious." 
 
 It was impossible to remain offended. She surrendered 
 her hand, protected from closer contact by the palings, 
 ancient and impregnable. "You must go, Cleve. They 
 will be waiting for you, and and you must not try to 
 get away too soon. You are sure to have a good time " 
 
 "Antonia !" 
 
 Her face was close enough to see now, and her wide, 
 dark eyes looked like patches of black velvet in the smooth
 
 THE THRESHOLD 21 
 
 pallor of her face ; there were- little golden specks deep in 
 the pupils like fireflies. 
 
 "Antonia, you know I don t care about society Cresston 
 society, and all that rot. Surely you don t think so badly 
 of me as that! It is- only that these people have their 
 piace you have to get on with them-. I want money and 
 success most of all, success, and I m going to have it 
 very soon. Money isn t enough. Peter has money but it 
 hasn t brought the other things because he doesn t care! 
 That s why we are going to be heard from, he and I ! I 
 haven t a thing to bring into the firm by myself, and I m 
 only important because I care such a lot. I want to get 
 ahead and I ll take poor old Peter with me, money and all. 
 To get this, everything, everybody is important, even those 
 people on Dupagny s veranda to-night." He laughed with 
 boyish boastfulness. "Suppose I m a Judge some day, 
 Antonia. . . . Won t you tremble to think how you bullied 
 me in your time?" 
 
 But she did not join his jesting gayety. Something sad 
 and poignant crept across the moment. She drew her hand 
 away finally. "I must go," she said, and vanished against 
 the dusky screen that opened to receive her. 
 
 He called twice in a hushed voice, but she did not return 
 to him and presently he went on his way, walking a little 
 faster to make up for the time lost. He was used to Antonia 
 and her queer ways, so unlike the ways of other girls, but 
 to-night he was a little hurt by her reception of his confi 
 dence. They had known each other as boys and girls must 
 in a town like Cresston, and from their bickering school 
 days there had been a bond of unspoken allegiance between 
 them. The past two years, which he had spent as all young 
 Americans spent their time after the entrance of their
 
 22 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 country into the world war, had cast Cleve about like a 
 shuttle-cock and left Antonia marooned in the backwater of 
 a small town, but he was accustomed, when he remembered 
 her, to think of her as a fountain of understanding and 
 sympathy. Yet to-night she had received his small con 
 fidence almost with abruptness. He was at an age when 
 he believed women rather mysterious, but Antonia puzzled 
 him more than any other. . . . Then he reached the 
 Dupagny house and in its lights and gayety was swallowed 
 up, swiftly forgetting. . . . 
 
 Antonia, making her way back to the house through the 
 dewy darkness, almost stumbled over her young brother 
 sitting in a hunched position upon the lowest porch step. 
 
 "Why, Donnie." She steadied herself and reproved him, 
 elder sister fashion. "Why aren t you in bed ? It must be 
 nearly nine." 
 
 "I m just goin . There isn t any fun stayin up to-night." 
 
 She sat down beside him, dropping her long arm across 
 his thin little boy shoulders. "Why not, Donnie? It s a 
 lovely night, I think." 
 
 "Lovely for some folks. Sis, I wish you wouldn t stand 
 in my fence corner to talk to folks. My crowd was just 
 gettin together when you come along and stood there. We 
 hung around waitin but when Cleve Harkness came we 
 gave it up. You could have sat on the porch with him as 
 well as not." 
 
 Her arm fell away from its half caress. She sat upright. 
 "Donnie, you didn t spy on me?" 
 
 "No. But it was my post " 
 
 Their mother came out on the porch and joined them, 
 sitting down limply in a sway back rocker that embraced 
 her gently. Her voice wavered as she cautioned them to 
 silence. "Your Pa s going to bed early. I don t think I
 
 THE THRESHOLD 23 
 
 ever saw him so worn out. You must not talk loud . . . 
 he hears every sound." She fanned herself exhaustedly 
 with a newspaper which the Judge himself had left beside 
 the chair. "I found out at last what s been worrying him 
 so lately." She waited for their questions but they said 
 nothing. "He dropped a word or two to-night. . . . 
 They re getting the Democratic ticket ready for election. 
 Colonel Wickersham and that crowd. They ve been after 
 your father to run for office again and it s just about upset 
 him completely. It s the money. He can t make up his 
 mind to let the office go, yet I d rather starve than see 
 him belittled." 
 
 Antonia s voice came softly from the darkness that 
 enfolded her. "What is the office ?" 
 
 Tor for judge " 
 
 Donnie stirred; he caught only one phrase of what she 
 said. "But, ma, won t that be bully? My father a real 
 judge. . . . He ll be ahead of all the other lawyers then " 
 
 "Hush, Donnie, you don t understand. He won t be 
 ahead of any one " 
 
 "But you said " 
 
 "He ll only be Police Judge, Donnie."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 tragedy of Cleve Harkness boyhood had been 
 one of those every-day dramas which as they unfold 
 among commonplace surroundings are lost in the vision 
 of greater happenings. The elder Harkness, despised by 
 other merchants as a dealer in second-hand household goods, 
 led a dingy existence in the room behind his store, and 
 the little boy, who had no mother, slept there when he had 
 to and avoided the place at all other times. Old Saul, who 
 was suspected of being a miser, might have done well by 
 his child had he desired, but he was content to let Polin- 
 ski, the shoemaker, virtually keep the boy s feet from the 
 frost, while kind-hearted Cresston women patched his little 
 breeches with scraps of their own providing and pitied him 
 because he had no mother of his own to fret his freedom 
 or curtail his wandering. 
 
 The Harknesses, father and son, occupied a small niche in 
 the annals of the town until Cleve, finishing High School 
 at an unprecedented age, determined to read law instead 
 of adopting his legitimate occupation of driving the grocer s 
 cart a post offered and refused the day following his grad 
 uation. Naturally enough he became an object of loathing 
 to other boys whose envious parents constantly pointed to 
 him as a model. 
 
 The grocer was indignant and put his side of the matter 
 before old Saul when he passed the shop next day. The 
 grocer wanted to know what people were raising boys for, 
 
 24
 
 THE THRESHOLD 25 
 
 nowadays. But the second-hand dealer merely looked at 
 him with his red-rimmed eyes that seemed to have been 
 peering too long in dark and musty corners and went on 
 his way with a wry and icy smile. He made no sign of 
 having heard the grocer s complaint, and no one had seen 
 him evince any interest in the boy himself ; but that night 
 as they faced each other across their frugal supper table 
 he asked a question or two in his thin, rasping voice that 
 had never warmed to any human intercourse. 
 
 "Why didn t you take the work that Smith offered you ?" 
 Cleve s ycung mind was filled with a bitterness which 
 denied his father the right to question him. His clothes 
 had shamed him as he stood on the school rostrum. Not all 
 the art of Polinski could hide the wretched condition of his 
 boots, and his swiftly-growing body advertised cruelly the 
 makeshift character of the coat that tried to cover it. He 
 had always been afraid of his father, but now he answered 
 \vith unprecedented insolence. 
 
 "Because I wouldn t drive a grocer s cart." 
 Saul put down his fork and looked at his son with new 
 attention. "And why?" he asked presently. "Are you 
 proud ?" 
 
 The boy gave way to a fury as violent as it was rare. 
 Fear having left him for a time, he gloried in the chance 
 to repeat his cherished wrongs ; to voice the resentment and 
 bitterness that had grown up with him, and to heap re 
 proaches on the father who had never loved him. He thrust 
 his ragged sleeve before the flame of the lamp. 
 
 "Proud!" he cried, "of that? ..." Then his furious 
 eyes took in the details of the wretched old man in his shabby 
 clothes, and he thought of his narrowness and his total lack 
 of love and generosity. "Or of you who have let me live 
 Kke a beggar? No, I m not proud except that some one
 
 26 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 has given me a chance to make something of myself." He 
 said a great deal more, childish, immature ravings, inco 
 herent on account of rage and threatening, disgraceful tears. 
 He impressed nobody, not even himself, and presently lapsed 
 into silence, withdrawing his ragged sleeve from the light 
 of the lamp. Saul had listened with a thoughtful, sardonic 
 smile, waiting patiently for him to finish. Only one thing 
 interested him. 
 
 "Who is going to help you?" 
 
 The boy answered with pride, lifting his head and meet 
 ing his father s eyes squarely. "Judge Christy. I m going 
 to read law with him. I began to-day." 
 
 Old Harkness threw back his head and laughed, a laugh 
 as horrible as his red-rimmtd eyes, while the boy looked 
 at him astonished. "Christy," he repeated when he could 
 speak. "Roscoe Christy ! You have made plans for a fine 
 future. Gad! There ll be a pair of you, poor old Roscoe 
 and a young jackanapes who s ashamed of his father. It s 
 a fine joke, young one, but of course you can t see the point 
 at your age. . . . But you ll laugh like I do when you re 
 thirty. . . . Let me ask you one thing more. How do you 
 expect to live while you re reading law ? You ll be too proud 
 to let me keep you, of course." 
 
 Whether or not he was too proud, the boy answered this 
 by working in the despised grocer s store after all, and 
 studying at night for a year. But having a mind which 
 possessed some marvelous faculty for absorbing knowledge 
 and turning it into instant advantage, the end of this period 
 found him in a position of petty independence through the 
 copying of papers, bill collecting, and other unpleasant busi 
 ness details, and he was able to divorce himself from sugar 
 and bacon and devote all his time to Blackstone. He lived 
 in a cuddy at the rear of Judge Christy s office, and with
 
 THE THRESHOLD 27 
 
 blithe confidence in himself and a dogged determination to 
 win his goal, studied and delved through the countless vol 
 umes of the Christy library, until at eighteen he had acquired 
 a formidable and uncanny knowledge that ranked him with, 
 or far beyond, the sons of Cresston s prominent citizens, 
 such as Peter Withrow and Alan Wickersham, who returned 
 each summer from Eastern colleges with little to show for 
 their absence except silver cups and troublesome bills. 
 
 Cleve never crossed swords with his father again, though 
 opportunity had not been lacking. A boyish dignity and 
 shame for the other s incredible meanness kept him silent in 
 the face of taunts. Two things gave him control of his own 
 temper; one of them, the fact that he had won his own 
 point, and the other, which came slowly to him as his mind 
 matured, was that his father was by no means ignorant of 
 his progress. 
 
 Other matters began to worry him as he grew older. 
 There were even moments when he wished that old Saul 
 would break the ice between them, with an insult that he 
 could answer, for he had to admit at last that there had 
 been a reason for the sardonic laughter on the occasion of 
 his post-graduate rebellion. He was beginning to think that 
 he had made a mistake in aligning his fortunes to a tottering 
 cause. 
 
 To the expanding schoolboy mind, the Christy name had 
 meant favor from the highest. The Courthouse Square had 
 been named for the Christys, and Cleve could not imagine 
 a greater honor ; to him, as to Donnie, years later, that 
 fact spoke of inevitable wealth and power. Now, however, 
 he was wiser. 
 
 Beset by an active conscience, he argued his first case 
 with himself as plaintiff. Why should he bury his youth 
 and its opportunities in the grimy, forgotten office of a man
 
 28 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 who had never made good ? He had worked hard. His own 
 cleverness and application had stuffed his brain with learn 
 ing and his soul with ambition; there was no chance for 
 either to be heard behind a door that never opened. What 
 did he owe to Roscoe Christy after all? He had paid his 
 way by a thousand minor tasks performed for a man who 
 had no son to take the place of failing eyesight and heavy 
 feet. Yet, at the same time, conscience reminded him of 
 the first visit he had ever paid to the dingy room, which 
 then had seemed a shrine; a wretched schoolboy, holding 
 his battered cap in twiddling ringers, explaining between 
 gasps that he wanted to "study law." He also recalled 
 the man who listened to him with grave courtesy, not smil 
 ing or interrupting, promising, when the interview was over, 
 to help him to his desire. He had been given his chance 
 to learn, and the food for his ambition was on the endless 
 shelves that covered the walls to the ceiling. His conscience 
 reminded him of a debt that he miserably admitted, until a 
 girl s smile and an invitation coquettishly offered erased the 
 sentence that would have chained him to an outgrown 
 allegiance. 
 
 Wickersham and Frye were the most progressive firm in 
 Cresston. They united with their legal practice a thriving 
 business in real estate and first mortgages, and Cleve s activ 
 ities as substitute clerk brought him into frequent contact 
 with both partners. Wickersham and Frye were not the sort 
 to overlook anything that tended to their own advantage. 
 They saw in Cleve a youngster of remarkable promise, with 
 a keen mind and a genius for making friends always with 
 the right people. They began to look him up, and in the 
 process discovered something that brought them together 
 in whispered consultation. The result of this was a very 
 decent offer to polish off Cleve s legal education, and at
 
 THE THRESHOLD 29 
 
 the same time pay him a living wage for nominal duties. 
 It turned the boy s head, though it did not entirely turn his 
 heart. While he was hesitating between conscience and de 
 sire, Bessie Wickersham smiled and invited him to a Sunday 
 tea, as her father had ordered her to do, and the balance 
 was turned. Cleve bought a new blue serge suit and went 
 to Wickersham and Frye. In a little while he nodded con 
 descendingly when he met Roscoe Christy on the street. 
 
 Until that time girls had been a negligible quality in 
 Cleve s life. He had been too poverty-stricken, too inter 
 ested in his own flaming intelligence, to think of them ; the 
 one exception being Antonia Christy, a shy child with too 
 much hair and thin legs, who did not count. Cleve 
 thought of her when he wanted an audience that never 
 failed in appreciation. She was absorbingly interested in 
 what he learned, rather than in him, and this relieved the 
 embarrassments of adolescence. With Antonia he gravely 
 discussed "points," and more than once she brilliantly de 
 feated him, to his chagrin and astonishment. But even at 
 this age he had a masculine distaste for brains in women 
 and refused to credit her with knowledge equal to his own, 
 preferring to accuse her of parroting her father s sayings ; 
 a charge gently endured by Antonia, for in all things that 
 did not move her deeply she was sweetly yielding. Absorbed 
 in his dawning future, Cleve failed to realize that she kept 
 pace with him and was his closest companion until that 
 historic day when Bessie smiled. 
 
 The Wickersham girl was a dumpy creature with a thick 
 waist and a nervous apprehension about marriage. She 
 would never have wasted a glance on Cleve except by her 
 father s command, but, having smiled once, she found it 
 agreeable, and Cleve s entree to the inner circle was paved 
 for a little way with Bessie s favor.
 
 30 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 She was four years his senior, but he found it easy to 
 fall in love with her, and having once experienced passion 
 he brought to that altar all the enthusiasm, the keen energy, 
 and tireless investigation that characterized his endeavors. 
 
 Bessie passed quickly, disappearing in marriage with a 
 young doctor who needed the Wickersham connection. Long 
 after she had faded from Cleve s mind as anything except a 
 rather dow dy, stout matron, she cherished the memory of 
 certain passages between them and wondered if, in case she 
 died first, she should confess to the doctor. She would have 
 been a happy woman if she had known that her smile 
 marked an epoch in Cleve s life. 
 
 Old Saul Harkness watched the gliding changes in his 
 son s life with evil eyes that missed nothing. He had de 
 lightful moments picturing Cleve s amazement if he knew 
 that, far .from displeasing his father, he was being secretly 
 commended. Old Saul thought of himself as a marvel oi 
 diplomacy. Why not? The boy was being educated in 
 the best of schools, experience and without costing a dollar. 
 While men like Withrow and Wickersham were throwing 
 their money away on Eastern colleges, his boy was reaping 
 the advantages at home that, should have belonged to their 
 sons. He was waiting for Cleve to reach a certain stage 
 of development before he told him the truth and made him 
 a partner in his own future. He wanted to be sure that 
 the boy had reached a level in life and that he was coldly 
 calculating enough to keep the helm of his little boat square 
 set. 
 
 There was still a nominal association between the two, 
 and one evening Cleve stopped in to see his father on his 
 way from a warm, delightful house where his evening had 
 been spent; still thinking of incense and soft cushions and 
 the thousand and one luxuries which made up the life of the
 
 THE THRESHOLD 31 
 
 people with whom he was becoming acquainted. With these 
 thoughts before his mind, he astonished his father with an 
 attack of such sudden brutality that the old man, whose 
 soul reveled in his pinch-penny, makeshift household, re 
 coiled before the sweeping condemnation. 
 
 Why should we live in such mire as this? Between us 
 we could manage something better. . . . We re not beg 
 gars . . ." 
 
 Saul looked rather piteously around the rooms where he 
 had spent the greater portion of his life. In a way his habi 
 tation reflected his outlook on life, and for this reason it 
 fulfilled his every need. Now he realized that Cleve s desire 
 to transform the world would begin upon the roof which 
 had sheltered him. But old Harkness was prepared to de 
 fend himself from the attack. 
 
 "Hah! What!" he snorted, showing his teeth. "You re 
 getting up in the air, young man. What s done all this? 
 When a man s ashamed of the bed that bred him it s a 
 question that wants an answer. Why isn t this house good 
 enough for you ?" 
 
 Confronted with this, Oeve replied forcibly, not mincing 
 words. "Because it s nothing but a damned hovel, filthy and 
 unsanitary. You can afford a decent house. Why don t 
 you have one?" 
 
 Saul sensed danger. He might almost have been seen 
 withdrawing into an impervious if invisible cover of his 
 own. It was nearly the first time in his life that he had 
 been attacked openly on the subject of money, and now 
 he thanked whatever gods he knew that he had been reticent 
 with this blatant youngster, who was ruining his chance to 
 share his father s secret. 
 
 "How do you know what I can afford?" he began, rais 
 ing his voice until his antagonist was silenced. "You ve
 
 32 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 lost your head. . . . Women have done it. ... They ll ruin 
 you. I see it coming. . . . Women at your age. That s 
 what association with that old star-gazer Christy has done 
 for you. . . . You are out of your place moonstruck. If 
 you want a better house you ll have to support it yourself 
 . . . marry a rich girl." 
 
 Cleve blushed. He was still young enough to blush at 
 the mention of marriage, which was like a sacred vision to 
 him. However, the vulgar wrangle decided him, and he 
 broke with his father, finally, going to live at Mrs. Miller s 
 boarding-house on Thelma Avenue, and taking with him a 
 suitcase which contained his second suit, a half dozen collars 
 and some worn linen. Mrs. Miller loved his bold blue eyes 
 and the way he admitted that he couldn t pay much at the 
 start. She began at once to superintend his scanty ward 
 robe and to fortify it in unsuspected places. 
 
 However, he was still too unimportant a figure in society 
 for his movements to cause the faintest interest. He might 
 have learned his textbooks backward without exciting the 
 uplift of a penciled eyebrow. Women were beginning to 
 notice his lithe, graceful figure and charming manner, and 
 men knew that his accuracy could be counted on in busi 
 ness matters, but these things were little things to measure 
 importance by. Among the undergraduates who returned to 
 Cresston for the holidays he was gray and ungilded. He 
 needed something to give his rise the momentum that would 
 thrust him into the warm glow of public approval, and run 
 ning true to the form which had marked his way this far, it 
 came to him. 
 
 When America declared war it brought the same condi 
 tions to Cresston which came to a thousand small towns. 
 Life was topsy-turvy in a day. The social system was 
 thrown into the scrap heap, sifted and readjusted. A man s
 
 THE THRESHOLD 33 
 
 importance was measured by his height and weight, the 
 clearness of his eye. Over night the blacksmith became 
 more important to a hysterical public than the banker over 
 fifty. Democracy entered the back door and declared the 
 cobbler equal to the king if he could carry equipment 
 better. 
 
 Out of this confusion of tradition Cleve Harkness issued 
 like the hero of a play. While other men scrambled for 
 patronage and appointments and rubbed up half -forgotten 
 knowledge or failed ignominiously, Cleve, without exerting 
 himself in the least, was among the first to pass for a com 
 mission, and, having received it, returned for the briefest of 
 visits to his home town to find himself a hero. 
 
 For the first time women really discovered him, and it 
 must be admitted that in his uniform he was worth looking 
 at. The town turned out to give him praise, and though 
 there was a smart contingent of Cresston men who served, 
 it was generally of Cleve Harkness that people thought when 
 they mentioned the town s quota. 
 
 It may have been his loneliness. It was noticed that there 
 was no service star in the window of his father s second 
 hand store, and, while they only despised old Saul the 
 more for this omission, they did not enforce the duty upon 
 him. Wickersham and Frye put two stars in their window 
 instead one for Cleve and one for Alan, who was a dough 
 boy in spite of Yale. 
 
 Cleve came back after two years. Most of this time had 
 been spent in training camps, but he got to France in time 
 to bring back a few stories that added brilliantly to the 
 town s history. Of all the men who returned he was most 
 welcomed by the public, who adopted him and made him 
 their own. His old place with Wickersham and Frye was 
 open to him, but he could not retreat from the dignity of
 
 34 
 
 his commission to the position of handy man in a busy office ; 
 besides he felt himself the equal, if not the superior, of 
 men whose territory was a yard or two of Turkey carpet. 
 He had no money, or next to none, or he would have made 
 the start alone. Failing this, he looked about for some one 
 whose limitations fitted to his own qualifications. 
 
 He found the man he sought in Peter Withrow. He had 
 known Peter all of his life, of course, but when Polinski 
 was mending Cleve s broken shoes for nothing, Peter was 
 riding his blooded pony and having his lessons from an 
 imported governess, so that their ways seldom touched. 
 After the habit of childhood they had envied each other; 
 Cleve had longed for the rich boy s comfort, and Peter 
 wanted, above all things, the freedom and simplicity of the 
 gutter. But it had never gone further than that 
 
 As young men, they were further apart than ever be 
 cause of the difference in their natures ; Peter caring for 
 none of the friends who would have chosen him, and Cleve 
 assiduously making friends everywhere. However, the war 
 changed all this. 
 
 Peter did not go. His near-sighted eyes left him stranded 
 at home, and nobody knew how he felt about it, for in the 
 passionate excitement of new-found brotherhood with the 
 brawny saviors of the country, he was forgotten. He gave 
 money, since they would not let him give himself, and when 
 it was all over and the papers were filled with the dull after 
 math of political discussion, he invited Cleve Harkness to 
 take a long ride with him one afternoon. When they re 
 turned the new firm had been named and capitalized. 
 
 Wickersham and Frye felt rather foolish when they 
 thought of the second service star, and in the privacy of his 
 dark and dusty shop old Saul chuckled and rubbed his
 
 THE THRESHOLD 35 
 
 palms. He could see his son climbing upward upon the 
 bruised hands of those who had lifted him. 
 
 Cleve wakened to the fact that, having a place of his own, 
 he could follow his own ideas and not another man s. He 
 parted from his firm with regret but no sentiment. He did 
 not suspect their motives, because he thought only of his 
 own. Life and the joy of living were pressing hard upon 
 his youth ; his clear brain was slightly befogged as his 
 body was wearied with too much of what had always been 
 denied. He had never known the cloying sweetness of 
 feminine sympathy en masse, though he had been familiar 
 with pity, and he became swiftly intoxicated with the per 
 fumes of the inner circle, which had until now been unknown 
 to him. Through all this one side of his nature remained 
 impervious to the attack of lethargy. He who had learned 
 to earn money with difficulty, could not learn to spend with 
 ease. Again he scored with fathers who wanted an example 
 to hold before their extravagant sons. He changed his 
 method of living to comfort, but that was all. He was like 
 a skater upon a vast ice stretch, afraid to strike out. His 
 changed circumstances put him in contact with the under 
 graduates, who by this time had blossomed into professional 
 men. He formed friendships with men like young Wicker- 
 sham, who had never seriously noticed him before, and 
 with other youths less gilded, but who had their place in 
 the events of the town. For a queer reason known only 
 to himself, Peter Withrow, the most difficult person to 
 know in Cresston, had chosen to respond to Cleve s charm, 
 and every one else was quick to follow his example. 
 
 When their names appeared together in fat gold script 
 upon an extravagant set of windows in the Sheridan Build 
 ing, admiring onlookers spoke of "young blood," and pre-
 
 36 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 dieted a startling rise in the professional values of the 
 town. 
 
 The war had made tremendous changes, but none more 
 significant than this. To-day was the young man s day, as 
 yesterday was his father s!
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE yellow honeysuckle at the south side of the house 
 had been watered late in the afternoon and its damp, 
 heavy perfume mingled with the lighter essences hidden 
 in the delicate garments and soft hair of the women on the 
 veranda of the Dupagny house in Armitage Street. Rose 
 loved the homely vine that gave itself so freely, and this 
 was strange, for with the secret fire beneath her languid 
 beauty she herself was like an expensive orchid. 
 
 She was disdainful of contrast and loved to surround 
 herself with beautiful women. All her guests were charm 
 ing, except Ethel Plumey, who sat on the top step with 
 her face lifted, hoping that the moonlight made her eyes 
 look romantic. The Plumey girl bored every one except 
 Rose Dupagny, who pitied her and tried to help her, not 
 knowing that such interest seldom wins gratitude. To-night 
 she listened to the flutter of conversation around her and 
 was filled with a longing and envy that could only be 
 assuaged by the discovery of intrigue. 
 
 It was one of the nights when Rose s veranda seemed to 
 have captured all the radiance of the town. Most of the 
 men were congregated in Laurence Dupagny s den where he 
 kept a very good brand of Scotch, and the pretty maid who 
 constantly replenished the cracked ice failed to hear any 
 thing more exciting than post mortem golf conflicts and 
 desultory electoral predictions, but on the veranda it was 
 different. Enough men remained to make a showing among 
 
 37
 
 38 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 the pretty shoulders and slim ankles that emerged from 
 deep wicker porch chairs, and husbands who made bores 
 of themselves were not missed in the white moonlight. 
 
 Cleve Harkness, arriving a little late, found a place rather 
 cleverly saved for him beside his hostess. As he slipped 
 into it, guided by a slight pressure of her hand, he was 
 chagrined to find himself with nothing to say. Rose 
 Dupagny always bewildered and confused him, though this 
 condition was gradually passing from. their meetings, which 
 had become frequent of late. 
 
 Before his war experience, Cleve had known her only 
 as a startling person who sometimes floated across the dull 
 orbit of his beauty-starved existence. In those days he was 
 merely a precocious youngster grasping at knowledge where 
 he could find it; trying to overcome the handicapping par 
 entage of old Saul Harkness, the second-hand dealer, by the 
 fiercely achieved victories in the petty law cases that came 
 his way. But khaki and a medal or two had proven a 
 miraculous bridge which spanned no greater chasm than 
 one which brought him to the chair beside Rose Dupagny. 
 
 Under cover of the darkness she smiled, noting the uncon 
 scious vibration of his body as the swaying chair brought 
 her nearer to him. She could see his face, dimly lighted 
 with the eagerness that was so charming, turned to her as 
 to the sun. She knew that her nearness embarrassed him 
 and this pleased and amused her, for she loved the conquest 
 of youth and the thrill of its enthusiasm. Protected by a 
 ripple of laughter, she said softly, "I was afraid you would 
 not come." 
 
 Miss Plumey filled an empty moment with her gurgling 
 laughter. "Pappa told the oddest story at dinner to-night," 
 she explained when her mirth decreased. "I wonder if 
 you ve heard it? It s about the election. The Democrats
 
 THE THRESHOLD 39 
 
 have planned such a funny thing to do to somebody. Pappa 
 says the whole town will be laughing to-morrow. . . ." 
 
 Into the bored silence that followed, the lazy voice of 
 Alan Wickersham- drawled, "You re speaking of poor old 
 Christy. . . . There s nothing very secret about that, and 
 if there s a joke, I can t see the humor of it. The world 
 is full o.f lawyers who should be selling coal, and if Christy 
 has stuck to a losing game all his life why should he be 
 laughed at more than another? Nobody knows whether 
 he d be a success at his profession, He never had a 
 chance to show it." 
 
 Annoyed at the failure of her small sensation, Miss 
 Plumey began to laugh again to cover her chagrin. "But 
 it s so absurd," she persisted, "because his father was a 
 Supreme Court Judge, he s tried to live up to it and make 
 his family live up to it, too. They re dreadfully poor, you 
 know, and it s so- ridiculous, that pompous old man calling 
 himself Judge when he isn t really anything. Pappa says 
 they nicknamed him that when he was about twenty, and 
 ever since he has been trying to get himself elected, to an 
 office, from the senate down. The men who run the elec 
 tions thought they would give him a right to his title at last, 
 and he ll really be a judge police judge. It was awfully 
 clever of some one to think of it." 
 
 "You read with him, didn t you, Harkness?" Alan Wick 
 ersham asked. 
 
 "Yes ... he has a tremendous library; one of the best 
 in the State. I read with him." 
 
 Ethel Plumey broke in again. "They say he accepted 
 the nomination as if he d been asked to run for Congress." 
 
 In the shadow of the overlapping, elms, invisible persons 
 not eligible to the Dupagny veranda, strolled toward the 
 Square, where the blazing electric signs of vulgar, amusing
 
 40 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 picture theaters cajoled them from the soft, warm night. 
 Their voices, murmurous, admonishing, and critical, rose 
 and fell; children whimpered and laughed. Out of the 
 ruck of unimportant nobodies, a man, walking slowly, 
 turned in at the Dupagny steps and before he reached the 
 group on the veranda they recognized Peter Withrow. 
 
 Rose allowed herself the luxury of a smile that embraced 
 her contempt for Laurence Dupagny s undisguised eagerness 
 to welcome a man whose money tempted him. Not that 
 she disdained money herself, for as she put her cool slim 
 fingers into Peter s, she wondered anxiously if he would 
 consent to bolster one of Dupagny s shaky enterprises with 
 some of his idle thousands. 
 
 In the slight stir of this arrival the soft merriment sub 
 sided. People were a little afraid of Peter Withrow, he 
 had an uncertain, caustic trick of speech that sometimes bit 
 deep beneath vanity. Ease and abandon fled at his approach 
 and Miss Plumey curled herself against the protection of 
 somebody s knees. 
 
 But Peter himself knew nothing of this. It was a summer 
 night and he was lonely. He did not know Rose Dupagny 
 very well, but her enigmatic smile promised a deeper under 
 standing than he found in other women. 
 
 "We re talking about old Christy s library," explained 
 young Wickersham. "Harkness says it s the finest in the 
 state." 
 
 "He should know," responded Peter, dryly. 
 
 Cleve moved restlessly. "Complete, as far as it goes, 
 but not up to date," he said. "Hundreds of the books are 
 useless." 
 
 "Then if he has read them all, he should make a perfectly 
 splendid police judge," giggled Miss Plumey, brightly. 
 "Have you heard, Mr. Withrow? He s to be a really,
 
 THE THRESHOLD 41 
 
 truly judge at last. You men mjist all vote for him. He 
 must think the whole town is dying for him to win. That s 
 part of the joke." 
 
 Peter was silent ; then he said, "I ve heard about it 
 yes. It s a damned shame. I wish I knew the man who 
 started it " 
 
 Laurence Dupagny interfered. . . . "Weil, well," he 
 said in his smooth voice 1 , "who cares for politics in this 
 weather. . . ." He drew the last guest into the masculine 
 shelter of the den, and the veranda, safe from Peter, relaxed. 
 
 "What a boor," gasped Miss Plumey. "Who would think 
 he was a Harvard man?" 
 
 People paired off. From the secluded chairs came the 
 gurgle of debutantes and the seasoned inflection of married 
 flirts. The Wickersham youth found himself face to face 
 with Ethel Plumey, and in an effort to escape declared that 
 he must go. There was a ripple of cruel amusement when 
 she claimed this intention as well. 
 
 \Vhen they -were gone Rose said gayly to Cleve Harkness, 
 who remained at her side, "It will be all over town to 
 morrow that Peter Withrow swore in the presence of ladies. 
 Why doesn t he behave and become a respectable member 
 of society ?" 
 
 Cleve s slight restraint had vanished long ago and he 
 was able to summon a mood that met her own. Rose 
 Dupagny was more charming than he imagined a woman 
 could be, and he was dazzled by the challenge he sometimes 
 glimpsed in her eyes. Rose wondered what was beneath 
 the smooth exterior of this new young man who had sud 
 denly become a person of importance in their midst. She 
 admitted his good looks, but many men were good looking 
 without interesting* her. She had always been careful to 
 hold herself in the feminine role while secretly smiling over
 
 42 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 the fatuity of her admirers who could not see that she 
 defended herself with the weapon of flattery. It was so 
 easy to win men that she pitied Cleve, thrust without 
 preparation upon the spears of a hundred attractive women. 
 She was astonished to find pity an element in her interest 
 which centered about him. She felt the years that divided 
 them. They were not many, but she was irrevocably the 
 elder. She wanted to advise him, to warn him of what 
 she knew so well, and to tell him those things of which she 
 thought him to be ignorant. Tenderness was a new and 
 dangerous sensation for her. She remembered distinctly 
 all the stories she had heard of his childhood spent here in 
 Cresston where his value had just been discovered. His 
 willingness to learn from her was an added novelty and 
 charm in their relationship; all the men she knew believed 
 so thoroughly in themselves and resented help from a 
 woman so warmly. . . . Even her husband who had been 
 wrong enough times to shatter the most rockbound egotism, 
 would accept nothing from her. . . . 
 
 There was an excitement in this incipient friendship 
 which no other had held for her. She found the entire 
 formula reversed and all calculated moves made valueless 
 by his attitude of simple and frank admiration. The flat 
 tery of his complete submission left her no room to flatter 
 him. She was almost embarrassed by his respect. But 
 their conversation was completely innocuous and might have 
 been overheard by the world without interest. During the 
 hour which both remembered for days they spoke of the 
 Country Club which Cleve had just joined and of the auto 
 mobile he had recently ordered. 
 
 "Peter chose it," he admitted, with an utter ingenuous 
 ness that acknowledged poverty without shame. "I know 
 nothing about them, you see, and he s owned a half a dozen."
 
 THE THRESHOLD 43 
 
 He hesitated, plainly making up his mind for a bold question. 
 "I wonder if you d do a big thing for me, Mrs. Dupagny?" 
 
 She murmured assent, her quick mind leaping to a dozen 
 possibilities. "I want you to try it out with me when it 
 comes," he hesitated. "It s only a very small one." 
 
 "The automobile !" she gasped, realizing where her 
 thoughts had led her. Then she laughed indulgently. 
 "What a child you are ! I thought you were about to ask 
 for the moon. Of course I will. Why not?" 
 
 While they were laughing over this Dupagny and Peter 
 came from the house. Presently the two young men, the 
 last of a lazy procession, went down the street together. 
 Dupagny leaned over the high back of Rose s chair. His 
 face was close enough to feel the warmth of her hair and 
 the coolness of her cheek. All his habitual ill humor had 
 vanished and there was wistful appeal in the way he tried 
 to draw a response from her. 
 
 "I believe I ll get Withrow in on that deal yet," he said, 
 bidding for her favor. "He s discovered that I keep the 
 right brand of Scotch and his respect for my judgment has 
 multiplied. If I can handle his money for awhile, you won t 
 have to worry over dressmaker s bills in the future. I will 
 make every dollar earn three." 
 
 Still her veiled eyes remained away from him. He could 
 not tell if she heard. He cupped her face in his hands 
 with a sort of mild passion and forced her lips upward to 
 his. "Rose ! Do you care at all for me ? For our .life 
 together? I know it s been rotten at times, but everything 
 is for you. Nothing else counts " 
 
 "Yes, dear, yes," she soothed, like one who repeats an 
 old story. She was not thinking of him.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ANTONIA loved her room, but it was beautiful to no 
 eyes but her own. It was narrow gabled and low 
 roofed and the floor sighed with every footstep as though 
 other feet, long dead, had returned to walk there. In the 
 spring the tops of fruit trees reached the dormer windows 
 and touched them with feathery bloom so that there was a 
 riot of cplor and perfume, and the old walnut pieces, full of 
 gentle curves and polishes, had the air of age benevolently 
 watching the frolics of youth. Antonia loved her room 
 most in spring. 
 
 When Mrs. Christy came there it always left her a little 
 tearful. She would never sit in the brown rocker with the 
 curved back, for she knew its history and dreaded a fall at 
 her age. Her idea of a young girl s room was something 
 in bird s-eye maple with swiss curtains and a good Brussels 
 rug. Years ago when Antonia was a baby, and they rocked 
 summer dusks away she had furnished such a room in her 
 fancy, but it had never come to anything. Antonia herself 
 had grown far away from this ideal and not even her 
 mother could modify her to such a background. 
 
 It pained Mrs. Christy most to watch Antonia before 
 her dresser brushing her hair. She could never understand 
 why this monstrosity, so incongruous to slender youth, had 
 found its w ay there and was cherished. But to Antonia 
 it was a dear possession. She had discovered the huge piece 
 of furniture and rescued it from the ignominy of a jam 
 
 44
 
 THE THRESHOLD 45 
 
 closet and to her it had beauty. The dim mirror gave 
 back a ghostly reflection and the drawer handles, carved 
 of solid, polished wood were shaped like the knuckles of a 
 closed hand so that in touching one had the sensation of 
 clasping cold and unresponsive ringers. To one less vital 
 this might have been depressing, but Antonia thought of 
 her bureau merely in terms of affection and as a receptacle 
 strong and secure for the safeguarding of her humble 
 treasures. 
 
 Her dreams were curious phantasies at this time, chaotic 
 and touched with the fragrance of ^young girlhood. She 
 must have possessed a small share of her mother s whimsical 
 imagination, for these idle fancies were woven with quaint 
 aircastles built from the traditions of her family s glory. 
 There were times when the Christy pride seemed to Antonia 
 a false and unworthy idol, but she could not admit this dis 
 loyalty, even to herself, without a pang. She was bred 
 to reverence the attitude of fifty years ago, but facing the 
 inconsistencies of the present she could not always believe 
 in it. Youth and a certain strain of common sense inherited 
 from some unromantic progenitor, demanded more than she 
 was getting out of life, or at le ast an accounting from the 
 treasured traditions which were like a cross upon her young 
 shoulders. 
 
 On the day of the city election Mrs. Christy, approaching 
 the gabled room in a state of mind divided between faint 
 resentment and respect, discovered Antonia sitting by the 
 open window, where the green leaves of the plum tree tops 
 formed a screen from the sun, with a ponderous tome upon 
 her knees. The overflow of the Christy library was packed 
 away in the attic and for years she had been reading these 
 books one after another without sequence, absorbing in this 
 way a vast amount of knowledge and miscellaneous, star-
 
 46 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 tling data. Her mother looked fretted when she saw the 
 musty pages of the book. She disapproved of such reading 
 and was of the fixed opinion that law books contained much 
 information highly improper for the minds of young girls ; 
 the older the volume the more certain was she that this was 
 the case. But she seldom voiced these opinions. Uncon 
 sciously she and Antonia had exchanged places years before 
 and mingled with her disapproval was a sensation of awe. 
 The fact that Antonia could interpret those obscure legal 
 phrases connected with the transfer of property, gave her 
 an unmeasured superiority which her mother recognized and 
 respected. 
 
 The subject of the election had been seldom referred to 
 in the family, though Mrs. Christy innocently betrayed its 
 paramount importance in her mind by assuming toward the 
 judge a manner usually reserved for the sickroom. She 
 presented an unbending attitude of cheerful optimism 
 toward the future, mildly resenting Antonia s fierce de 
 nunciation of the town and its people who were trying to 
 make a mockery of her father. For Antonia had seen 
 through the -mean and sorry jest, and at length in sick pity 
 she desisted from trying to make her mother see also what 
 was so plain to her. 
 
 "Your father is one of the smartest men Cresston ever 
 produced," declared Mrs. Christy with vehemence. "He 
 reads Latin and Greek as easily as he does the Cresston 
 Times, you ve seen him do it. He s been unappreciated in 
 this town. I sometimes think a family can live too long in 
 one place. Neither the Christys nor the Saltwells are what 
 they once were, but nobody can say what this election may 
 lead to. When I saw that your father was bound to accept it, 
 I argued it out with him. If it wasn t necessary to have 
 police judges we wouldn t have them, would we? And if
 
 THE THRESHOLD 47 
 
 it s a necessary office, and your father fills it better than any 
 other man has done, it s a step in the right direction, isn t 
 it?" 
 
 "And poor father is over fifty," Antonia said, with the 
 pity of youth. "Oh, mother, how simple and sweet you are, 
 or are you simple, I wonder? Aren t you deeper than the 
 rest of us who storm and rage at Fate ?" 
 
 "I ve always found resentment didn t pay," Mrs. Christy 
 returned, with the air of a philosopher. "If your father 
 had resented the way Cresston people have treated him, he 
 wouldn t have this chance to heap coals of fire upon their 
 heads." 
 
 It was impossible to combat Mrs. Christy when she was 
 determined to be pleased and Antonia was far from this 
 wish. She met her mother s look of innocent triumph with 
 a smile. She was reserving herself for a struggle that must 
 come later, and Mrs. Christy s ebullitions aroused in her 
 nothing more than a spirit of sadness, a foreboding of the 
 time when she must put her strength against the love that 
 bound her wings. 
 
 Mrs. Christy sat down recklessly without noticing that 
 her choice had fallen upon the dangerous brown rocker. 
 "Well, child," she said with a brisk air of completion, "in 
 a few hours now we shall know everything. I ve made a 
 blackberry pie. I hope nothing will happen to irritate your 
 father. This means far more to him than you can im 
 agine." 
 
 "What can it mean," said Antonia, slowly, "except that 
 all these years he has been mistaken? What a frighten 
 ing thought that is ! To go- through life mistaken, because 
 of empty prejudices ; following little paths opened by dead 
 and gone people, when all the time one might be building 
 wide highways for oneself."
 
 48 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Mrs. Christy was scandalized ; "Little paths !" she echoed 
 indignantly. "Are you speaking of your Grandfather 
 Lemuel Christy s career in that disrespectful way? Upon 
 my word, Antonia, you have the oddest ideas for a young 
 girl ! I suppose you would be pleased if your father kept a 
 harness shop." She breathed deeply. 
 
 "I should," Antonia answered calmly, "if he made good 
 harness." 
 
 "That is the point exactly," cried her mother instantly. 
 "Your father, with Lemuel Christy s example before him, 
 will mete out justice, even if it is to the lowest classes, 
 people who get themselves arrested in low brawls. Surely, 
 Antonia, justice is as necessary to that class as to those 
 higher up. Your father will show Cresston what it means 
 to be a Christy, even if the office they offer him isn t all it 
 should be." 
 
 Antonia said nothing. She was ashamed. Sometimes 
 her mother, with her simple childish reasoning, had the 
 power to humiliate her, though Mrs. Christy never dreamed 
 of her success. But after a moment Antonia discovered 
 that she was not convinced. She closed the book upon her 
 knees, knowing that the time had come for the destruction 
 of the peace between them. "Mother," she said, "you and 
 father have not been fair to us, to Donnie and me. Why 
 do you forget us when you insist upon justice? Haven t 
 we the right to a home where things are paid for? Why 
 does father think that he can live on credit all his life 
 credit furnished by a dead man s name, and then pride him 
 self on distributing justice to people who have only been 
 guilty of trivial wrongs, like wife-beating !" 
 
 "Antonia!" Mrs. Christy was pale. This sounded like 
 blasphemy. "What are you saying? You have read those
 
 THE THRESHOLD 49 
 
 dreadful books until it has made you unmaidenly. Your 
 father you have no respect for him you dishonor him 
 with such words. How do you know how can you know 
 what has brought him to this? Your poor father you 
 never loved him as a daughter should " She began to 
 weep, with her worn hands before her face. 
 
 "Perhaps not as a daughter," cried Antonia passionately, 
 "but as a son ! Oh, mother, you cannot know how I have 
 longed to help ! If I were his son he would let me help 
 he would have the pride in me that he has lost in himself. 
 I want to bring our family back to what it was. I want to 
 make them give him respect, if not honors. The sorry jest 
 they played should be turned upon them. Love him ! I 
 love him enough to give my life to the work of saving our 
 name from ignominious failure 
 
 She stopped with a despairing gesture, pressing her hands 
 against her breast. Her mother did not understand. An 
 tonia had been- telling her cherished thoughts to incompre 
 hension. 
 
 But neither did Antonia understand ! The older woman 
 looked at her sadly. The intolerance of youth and its blind 
 ness ! If Mrs. Christy had put her thought in words she 
 might have said that youth and beauty were not meant for 
 sacrifice like this, nor would life let it happen-. She smiled 
 wistfully, recalling the facts that Antonia passed over with 
 out consideration, but a delicate shame and incoherence 
 prevented such allusion, that, and the certainty that so 
 young a girl could not understand. Instead she said 
 primly : 
 
 "Some day you will be married with a home of your own, 
 and then you will understand what is due the head of a 
 family. I must say, Antonia, there are times when you seem
 
 SO THE THRESHOLD 
 
 very selfish. You are actually planning to trouble your 
 father at the very moment when his mind is harassed by his 
 new office. He needs all his strength and calm to meet these 
 conditions." 
 
 When she was alone once more Antonia did not return 
 to her book. She sat quietly for a while with her smooth 
 chin resting on the little hollow of her neck. Presently she 
 went over to the bureau with the handles like closed 
 knuckles. She sat on the floor and drew out one of the 
 lower drawers, and from the bottom of this unearthed a 
 white cardboard box tied with a ribbon. 
 
 She turned the contents over in her hand bit by bit. 
 There was nothing there but ordinary keepsakes; powdery 
 dried flowers, a button from a soldier s uniform, and a 
 dance program covered with scribbled names on the back 
 of which was written "I d rather dance with you," in a 
 boyish scrawl. The last thing she looked at was a shallow 
 package of letters. All these small mementos came from 
 Cleve Harkness. 
 
 They had not met since the night when Bonnie s fence 
 corner had been usurped. Cresston was a small city, but 
 its environs embraced widely separated social groups. 
 Cleve, son of the second hand furniture dealer, was a per 
 son far removed from Antonia s orbit and only chance 
 could bring them together. In the daily record of the 
 town s social maneuvers she read his name as guest at this 
 dinner or that dance; he belonged to the Golf Club; he was 
 everywhere that pretty women congregated; he had sud 
 denly become a person of gay importance. She knew that 
 he had moved from Mrs. Miller s boarding house on Thelma 
 Avenue where he had lived so long, and this fact alone 
 seemed to separate them eternally. . . .
 
 THE THRESHOLD 51 
 
 She was beginning to think of him as she had when he 
 was in France, a distant personality, not touching upon her 
 own life except through shadowry memories. But now 
 something her mother had said wakened her heart for a 
 moment to a poignant thrill which left her saddened and 
 thoughtful as it disappeared.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE fireplace in the middle room of the Christy house 
 was all that remained of -the original building, which 
 had been a pretentious mansion in the days when houses 
 were really houses. Fire having laid its perishable structure 
 in ashes, another house, humble and mean in comparison, 
 had taken its place, apologizing from year to year with the 
 promise of better things, but gradually settling itself around 
 what had been the heart of the great house, a heart which 
 lived on in spite of ignominy. 
 
 In summer time the fireplace was a gaunt and blackened 
 cavern which in years past Mrs. Christy tried to brighten 
 with green branches and poinsettias made of red crinkled 
 paper. This habit, however, had been abandoned and now 
 there was nothing to break the cold monotony of the broad 
 granite slabs, cut from the quarry which once belonged to 
 the family, and which furnished Cresston with half its 
 foundations. The iron crane still hung in the chimney, but 
 the fire ovens where bread had been baked and the spit that 
 could turn a quarter of beef as easily as a pullet, were 
 banished to the attic. Mrs. Christy looked at them now and 
 then, and reflected sadly on the waste and profligacy of those 
 days. 
 
 But in winter the fireplace could be magnificent. While 
 the farm remained and wood was plentiful it was possible 
 to pile as many logs as three men could carry upon the tre 
 mendous firedogs, whose sooty smirk remained changeless 
 
 52
 
 THE THRESHOLD 53 
 
 under incalculable burdens. But the memory of even those 
 days was beginning to grow dim. In the narrowing of life, 
 even had fuel been at hand, it would have seemed almost 
 criminal to feed the voracious maw of that black grave with 
 hickory and oak . . . but there were times when Mrs. 
 Christy was unable to pay the gas bill and then the orchard 
 and crumbling fences would be surreptitiously robbed and 
 a small fire, like the dying flicker of an incredibly great eye, 
 would live for a little while upon the altar that had known 
 past greatness. 
 
 On the night of the election, though it was summer time, 
 such a fire burned there, far back between the dogs who 
 disdained to admit its existence. Earlier in the evening 
 Roscoe Christy sawed a dead limb from an apple tree and 
 broke it to pieces in his hands. He lighted the fire in 
 silence and when night came sat before it in the deep chair 
 that had been his grandfather s. At irregular intervals he 
 would lift his somber glance to the great silver watch which 
 hung on a deep bedded hook just above his head. As he 
 marked the passage of time, the melancholy of his passive 
 waiting settled into such gloom that at last he looked no 
 more. 
 
 The watch had always hung there against the chimney. 
 It was as large and thick as a man s doubled hands, and it had 
 been manufactured in the days when a watch meant some 
 thing beside idle frippery. In defiance of modern clock- 
 maker s skill it continued to mark time through the years 
 when lesser timepieces came into the family life, tarried for 
 a little while, and went the way of broken springs and worn 
 out mechanism. The births and deaths that centered around 
 the middle room had been marked by the watch ... its in 
 exorable hands had been watched in anguish as they meas 
 ured the moments when Roscoe Christy s first child lay
 
 54 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 dying on its mother s knees . . . the watch never lied. It 
 had kept strange vigils, and now that the family had been 
 humbled, it pointed serenely to the hour of their fallen 
 pride. 
 
 Antonia and her mother sat sewing beneath the hard 
 radiance of the gas lamp which increased the heat of the 
 room already made uncomfortable by the small fire. The 
 untrimmed trees shut away what breeze might have pene 
 trated the open window, but an occasional insect that had 
 wandered from the orgy around the arc light on the corner, 
 beat its life out against the wire screen with a dull, booming 
 sound. Neither of them dreamed of objecting to the un 
 seasonable fire, for they understood why it had been built 
 and bore their discomfort without complaint. In the past 
 when an honor had been paid the Christys there had always 
 been great bonfires and barbecues made by the childish, de 
 lighted slaves, and friends had come from distances to cele 
 brate the triumph. But now the handful of rotten apple 
 boughs was all the last Christy could afford to make the 
 sorry honor paid him at the end of his submerged years. 
 
 "Some one is coming," said Mrs. Christy, in an excited 
 whisper. 
 
 The gate had closed with a clash of rusty hinges and foot 
 steps came along the flagged walk and onto the echoing 
 veranda. A hand touched the knocker. Mrs. Christy 
 arose in a flutter. "It must be a caller. Dear me, An 
 tonia, you have on that old pink waist." Her eyes probed 
 into her daughter s soul. "Who do you suppose it can be? 
 If it is some one to see you . . . this room is stifling, 
 you will have to sit on the porch." 
 
 Antonia looked pleadingly at her mother. It was a fic 
 tion of Mrs. Christy s that her daughter discouraged eager 
 young men who would otherwise have overwhelmed her
 
 THE THRESHOLD 55 
 
 with attentions ; both knew that this visitor was there for 
 another purpose, but Mrs. Christy refused to heed the mute 
 entreaty of Antonia s eyes. "I hope your father will be 
 pleasant," she whispered. 
 
 The judge got heavily on his feet as the knocker sounded 
 hollowly for the second time. "I will answer the bell," he 
 said, and went out of the room, leaving the two women star 
 ing helplessly at each other. They could not remember 
 when he had done such a thing before, and a sense of mis 
 giving mingled with their anticipation. Listening intently, 
 they heard the greeting of men s voices ; the brief monologue 
 of the visitor explaining the purpose of his coming and the 
 deeper rumble of the judge s invitation to enter. 
 
 "Peter Withrow, and his father!" whispered Mrs. 
 Christy hurriedly. As the three appeared on the threshold 
 her tragic astonishment changed to the most flattering wel 
 come. "Why, Colonel, what a surprise," she exclaimed, "and 
 Peter, too." At the same moment she deftly cleared a chair 
 of its impediments widths of a made over skirt and thrust 
 the sewing basket out of sight. She beamed upon the 
 Colonel and he returned her greeting with equal cordiality. 
 He had been a great beau of the Saltwell girls in days gone 
 by, and for simple souls like his there are no intervening 
 years. 
 
 Peter remained standing in the doorway while the older 
 people spoke together. His eyes were fixed upon Antonia 
 who blushed faintly and smiled in answer to his smile. 
 They exchanged a tolerant glanee which found excuses for 
 Mrs. Christy s revived coquetry and the pomposity of the 
 two old men who pretended to treat each other with for 
 mality. 
 
 When the Colonel accepted the chair with magnificent 
 courtesy he said, "We stopped in to tell you the election
 
 56 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 news, judge. Naturally, it was a complete victory for the 
 Democratic party. . . . The whole ticket elected without a 
 flaw straight down." 
 
 Roscoe Christy was standing beside his chair and sud 
 denly his knees seemed to collapse. . . . He sat down 
 heavily. . . . "Straight down," he repeated. 
 
 Peter spoke from the background. . . . "Father should 
 have said straight through . ... Of course you went over 
 easily, judge. There was practically no opposition." 
 
 Mrs. Christy began to fan herself nervously. "Dear me," 
 she said in a light, conversational tone, "it is warm for so 
 early in summer. Why you gentlemen should choose such 
 a time for excitement over elections, is beyond me." 
 
 But no one w as listening. Antonia dropped her work and 
 looked anxiously at her father who had risen and begun 
 slowly to pace the floor. ... As if he were alone, the judge 
 began to speak in an angry monotonous, voice that shut the 
 others away like a wall. . . . "They ve elected me me to 
 their petty office, to hold court over loafers and prostitutes 
 . . . me ! A Christy sits upon the lowest rung of the ladder 
 with his feet in the street mud . . . and I have lived among 
 them for fifty years ! This town . . . part of it starving 
 in poverty and the other half reveling in infamy . . . living 
 on borrowed money, stealing when it has to pay . . . has 
 done this to me. . . ." 
 
 Antonia s eyes filled with tears. She went to his side and 
 touched his arm. . . . The moment seemed to bridge the 
 unspoken antagonism that existed between them. "But you 
 can refuse. . . ." 
 
 He surveyed her impersonally; she might have been a 
 stranger who ventured to interrupt his mood ; then with a 
 sudden return to normality he resumed his seat and thanked 
 the Colonel briefly for bringing the news.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 57 
 
 "Cresston needs cleaning up," he said, without a trace of 
 his previous emotion. "It s no longer a fit place to raise our 
 children in. ... I ll tell you, Jasper, there is a place in 
 Horton Street that should be closed in the interests of the 
 public. A pool hall. A low place where any one who has 
 a dime is welcome. There is a crowd around the door 
 day and night. Such a thing would not have been allowed 
 in our day. and if I m to be police judge, I warn you now 
 that offenders will not find it easy going in my jurisdic 
 tion. . . ." One unacquainted with him might have sus 
 pected joviality. 
 
 The Colonel was embarrassed. He could not so readily 
 forget the shaken voice which preceded this speech, and it 
 hurt him to see Antonia slighted. He sent her a caressing 
 glance and one of entreaty to his son. 
 
 "I ll try to be good," Peter promised, coming to his 
 father s aid, "but if you catch me napping, sir, remember 
 that I have just set up housekeeping." 
 
 "With young Harkness. Yes. I trust your young firm 
 has already put off its swaddling clothes." With old- 
 fashioned courtesy he placed the conversation on an im 
 personal basis and soon the three elder persons were speak 
 ing of old times and old days that excluded Antonia and 
 Peter, and left them free to slip away to the hushed dark 
 ness of the veranda steps. Peter, pretending to look at the 
 low moon, saw its aura above his companion s smooth 
 hair. 
 
 "How kind you are," said Antonia, lifting grateful eyes, 
 "and how cruel the rest of the world is! You saw how 
 hurt he was." 
 
 There was a faint deepening in Peter s gray eyes as he 
 returned her look. "The world is not cruel," he answered 
 thoughtfully. "It is only a small boy who laughs when an-
 
 58 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 other is in pain. You must laugh, too, and presently you 
 will forget about the pain." 
 
 She shook her head. "No one has ever laughed at you." 
 
 "Haven t they?" He made her look at him. "Haven t 
 you heard them say that I am a fool, and worse ? Oh, yes, 
 you have. I see it in your eyes. Sometimes, when I drink 
 too much or when they think I do, they laugh at me be 
 cause I don t hide away in some safe retreat until it is 
 over, concealing my weakness from them. They laugh, An- 
 tonia." 
 
 She could* Hot deny this. "But why why should you 
 do this, Peter? It is when people make mistakes blindly 
 that it is pitiful. But you are not blind." 
 
 "Nor are you. Why do you insist on reading law when 
 you could be such a delightful woman ?" 
 
 This was old ground and they loved to fight over every 
 inch of it. Peter leaned against a worm eaten pillar and 
 prepared for argument. Antonia was a quick antagonist 
 and he found himself losing the thread of their talk when 
 the moonlight touched her face. 
 
 "You see, Antonia," he said, "the most ludicrous thing in 
 the world is failure, and the most tragic. You can afford 
 to look like a harlequin if you make it pay, but no clown 
 ever amused his audience as much as the tragedian who 
 muffs his lines." 
 
 "Why are you so sure that I should fail? Oh, Peter, 
 don t be like the others." 
 
 He looked at her lazily. "My dear girl, as long as the 
 world moves and men breathe, they are going to forget how 
 well a girl knows Greek if she has long eyelashes." 
 
 She answered him with such deep seriousness that he 
 laughed, admitting tacitly that he did not mean all he said.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 59 
 
 Antonia sighed with relief. "If you were really in earnest, 
 Peter" 
 
 "Would you care ?" 
 
 "It would hurt. You are the only person I can talk to, 
 about myself, I mean. It would mean losing you." 
 
 When he spoke there was a subtle change in his tone. 
 "You will not lose me, Antonia. I shall always be a safe, 
 reliable audience. Do you want to tell me something to 
 night ?" 
 
 His jesting mood was gone, as was the indefinable quality 
 which gave her a breathless, uncertain sensation of standing 
 too near a hidden explosive. He was once more the quiet, 
 tractable Peter who always sympathized. She reveled in 
 that rare treat for a woman, a man who listens without 
 making love or becoming bored by her confidence. 
 
 "I want to work," she said in a suppressed voice. "It 
 is the only way, Peter . . . and father will not let me work 
 with him, not even copy old papers so that I might learn a 
 little. I shall have to go elsewhere. I have read and 
 studied all I can alone. ... I have thought it all out. 
 There must be firms who would let me typewrite for them 
 while I read. I would work so hard. . . ." She stopped 
 abruptly ; the same thought occurred to both. 
 
 "Cleve Harkness found it easy enough," Peter said dryly. 
 "He will be a successful man and he has worked every inch 
 of the way." 
 
 "Father was the first to help him," mused Antonia with 
 a trace of bitterness, though not for Cleve. "Why should 
 he be willing to give a stranger and deny me, because I am 
 a woman ?" 
 
 "That is why," he answered gently, "because you are a 
 woman. Your father is a slave to tradition and so are mil-
 
 60 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 lions of other people. The world would be reorganized in 
 a day if it wasn t for this power that is stronger than all of 
 us. It s the influence of our ancestors on the subconscious 
 mind. He cannot accept you as a lawyer because there is 
 a horde of masculine Christys in the Beyond who clamor 
 against it." 
 
 After a pause she said quietly, "Will you let me work for 
 you, Peter?" 
 
 "Good Lord!" He sat erect. She could see the flush 
 that stole over his face. "Work for me ? What made you 
 think of such a thing " 
 
 "Because I must begin somewhere, and and I know 
 you are not afraid of ancestors." 
 
 They both burst out laughing at that. Peter was known 
 to be the black sheep of the Withrow family. For years it 
 had been prophesied that when the judgment day arrived 
 the family lots would be found to be a place of chaos with 
 Withrows who had turned in their graves because of him. 
 
 "I ll think it over," he replied, doubting her earnestness, 
 "but remember, the Withrows are a gentler clan than the 
 Christys." 
 
 "Hush," whispered Antonia, without a smile. The house 
 door was opening and they heard the others saying good 
 night.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE Sheridan Building where Peter Wi throw and Cleve 
 Harkne ss had their offices was one of the new struc 
 tures to which Cresston pointed with pride. There had been 
 a great deal of building in the last six years, but nothing 
 which approached the Sheridan in size or magnificence. 
 There was, if the truth be spoken, rather too much of space 
 and elegance to justify the demands of its clientele, and the 
 stockholders made \vry faces when they looked over the 
 rental list. The Sheridan was one of Laurence Dupagny s 
 enterprises, and as usual he Could not endure success. Build 
 ing was a popular investment when the Sheridan was pro 
 moted, and, finding the going easy, Dupagny promptly 
 doubled his original plans and an- office building out of all 
 proportion to the population was, the result. 
 
 Cresston staggered under the load of emulation. The 
 Square threw off the lethargy of its rotting timbers and by 
 the time Dupagny s mammoth enterprise* was completed 
 there were rivals in the field which drew from its legitimate 
 supply of professional men. 
 
 The war finished what overbuilding began. Dining two 
 or three lean years the tall white structure on the northeast 
 corner of Christy Square stood as a reproachful monument 
 to the shortsightedness of its promoters. Men who had 
 money tied up in those empty, echoing walls thought sorrow 
 fully of a dozen better war investments, and Laurence 
 Dupagny found himself an unpopular person where once he 
 had been a prophet. 
 
 61
 
 02 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 But this period passed in Cresston as elsewhere. Sud 
 denly it was all over and the returning began. The places of 
 those who did not come back were washed with the tides 
 of forgetfulness and in a little while all the phases of life 
 were functioning as if the interlude had never been. 
 
 But Cresston was still overbuilt. The arrears of three 
 years of inanition had to be met somehow and the manager 
 of the Sheridan met it in a unique way. He turned the 
 surplus space, for which Laurence Dupagny s over vivid 
 imagination was responsible, into living quarters for his 
 bachelor tenants. The new idea was adopted with en 
 thusiasm and in six months the innovation was a success. 
 It became the smartest thing possible to keep apartments 
 at the Sheridan, and at almost any hour of the day a line 
 of motors was parked before the wide entrance on Hewlett 
 Avenue. The Country Club set rather adopted it as their 
 own, and the operators at the two stations struck up one of 
 those odd wire friendships for which the telephone is re 
 sponsible. They knew everybody s business and were dan 
 gerously familiar with all the love affairs of the moment. 
 The town had its quota of gossips who found material to 
 their taste in the peculiar management of the apartment- 
 office building: but, so far, a certain code of loyalty pre 
 served the secrets if there were any of the faction whose 
 interests centered around this place. 
 
 It was not easy to meet the requirements of the lease, 
 only half of which appeared on paper, but Cleve Harkness 
 was admitted without question. His rooms, a very charm 
 ing suite, were directly behind the front offices shared by 
 Peter Withrow and himself, and the two windows of his 
 sitting room faced on Hewlett Avenue. They were desir 
 able rooms and he might not have possessed them so easily 
 but for a whim of Peter s.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 63 
 
 For a time Peter had entertained the idea of living in 
 them himself, and the lease was made out in his name, but 
 for some reason the project was abandoned and Qeve fell 
 heir to the unused apartment. Peter continued to live in 
 the tall old Withrow house on Armitage Street. He offered 
 the whimsical explanation that old Daniel, the colored 
 house servant, had refused to move with him, and as Daniel 
 had been accustomed to undressing him since childhood and 
 owned a talent for removing boots which belonged to no 
 other valet. Peter must perforce remain where Daniel was 
 at hand. 
 
 Cleve could never have afforded such luxury if the way 
 had not been smoothed for him. He admitted this with his 
 usual boyish frankness when he thanked his partner for the 
 loan that was his own word of the gray and gold rooms. 
 For a time he mentioned the rooms and the roadster every 
 day ; the smart little car was another pleasure which Peter s 
 friendship made possible but after a few weeks he entered 
 upon these things as though they were his by right and Peter, 
 for one, was glad to hear the last of it. The role of bene 
 factor bored and embarrassed him. 
 
 "But don t think I ll ever forget, old man," said Cleve 
 affectionately. "There s mighty few fellows with yottr kind 
 of luck who remember the rest of us. I shan t forget." 
 
 "I wish you would," Peter returned, with a faint expres 
 sion of distaste. He hated to be reminded that he owed his 
 money to circumstance, and his friends seemed to have the 
 habit of referring to this. 
 
 At five minutes to twelve, one morning in July, Cleve 
 emerged, spick and span from his living rooms and entered 
 the office from the private door that connected with his 
 suite. Simultaneously a key turned in the outer door and 
 Peter appeared. That it was the first appearance of both of
 
 64 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 them that morning was proven by the white shower of mail 
 on the floor where it had fallen from the chute. 
 
 The two young men confronting each other, indisputably 
 guilty of neglecting business, eyed one another in slight con 
 fusion for a moment, but .being equally culpable relapsed 
 into weak grins of mutual confession. 
 
 Peter was perhaps a shade more contrite, for he was 
 thinking less of Cleve s dilatoriness than of his own shame 
 ful backsliding. Peter was not groomed, nor was he spick 
 and span. His gray suit was crumpled and spotted, and his 
 collar was not fresh nor his tie well set. Plainly Daniel s 
 hand was absent from its accustomed duties. Peter had 
 not shaved for twenty-four hours, and his chin was lost be 
 neath an ugly, brown stubble which changed his pleasant 
 countenance to something sinister and strange. . . . His gray 
 eyes were bloodshot and yellowed, and he turned them away 
 from Cleve s reproachful face as though the sight of such 
 rectitude sickened and confused him. Without a greeting 
 he stopped and gathered up the scattered letters and went 
 over to- his, desk with them. 
 
 After a moment s hesitation Cleve followed and accepted 
 his own share which Peter surrendered in silence. Cleve 
 had been on his way to the street, but he put his hat and 
 stick aside and sat down to read his letters. 
 
 It was a task soon finished. There were two or three 
 envelopes of purely personal character, one of them scented 
 with White Lilac, and this with, the others he put away 
 contemptuously in a little drawer already half filled. "They 
 must think I am a fool," he grumbled. 
 
 Peter showed a like indifference to his correspondence, 
 or perhaps his disinclination to go into it was merely physical. 
 He pushed it aside, collected the loose papers on his desk
 
 THE THRESHOLD 65 
 
 into an untidy heap, and broke the heavy silence which had 
 existed since their entrance. 
 
 "So you see, I fell off the water wagon after all," he 
 said in a tone that admitted and defied criticism. It was 
 as if he dared his friend to disapprove of that which bent 
 his spirit in deepest humiliation. 
 
 Cleve understood that he was treading on delicate ground, 
 but he could not forbear a slight magnanimity. "Every 
 man has his weak moments, Peter, old man." 
 
 Withrow turned on him a slow, sardonic smile under 
 which he winced, though this was instantly concealed. 
 Suddenly he seemed to be back, a ragged little boy with 
 Polinski mended shoes, watching Peter Withrow ride by on 
 his cream colored pony. He knew that Peter never thought 
 of such comparisons, but somehow the vision would not 
 pass. 
 
 "And into whose scented boudoir did your particular 
 weakness lead you last night?" Withrow questioned slowly. 
 
 Cleve s flush deepened. "Don t be so damned deductive. 
 As it happened, if I was out rather late it was in the interests 
 of business you know that as well as I. In a town like 
 Cresston it is impossible to get by without the social ele 
 ment mixing in. I think you ll find all the evenings I ve 
 spent playing bridge and foxtrotting, and the oceans of tea 
 I ve handed around will return us as many loaves and fishes 
 as your endless poring over dry decisions." 
 
 Peter regarded him thoughtfully. He was trying to make 
 up his mind about Cleve and he changed his ideas frequently. 
 He thought "That means, in two words Rose Dupagny." 
 Aloud he said, "I think you are wrong if you depend to 
 such an extent upon such people. Whatever they might 
 like to do, there are always claims which come before ours.
 
 66 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Laurence Dupagny is morally obligated to half a dozen men 
 who want whatever influence he can throw and which I 
 don t regret." 
 
 "Yet you go there occasionally," reproached Cleve, for 
 getting to be tactful. "Why when you like neither of them ? 
 Rose spoke of it herself." 
 
 "Rose? You are already calling her that?" 
 
 "I shouldn t, to you. But we are friends. She has 
 given me permission to use her name." 
 
 Peter did not answer. He was wondering why he should 
 bother about these people. Why not let them find out things 
 themselves. Yet he knew all the time that he would bother, 
 not because of Cleve or Rose but for another reason far 
 closer to his heart. He made an effort to speak cheerfully 
 in spite of his aching head, which made cheerfulness a diffi 
 cult matter. 
 
 "Never mind. Don t let my perverted tongue annoy you. 
 Perhaps I am jealous ; let us say that is the case. Now I 
 daresay the privilege of calling the lady by her Christian 
 name is a favor which entitles you to comradeship which 
 poor devils like myself cannot hope for. Am I right?" 
 
 The younger man s face was red and angry; he began to 
 speak violently. "Now, look here, Withrow, I don t want 
 to quarrel with you, but you ve got to remember that there 
 are things you haven t the right to pry into. Because you 
 don t believe in women, you judge them all by the same " 
 
 "You are mistaken I do believe in women one woman." 
 
 "Remarkable." 
 
 "I believe in Antonia Christy." 
 
 Receiving no reply to this, he glanced at Cleve presently 
 and found him staring fixedly out of the window. Peter 
 went on, not unaware that he was turning a thin knife in the 
 wound. "You see, she is a real woman, fresh and un-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 67 
 
 spoiled. The clay of her soul has not been molded to the 
 image of one man and another. I do not believe she would 
 try to persuade you that your career should be tied up in 
 a chiffon petticoat. She is as pristine as newly fallen snow." 
 
 Cleve returned his look sullenly. It was his turn to be 
 sardonic. "And as interesting," he finished. "Hchv poetic 
 you are, Peter." 
 
 "You would not have said that last month before you 
 came to know the Dupagnys so well." 
 
 The hall door left ajar by Peter s entrance opened noise 
 lessly. Rose Dupagny coming softly along the hall had 
 heard her name mentioned ; she heard nothing more, but her 
 tolerant smile indicated that she had heard everything, and 
 at sight of her both young men were thrown into confusion. 
 She enjoyed the effect of her entrance for a wicked mo 
 ment, then deftly turned the whole thing into a jest. 
 
 "Why o;i earth did I open the door?" she complained, 
 coming into the room and extending to each a slim, gloved 
 hand. "You see how honorable I am? If I wished, I 
 might know what you really think of me." And as if the 
 hand was not enough she gave to each one of her well 
 known glances which most men made no effort to resist. 
 She was forced to draw her fingers from Cleve s restraining 
 clasp, but Peter released the hand he held as soon as he 
 decently could and avoided the glance altogether. 
 
 "I was saying that Antonia Christy is the one real woman 
 I know," he explained disagreeably. "I don t think she even 
 owns a powder puff." 
 
 Peter interested Rose, though she did not like him ; they 
 understood each other far too well. She knew that her 
 pretty mannerisms were an open page to him and that it was 
 useless to pretend. He was sure to be brutal and unfor 
 giving to her petty deceits, just as she disdained the weak-
 
 68 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 ness that brought him to such plights as his appearance now 
 displayed. She knew that to cross swords with him meant 
 defeat, but she could not forbear a delicate feminine sneer. 
 
 "What a charmingly bucolic person she must be! Who 
 is she ? Do you mean that tall girl who wears the dreadful 
 clothes that must have belonged to her grandmother?" 
 
 "Just so," Peter agreed equably, "you see, she had such a 
 perfectly corking grandmother." 
 
 She offered a good natured smile of capitulation. She 
 knew all about the Christys and their grandmothers and that 
 there was no family in Cresston which could match them. 
 It was not her policy to quarrel openly with Peter Withrow, 
 for only that morning she and her husband had talked seri 
 ously about the Withrow money which refused to be in 
 veigled by any inducement Dupagny s cleverness could offer. 
 She had enough self-control to say appreciatively : 
 
 "You win, dear Peter," and left the field unhumiliated. 
 Then she turned with quite another smile to Cleve who had 
 been a sulky audience to this exchange of hostilities. 
 
 "Don t scold me for coming here," she begged with a 
 charming air of admitting her naughtiness. "I have been 
 promising myself this little escapade ever since you moved in, 
 and this morning when I had tosee my dentist on the fourth 
 floor, I rewarded my suffering with this for a treat." She 
 went over to the book cases and began spelling over the 
 titles of the ponderous volumes, pretending to be completely 
 absorbed. "How I love to prowl among all these mysterious 
 papers that you clever men turn into money only my hus 
 band will never allow me in his office. He says that I con 
 taminate its atmosphere with my frivolity." She finished 
 with a light laugh and Cleve Harkness wondered how any 
 man could object to this bright, beautiful creature whose 
 spontaneous smile held no resentment for Peter s rudeness.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 69 
 
 As if she read his thought she appealed to him with a mock 
 ing pretense of begging for praise. "You wouldn t object 
 to me, would you, Mr. Harkness? Would I disturb you?" 
 
 The young men exchanged a quick glance unwillingly, 
 on Cleve s part. Her formal pronouncement of his name 
 was a tacit admission of their secret intimacy and he knew 
 that this was patent to Peter s abnormally keen intuition. 
 His irritability increased ; he was even annoyed with Rose 
 for coming there, and he could barely conceal his rising 
 anger against Peter, who seemed determined to make Mrs. 
 Dupagny s visit as unpleasant as possible. 
 
 "But you would disturb me decidedly," Peter inter 
 rupted, ill naturedly. "You are disturbing me now. I 
 want to read my letters. They are all from people who 
 want money one way or another, but I like to see how many 
 methods there are for getting it without using physical 
 force. Why don t you take Cleve and go away somewhere ? 
 You ve planned something that will keep him away from 
 the office most of the afternoon, so be about it whatever it 
 is." 
 
 Under cover of their laughter a young girl had entered 
 the room and now stood in the background, undecided 
 whether to intrude upon their gayety. She was bareheaded 
 and dressed in the simple shirtwaist and skirt of an office 
 girl. She had some loose papers in her hand and had evi 
 dently come from another office in the same building. 
 When Peter saw her his attitude changed and his glance 
 brought her to his side. 
 
 "Mr. Dupagny sent them," she said in a flat, colorless 
 tone as she delivered the papers. "He ll be in to see you 
 later in the day." 
 
 She went out with Rose staring after her. There was an 
 immense contrast between the two women they hardly
 
 70 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 seemed to be of the same sex, so great was the difference 
 that marked Rose s brilliant beauty and the simplicity, even 
 humility, of the other, whose face expressed nothing as her 
 clothes possessed no charm. 
 
 "My husband s secretary?" Rose questioned when the 
 door closed and at Cleve s assent she added lightly, "There ! 
 It proves that I never call upon my husband during busi 
 ness hours. My sin in coming here is increased. The 
 creature did not even know me." 
 
 "Are you ever going?" demanded Peter fiercely, scowling 
 at the papers before him. 
 
 When she and Cleve were in the open air, Rose made a 
 little gesture of distaste. 
 
 "B-rrr ! Peter has been drinking again. ... It is so 
 terrible that his promise cannot be relied upon. You know 
 he gave his word to his father after that affair at Dayton. 
 . . . Sometimes Cleve I wonder if you were wise to con 
 nect your name with his !" 
 
 This was almost a bit of clever mind reading, for Cleve 
 had been thinking the same thing recently. But no sign 
 of this coincidence was in his reply which was benevolent 
 and entirely tolerant of his friend s weakness. 
 
 "I will never be dishonored by Peter," he said simply. 
 "If he stumbles once in a while it is only his feet, not his 
 soul." 
 
 "Dear Peter," murmured Rose.
 
 ROSE had no car of her own but Cleve s was parked 
 in the middle of the block and they walked slowly 
 toward it, impelled by an instinct neither refused to admit 
 though pretending to ignore it. The roadster was a smart 
 affair and Rose was beginning to feel a proprietory interest 
 in it. 
 
 "Suppose we run out to the Club for a bit of luncheon?" 
 she suggested with the tip of a white gloved finger on the 
 glittering fender. 
 
 Guiding the little car through the pleasant activity of 
 Hewlett Avenue with Rose Dupagny beside him, Cleve did 
 not feel much like the little boy who wore other boy s 
 patched trousers, or like the youth who devoured knowledge 
 voraciously behind the dusty windows of Roscoe Christy s 
 office. He was even able to banish the hated memory of 
 Smith s grocery and the weighing of sugar and bacon. He 
 felt proud and rather light-headed from the proximity of 
 the delicately clothed figure that poised closely to him with 
 out the faintest contact. ... In his exhilaration he made 
 the error of driving through Carroll Street, where his 
 father s shop was located, and there was a dreadful half 
 minute when the old dealer might have appeared among the 
 mended chairs and sofas displayed before the door, forcing 
 a recognition painful and humiliating. 
 
 But old Saul was not in evidence and the anxious moment 
 passed, to be forgotten in a delicious present. 
 
 71
 
 72 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "How Peter dislikes me," Rose fretted, unable to forget 
 the one man who resisted her. "What was he saying about 
 me? I m sure it was something fearfully unpleasant." 
 
 Cleve frowned. He wanted to forget Peter with other 
 disagreeable memories and he was a little jealous of Rose s 
 continued interest in the subject. 
 
 "Who can account for what he thinks?" he answered, 
 shortly. "His whole life is a contradiction. Why let his 
 boorishness worry you?" 
 
 "I wanted to see your rooms," confessed Rose with an 
 audacious little smile, "but how glad I am I didn t really 
 pay you the visit I planned. If he had seen me there what 
 could have saved me ?" 
 
 He reached over and touched her hand caressingly with 
 out slowing the swift bird-like flight of the blue roadster. 
 
 "He shall not interfere with us. I m holding you to your 
 promise. My home the first I ve ever had will never 
 be complete until you ve seen it, sat in the chairs, pulled 
 the curtains about and left your intangible self inside its 
 walls." 
 
 They were silent for a little while after that. Rose was 
 trying to analyze her emotions, but to her chagrin she 
 could not capture and control them. She had made men a 
 study and the early stages of an infatuation which centered 
 around her was always diverting and delightful. She loved 
 to encourage adoration, certain always that she possessed 
 the strength to disappoint its demands, and she was so cal 
 culating a player in this dangerous game that she was al 
 ways able to retreat with honor ; usually with the lasting ad 
 miration of her antagonist. 
 
 But now her instinct sensed a difference in the growing 
 intimacy between Cleve Harkness and herself. Try as she 
 would she could not grasp the sure weapon of indifference.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 73 
 
 His lightest word interested her ; she thrilled at his touch 
 like a school girl. "I am losing my head !" she thought, af- 
 f rightedly, like a swimmer beyond his depth ; but even with 
 this warning she could not draw herself from the danger 
 ous fascination of his companionship. 
 
 Cleve was less experienced and yielded more readily to the 
 forces that drew them closer with every hour spent together. 
 He had misgivings as well as Rose, but they were created 
 from widely different causes. His anxiety had to do with 
 his career which was only just beginning; he was too cool- 
 headed not to know that Rose and her gay friends were 
 drawing him swiftly from the current of the ambition he 
 had cherished so long and so deeply. And in spite of his 
 dawning passion he was able to weigh this influence and 
 calculate its menace to himself. 
 
 One of the weaknesses of his character was an exagger 
 ated respect for the social element which dominated Cress- 
 ton, but he offered the same excuse to his conscience for 
 this that he had given Peter Withrow. He claimed that 
 these gay, inconsequential people had their uses and that 
 he was using them. It salved the accusation of his intelli 
 gence. 
 
 The intoxicating sweetness of his close association with 
 Rose Dupagny was fed by the knowledge that once she had 
 been as far from him as the stars, yet now she was coming 
 slowly into his heart. In the lean days of his beginning 
 she had been a bright figure, remote and charming to his 
 wistful imagination, but he had never hoped to come within 
 the radius of her gay smile: He remembered that period of 
 his life with tolerant pity. Then he had only cared for 
 books, the musty old books in Judge Christy s library. 
 He was aeons removed from the boy who had been asked 
 to Sunday tea by Bessie Wickersham, but he was still
 
 74 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 balanced enough to be grateful to that boy, while he despised 
 him for those grinding years of poverty and debasement 
 which had given the foundation on which he now stood se 
 cure, in spite of the enticements that encroached more and 
 more upon his life. 
 
 Rose did not return to town in Cleve s car. They had 
 an uninterrupted hour at a veranda table and she was still 
 mistress enough of her social instincts to see the folly of 
 identifying herself too completely with one man when a 
 month ago she had laughed at a score. Cleve protested 
 against her desertion, but she remained firm and waved him 
 adieu from a group of irreproachable matrons who were 
 cutting for bridge. 
 
 They welcomed her so sweetly that she was alarmed. 
 She was popular among women, but she never forgot their 
 power of turning a confidence into a guillotine. These 
 women were all her intimates ; they imitated the way she 
 did her hair and asked her to all their parties. They had 
 witnessed a hundred harmless flirtations of hers, but to-day 
 she felt on guard against them. She covered her faint self- 
 consciousness with a laughing allusion to Cleve s youth, and 
 fought savagely against a blush that threatened to betray 
 her. 
 
 "When he is thirty he will be the debutante s dream," 
 she predicted with a little worldly-wise air. 
 
 Nina Harper tinkled her artificial laugh. 
 
 "Jack says he will be the Governor by that time," she 
 said, opening her diamond suit, "and married to the richest 
 girl in Cresston." 
 
 It was nearly four when Cleve got back to the office and 
 he found Peter still there. He was sitting before his desk 
 much as he had been sitting three hours earlier, and the con 
 fused heap of papers before him was augmented by the
 
 THE THRESHOLD 75 
 
 scattered sheets of two or three newspapers. He was not 
 reading; he was not working; he hardly seemed to be 
 thinking. He was still unkempt, demolished, as he had been 
 when Cleve saw him last, and now Cleve, entering from the 
 summer sunshine and from the pleasant conventionality of 
 the Club where the immaculate loveliness of the women per 
 vaded everything like a heady perfume, flung a glance of 
 barely concealed disgust at the soiled inertia of the office. 
 
 Intercepting this look Peter returned it with a bloodshot 
 glance of his own that held some secret menace of his brood 
 ing hours. Cleve, pretending not to be aware of this, was 
 about to pass into his rooms when Peter spoke in a harsh, 
 strange voice. 
 
 "This is a damned fine way to run an office, isn t it?" he 
 said. "You following women about, and I, helplessly 
 drunk." 
 
 It could be seen then that he had moved several times 
 in those lonely hours as far as the mahogany cellarette, at 
 least, for the door of this receptacle hung slightly ajar and 
 the timber of his voice was indefinably altered. 
 
 Halted in this fashion, a dull flush crept over Cleve s 
 face. He had a moment s difficulty in preventing a sudden 
 flame from leaping from the smoldering anger in his 
 breast which had been there since his early encounter with 
 his partner. He managed to speak calmly. 
 
 "I wouldn t say that, Withrow. You ll hate it to-morrow. 
 See here, hadn t you better trot along home now and let 
 Daniel fix you up? I ll phone for your car and a man to 
 drive. We can t do any work to-day it s four, already. 
 To-morrow we ll start in fresh." He turned away, dis 
 missing the wretched scene with an air of patience. There 
 was something in him, a cool immaculateness, that set him 
 safely apart from the sordid waste of the other. He was
 
 76 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 about to free himself from it by closing the door of his own 
 rooms. 
 
 Peter, rising, made a pitiful gesture. He attempted to 
 rest his unsteady hand on the desk, but miscalculated the 
 distance, and his slipping fingers sent a flurry of papers to 
 the floor. He sat down heavily and his head drooped for 
 ward. "I m a beast," he said. 
 
 Cleve hesitated ; then he came over and put a comforting 
 hand on the bowed shoulder. There are few things in life 
 more elevating to the spirit than ministering to a penitent 
 by means of a light touch on the shoulder. The action re 
 stored Cleve to his usual frame of mind. 
 
 "Don t speak of yourself like that," he urged, kindly. 
 "You know we talked all that over, and I understand you if 
 others don t. We ve both got our faults and it s lucky 
 they re not the same ones. You ll be fit in the morning and 
 well tackle this work." 
 
 "Damn you," said Peter, looking up coldly. "Don t 
 preach to me." 
 
 It was no use trying to cover the enmity that lay between 
 them like a sword. Cleve started back and his face took on 
 a strange hardness that changed it beyond belief. He col 
 lected his thoughts which had been scattered by Peter s out 
 rageous assault and answered deliberately. 
 
 "I ll take back all I said awhile ago. You are a drunk 
 ard yes, and a beast, if you think so. You are the best 
 judge of that. But what I d like to know is why take 
 this tone with me?" 
 
 To his surprise Peter laughed not that the queer, stran 
 gling sound was laughter, but it might pass as such. With 
 a rapid change of mood he regained the ghost of his lazy, 
 sardonic temper. Having forced Cleve s hidden resent-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 77 
 
 ment to the open, he was able to take a calmer measure of 
 the quarrel which had come between them. 
 
 "That s right," he agreed, equably. "I m all that and 
 more, and I d rather you said it than thought it about me. 
 You see, the transmission of thought is so much more 
 powerful than plain speech, that the vibration of your con 
 cealed emotion is poisonous to a dangerous degree. I have 
 a chronic aversion to any man going about thinking of me 
 as a beast. The thought waves from such a source cannot 
 help but create insidious injury " 
 
 "What are you talking about ?" Cleve interrupted roughly. 
 "If you have anything to say to me, let s hear it. I won t 
 quarrel with you to-day, Peter, but I will to-morrow, if 
 you still insist on it." 
 
 "I don t want to quarrel at all," Peter returned smoothly ; 
 "I only want to offer my opinion of you in return for your 
 frankness. You are making a fool of yourself over a 
 woman." 
 
 The name both had avoided leapt between them, instantly 
 tearing down the walls of reserve no other subject could 
 destroy. 
 
 "Are you in love with Rose Dupagny yourself?" Cleve 
 asked. 
 
 For answer Peter laughed again, but this time there was 
 a note of sincerity in his mirth. The hostilities between the 
 two which, oddly enough, rested at their peak seemed to 
 clear his brain and reduce the fever of his brooding fury. 
 He laughed until Cleve s anger, which exceeded his own, 
 showed signs of breaking through the younger man s con 
 trol ; then he ceased as suddenly as he had begun and stood 
 up, making a swift adjustment of his disordered toilette. 
 Miraculously the outward signs of his downfall vanished
 
 78 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 and except for his unshaven face he might have passed 
 muster among other men. 
 
 "What can you expect of a beast?" he said in a sort of 
 bitter raillery. "I ll not ask your pardon for insulting you, 
 Harkness, but I ll excuse you now if you want to change 
 your collar." 
 
 As Cleve went into his apartment he heard Peter cross 
 the floor. Then the door shut noisily. By listening care 
 fully he could hear steps going down the stairs. The rooms 
 were on the second floor and it was like Peter to ignore the 
 inefficient elevator service. 
 
 When this sound had quite passed away, he dismissed his 
 immediate and active anger and turned his thoughts to the 
 possible bearing this scene might have upon his affairs. At 
 the same time he remembered a number of minor necessi 
 ties which pressed upon his attention. He had some tele 
 phoning to do and a few letters to write. Later on came 
 a dinner engagement that was certain to wind up with a 
 veranda dance at the Club. There were a number of things 
 to crowd into the next three hours, but there was a corner 
 of his mind which he kept clear to devote to the unparalleled 
 behavior of Peter Withrow. 
 
 Cleve had a curious mind. It was like a honeycomb. 
 Each tiny cell was separate and complete and in no way 
 encroached upon another. Thus it was possible for him to 
 devote as -clear and deductive reasoning to the color of a 
 morning tie as to the working of a brief, and with perfect 
 fairness he divided his mental processes between the things 
 that concerned him most. It was important for him to 
 maintain his present connection with Peter, aside from the 
 genuine personal liking he had felt in the beginning for 
 his erratic partner, and he wondered rather sadly why his 
 friend had suddenly shown so marked a change. It would
 
 THE THRESHOLD 79 
 
 be awkward if a serious difference should arise and their 
 partnership be threatened. He knew that such a condition 
 would have far-reaching consequences as regarded himself, 
 for he was by no means certain that he was strong enough 
 to stand alone. Considering Peter and himself dispas 
 sionately he was struck anew, by the complete unfairness of 
 fate in dividing her bounties. Peter Withrow had every 
 thing to begin with, good birth, money, a flawless education 
 and a father who dressed irreproachably and wore a pince- 
 nez as though he had been born with it. Yet he was living 
 up to none of these advantages. It might even be said 
 that he was living them down as fast as possible. Cleve 
 disdained the existence of his own father s second hand 
 shop, yet it was old Saul s spirit that spoke in him, when he 
 counted the other s blessings. He hated to see anything 
 wasted and Peter was a spendthrift with his good luck. 
 
 There seemed to be no end to his backsliding. More 
 than once he appeared to have a hold on himself, promising 
 a complete reversal of the fatal weakness that sapped his 
 character, but it always ended in something like the scene 
 of to-day. There was no depending on Peter. 
 
 The thought crossed Cleve s mind that perhaps Rose 
 Dupagny had been right the association might be the 
 wrong thing for him after all, but second thought dispelled 
 this doubt. The name of Withrow had always been hon 
 ored in Cresston. It had its value and even in the degen 
 eration of Peter there was a certain savor of the great. 
 Weighing everything in the infinitesimal scales of his mind, 
 he decided that Rose was wrong. 
 
 But the appearance of her name in his thoughts was the 
 end of speculation about Peter. He would see her to-night. 
 They would dance together ; there would be a chance for a 
 few words under the very eyes of their curious world.
 
 80 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Peter and his idiosyncrasies could wait until to-morrow. 
 
 It was after six when Nina Harper s coupe brought Rose 
 to her door. Nina had stopped at her own house in a 
 belated spasm of anxiety about her children s tea, and Rose 
 was glad of this when she saw Laurence Dupagny marching 
 up and down the flagged walk with the furious and futile 
 energy which she recognized as the inevitable prelude of a 
 quarrel with herself. 
 
 She passed him with a nod that effectually concealed her 
 instant resentment of what she termed "espionage" on his 
 part. But she was not rid of him so easily for he followed 
 her to her room and entered determinedly, though her atti 
 tude coldly dismissed him. When the door was closed he 
 demanded harshly, "Where have you been?" 
 
 She was removing her hat with the carefulness of a 
 dainty woman and she folded her veil and pierced it with 
 two silver pins before she replied non-committally : "The 
 Country Club bridge Tea." 
 
 "But before that?" 
 
 She had a glimpse of his face through the cheval mirror 
 and it startled her into serious thought. She might have 
 gained time by a trivial inquiry, "Why do you ask?" but 
 instead she said calmly: 
 
 "I had luncheon out there with Cleve Harkness." 
 
 "And you went to his office for him?" snarled Dupagny, 
 coming toward her. "By God ! You followed that boy to 
 his own doors. You can t keep away from him!" 
 
 She turned and surveyed him coolly. Her heart was 
 beating fast, but he could not guess that. Before she replied 
 she walked to a closet and put her hat away deliberately, 
 finding a nook for it upon a crowded shelf among other 
 hats and covering the whole array with a shelf cloth. 
 This gave her a moment to think and when she looked
 
 THE THRESHOLD 81 
 
 at him again she said : "Yes, I went to his office his and 
 Peter Withrow s. You asked me to keep in touch with 
 Peter, but how could I when he comes here so seldom ? 
 When I stopped in this morning I found him lamentably 
 drunk and Mr. Harkness relieved my embarrassment by ask 
 ing me to lunch with him." 
 
 "Your embarrassment yours !" he sneered. 
 "If you are being merely abusive " 
 There had been so many of these scenes between them. 
 If Cleve Harkness was not the man it would be another. 
 She was not afraid of Dupagny s anger or jealousy, she held 
 his importance too lightly ; but she wondered how he had 
 learned of her visit and this troubled her until she remem 
 bered the girl who had brought Peter the papers. "Ah!" 
 she thought, realizing the significance of this, and felt a 
 glow of triumph and justification at her discovery. If she 
 had not known Dupagny s stenographer, it was evident that 
 she herself had been recognized. 
 
 "What are you smiling about ?" Dupagny demanded 
 suspiciously, but she turned the subject deftly. She was far 
 too wise to humiliate him. 
 
 "Larry, who are the Christys really?" 
 "The Christys why ?" 
 "Tell me." 
 
 He frowned impatiently. He suspected her of evasion 
 and was certain that there was more deceit beyond than he 
 had discovered, but he gave her an answer. "They are 
 nobody now. Once they were rather important, but every 
 one has forgotten them. What are you trying to find out ?" 
 Rose began loosening her hair. It veiled her like a fine 
 black web. Beneath its shelter she could say what she 
 chose. 
 
 "They will be important again. Peter Withrow is in
 
 82 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 love with the girl, and she will probably refuse to marry 
 him because he drinks. Then he will go to the dogs faster 
 than ever and take his money with him. Nobody will ever 
 benefit by it. . . ." 
 
 "How do you know all this? Did Harkness tell you?" 
 He could not forget his jealousy. 
 
 But Rose was tired of this bootless talk. "How stupid 
 you are," she said coldly. "Please let me dress. Have you 
 forgotten that we are going to the Harpers to-night? You 
 haven t much time." 
 
 He left her in peace then, but when she went into his room 
 a half hour later she found him lying sprawled in a wide, 
 low chair, asleep. 
 
 She stood looking without awakening him, though the 
 hands of the clock were crawling perilously near to seven. 
 All afternoon she had been thinking of Cleve; his face 
 smiled at her through the senseless cards she played so 
 surely, and through the chatter of women s voices she 
 heard only his, deep-toned and tender. While she dressed 
 she had been remembering his eyes and the touch of his 
 hand on her arm as he helped her into the car. It was into 
 this reverie that her husband had broken with his veiled 
 accusations, his crude jealousies which she resented and 
 despised, because he had never failed to use her beauty and 
 charm when he could. 
 
 Yet she watched him in thoughtful silence making an 
 inventory of the tragic disclosures of sleep. There were 
 hollows in his temples and beneath his eyes. His mouth 
 sagged. With an impulse of pity she bent over him and 
 turned his face gently, so that his cheek rested against a 
 cushion.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ANTONIA CHRISTY, in a washed white muslin and 
 black straw sailor hat, walked downtown one hot 
 morning, and, crossing the Square under the shade of the 
 dusty elms, entered the broad open doors of the Sheridan 
 Building. 
 
 It was a quiet hour and the marble foyer was cool and 
 empty. She was glad of this because in the last few minutes 
 her courage had deserted her rapidly, and she feared a 
 crowd, notwithstanding the shelter she would have found 
 in one. 
 
 Antonia had no experience with such magnificence as the 
 mind of Laurence Dupagny had conceived when he out 
 lined the plans of the big building and dressed it to suit his 
 fancy. To her it seemed a vast labyrinth of uncharted 
 entrances and corridors, and her pride winced before the 
 childish prospect of losing her way and having to ask 
 directions of some jostling stranger. As she stepped inside 
 she called her mind contemptuously to order while her 
 timid feet longed to turn about and run from the possi 
 bility of confusion. 
 
 At her first glance the place seemed to be deserted after 
 the lazy bustle of the street, but when her eyes became ac 
 customed to the shadow she saw that there were people there, 
 after all. A girl with a hard, pretty face was before a tele 
 phone board that guarded a row of glassed-in booths, and at 
 the news and cigar stands there were others, modishly 
 
 83
 
 84 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 dressed, cool and efficient and delicately pretty. She asked 
 one of them where Mr. Peter Withrow s office was and be 
 came instantly aware of her blunder when the girl gave her 
 a polite, incredulous look. Antonia knew nothing about di 
 rectories, but she saw the large, black-framed list of names 
 as the question left her lips. 
 
 The news stand girl smiled tolerantly. "I believe Mr. 
 Withrow is on the second," she explained languidly. "Ask 
 the elevatorman. He ll show you." 
 
 But there was no elevator though the black and gold grill 
 held space for three, and as Antonia had no mind for 
 further mistakes she sought the stairs which ascended in 
 flights from the side of the cage. As she went up the 
 steps she felt the eyes of all these hostile women upon 
 her half-worn shoes and the cheap stockings that covered 
 her ankles, and swift, haughty anger burned away her 
 humiliation. How dared they look at her so? She caught 
 herself remembering that she was Antonia Christy, and that 
 such people should not be looking at her at all. 
 
 But she swiftly forgot them as she reached the top of 
 the first flight, for suddenly she was in the midst of adven 
 ture. She had planned this excursion so often and so 
 unbelievingly that each commonplace step held the virtue of 
 the unexpected. All of her life she had walked patiently 
 in the footsteps of a thousand women, but now she was 
 upon unknown ground. At any moment one of those silent 
 doors which confronted her in impassive rows, might open 
 and disclose something forbidden and interesting. 
 
 But as it happened she met no one. The long, echoing 
 hallways of the second floor were empty, as she walked 
 timidly along. Reading the names upon the doors, she felt 
 the courage of her pride ebbing slowly until all the revivify-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 85 
 
 ing resolutions with which she had abandoned seclusion 
 that morning seemed to have vanished. 
 
 Unexpectedly she came upon the right door, at the very 
 moment she felt herself routed by the silence. She might 
 have failed even then but that the names upon the glass 
 panel fascinated her and she stood reading them over and 
 over as though she had never seen them before "Peter B. 
 Withrow." "Cleveland Harkness." She had known them 
 both since early childhood, but she had never seen them 
 lettered in fat gold script, and in this disguise they were 
 completely unfamiliar. 
 
 Peter, opening the door, found her on the threshold. He 
 uttered her name in an astonished voice and stepped back 
 into the room. He had his hat on but removed it, running 
 his fingers nervously through his dark hair. 
 
 "I ve come to ask for a position, Peter, if there is any 
 thing I can do," said Antonia in a low, steady voice. 
 
 They both sat down, Antonia in a straight chair and 
 Peter at his desk. Under the spell of his easy, welcoming 
 smile she began to lose her misgivings and the sense of 
 unreality which had confused her. She smiled back at him, 
 sure, as she always was, that he would understand. 
 
 "I ve done it at last," she said. 
 
 Peter gradually lost his smile and taking up a paper 
 weight began turning it around in his fingers. His mouth 
 looked grave. "Does your father know of this, Antonia?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Not yet. It will make him angry, of course, when he 
 does know, and he will object, but " she made an impelling 
 gesture, "I told you I meant to do it, Peter." In a lower 
 tone she added, "I must." 
 
 He looked up. "Is it as bad as that, Tony?"
 
 86 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "Very bad, Peter." 
 
 He knew how hard it was for her to speak of her intimate 
 thoughts and waited patiently for her to begin. What she 
 had to say was not new to him for they had often talked 
 together of the ambition that had been growing in her breast 
 since she was a little girl, and while Peter had never tried 
 to thwart or discourage this, he had not dreamed the time 
 was coming when she would break the shackles of custom 
 and turn to him for help. When she remained silent he 
 spoke guardedly. "Have you thought about what the town 
 will say, Antonia?" 
 
 "The town !" She smiled faintly. "It is the world I am 
 trying to enter that matters. This doesn t sound like you, 
 Peter. . . . Are you trying to frighten me?" 
 
 He could not forget that she was a young girl in spite 
 of her wide reading, and this put a restraint on the things 
 he wanted to explain. But as he saw beneath the girlish 
 exterior the fixed purpose, carefully thought out and coolly 
 planned, his heart began to beat with dizzying elation. The 
 thought that she had come to him of all men was like an 
 intoxicating draught, yet he knew that he must dissuade 
 her if he could. 
 
 "I am trying to remind you that we live in a little world 
 that counts, however we ignore it," he said gravely. "This 
 is queer talk, coming from me, for I have defied all its 
 petty rules, but I am a man and you are a woman, Antonia, 
 and the censure that I can disdain will strike into your 
 soul." 
 
 "Why should I be censured?" 
 
 He had no answer ready for this, beyond the trivial 
 excuses of society, and when he voiced the first of these it 
 sounded lamentably tame and weak. "Harkness and I 
 are young men, and I, at least, have a beastly reputation.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 87 
 
 If you insist on a career of some sort, why not take up a 
 woman s occupation ? There are a dozen things you might 
 do. You could earn money be independent without 
 without 
 She stood up. She was pale, but she spoke in an even 
 voice. 
 
 "I see that I was wrong. You do not understand, after 
 all. I will have to try again. . . ." 
 
 "Don t go!" He was on his feet, his hand touching her 
 arm. Their faces were close together. "I do understand, 
 Antonia. Don t you see that I am not speaking for myself, 
 but from the viewpoint of others. . . . They count, though 
 we despise them when a woman is in question. It is 
 because I want to save you the least pain " 
 
 Their eyes met. In hers the beginning of startled wonder 
 asked a question ; in his something quick and alive answered 
 so swiftly that if she had been like other women she must 
 have known. But Antonia s lessons had come from dust- 
 dry books, not from the pulse of humanity, so that what 
 she saw was lost to her and she dismissed the faintly specu 
 lative thought which for a moment had disturbed her. 
 
 "I shall never live at home as I have done," she replied 
 steadily, and there was such force behind her words that 
 he admitted his defeat. "If you will not let me work 
 for you, I will ask some one else. I will find a position, for 
 I am willing to work for very little and I am neat and 
 accurate. That is what they always ask for, isn t it ? Neat 
 ness and accuracy and some one will give me the chance 
 which you and my father deny me. After awhile this little 
 world, whose opinion you respect so much, will admit that 
 I am right ; even my father must come to see in time that I 
 am a Christy as well as he, and that it is possible for a woman 
 to be what he would have wished for his son."
 
 88 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "Will you stay here and let me help you all I can, An- 
 tonia?" asked Peter. 
 
 An hour later Cleve Harkness came into the office and 
 Peter told him that he had engaged Antonia Christy as 
 copying clerk. He watched Cleve s face quizzically as this 
 intelligence reached him, but he was not prepared for his 
 partner s vehement objection to the scheme. 
 
 "Good Lord, Withrow, what did you do that for?" was 
 the other s protest. "Antonia knows nothing about business. 
 She s self-taught, and we could have a dozen trained secre 
 taries for the asking " 
 
 "That s what they would have been trained secretaries," 
 Peter admitted equably. "But Antonia wants to be some 
 thing better than that. She s our apprentice, Harkness. In 
 two or three years she ll probably be a member of the firm." 
 
 Cleve threw him an- incredulous glance. "You can t be 
 serious. She is not thinking of law." 
 
 "Just that. Why not? The men of her family have 
 always been legal lights. She has the brains that would 
 have belonged to a Christy son and her father is one of 
 the best read men in, the state. It is only his antiquated 
 ideas that prevent her from reading with him." 
 
 A slow angry flush began to creep into Cleve s face. The 
 light twitching of the muscles in the corners of his mouth 
 betrayed the protests he wished to utter yet controlled, but 
 he could not keep the sneer from his voice. "I suppose 
 you encouraged her in this nonsense. . . . We ll be ridicu 
 lous in the eyes of the town " 
 
 "Why should we try to please the town. ... It will 
 fall in line soon enough when Antonia shows what she can 
 do. . . ." Unconsciously Peter was quoting Antonia herself 
 and he saw that Cleve recognized the argument. 
 
 "That s suffragette talk," the younger man said impa-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 89 
 
 tiently. "What if she has a brain any amount of brain? 
 Why should we have her here ? Antonia is not fit for office 
 routine and will spend half her time learning the ropes, 
 while we struggle to remember that she is an old friend 
 and mustn t be scolded. Why didn t you send her over 
 to Wickersham s ? There re a half dozen girls there and 
 between them they d have taken off the raw edges." 
 
 The look that he hated came into Peter s eyes. "Antonia 
 has no raw edges," Peter said, "and while we re on the 
 subject perhaps I d better explain that the affair is between 
 her and myself. If I undertake Antonia s education it must 
 be after methods of my own. I don t believe I d care to 
 share my first pupil with any one." 
 
 Cleve answered in a furious tone, "When old Christy 
 hears of it there ll be the deuce to pay. I refuse to accept 
 any of the blame. I am certain he knows nothing about it." 
 
 "Probably not. But he will before Antonia comes here. 
 She s to have a talk with him to-night, I believe." 
 
 The differences of these two always stopped on the edge 
 of an open break. For a reason unacknowledged by both 
 they avoided a serious encounter and had fallen into the 
 dangerous habit of frank speech. Between other men this 
 would have proved disastrous, but Cleve and Peter were 
 upon a sort of mental leash that always pulled them asunder 
 when their teeth were bared; and they submitted to this 
 because of the invisible forces which, unknown to them 
 selves, held them where they must touch each other daily, 
 even while they rebelled helplessly at the contact. 
 
 The affair of Antonia Christy was not mentioned again 
 between them that day, though it was present in the mind 
 of each through all the details of the afternoon. Already 
 the young firm was busier than it had a right to be in a 
 town overflowing with young lawyers who had served their
 
 90 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 country. Cleve had been correct in his estimate of the 
 importance of the Withrow connection, for under its persua 
 sion clients appeared who might otherwise have doubted. 
 He admitted this with the reservation that, when he had 
 proved himself, these same people who placed a man s origin 
 before his brains would remain loyal to his cleverness, not 
 Peter s name and money. Looking into a bright future, 
 Cleve could not visualize failure. Presently he would be 
 strong enough to stand alone and then he would banish Peter 
 and obligations to Peter from his mind, just as other disa 
 greeable things had been banished. He rejoiced in his 
 faculty for making friends. He would have made a friend 
 of Peter had that been possible, but the other seemed 
 determined to affront him whenever he could. Cleve had 
 never quite rid his mind of the suspicion that Peter was 
 in love with Rose, and that jealousy was at the bottom of 
 these frequent disagreements. This theory flattered him and 
 explained everything. It gave him the right to be magnani 
 mous. Rose s name had become a carefully guarded subject 
 between the two, and this silence served to augment Cleve s 
 certainty. . . . When he was away from Peter s sardonic 
 tongue he forgot rancour and was even sorry for his 
 unlucky friend for Cleve had none of those ugly faults 
 malice, unkindness, or hatred of his fellow men. The world 
 had been good to him and it was getting better every day 
 and he loved the world as he loved life. He had a hundred 
 friends where other men had two, and all he asked of these 
 friends was that they help him, when they could, a little 
 further on the road he traveled so steadily. . . . 
 
 He had not seen Antonia for a long time ; he had almost 
 forgotten her, and her unexpected emergence from obscurity 
 was an irksome thought that annoyed as it intruded upon 
 him. He wished he might see her for a moment, but
 
 THE THRESHOLD 91 
 
 there was no chance of that. He could not call at the 
 house now, for he had never called there since his return. 
 There was not a chance in a thousand of meeting her on 
 the street if he walked about for hours, and, finally, weary 
 of the reiteration, he tried to dismiss the whole matter 
 from his thoughts, consoling himself with the reflection that 
 it couldn t happen. Antonia would be prevented from 
 intruding herself where she was manifestly out of place. 
 Cleve w r as one of the many men who rather helplessly rail 
 at women for emerging persistently from the place where 
 Nature and custom has settled them. He was certain that 
 he could have talked Antonia out of the notion in half an 
 hour if he could have seen her alone.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ANTONIA waited to have her talk with her father until 
 supper was over and he had gone out on the front 
 porch to read the evening paper. Mrs. Christy was gravi 
 tating between the kitchen and the dining-room, unconscious 
 of the impending storm, when the sound of their voices 
 reached her. She listened for a moment, then put down 
 the plates she was holding and went to the door. 
 
 Since Antonia s childhood she had known that these 
 two were "set against each other," and she was always on 
 the alert to make herself a buffer between them at the first 
 hint of conflict. But now perspicuity had failed her and 
 she stood working her fingers together, listening to the be 
 ginning of a cataclysmic scene. 
 
 Antonia leaned against one of the rotting pillars, facing 
 her father who sat in the old hammock chair. The Cresston 
 Evening Herald was on his knees and his pipe, suspended 
 between two fingers, had the appearance of being shocked 
 into immobility. He was looking at his daughter from 
 beneath heavy, graying brows, and his head began to sway 
 slightly to and fro as the meaning of her words came to 
 him, as an old bull sways, taunted by some half-forgotten 
 menace of its youth. Antonia had finished her low rapid 
 speech before her mother came to the door, but Mrs. Christy 
 was in time to hear his reply. 
 
 "You are going to work work for Peter Withrow? 
 Is that what you said ?" he demanded in a thick voice. 
 
 92
 
 THE THRESHOLD 93 
 
 "Oh, Antonia " interjected her mother, murmurously. 
 "Oh, Antonia! What have you done?" 
 
 He turned to her. "What do you know of this, madam ? 
 How much of it is your fault?" 
 
 "Don t blame my mother." Antonia interrupted quickly, 
 and though she did not move, the impression was given 
 that her body was between them, holding them away from 
 each other. "You know, father, that I have always wanted 
 this. It is what I have lived for." 
 
 He gave her a long look and his head rolled a little to 
 one side. A faint, purplish color began to creep over his 
 neck to his cheeks, which became blotched with this ugly 
 flush. "I know nothing about what you want . . . you will 
 stay at home and help your mother. ... I will see With- 
 row in the morning . . . not the boy his father." 
 
 "If you prevent me from going into that office," said 
 Antonia clearly, just as she had spoken to Peter, "I shall 
 go elsewhere. I am twenty-one and my life is my own." 
 
 "If your life is your own, you may live it elsewhere than 
 under my roof," he responded, the purple deepening. "You 
 cannot stay here and insult me. Christy women have never 
 been degraded. . . . You will be the first. . . . Don t 
 argue. ... I will not hear any more." 
 
 He was gasping a little, but he picked up the paper as 
 though he meant to read and his fingers tightened on the 
 pipe. But Antonia was not deceived. She knew that he 
 was suffering, that she was the cause of his pain, and that 
 these movements were mere pretexts to cover his emotion. 
 She could not bear to part from him like this to let a night 
 solidify his resentment toward herself. It was difficult 
 for her to make overtures, but she went to him tenderly. 
 
 "Listen, father," she said, "why won t you let me help 
 you instead of mother? Give me a chance try me "
 
 94 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 He got up heavily. "I shall see Withrow in the morning," 
 he said, and went into the house; passing Mrs. Christy who 
 shrank against the wall. 
 
 During this brief encounter the voices of father and 
 daughter had barely been raised above their ordinary tones 
 and the words themselves were simple and unemphatic, but 
 to Mrs. Christy s ears the fret of a dying nation could have 
 been no more appalling. She wrung her hands and whis 
 pered over again, "Antonia ! What have you done !" 
 
 Antonia turned her face away. She could not bear to 
 look at her mother, for it was like gazing into a wound 
 which she herself had made. What had she done? Her 
 heart quivered with the newness of the- break between 
 herself and her parents. She was like a little child leaving 
 a lighted doorway to go- forward alone in the dark, and 
 there was enough of the child yet remaining in her to 
 wonder if her father meant all he had said. Unconsciously 
 her mother answered this question. 
 
 "You can t go against your father, child. You know how 
 set he is. He s showed us all these years that he won t 
 bend" 
 
 But neither would Antonia bend. Fear passed and she 
 grasped resolution again. She smiled into the shadows that 
 were turning to blackness under the trees. 
 
 The lights of the town began to shine like glow worms 
 through the thick-leafed branches that canopied the streets. 
 Faint sounds of the awakening life of evening came to them ; 
 the shrill whistle of a marauding boy ; the gay horn of a 
 motor; the clanging of a street car bell. All these little 
 things, so commonplace in their way, spelled freedom to 
 Antonia. She was going to be a part of them to-morrow. 
 She would have a place of her own, even in the smallness of 
 Cresston. Some day her hands would help to make the
 
 THE THRESHOLD 95 
 
 wheels of progress go round ; she looked down upon their 
 slimness now their idleness was appalling. 
 
 Mrs. Christy thought her warning had conquered. She 
 could not picture actual disobedience from one of her chil 
 dren and her volatile mind rejected the importance of what 
 she had overheard. 
 
 With the intention of diverting Antonia s thoughts, she 
 came to the steps and peered into the shadowy street, where 
 girls were strolling with their arms around other girls and 
 small boys were darting back and forth like gnomes. She 
 could not discover her Own *nong them and she began to 
 fret. 
 
 "I am positive that Donnie is with those Judson boys 
 again. I don t trust the red-haired one. He has a strange 
 countenance and it is quite impossible to make him look 
 you in the face. Every evening Donnie loiters for a full 
 half hour at their corner. I have watched them, and I say 
 that it must cease. Antonia, will you walk to the next 
 block with me ? I am. not afraid, of course, but the shadow 
 of those elms is rather dense." 
 
 Long after they returned with the reluctant Donnie and 
 the house had grown silent from his protests, Roscoe Christy 
 got up heavily from the chair where he had been sitting since 
 he came into the middle room. It was bedtime and he 
 fulfilled all the small duties that were the custom of a life 
 time. When he had attended to these there was only the 
 watch left to wind. 
 
 He took it from the peg against the wall above the fire 
 place, but before he touched the key he looked long and 
 somberly at the round face that lay in his hand. He had 
 not misconstrued Antonia s silence as surrender, for in her 
 he saw himself and the will that all through his life had 
 been like a crushing weight against his breast, forcing him
 
 96 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 inexorably into a course from which all his tender impulses 
 rebelled. He knew that she had not spoken until what she 
 meant to do was irrevocable, and during the hours just 
 passed he had been thinking what to do. There were but 
 two ways. He could yield to her will or he could hold to 
 his own. 
 
 But he had not yet found the answer. Presently he began 
 to wind the watch slowly in even, regular rotation. Every 
 night for years and years the watch had been wound. It 
 never ran down and its grim, small hands moved endlessly 
 on, as though marking time for eternity. He returned it 
 to ks piace and it began its journey, boldly counting the 
 seconds in clear, loud, infinitesimal strokes, as though it 
 meant to continue this forever. He turned away, comforted 
 in a small measure. ... In some obscure way the watch 
 seemed to symbolize a link between the dead years and the 
 present. While its hands still moved the thin thread that 
 bound the family to its days of pride could not be broken.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CLEVE HARKNESS had never missed a Country Club 
 dance since his meteoric entrance into Cresston society, 
 and if in the beginning he made a point of this for the 
 purpose of cultivating social clients, his purpose gradually 
 changed until another and far different object became para 
 mount. The Saturday night dance gave him a chance to 
 see Rose Dupagny with a freedom which the rest of the 
 week did not afford. 
 
 His visits to her house had almost ceased, for Rose was 
 a little disturbe cl by her husband s obstinate jealousy, and 
 had confided this annoyance to- her friend. They agreed 
 that it was best to yield something to the unreasonableness 
 of Laurence Dupagny. 
 
 Rose was impatient at the restriction so suddenly placed 
 upon hef actions by the man who, she considered, had lost 
 his right to dictate to her. She could not recall the time 
 when she had not amused herself with other men and her 
 husband s indifference to this was one of the early reasons 
 for her loss of respect for him. He had always urged her 
 to interest the men whose favor he was seeking and she 
 believed his dislike for Cleve to be merely impatience at 
 her alliance with a source he considered unimportant and 
 unproductive. That is, in the beginning she had made 
 herself believe this, but of late she had not faced the 
 question honestly. 
 
 The weekly dance gave the two an opportunity to be 
 
 97
 
 98 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 together under the good-natured chaperonage of their 
 friends who were tolerant of married flirtations. The roster 
 of the club included nearly everybody of importance in 
 Cresston, but the handful of women who really dictated the 
 social life of the town saw to it that the little dances included 
 only those whose secret fellowship made them persons of 
 gayety and discretion. 
 
 Only here among her intimates did Rose venture to let 
 the excitement and glamor of this new interest sway her 
 from her careful poise. She believed in these women; they 
 had a thousand secrets like her own, tumultuous and poig 
 nant ; pausing at the very edge of reality ; gazing into the 
 heart of an impossible happiness, yet thrilled with fear at 
 the thought of touching this forbidden paradise. She did 
 not fear betrayal from them or serious hurt from this expe 
 rience. She believed it would pass as other fancies had 
 passed. 
 
 Qeve accepted the restrictions placed upon his friend 
 ship with Rose in a less quiescent manner. At times he 
 was coldly angry with himself for having yielded so com 
 pletely to the influence of a woman, reviewing with alarm 
 the inroads which the affair was making on his time, but 
 a day spent away from her and the sound of her voice 
 always stripped him of these mental calculations which 
 ordered him to throw this passion into the discard. 
 
 After Rose telephoned on Saturday morning he was 
 in a fever of impatience until the moment came when they 
 could meet. She explained carefully the directions which 
 he was to follow so that even their friends would be 
 deceived. The Dupagnys were dining with Willetta Porter 
 and the two young women would drive to the club later, 
 with Rose s husband as escort. Rose made it very clear
 
 THE THRESHOLD 99 
 
 that Cleve was to stay away from her until the middle 
 of the evening. 
 
 The time stretched like a desert before him and the 
 thought of being in the same room with her and unable to 
 claim her at once was unendurable. He thought of his 
 father and the tw o hours that must elapse before he could 
 start for the club, and which might be employed in one of 
 the infrequent visits to the old second hand dealer which 
 conscience demanded of him. 
 
 Old Saul no longer lived in the room behind the store, 
 but occupied a small cottage in the older part of town w r here, 
 to his astonishment, Cleve found him in bed. 
 
 Such a phenomenon had never happened before and Cleve 
 was almost embarrassed by the familiarity of such a meet 
 ing. But his father scouted the notion of illness. He was 
 merely resting, he said. The summer had been unnaturally 
 hot ; Cresston water was bad ; he had a dozen excuses for 
 his indisposition which he insisted was of no consequence. 
 Cleve thought that he looked like a repulsive image, 
 propped among the frowzy pillows, but he carefully excluded 
 this unfilial fancy from his expression as he inquired so 
 licitously after his father s well-being. He was far too sensi 
 tive to public opinion to risk its censure by neglecting the 
 old man who had so cruelly neglected his own childhood. 
 "You must have a doctor," he said, as he got up to go. 
 "I will send Heppleton over in the morning " adding as 
 an afterthought and with unconscious sarcasm, "I ll pay 
 for the call, of course." 
 
 As he was going out of the room, he heard his father 
 laughing in a strained high tone that in some way reminded 
 him of Peter s laughter when he was accused of being in 
 love with Rose. He was unreasonably annoyed by this, for
 
 100 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 it seemed to imply obscurely that he was the subject of 
 mirth for which he possessed no key. 
 
 "Why are you laughing?" he demanded, frowning from 
 the threshold of the cluttered room. 
 
 Old Saul choked. "Your kindness. I am so grateful 
 for the doctor but remember, you re to pay. I can t afford 
 such nonsense, of course." 
 
 His son looked at him suspiciously. He recognized 
 mockery without relation to this dried husk in whom laugh 
 ter was incredible and unreal. But he was too anxious 
 to escape from the unwholesome place to ask more questions ; 
 he had a fastidious desire to cleanse himself by contact 
 with the fresh air ouside, before the doubtful aroma of 
 poverty and squalor identified itself with his clothing and 
 such portions of his body as had been forced to meet it. But 
 he was not to avoid all this so easily after all, for old Saul, 
 sitting up suddenly, beckoned with a dreadful, skinny arm 
 for his return. 
 
 "You ve gone along with the best of em, haven t you, 
 boy ?" he said, letting his eyes rove over the young man s 
 figure down to his white spats, incongruously perfect before 
 the background of the room. Cleve felt his patience leaving 
 him as his soul sickened before the proof of his origin which 
 never failed to daunt him. 
 
 "Is that all you have to say-?" he asked, impatient to be 
 gone. 
 
 "I hear you re doing well in your business," the old man 
 went on. "You ve managed yourself well. You re a son 
 to be proud of. You ll know how to take care of money 
 when you get it." 
 
 But Cleve had had enough of this. He shook off his 
 father s hand and turned resolutely to the door. "I ve got 
 to go now. I m due somewhere in an hour. Try to take
 
 THE THRESHOLD 101 
 
 care of yourself and eat decent food. Ill tell Heppleton to 
 look after you." 
 
 When he was in the street he shook himself mentally and 
 physically to be rid of the effluvia of such surroundings. 
 "Pah," he thought, with disgust of himself, "to have come 
 from that !" 
 
 The encounter with his past was so depressing that, for 
 the moment, even the prospect of seeing Rose lost its allure 
 and he walked aimlessly through the dusky, elm shaded 
 streets of the old town, gloomily desirous of conquering the 
 memories which beset him. 
 
 It was a night of threatened rain and the humid, oppres 
 sive atmosphere and splashing drops that fell now and then 
 had driven the summer night strollers to the shelter of their 
 porches where they watched breathlessly for the storm to 
 break. The street was empty but Cleve could see the dim 
 shapes of these people huddled together in ridiculous safety, 
 hiding under roof and shingles from the clean downpour 
 that would come presently. Without realizing it they pre 
 ferred the dust. 
 
 He had walked from his rooms to his father s howse and, 
 returning, the blocks seemed unnaturally long and tedious. 
 He wanted to get away from the neighborhood and the 
 associations that seemed to lay live hands upon him, drag 
 ging him back to ignominy. He had come far, but not far 
 enough to forget. . . . He thought of Rose, so beautiful 
 and dainty. What would she think of the sordidness of his 
 past if she could know it as it really was? When he 
 recalled the old man in his filthy room and the close kinship 
 between himself and that condition, contrasting this picture 
 with Rose waiting in her immaculateness for him, he shud 
 dered, wondering if he dared touch her when they met. 
 
 A figure, coming suddenly from the thick darkness, almost
 
 102 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 collided with him in passing, and he recognized it with 
 the swift readjustment of the faculties which an unexpected 
 meeting brings. It was Antonia Christy and she was carry 
 ing a heavy suitcase that caused her slight body to bend 
 toward him in her effort to balance the weight. 
 
 He stopped short, forgetting, in a swift rush of surprise, 
 the thoughts which had troubled him. 
 
 The unexpectedness of the encounter left them both 
 speechless, staring fixedly at each other for a moment. 
 Antonia s face, springing delicately from the thick darkness, 
 held a faint illumination such as is seen on the wings of a 
 white moth. It was as though, her bodiless presence hung 
 there suspended before his eyes, recalling him from the 
 brooding fancies of retrospection. But his material mind 
 rejected this impression as it was formed. 
 
 "Where are you going, Antonia?" he cried in a sort of 
 alarm. For weeks he had hardly remembered her exis-tence, 
 yet to see her now, alone in the street at nightfall, when 
 every one had vanished before the coming storm, brought a 
 sense of shock as though he must witness a threatened hurt 
 to some cherished thing. His mind abandoned everything 
 but the fact that she was here. He asked again before she 
 could reply, "Where are you going?" 
 
 Her surprise at the encounter was equal to his own, but 
 she recovered herself no less quickly. She had been walking 
 very slowly, her slight body sagging under the weight of the 
 heavy bag. At the sound of his voice a luminous smile 
 dawned in her troubled eyes and in spite of her clumsy 
 burden she stood erect. "I am going to Mrs. Miller s 
 boarding-house," she answered simply. "I am to live 
 there." 
 
 "Live there ! You " his words crowded upon each 
 other, "what do you mean What has happened?" He
 
 THE THRESHOLD 103 
 
 was too amazed to speak coherently. What she said was 
 like a puzzle forced upon, his unwilling comprehension 
 which must find the answer. He waited for her to explain, 
 with a queer, cruel tenderness that longed to punish while 
 he defended her action. 
 
 The heavy darkness of the laden sky pressed upon them ; 
 the air was so still and lifeless that the faint intake of 
 Antonia s breath made a vibration of sound, startling and 
 infinitesimal. Even the stray raindrops were withheld for 
 the moment as though to gain momentum for the onslaught 
 that was to follow. 
 
 The dim outline of her face was appealing and soft, but 
 her voice had a grave resoluteness when she said, continuing 
 her explanation, "I have left home . . . there was nothing 
 else to do." 
 
 He turned about to walk with her, for she had barely 
 paused to listen or reply. He did this unwillingly ; angry 
 with her for having intruded herself upon his thoughts, yet 
 forced to comply with- some inner command widely at 
 variance with his conscious desire. They had walked a 
 little way side by side in silence before he remembered the 
 suitcase and took it from her, disregarding her gentle 
 protest. 
 
 "I will go with you to Mrs. Miller s, if you are deter 
 mined to do this insane thing," he said, with a sort of 
 roughness. "You can t go running around town alone. 
 It s going to rain in a minute." 
 
 She yielded docilely, because it was not her way to 
 combat immaterial actions and Cleve- was not deceived by 
 this. He knew that Antonia, when seeming most gentle, 
 could be most adamant, and for a time they went on in 
 silence while he searched his mind for an argument to 
 bring against her purpose. . . . The rising wind was in
 
 104 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 their faces and the dust, blowing in clouds before it, envel 
 oped them in a bewildering summer fury. The smell of rain 
 was keen in the air and the branches of the trees lashed 
 each other impoitently. ... In the -houses along the way 
 people were shutting windows, fastening awnings, and talk 
 ing to one another in shrill, high, nervous voices as though 
 the storm were a menace they must unite against. But 
 Cleve and Antonia gave no attention to what was so immi 
 nent and had destroyed the peace of the summer night. 
 Even when the rain, quick and cold, dashed a shower of 
 fine spray in their faces, they merely lowered their heads 
 and went doggedly on. They were nearly to their desti 
 nation, the house on Thelma Avenue, where Cleve himself 
 had once lived, when he began to speak in a sort of furious 
 haste. 
 
 "You can t do this, Antonia! You must go back home. 
 It s the most insane thing I ever heard of. This is all 
 Withrow s doing; if he hadn t encouraged you in that 
 notion of yours you wouldn t be here to-night. Come now, 
 let s go back. I ll talk to the Judge myself. He ll listen 
 to me I ll explain everything " 
 
 They stopped at a corner. The tall brown house which 
 was Antonia s objective, loomed in the middle of a block 
 of insignificant, pigmy cottages where the poor of Cresston 
 lived. The rain was coming down in earnest now, and in an 
 instant the heat of summer was gone and they were 
 wrapped in wetness and chill. As Cleve faced the way 
 they had come, Antonia made as determined a movement 
 toward the poverty of the unfamiliar street. . . . 
 
 "I am not going back," she said steadily. "It is not 
 Peter s fault. . . . You do not understand. ... I cannot 
 think why " 
 
 What she wanted to say was that Cleve of all men should
 
 THE THRESHOLD 105 
 
 be the one to understand her motives and to applaud them. 
 He had himself struggled against insuperable obstacles and 
 had succeeded. He had felt the call of ambition through 
 poverty and isolation, and by force of will brought himself 
 through the mass of inconceivable hardship and doubt that 
 would have crushed a lesser" man. In this she knew that 
 she had helped him a little years ago by her belief and 
 praise, as he should have helped her now. But she could 
 not put any of this in words-; it lay too deep within her 
 heart. Instead, she found-, excuses for him ; she tried to 
 take the suitcase from his hand but he resisted, continuing 
 his low-voiced protests. . . . "You must go back, 
 Antonia. . . ." 
 
 But at last he saw this was futile. . . . "Very well. If 
 you are determined " he said in an exasperated tone and 
 with the air of abandoning himself to what was inexplicable. 
 He walked with her to Mrs. Miller s door, astonished to find 
 himself standing on a spot he had thought of as belonging 
 to a part of his existence that was completely banished. 
 
 "You will think differently of this in the morning," he 
 said while they stood together on the porch, waiting for Mrs. 
 Miller to answer the jangling bell. "You ll go back home 
 to-morrow, Antonia. Promise me that you will." 
 
 But she shook her head. "I don t think so. You see, 
 my father doesn t want me back unless I change into some 
 thing which I am not and have never been or pretend 
 to change, which would be as bad." 
 
 There was no time to say more, for they saw Mrs. Miller 
 coming along the hall, her face wearing a suspicious expres 
 sion, as if the motives of persons ringing a doorbell during 
 a storm might well be looked into. When she recognized 
 her visitors she concealed her surprise and interest admir 
 ably beneath a professionally warm welcome and soon
 
 106 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Antonia was telling Cleve good-by and thanking him for 
 coming with her. ... It was raining tumultuously by this 
 time and he had come inside to telephone for a taxi. . . . 
 
 It had all become commonplace and ordinary; there was 
 no longer a hint of the conflict forcing its way to their 
 mute lips destroying reserve and threatening disaster to 
 carefully built plans. 
 
 They stood inside the door with Mrs. Miller, a nervous 
 chaperone, hovering in the background, and the certainty 
 that other eyes were lurking behind doors, confirming what 
 eager ears listened to, increased the irritation which had 
 been growing in Cleve until the time he was forced to wait 
 became interminable. Fleeting thoughts of Rose began to 
 recur. His appointment with her ; the lateness of the hour ; 
 the difficulty of getting to the Club . . . missing this oppor 
 tunity long waited for, of being with her. . . . 
 
 Finally the lights of the taxi, shining palely through the 
 rain, came creeping to Mrs. Miller s respectable door, and 
 with this the end of his self-imposed duty. He was almost 
 audibly impatient to have done with it; the stubbornness 
 which rejected advice and the pleasant doctrine of conven 
 tion. . . . He muttered a hasty good-by to Antonia and 
 the landlady, and ran lightly down the steps. He felt him 
 self pleasantly cleansed of responsibility. The quick slam 
 of the taxi door thrust him from this mild adventure into 
 the exciting promise of the delightful world which offered 
 its favors with full hands. 
 
 The slanting rain, sweeping across the narrow porch, 
 threatened Mrs. Miller s new hall carpet. She closed the 
 door in agitation and addressed Antonia Christy, her newest 
 boarder, with a tight smile. . . . 
 
 "These young men! Don t I know them after eighteen 
 years? What do they care for ruining other folks furni-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 107 
 
 ture and carpets though I must say Mr. Harkness is one 
 of the neatest I have ever seen. It isn t like him to leave 
 a door open in the pouring rain. But any one can see that 
 he isn t himself. ... I was never more surprised in my 
 life than when I saw him walk in here with you. ... I 
 thought you folks Now if you ll walk right up, Miss 
 Antonia. Maggie finished your room at five o clock and I 
 hope you ll find everything to suit, but coming straight from 
 your own home you may be a little strange at first. . . . 
 I always say Life is what you make it in a boarding house 
 . . . not original, of course, but partly my own idea. . . ." 
 This was Mrs. Miller s habitual greeting to newcomers 
 and in such philosophy was concealed a cunning excuse for 
 all shortcomings of her menage, but Antonia did not know 
 this and it sounded friendly and just a little reminiscent 
 of her mother to her heart, already immeasurably lonely 
 for what yesterday had been the high wall that sheltered 
 her girlhood from the sun of life.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MRS. DUPAGNY, in a frock totally unrelated to 
 Cresston, was languidly following a highly special 
 ized partner around the dancing floor when she caught sight 
 of Cleve just inside the door, his smooth head brushed to a 
 cap of dull gold, lifted above the heads of other men as 
 his restless eyes sought, without seeming to seek, her own 
 figure among the dancers that filled the floor. 
 
 A minute before her heart had been tortured by misgiv 
 ings : had he ceased to care ? Had he ever cared ? Or, hear 
 ing the lash of the storm outside, she wondered in tormented 
 uncertainty if there could have been an accident. The un- 
 paved road to the Clubhouse, unfinished like so many of 
 the town s abortive efforts to grow at a leap to a young 
 metropolis, was a quagmire by this time, a thin lake of 
 slippery mud and water ; he might be lying out there some 
 where, injured, unable to come to her. . . . With the fatal 
 ism of women where their hearts are concerned, her mind 
 leaped at once to disaster. As her slippered feet followed 
 the rhythm of the music, she longed to run heedlessly 
 through the rain and find him, wherever he was. 
 
 Yet when she looked up and saw him her face did not 
 change and the faint smile on her lips remained undeepened. 
 Miss Ethel Plumey, watching from an unsought corner, 
 could see no subtle alteration in the beautiful face of her 
 friend. 
 
 The dance neared its close, took heart with a throbbing 
 
 108
 
 THE THRESHOLD 109 
 
 recurrence of its wistful theme, lingered upon this sporadi 
 cally, and ended, leaving Rose and her partner near the 
 door where Cleve waited, gloomily marooned in a sea of 
 bared shoulders and smooth, glistening coiffures. This 
 required a bit of clever manipulation on the part of Rose 
 and was unsuspected by her companion, though Miss Plumey 
 observed it and smiled cynically. The smile sharpened as 
 she witnessed with enjoyment and interest the meeting of 
 the two who engaged while they tormented her attention. 
 
 The doorways were surging with people who were looking 
 for air and ices, and Cleve did not see Rose until she was 
 close beside him. And then he sensed her presence, rather 
 than beheld it, by the intangible, illusory cords that draw 
 lovers to one another. He had been thinking of her, secure 
 in the belief that his thoughts were hidden things, and 
 when he looked up and saw her there, he forgot for once 
 his mentor, the world, in the poignant and delicious shock 
 of his discovery. 
 
 And Ro?e, in the delight of seeing him so close, when an 
 hour ago he had been far away, lifted the curtain of her 
 eyes long enough for him to glimpse her heart. They moved 
 toward each other involuntarily, forgetting, in the thrill of 
 encounter, the hundred eyes upon them ; the hundred 
 tongues ready to seize upon their weakness and betray. 
 
 Nina Tyson and Willetta Porter, with whom the Du- 
 pagnys had dined that night, happened to be standing side 
 by side and the Tyson woman, who always saw a little 
 more than really happened, said spitefully behind her fan : 
 
 "Really, Rose should be a little careful ... a boy like 
 that ! He looks as though he would eat her. . . . And 
 she" 
 
 " as though she would enjoy being eaten," Willetta 
 Porter finished, forgetting duty to a guest in the pleasure
 
 110 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 of winning a smile from the other woman who was notori 
 ously clever. Their eyes met in a look of understanding. 
 They were not particular friends, or had not been until 
 then, but they laughed together amicably, satisfied that Rose 
 would provide them with material for mirth in a future that 
 was full of possibilities. 
 
 The two in question moved lingeringly through the 
 crowded room, apparently without object, but secure in 
 the knowledge that opportunity for untrammeled speech 
 would be given them presently. After the first long look 
 they carefully avoided each other s eyes, but, in spite of 
 this restraint or because of it, they found their shoulders 
 touching in faint and thrilling contact again and again. . . . 
 
 The music began again and they danced until, in the 
 uproar of the jazz chorus, a curtained archway allowed 
 them to slip through to the quiet of a little room which had 
 grown familiar to both in the past weeks. Believing them 
 selves safe, they clung to each other in the attitude of the 
 dance for a long silent moment that was punctuated by the 
 throb of the distant instruments, softened to melody by the 
 thick hangings. 
 
 "You are so late," Rose complained, with a little shivery 
 laugh, releasing herself. 
 
 "A sort of conspiracy," Cleve jested, trying to keep in 
 check his rising excitement. He looked at her as though 
 seeing her for the first time. "How beautiful you are 
 to-night, Rose !" he said, in a sort of awe. 
 
 She glanced down at her gown with the gratified smile 
 of a flattered woman. The flame colored wisp of chiffon 
 had cost an hour of humiliating tears and pleading. Its 
 price, reluctantly given, had robbed Laurence Dupagny s 
 creditors of a minimum payment on their bills. She had 
 put it on with bitterness, hating the mean subterfuges of
 
 THE THRESHOLD 111 
 
 her life, for it had also robbed her of some of the aloofness 
 which she cherished and used unscrupulously to keep her 
 husband at a distance ; but now she loved the gown again 
 ancl saw its beauty with triumphant eyes. 
 
 They sat on the frivolous little cane settee and said all 
 the unmeaning things that people say when their hearts are 
 full of what may not be spoken, and, beyond the partition, 
 the orchestra blared and friends laughed and danced in the 
 intimacy of the sheltered place. And through all this there 
 was a dull, booming sound the rain beating continuously 
 upon the wide flat roof. 
 
 But presently the end came to the idle things they had 
 been saying. It was like the sands of an hour glass pouring 
 into vacancy without replenishment. Silence followed. 
 Listening, their feet might have been heard approaching the 
 barrier that until now had kept them apart. She looked up 
 to find him staring at her in a sort of wonderment, as though 
 his eyes saw something beyond the present which filled 
 him with incredulity. His arms closed around her in an 
 embrace that was foreign to what they had known. It was 
 inevitable. 
 
 When he released her he stepped back amazed at his own 
 temerity. He thought : "Can this be I ?" Rose to him. had 
 been like a star and now he found her in his hand. 
 
 Rose herself was no less overwhelmed, but she asked 
 herself if she were mad. Her emotions, swift and tumultu 
 ous, had thrust her into his arms, but her mind, clinging to 
 reason, rebelled against the appalling step to which this yield 
 ing had led her. She struggled determinedly against the 
 power that was becoming stronger than her will and which 
 she recognized as an enemy to her peace. "I must not give 
 way," she said desperately to herself. ... "I know men. 
 I know how it will end. I must suffer, no matter what
 
 112 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 course I take." But this cynical thought did not serve her, 
 for, as if he had been warned of the conflict in her soul, 
 Cleve drew her to him again, jealously guarding this 
 miraculous possession against the possibility of withdrawal. 
 
 "Kiss me, Rose," he whispered, and, without waiting for 
 her consent, kissed her again and again, until, surrendering, 
 she closed her ears to the warning of the voices that called 
 to her until she willed them to be silent. 
 
 A slim white hand slipped through the heavy curtains. 
 Willetta Porter s bright dark eyes saw everything, but 
 her ingenuous face disclosed nothing of this knowledge 
 when she joined them full of pretty scolding. 
 
 "Rose, Rose, why have you forgotten that old Mrs. Tobin 
 is here to-night! And if you wanted to slip off unseen, 
 why wear a red gown? Every one has missed you even 
 your husband ! I heard him asking for you ten minutes ago. 
 Come back with me. Cleve, you look as though you needed 
 a cigarette. Do have one of mine, and smoke it before you 
 follow us." 
 
 They were astonished to find how long a time had elapsed 
 since impulse stranded them in the little room. Rose looked 
 at her friend dreamily. It was as though the night had 
 passed and morning was smiling through the windows. She 
 looked at Cleve and smiled. The other woman had obtruded 
 her presence in the room, but she could not break the 
 current of thought that flowed between them like a turbu 
 lent river. 
 
 Cleve s hand shook as he took the cigarette Willetta 
 offered. He did this subconsciously for the idea of smoking 
 a woman s cigarette would have seemed ridiculous to him, 
 and after the tiny thing was in his hand he stared at it 
 stupidly, finally crumbling it in his fingers. He hardly knew 
 when the two women left the room Willetta nervously
 
 THE THRESHOLD 113 
 
 alert, small and dominant, with her arm drawn lightly 
 through Rose s. And Rose herself, drooping slightly in the 
 flame colored gown, with something fragile and young sud 
 denly come to life about her, as though beneath the material 
 aspect of her beauty, her spirit was pleading dumbly for 
 help. 
 
 But this inertia left him as they vanished and he thought 
 impatiently of Willetta and her interference. He wanted 
 Rose again and in his triumphant elation would have called 
 to her to return had that been possible. Her weakness 
 made no appeal to him. He was not sorry for her. She 
 was his. 
 
 There was another exit to the little room and he wandered 
 vaguely through this, rinding himself after awhile in a 
 place which represented a Middle West architect s concep 
 tion of a Dutch taproom. It was fairly well done, only 
 the men sitting around the bare oak trenchers were drinking 
 anything but beer, and the delicate smoke that veiled the 
 ceiling was not from honest pipes. 
 
 Cleve s eyes, obsessed by the image of Rose, sought and 
 found Laurence Dupagny, the center of a little group of 
 bored listeners to whom he was explaining his latest plan 
 for re-creating Cresston. In spite of himself the younger 
 man, himself unnoticed, drew nearer to the group. There 
 was an inward urge to hear the speaker s voice, to watch 
 his face. Dupagny had become suddenly imbued with tre 
 mendous importance, a tantalizing mystery. This middle- 
 aged, harassed man, with tired eyes and eager, persuasive 
 voice, was an important factor in what was to come. Rose 
 belonged to him. In some way he had won her. There 
 was no explanation of how this miracle had come about 
 but it was true. Cleve stood so closely at Dupagny s elbow 
 that he could have touched him and he waited there, com-
 
 114 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 pelled by this secret speculation that increased enormously 
 his own self-esteem. 
 
 He was not jealous of Dupagny. Whatever the legerde 
 main may have been which made Rose this man s wife, 
 love had played no part in it he was sure of that. His 
 instincts plumbed to the heart of this union and surveyed 
 unmolested the tie that bound the two, and Dupagny, the 
 husband, became a negligible quantity with the certainty 
 that Rose had never loved him. 
 
 Dupagny s tone was slightly thickened. "I tell you, 
 frensh, Creshton is in b ginning of great building era, an 
 thish is th time t get in in " He had been drinking. 
 
 Qeve experienced a sensation of disgust. He had a 
 fastidious distaste for the effects of liquor and to his view 
 point such indulgence meant moral suicide. One of the 
 elements of his popularity with women was his freedom 
 from the weakness which so often betrays the cloven hoof. 
 No one had ever seen him take more than a polite cock 
 tail and in this abstinence he preserved his personal mystery 
 and with it the interest of his friends. He had a tolerant 
 contempt for such weakness in other men, but to see Lau 
 rence Dupagny in this condition affected him almost as a 
 personal affront. He beheld a swift vision of Rose alone 
 with this disgusting brute, trying to pacify him, persuading 
 him to be silent, to sleep. "The fool !" he said, behind his 
 lips. 
 
 Then he was attracted by a laugh. Peter Withrow was 
 at the table and it was to him that the promoter had been 
 speaking. Peter was drinking, too; had been drinking all 
 through the evening, as was evidenced by the glitter in his 
 eyes and the sardonic laughter that always left his hearers 
 with a faint chill. When he saw Cleve standing beside
 
 THE THRESHOLD 115 
 
 Dupagny with the sneer on his mouth the sight seemed to 
 give him a peculiar satisfaction. 
 
 "Will you join us?" he invited, reading the other s 
 thoughts with uncanny prescience, pressing his guard with 
 rapier like raillery. "Have you heard our friend Dupagny 
 describe the advantages of the sites he has for sale. . . . 
 And these may be yours if you have the price. Or if you 
 are clever enough to get what you want without paying!" 
 
 Cleve saw that Peter wished to insult him. In the mixed 
 state of his emotions there was no place for conflict with 
 this outsider. When Peter was in his cups he always 
 showed a peculiar bitterness toward those who were free 
 from his own failing and Cleve generously waived resent 
 ment whenever he was chosen as the mark for the other s 
 rudeness. But to-night, because he had been shaken from 
 his usual phlegmatic calm, the slurring words affected him 
 with a surprising up flame of anger. He would not trust 
 himself to reply and was turning a\vay when he was 
 arrested by an unexpected protest from Dupagny. The 
 promoter, taking swift offense at what he chose to apply 
 to himself, got on his feet with some difficulty and thrust 
 his haggard face toward Peter Withrow in a pitiful attempt 
 at dignity. 
 
 "You mean something by that !" he stammered. "What 
 d ye mean by not paying ?" 
 
 There was going to be a quarrel a drunken brawl. 
 Friends would interfere ; the steward might be called. It 
 was all repulsive unnecessary. 
 
 Cleve continued on his way to the ball room followed by 
 the medley of voices from the taproom which explained the 
 unexplainable. The trivial scene just witnessed was like a 
 complete reassurance to any doubt he might have had of
 
 116 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 his own future. The men in the group he left were repre 
 sentative men of Cresston all were successful, all had 
 made money in one way or another; they had flourishing 
 businesses and held responsible positions, yet they lent 
 their bodies and brains to such practices as this. He felt 
 immeasurably superior to each of them. He had come 
 away cool of head and master of himself while they brawled 
 among themselves, ridiculous in their mock heroics. With 
 this strength latent and controlled within him, what might 
 he not accomplish? He recognized his own egotism but 
 as friend and ally. He saw nothing in its swift growth 
 that was not commendable. 
 
 There had been more than enough time to smoke Will- 
 etta s minute cigarette, and when he reached the ball room 
 he saw Rose one-stepping in some man s arms, her eyes 
 restlessly seeking him through the crowd as his had 
 searched for her in the beginning of the evening. "She 
 loves me !" he thought exultantly and forgot the impending 
 quarrel in the taproom. 
 
 It was difficult to get a dance with her. The secret flame 
 of her soul seemed to draw men to her like moths to a 
 candle. She had always been too discreet to allow herself 
 too great popularity, but to-night she was too languid and 
 too happy to prevent men from crowding about her. 
 
 When Cleve had a moment he whispered, "You must not 
 let other men make love to you. I can t stand it." 
 
 Rose laughed happily. She wanted to explain that the 
 flattery of other lips and the touch of other arms about 
 her meant nothing. These people were merely in the back 
 ground of her happiness, like chairs and tables furnishing 
 a room. There were so many things she wanted to say to 
 him, but there never seemed to be an opportunity. The 
 others, crowding close, kept them apart yet left their spirits
 
 THE THRESHOLD 117 
 
 free to mingle in contactless voids, unsatisfying, filled with 
 wistfulness. 
 
 Ethel Plumey, draped in a home-made evening coat, 
 touched Rose s bare arm. 
 
 "Mamma wants to know if you will come home with us. 
 We have the carriage, you know. Mamma is always glad 
 in weather like this that we have the carriage instead of a 
 car. It s so much safer." 
 
 "Why why " Rose came a little way from her abstrac 
 tion, glancing around the fast emptying room. "Why " 
 She returned to Miss Plumey s kindly offer. "We came 
 with Willetta, Mrs. Porter. Laurence will expect to re 
 turn with her." 
 
 "Willetta left twenty minutes ago," Ethel informed her 
 with a giggle, enjoying the consternation she created. "She 
 took the Tysons in her car. Mrs. Tyson left her own ma 
 chine in the Club garage. She didn t want the mud, she 
 said, for it takes her man a half day to clean it. Willetta 
 asked me to offer you a place." 
 
 The lifting of an eyebrow! Rose had seen it a hundred 
 times. Her swift instinct, leaping from the languor of her 
 own smothering, self -centered thoughts, sensed danger. 
 Willetta had seen them together in the little room. What 
 had she thought or suspected? The friend who had con 
 fided in her a hundred petty indiscretions was about to turn 
 her own face away at the hint of an indiscretion in Rose. 
 
 But the next moment she rejected this faint panic as ab 
 surd and childish. Willetta meant nothing of the sort. She 
 was a notorious little favor seeker and the Tysons were 
 powerful and important. To place them under the obliga 
 tion of saving the polish on their car at the expense of 
 her own was like Willetta. She never missed a small ad 
 vantage like that, and to-morrow she would come running
 
 118 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 in, cleverly mimicking selfish old Mrs. Tyson, and retailing 
 all the gossip that had been garnered during the ride. Rose 
 smiled cynically, reflecting that the part that concerned her 
 self would be the only part kept back. She would be sure 
 to occupy a portion of their conversation, but they would be 
 careful not to let her know. 
 
 She rejected the Plumey offer with a careless laugh. She 
 knew how much her slight humiliation was enjoyed and 
 she was in no mind to shut herself and her high happiness 
 into the close atmosphere of the antediluvian coupe with 
 Mrs. Plumey and Ethel. 
 
 "Thank your mother for me, but it would be too much, I 
 am afraid," she said sweetly. "Laurence will manage some 
 thing, surely." 
 
 Miss Plumey sent a malevolent glance toward the taproom 
 door and Rose might have grasped the meaning of this if her 
 mind had been following the small signs that were every 
 where. "You will see," predicted her friend. "You had 
 better come with us." 
 
 She was right. The room thinned perceptibly. People 
 were going; rushing about hunting for mackintoshes, be 
 wailing the state of the roads, abusing the weather. They 
 forgot how happy they had been an hour ago. 
 
 The sky, black and fathomless, poured unceasingly. 
 Doubting chauffeurs reluctantly brought machines to the 
 door and people who had no chauffeurs prepared to drive 
 themselves, expecting to land in a ditch at every turn. The 
 Plumeys departed comfortably in their old-fashioned coupe 
 and the lights, shining on the glistening rumps of the horses, 
 helped them to a sense of security. Only a few were left 
 in the ballroom. A waiter hovered near the door, longing 
 to turn off the lights and end it all. 
 
 "What can be keeping Lorry?" said Rose nervously to
 
 THE THRESHOLD 119 
 
 Cleve who was beside her. For the moment she was back 
 in her shell of convention. It became intensely important 
 that she should leave the Club as other women left it under 
 her husband s protection. 
 
 She was answered. Laurence Dupagny, flanked by two 
 dissuasive friends, appeared in the doorway of the Dutch 
 room. Over their shoulders could be seen other faces, 
 amused, disgusted, apprehensive, malicious. A waiter, 
 chalky white, with his napkin over his arm, fluttered weakly 
 beyond them all. Rose watched stonily. She knew at once 
 that this meant humiliation for her, if not worse. 
 
 "Don t speak to him," whispered Cleve, struck by the 
 probability of imminent distress for her, "let me take you 
 away." 
 
 "No, no," she answered mechanically, "I am not afraid. 
 He will injure himself, not me." She was thinking of 
 Dupagny s plans on which so much depended. He would 
 ruin everything by this exhibition. 
 
 Dupagny stood looking around the room, which was now 
 empty except for the groups of which Rose and himself 
 were the centers. He was changed unbelievably by his de 
 plorable condition. His meticulous neatness was gone and 
 with it the careful guard habit kept upon his features. His 
 underlip hung heavily and pendulous ; his eyes, blood-shot, 
 roved unceasingly. He displayed the futile anger of a 
 thwarted man. His wandering gaze at last encountered 
 Rose in her flame colored gown and his face lighted into a 
 dull glow. 
 
 "Ah, there she is," he stammered. "My wife. Lemme 
 intr duce m wife. Mos beautifu woman, but cold, dam 
 cold" 
 
 Some one dragged him away. There was a sort of sub 
 dued scuffle, a tangle of black clad shoulders and Peter
 
 120 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 appeared where Dupagny had been. His tie was awry and 
 a lock of hair fell over his forehead, but he spoke evenly 
 enough. 
 
 "Excuse " he said to Rose. "He didn t mean to say 
 that." 
 
 "Take me away," she cried to Cleve, in a stifled tone. He 
 seemed to be her only friend. "Let me go now now " 
 
 In the car she leaned against him in the thick wet dark 
 ness. Her body, sweet and supple through all its soft wrap 
 ping, was warm as though the flame colored dress was a 
 thing of fire. 
 
 They were shut away by the curtains and the swift move 
 ment from a world that no longer concerned them. Through 
 the streaming windshield the befogged lamps picked out a 
 wavering path along the slipping road. 
 
 They did not talk. There was so much to say between 
 them that they said nothing at all. They could not trust 
 themselves to speak in this strange intimate isolation. 
 
 But at last they came into the town. Rose leaned weakly 
 against him. Soon they must part. 
 
 The wheels rolled upon asphalt. Two dull, submerged 
 lights, like sentinels, leaped suddenly from the darkness, con 
 fronting them, as they stopped. Rose, leaning forward to 
 peer through the obscured window, exclaimed in confusion : 
 
 "This is not my house!" 
 
 She recognized the lamps which were posted on either 
 side of a wide doorway. "Why " she stammered and 
 sunk back in her place, trembling. The car was standing 
 before the Sheridan Building. 
 
 His arm trembled with her as he put it around her 
 shoulders. He was overwhelmed with emotion. He had 
 the sensation of one who looks too long and too closely at 
 the sun. He was dazzled, bewildered.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 121 
 
 But in the midst of this ecstasy the secret force within 
 which had so often thwarted him in moments of abandon 
 ment, asserted itself and sent his thoughts racing far 
 afield. It was impossible for him to lose himself completely 
 to any one emotion. Burning with passion for Rose, his 
 mind turned in disdain from this magnificent adventure, 
 searched for and found Antonia, pure and aloof, sleeping 
 not far away upon a narrow bed, under a stranger s roof.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THAT which is so devastating to oneself may be infini 
 tesimal to the rest of the world. 
 
 This simple truth if applied to their own domestic 
 cataclysm would have been an immense solace to the Christys 
 if put in practice when their daughter left home to begin a 
 life of her own, guided by her own hopes and plans. 
 
 Unlike the ostrich they believed themselves to be the 
 center of a storm of censure, pity and speculation. Because 
 they had. lived in Cresston longer than other people, they 
 cherished the illusion that the eyes of their little world were 
 faste ned upon them. 
 
 But this was not so. Their poverty obscured them. The 
 thing they thought their misfo.rtune was. really a cloak to 
 shield them if they had only seen it in that light. To the 
 avid town, intent upon its own concerns, money-getting, 
 gossiping, straining to keep up appearances, the matter of 
 Antonia Christy was of no importance. The to wn had 
 looked upon more poignant tragedies unmoved. To claim 
 its attention Antonia would have to emerge from the gentle 
 shell in which her real self was hidden and shock and startle. 
 In her present disguise she was merely a shabby girl who 
 had joined the ranks of the home-goers at five o clock every 
 afternoon. She would have to do more than that to make 
 herself and her family notorious. That she had set up her 
 dwn gods apart from her father meant nothing at all. 
 
 Just as the sorry jest that elected Roscoe Christy to his 
 
 122
 
 THE THRESHOLD 123 
 
 petty office was forgotten, as soon as accomplished, so was 
 Antonia s flutter toward the blue sky of freedom unseen. 
 
 No one realized this sooner than Antonia herself. In an 
 astonishingly short time the novelty of her new life and its 
 duties disappeared ; it became habitual, then commonplace. 
 Swiftly the twenty years of her past receded and the dull 
 and petty routine of the present succeeded the dull and petty 
 routine which had come before. In her new occupation she 
 found none of the brilliant excitement she had predicted 
 for herself, but in spite of this she was not flagrantly dis 
 appointed. Her existence was like waking from an 
 opalescent dream to find that life had not changed materially, 
 if it had in the abstract. 
 
 One of her early realizations caused her to blush shame 
 facedly when she recalled her somewhat heroic threat to 
 find another position if Peter Withrow refused her a chance 
 in his office. Within a week she knew that this would have 
 been no easy matter. And Peter knew it, too. Cleve had 
 been quite right when he said that they could have had a 
 trained secretary in place of Antonia. She worked care 
 fully but she had none of the meretricious smartness of the 
 young persons schooled en masse to carry on the routine of 
 an office. She was learning to use the typewriter, but, as 
 Cleve pointed out to his partner, why should their office 
 serve as preparatory school? Cleve had no sympathy for 
 beginners, though he should have had much. He wanted 
 his machinery to run smoothly in oiled perfection. He 
 could have reproved a stranger for technical errors in a calm, 
 cold voice but he could not reprove Antonia. 
 
 She offered to resign on the third day when she com 
 mitted a glaring error which would take hours of careful 
 work to eradicate. "I am only in the way," she said to 
 Peter, with tears of mortification just beyond her dark eyes.
 
 124 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 But Peter poohpoohed such a radical measure of correc 
 tion. He pointed out the trite but comforting truism that 
 "everybody makes mistakes sometimes." Antonia made 
 them but they could be mended, and, after all, he reminded 
 her, copying papers was not the real reason of her service 
 with him. There was a deeper purpose than that. It reas 
 sured them both to remember that all clever lawyers wrote 
 remarkably bad letters! In the end Antonia s mistakes 
 seemed to augur some future triumph of which the present 
 awkwardness in immaterial trifles was but the forerunner. 
 
 Antonia told herself that she was happy and believed it. 
 She had the things she had wanted since she was a little 
 girl : time and solitude for reading and study ; the smell of 
 leather bound books; an environment of grave essentials 
 that helped the blossoming of her mind. 
 
 But she was not happy. She knew this when she re 
 turned in the evening to Mrs. Miller s boarding-house on 
 Thelma Avenue which had become her home. When she 
 entered the chill neatness of her third floor room, furnished 
 in light pine and white painted iron, where the chairs were 
 always replaced at a certain angle and two red-bordered 
 towels fresh from the mangle confronted her from the rack 
 above the washstand, this vague unhappiness crept into her 
 heart and settled there. 
 
 One evening she found her mother waiting for her when 
 she entered her room. 
 
 "I just had to come, Antonia/ said Mrs. Christy 
 tremulously. She was rocking back and forth in a monoto 
 nous, measured motion which continued after the greeting 
 that passed between them, and she did not remove her hat, 
 a dull brown straw, which gave to her visit a casual air. 
 Mrs. Christy was not a stranger at Mrs. Miller s house, but 
 not once during Antonia s stay had she abandoned her air of
 
 THE THRESHOLD 125 
 
 transiency. Her manner said plainly that in her opinion 
 there -was no permanence to the arrangement, and while she 
 retained her garments of formality it could not be sup 
 posed that she countenanced if in any way. 
 
 Antonia met her mother with sweet tranquillity. She 
 was prepared for reproaches arrd all the old arguments, for 
 Mrs. Christy never failed to voice plaintively her distress at 
 her daughter s unprecedented desertion, and this visit was 
 in no way different from others. When the girl had put 
 her hat and little purse aside and the two were seated op 
 posite one another, the plea with which she was becoming 
 increasingly familiar began. 
 
 "Why are you so hard, child? I m sure I never dreamed 
 when you were a little thing, so solemn and good, that you 
 would grow up so unlike other girls. It doesn t seem right, 
 somehow, that I should have a daughter so different. I 
 had a letter from your Aunt Eugenia to-day. They ve 
 heard about this in Plainville already. She was very sym 
 pathetic, but she took pains to tell me all about your cousin 
 May s wedding and her clothes and everything. She put 
 stress on what a comfort May had been. She s marrying 
 the doctor. There always was a doctor in the Saltwell 
 family and May being married to one gives her a sort of 
 importance. Eugenia seemed to be very proud !" 
 
 Mrs. Christy paused to touch her reddened eyelids with a 
 frail little handkerchief. "Pity me," she seemed to add in 
 an aside, "my daughter has failed. She has brought no 
 honor to her family by marriage or otherwise." 
 
 Antonia understood this. "I am sorry, mother," she said 
 gently and tried to turn the conversation to other channels. 
 "How is Bonnie," she asked, "and father ?" 
 
 But this led to deeper waters. Mrs. Christy s depression 
 increased. "Donnie is unchanged," she said, as though
 
 126 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 years instead of weeks had passed. "But your father 
 Antonia, I have no wish to distress you, but I cannot help 
 but feel that you have hurt your father perhaps more than 
 other disappointments in the past. He does not say any 
 thing really, he talks less than ever ; sometimes I am fairly 
 driven wild for the need of some one to speak to. The 
 house is like a tomb. He murmurs things to himself and 
 when I ask him to repeat what he is saying, he simply stares 
 at me as though I had not spoken. It is very trying, 
 really it is, my dear." 
 
 She began to weep again, very gently and delicately into 
 her pocket handkerchief, and Antonia wished that she could 
 weep a little for company, but she. did not possess her 
 mother s facile tears. 
 
 "Poor mother," she said tenderly, but without admitting 
 that she was in any way to blame. To herself she was say 
 ing wearily. "Am I never to hear the end of this? Why 
 won t they understand and stop worrying over me? I am 
 no longer a child to come and go as I am told." She dared 
 not voice this protest but she added aloud in an absent tone, 
 "It is very hard on you, poor mother." 
 
 Mrs. Christy brightened visibly at the first compassionate 
 word. 
 
 "Oh, dear, no," she said briskly, putting the handkerchief 
 resolutely away and patting her hair, "you must not say that, 
 child. I am quite accustomed to your father s little ways. 
 I should not like him to be loquacious, really, I shouldn t. 
 It is only that we both miss you " she went on wistfully. 
 "In different ways we miss you." 
 
 Antonia was not so far from tears as she had believed 
 herself. Her mother s swift reactions under the stimulus of 
 sympathy always affected her as peculiarly pathetic, but she 
 resented this emotion and refused to yield to it. She dreaded
 
 THE THRESHOLD 127 
 
 the effect of these typically feminine emotions upon her 
 resolutions. "Let us speak of something else," she said, al 
 most harshly. 
 
 Mrs. Christy knew that she had displeased her daughter 
 and responded with a desperate effort to be casual. 
 
 "And how are you getting on? Is Peter Withrow kind 
 and considerate? I am sure he would be, for if ever there 
 was a gentleman born it is his father. I hope I pray that 
 he has remembered that, and that you are a lady, as well, 
 even though you are employed there. I refer to his er 
 habits. If he should appear before you when he is having 
 one of those dreadful relapses into drink, what would be 
 come of you, my child ?" 
 
 Antonia regarded her mother contemplatively. She was 
 always marveling at the determined attitude which Mrs. 
 Christy took toward her youth. Because of it she must be 
 protected from knowledge and experience ; kept in ignorance, 
 shielded from all that was- ugly and broadening. She had 
 never seen Peter in the sorry state referred to as a "relapse*" 
 but she had seen others and she knew what it must be like. 
 She felt only pity for such unfortunates and she tried to 
 make her mother understand. 
 
 "If Peter were very ill," she said thoughtfully, "you 
 would hurry to him. If he took poison, had a dreadful ac 
 cident it would be the same. You would even allow me to 
 go to him. Why, then, should I be afraid and avoid him 
 under other conditions when he. is equally to be pitied and 
 cared for?" But she saw at once the hopelessness of argu 
 ment and became silent. 
 
 "Thank Heaven," said Mrs. Christy in a heartfelt tone, 
 "that in a little while there will be no more of the vile stuff, 
 but "" she added with gloomy afterthought, "doubtless 
 he will only have to go to his own bar instead of another s.
 
 128 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Unfortunately, he has the money to buy anything. You 
 can t think what a relief it is to me to know that Cleve 
 Harkness is in the same office. Your father dislikes him 
 almost without reason, I should say but it is well known 
 that he has no bad habits. He is to be commended for that, 
 as well as for his studious career. What a pity his father 
 is such- an old rogue . . . some one was telling me that he 
 stole actually stole, the furniture from a war widow s 
 house, that is, he gave her only half of what it would have 
 been if there had been, no war and everything doubled in 
 price. Every one says that young Cleve will go far. To 
 know that he is there, prepared to stand between you and 
 anything disagreeable, is something, at least." 
 
 Far below, in the cavernous front hall, a harsh toned 
 bell rang distantly. Simultaneously through the house, 
 doors opened and shut hurriedly; feet descended the stairs. 
 There was a faint odor, indescribable but distinct, which 
 seemed to be a part of the atmosphere. It was the impor 
 tant hour of the day and the boarding-house, which, an 
 hour before, had been a place of weariness and solitary 
 returning, took on an air of gay comradeship, even of 
 fashion. Through the open transom, voices could be heard 
 greeting other voices pleasantly, as though the day which ap 
 proached its end was just beginning. 
 
 Antonia stood up, touching her hair lightly with her 
 fingertips. Lateness to meals was a fault not readily over 
 looked in Mrs. Miller s house. 
 
 "Will you will you stay to dinner, mother ?" she asked 
 entreatingly, but Mrs. Christy, also galvanized by the sum 
 mons, was preparing hastily for departure. 
 
 "Thank you, Antonia, but that is impossible, as you 
 know," she returned icily. In some obscure way the invita 
 tion offended and humiliated her. She could visualize
 
 THE THRESHOLD 129 
 
 nothing less possible than herself as an invited guest in Mrs. 
 Miller s basement dining-room. "Thank you," she said 
 again, as though speaking to a stranger. "I must be going 
 now. The time has slipped by " 
 
 At the door she forgot this momentary pose or it eluded 
 her. She put her arm around Antonia s shoulder and kissed 
 the soft petaled cheek with a sort of timid fierceness. Once 
 that cheek had been never far from her lips, but now in a 
 little while it had grown strange almost remote. Her love 
 reached out to reclaim it. 
 
 "You are so hard!" she cried again. "But it is only be 
 cause you do not know ! Young people are always hard 
 I tell him that when he will listen. But when you are old 
 and after you have suffered things, you forgive more easily, 
 and you can forget. He wants to forgive you, if you will 
 come back." 
 
 "Forgive me!" repeated Antonia. Though she returned 
 the caress warmly she stood apart when it was over 
 " For what? What have I done that I should be for 
 given ? Her t.one was cold with.- offense. 
 
 In the hall downstairs they encountered Mrs. Miller in 
 beaded crepe de chine and smiling affably, though with a 
 hard stratum beneath her gracious manner. It was Satur 
 day night and the landlady was collecting the weekly tribute 
 from her guests. She advertised the fact that while she 
 had their interests at heart, the house was a matter of busi 
 ness. 
 
 At sight of her Mrs. Christy s bonnet seemed to grow 
 more firmly on her head and her body stiffened. She had 
 once known Mrs. Miller very well indeed, but now an in 
 definable barrier suddenly established itself between the two 
 ladies. This was encouraged to grow to startling dimen 
 sions by the landlady s cordiality which carried its own sting.
 
 130 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "So you have been visiting our dear girl again," she ex 
 claimed vivaciously as she accepted the slim offering that 
 Antonia put in her hand. There was a lull in the procession 
 of tribute givers and she took the opportunity to prove to 
 Mrs. Christy s doubting face that young persons bereft of 
 their own homes lost nothing in coming to hers. She 
 slipped an affectionate arm around Antonia s waist. 
 
 "This dear one is growing to be my very own," she smiled. 
 "I want her to call me Aunt Mollie, as the others do, but 
 she is too shy. And sometimes I am glad, for I don t want 
 her to be quite like them. I am her borrowed mother, you 
 see, and Aunt Mollie/ though it is a dear name, would not 
 quite do." 
 
 Mrs. Christy s vague animosity solidified at a word into 
 a definite sensation. Antonia s "borrowed mother," indeed ! 
 She was jealous with the swift passion and unreasoning 
 prejudice of a mother whose child is claimed by a stranger. 
 Her lips tightened and two high spots of color sprang out 
 upon her cheek bones. 
 
 "I must go now," she said to Antonia, who had seen 
 nothing of this and was in ignorance of her mother s resent 
 ment as she was of Mrs. Miller s triumphant look. "You 
 must go to your dinner now." She fumbled in her large 
 moire handbag and produced finally a small parcel, wrapped 
 in stiff white paper. "Here is some jelly, child," she said, 
 giving the package to Antonia and disregarding Mrs. Miller s 
 indignant stare. "I can t bear to think of your eating store 
 sweets. You will appreciate it," she added in an aside, "it 
 is from the yellow plums." 
 
 "Dinner is being served, Miss Christy," said Mrs. Miller 
 sharply. "The butler hates to go back to the first when 
 he s on the third. If you wouldn t mind stepping down 
 now "
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 BEFORE Antonia uprooted her little life and trans 
 planted it to the soil where she believed it would thrive 
 better, she had endeavored with all the earnestness of twenty 
 to banish from her mind every thought and memory of 
 Cleve Harkness except in the negligible position he would 
 occupy in her future. To her pristine clarity of purpose it 
 would have been intolerable to place herself by her own 
 effort near him. She found it easy to put this resolution 
 into effect, for from the first morning Cleve himself assumed 
 an attitude of detachment that sent her pride to arms. 
 
 He resented her presence in the office and was at no pains 
 to conceal this aversion. With all the new sophistication 
 and extraordinary learning with which his brain was 
 crammed, there were times when he relapsed into boyish 
 ness, usually of a sulky and selfish trend, and it was in such 
 moments that he was most attractive to women who could 
 not see the real meaning of his silence. They loved to dis 
 cover the source of his dissatisfaction and cure it with 
 tenderness and indulgence. 
 
 He showed this angle of his nature to Antonia, when, 
 after a week of cool good mornings, he stopped beside her 
 desk and pretended to be interested in a paper she was copy 
 ing. 
 
 "You are doing it all wrong," he said in a dissatisfied 
 tone. "Why do you try to do this, Antonia ? It s wretched 
 drudgery and you are unsuited to it." 
 
 131
 
 132 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 He glanced at her face, flawless against its unsympathetic 
 background. He wanted to say that she was too pretty 
 for such prison fare, but he had never spoken in that vein to 
 her. He could not find a beginning. 
 
 Antonia, who was more direct, seized the opportunity to 
 say what was continually in her mind, and which hurt her 
 with a dull, persistent pain. 
 
 "You do not want me here," she said, lifting her eyes 
 from her work with a sort of defiance reminiscent of child 
 hood. "If you could, you would make Peter send me 
 away." 
 
 "I would," he admitted with frankness, and added, "he s 
 only keeping you on because of my objection. He wants to 
 prove his seniority." 
 
 His reward was to see a slow flush creep over her neck 
 and into her soft cheeks. He exulted ; he had made her 
 angry. "You should take a business course if you are de 
 termined to do work like this," he finished, delighting in her 
 confusion. But he was not really cruel and his rudeness 
 was the rudeness of childhood familiarity not too long past. 
 "It s because I m so fond of you, Antonia," he said in a dif 
 ferent voice, "and I know how this hurts your father. He 
 blames me for some of it though I ve done my best to show 
 him it was not my fault. When I meet him in the street he 
 refuses to recognize me. Of all the stubborn girls ! Don t 
 you see how uncomfortable you are making everybody? 
 If people knew you had quarreled with your family be 
 cause you want to make a lawyer out of yourself, when 
 there are far too many lawyers already, it would make an 
 ugly situation if it didn t make a ridiculous one." 
 
 People! Antonia permitted her lip to curl a little. At 
 that moment she felt only contempt in place of her old 
 tenderness for him. He was influenced by the point of view
 
 THE THRESHOLD 133 
 
 of others, not a real interest in herself and her welfare. 
 For a second she had the inner vision that saw him stripped 
 of charm and without the misleading harmonies of voice 
 and smile that made him what he was. She took up a 
 fresh sheet and put it in the machine with a look that dis 
 missed him. 
 
 "I am sorry," she said in a changed voice, "but you are 
 quite wrong. No one is interested in me." 
 
 He turned angrily away, followed by the slow clicking of 
 the machine. 
 
 "How self-willed women can be," he thought. What 
 tenacity was concealed beneath the slim shell of Antonia 
 Christy s body and beyond her gentle face. When a woman 
 wants anything how she holds on until she gets it ! 
 
 This led naturally to thoughts of Rose. "But she is not 
 like other women !" he consoled himself. 
 
 To think of her made him restless and impatient with the 
 duties of the day. There were a number of things that 
 waited for his attention. He longed to be finished with 
 them, free to go out of the room and shut business behind 
 the closed door. But his conscience would not permit this 
 exit until everything was in order. He wondered where his 
 old joy in work had gone. Before Rose Dupagny came into 
 his life no day had been long enough. When he lived at 
 the Thelma Avenue boarding-house and wore thin blue serge 
 ready-mades, even the days were not enough. There were 
 the nights glorious hours stolen from sleep, crowded with 
 knowledge. 
 
 But that belonged to another part of his life like child 
 hood. He had outgrown study and come into accomplish 
 ment ; there were times when, with his superior insight into 
 men and conditions, he felt with superb elation that he held 
 Cresston and its affairs between his thumb and finger, to
 
 134 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 mold as he desired. There was but one thing between him 
 self and these aims money. 
 
 Cleve was familiar with the national ideal of the strug 
 gling young man reaching fame in his shirtsleeves, but he 
 had no desire to make this his own. When his time came 
 as he was so sure it would come he did not plan to ride 
 into success on the shoulders of the populace ; it suited him 
 far better to arrive in a limousine. The hysterical bravos 
 of the poor for one of their own kind did not deceive him. 
 He knew that to retain such loyalty he must retain the char 
 acter of poverty and he vastly preferred the respect, even if 
 tinctured with envy and hatred, which belongs, to affluence. 
 
 But where was he to get the money? This was the weak 
 link that worried him. 
 
 The practice of law in a town like Cresston does not bring 
 sudden wealth if it is unmixed with politics. With all his 
 efforts he could not hope to amass a fortune very soon. 
 
 But Qeve had implicit faith in himself. He did not 
 worry long over the question of where his problematical 
 fortune was to come from, for he was satisfied that it would 
 come, sooner or later. In the meantime, having worked so 
 long, he could afford to play a little. . . . There was 
 Rose. . . . 
 
 He was in love with Rose. When he thought of her his 
 head grew dizzy and he felt a choking sensation as though 
 his collar were too tight. As this passed he would breathe 
 deeply. This was ridiculous and. he was ashamed of it, but 
 at the same time he was helpless under the spell of this 
 uncontrollable excitement. Nothing had ever affected him 
 in quite the same way. It was inexplicable and he was im 
 patient with his impotence before this strange, strong emo 
 tion.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 135 
 
 He knew all the rapture of love, but he did not wish to 
 be its slave. Even in the beginning of this violent experi 
 ence he called ajl his calm forcefulness to order and vowed 
 that he would control the headlong infatuation that pos 
 sessed him. When he reviewed all that had been, he was 
 less conscious of Rose s beauty than of the gulf between 
 them which she had crossed with a single step-. 
 
 She had everything. She could charm whom she would, 
 yet she had chosen him. He realized how far afield he had 
 been in his judgment of women ; he had gone on, grubbing 
 for years, believing that knowledge gained everything, yet 
 with a single word a woman had proven him in the wrong. 
 Rose cared nothing for his knowledge ; it obviously bored her, 
 she even called him pedantic at times. She had not fallen 
 in love with him because he was clever. He was beginning 
 to discover that wdmen cared nothing for brains, and in 
 the throes of this new adventure he was uncertain whether 
 he or they were more deserving of contempt. In the mean 
 time he abandoned himself to happiness. 
 
 Had he cared enough, he could have given all his time to 
 pleasure. The gay, pretty young women of Cresston made 
 him their own. When he was with them they petted and 
 pouted over him ; when they could not reach him in person 
 they besought through the telephone and with little notes 
 calling his mind from graver matters. They tried to ruin 
 him, not dreaming that their light speculative interest was 
 destruction. 
 
 George Wickersham, who retained an interest in the boy 
 in spite of his desertion, told him that the women were 
 ruining him and Cleve only laughed. He was confident of 
 his power to pull up when the time came. 
 
 "No man ever got far without a woman to help him," he
 
 136 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 said, with the wisdom won from other men s sayings, and 
 Wickersham, who had a stout wife and half a dozen chil 
 dren, agreed with a reservation. 
 
 "True. But it s got to be the right sort of woman. A 
 wife. A wife chosen from a good family, money or no 
 money. That counts but not as much as other things. . . . 
 A woman you can trust. . . ." 
 
 Cleve thought of Bessie. He was very glad that she was 
 safely married, and that the rest of the Wickershams were 
 boys. He thought his friend old-fashioned and far less wise 
 than himself. He was startled when the other man spoke 
 abruptly of other things. 
 
 "Your name has been mentioned for Legislature next 
 term. They want a young man and your record abroad 
 will help. If you go easy and make no mistakes. . . ." 
 
 Cleve forgot Rose for several hours after that. While 
 he was outwardly busy with the papers on his desk his 
 mind leaped through seons of brilliant moments that 
 saw him pass from one high office to another. The Legis 
 lature at his age meant practically anything in twenty 
 years ... if no mistakes were made. He resolved to 
 make none. 
 
 The telephone shrilled at his elbow. Simultaneously he 
 realized the cessation of a sound in the outer office which 
 had punctuated his reflection. The typewriter had ceased 
 its monotonous clicking. . . . one of Antonia s duties was 
 answering the calls that came in at her desk and were trans 
 mitted to the switches in the private rooms. He was frown 
 ing heavily as he took off the receiver in time to speak to 
 her. "I am answering." He did not know that the call 
 was for him, but he believed it might be and he did not care 
 for Antonia as an intermediary. 
 
 Rose s voice came like a narrow ribbon of silver unfurl
 
 THE THRESHOLD 137 
 
 ing through the instrument. . . . She was lonely. She 
 wanted hhru 
 
 He became electrified at her first word. The office, his 
 work, all that had held him sunk to insignificance. The 
 future became vague and retreating ; there was time enough 
 fo-r that. He was young. 
 
 He forgot everything except the necessity of seeing her at 
 once. In the outer room. Antonia was bent over her type 
 writer once more; her dark head smooth as a bird s wing; 
 he caught a glimpse of her profile, pure and cold. Then 
 he forgot her. 
 
 Peter was there. Peter had a private room for his own 
 clients, but it was his custom to see most of them in the 
 main office. He explained this by saying naively that he 
 got rid of them sooner there, and he had an adroit system 
 of asking questions which concealed their real meaning and 
 left the answerer unembarrassed. Laurence Dupagny was 
 with him now, urging, almost entreating, support for some 
 enterprise of his own. This time it was an irrigation project 
 to be launched in Colorado. Dupagny was dry-lipped and 
 haggard and looked as though he had been sleeping badly. 
 He spoke in that serious half whisper with which men ap 
 proach other men when they want their money and have 
 none of their own to match with. 
 
 "I tell you, it can t fail, Withrow. I m coming to you 
 with this gilt-edged proposition because you re about the 
 only man in town who has any loose money. Everybody 
 else is up to the neck in spite of the stories you hear. If 
 it was three months later I couldn t offer you the inside 
 price I can to-day. You know how they went after the city 
 bonds and the street railway stock. . . . That s a record for 
 you ... a town s indebtedness owned by its citizens . . . 
 and they re not going to lose. This town has passed the stage
 
 138 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 when it lets its own improvements go to smash, and pretty 
 soon the original investors are going to let loose at a profit. 
 Cresston is full of money war money but every cent is 
 invested except what they spend for clothes and auto 
 mobiles. . . . When they begin to cash in I could walk 
 across the Square and sell every share I hold in this Colo 
 rado deal . . . then the price would go rocketing. . . . You 
 see that ? I want you to have some away below par, so you 
 can give some of these wise guys the laugh when they have 
 to double your price to get it, if they get it at all. You can 
 clean up on it, Withrow." 
 
 "But I don t want to clean up/ " Peter argued whim 
 sically, "I have an automobile and all the clothes I can wear. 
 What s the use of having a lot of money? Why should I 
 disturb our good citizens who are satisfied with their rail 
 way bonds ? They ll be having strikes and other unpleasant 
 scenes in the pleasant streets of our little city if we start 
 trading in stocks. Why not let well enough alone ?" 
 
 Dupagny flushed darkly and started to rise. "Oh, well ! 
 If you are making a joke of it 
 
 Peter hastened to reassure him. He was not joking; 
 nothing was further from his thoughts. Dupagny resumed 
 his seat, taking up the conversation where he had left off, 
 and Peter listened with the gravest interest. It was at this 
 moment that Cleve entered the room, and both men, glanc 
 ing up, allowed the subject to lag without understanding why 
 they did so; it seemed that his presence put the questions 
 they had been discussing into the background to make way 
 for more momentous affairs. 
 
 Cleve was smiling with an air of insouciance. He tried 
 to meet Dupagny with this smile, but something leaped from 
 the eyes of both men and lay between them like a dagger. 
 Dupagny slumped in his chair, barely acknowledging the
 
 THE THRESHOLD 139 
 
 greeting and his heavy brows met in a scowl above the high, 
 thin nose. His manner was brusk and uncivil, in marked 
 contrast to his usual behavior. Cleve was not sensitive, but 
 he could not fail to notice what was almost an affront. He 
 had intended to stop for a few casual words, but he hurried 
 past with only an offhand remark to Peter. 
 
 "I ll be back about five," and went out with a short nod 
 to the others. 
 
 He went straight to Rose. She was waiting for him in 
 her little living-room that, unlike other Cresston rooms, was 
 always cool and dark and uncrowded with furniture such 
 as other women seemed to think necessary. The Dupagny 
 house was one of the prettiest in town and had an air of 
 luxury which the cost of its contents did not justify, though 
 nobody gave the credit of this where it really belonged 
 to Rose herself. 
 
 She was half reclining on a broad, low, wicker settee be 
 neath a window from which she must have watched his 
 approach. There were deep colored cushions behind her 
 head and in her violet gown her slim body nestled among 
 them becoming a part of the whole. In the dim light she 
 appeared fragile and elusive and the color of her dress ac 
 centuated the shadows beneath her eyes. She put out her 
 hand to meet Cleve s with a little caressing gesture. "Did 
 you mind coining?" she murmured. 
 
 They were very discreet in their greeting; their lips said 
 little but their eyes spoke of everything. "When we are 
 alone " her glance seemed to promise. 
 
 They were alone in Rose s drawing-room and yet they 
 v;ere not alone. Through the blue curtains that divided the 
 room from another, the slim black and white silhouette of 
 the maid showed for a second, mysterious and fleeting evi 
 dence of life in the background of Rose s full life. And
 
 140 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 in a little while, as though it had been subdued by his com 
 ing, a voice, Miss Plumey s voice, was heard in song. 
 
 "She is in the library painting place cards for a dinner," 
 Rose explained with an amused glance. "There is more 
 light there." 
 
 Her unexpectedness always fascinated him. He remem 
 bered shamefacedly that he had come to this appointment 
 with unrecognized anticipations, but instead of the fulfillment 
 of these vague hopes he found her surrounded, chaperoned, 
 and attended. No chance for a lover here ; no stolen hour, 
 no prearranged bliss. 
 
 Rose did not have much to tell him, after all. She seemed 
 content to lie among her cushions, her eyes caressing him 
 with long, veiled glances. And Qeve, by turns responsive, 
 annoyed and mystified by the situation she had prepared for 
 him, took refuge at length in a repetition of the talk wh-ich 
 had occurred between him and Wickersham that day. 
 
 "The legislature at my age means anything I want a few 
 years from now," he repeated, parroting Wickersham ; and 
 added, unconscious that the phrase was not his own, "If I 
 play my cards right and don t make mistakes." Without 
 intending it he reversed the situation, depriving Rose with 
 a mere sentence of her advantage. 
 
 The spirit of mischief left her and she became subdued. 
 Her quick instinct leaped to a meaning behind Cleve s words 
 to which he himself was oblivious. It was the first pang of 
 a hundred that she was to feel, though its bitterness was 
 alleviated by his obvious unconsciousness. For a revealing 
 moment she beheld the measureless distance between them 
 which only the strongest, most enduring love could bridge. 
 
 "What are you thinking ?" Cleve asked, reading the doubt 
 but not its answer upon her face. 
 
 She lied to him, of course. In such a case frankness was
 
 THE THRESHOLD 141 
 
 impossible. How could she remind him that he was younger 
 than she; at the beginning of his career; and that in the 
 eyes of their world, she herself, might be the "mistake" at 
 which his friend and mentor had hinted. 
 
 The black and white maid tinkled delicate glassware near 
 an open door somewhere, and Miss Plumey s chant grew in 
 volume. "Do you love me ?" murmured Rose, taking refuge 
 in an ancient formula. 
 
 But she did not know Cleve in spite of her power over 
 him. She did not realize how very new he was to situations 
 such as this, to such women as she ... to love. He gave 
 her a sullen glance. . . . "Are you laughing at me?" 
 
 She was startled. After a pause she smiled conciliatingly. 
 "Laughing? No. I am jealous. Ethel has told me a 
 pretty story. It seems she has a dressmaker who lives in a 
 boarding-house. To this place has come a beautiful young 
 girl and this girl is employed by Peter Withrow and 
 you. . . . There is a romantic story that she quarreled with 
 her father and left home. Why have I never heard of her ?" 
 
 In her effort to recapture the spirit of her earlier mood, 
 Rose was guilty of an error. Her words sounded both 
 mocking and proprietory ; either tone a direct challenge, and 
 what was meant for banter had only the effect of destroying 
 his good humor. He was frowning when he replied with a 
 shrug, as though tilting the whole affair from his shoulders. 
 "Employed by Peter not by me. How could I know that 
 you would be interested in his philanthropies?" 
 
 "Philanthropies? Then she is not pretty, after all." 
 
 "I did not say that. She is even beautiful." She allowed 
 him to see her wince and he was sufficiently annoyed to 
 enjoy the spectacle. But he felt a queer distaste for a dis 
 cussion which had Antonia for its object. "Let us speak of 
 something else," he said brusquely.
 
 142 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Rose slipped back among her cushions, folding her hands 
 behind her head. Her expression altered to a faint sadness. 
 "I wish I had known you a long time ago," she said dreamily. 
 
 In a moment his irritation was gone. In spite of her 
 half-voiced protest he came over and sat beside her on a low 
 tabouret that was meant for tea or cigars. This brought their 
 faces close together and he could see the delicate penciled 
 lines about her eyes, the touch of rouge that, far from 
 lessening, served to enhance her beauty, its daintiness and 
 charm. He looked at every feature eagerly as if to reassure 
 himself that he was familiar with this beauty that nothing 
 eluded him. 
 
 "I wish I had known you long ago," she repeated 
 slowly, "before I knew Larry when I was a girl." 
 
 Men do not indulge in these useless retrospections. Why 
 was she not content with the present ? He uttered the vague 
 reassurance of his kind, "I love you best as you are " 
 
 He could not understand that she wanted to give him 
 the best of her, and his own past was too recent to invite 
 excursions into its "might have beens" . . . But he saw 
 the disappointment in her face and turned her slim hand 
 over to kiss its palm. 
 
 "Think what we would miss the dances at the club 
 moonlight. It would not be the same. . . ." He tried to 
 speak whimsically, but this was dangerous ground. Sud 
 denly they both remembered that she was older than he 
 six years. She bit her lips in chagrin at the senseless 
 blunder that led to this useless sentimentality. The thought 
 persisted in her mind she was older than he. It could not 
 last. 
 
 He saw the trouble in her eyes without dreaming of its 
 origin. It made him forget everything even caution.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 143 
 
 "How can you be sad when we are together?" he whis 
 pered and kissed her lips. 
 
 The maid appeared between the blue curtains, wheeling 
 the tea wagon. She came like a ghost with none of the 
 swishing steps and tinkling glasses of ten minutes ago. 
 
 "The tea, Mrs. Dupagny," she said, icily. 
 
 Rose had forgotten that she herself had arranged this 
 interruption, but she had not foreseen the kiss. She was 
 warm with this triumph of the passing moment and was 
 inclined to smile, making light of the contretemps. "Bring 
 it nearer, Jessie," she ordered, languidly. She wondered 
 how much the girl had seen or guessed but she was not 
 alarmed ; she was one of the people who make the mistake 
 of disregarding a servant s opinions. She did not remember 
 that Jessie had chosen domestic service because of a heroic 
 regard for propriety. 
 
 It was then that Miss Plumey demonstrated her character 
 of useful friend. In the artistic disarray of a green painting 
 apron and with her hands full of place cards she appeared 
 behind the interfering maid. 
 
 "I am not really so rude as I seem," she cried with a gay 
 giggle toward Cleve. "See ! You can t imagine how busy 
 I ve been to get all these finished in a single afternoon. Mrs. 
 Waddell s cards all of them. The dinner s going to be 
 wonderful." 
 
 And with that Miss Plumey fell upon the tea. She in 
 sisted on making it and waiting upon Cleve and Rose as 
 though they were her guests. She claimed with a fantastic 
 assumption of childishness that it was like "playing house," 
 and the others were forced into laughter they did not feel 
 by her elephantine playfulness. 
 
 The maid assisted nimbly, as far as Miss Plumey would
 
 144 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 permit, but there was a change in her demeanor. She looked 
 everywhere but at her mistress. Rose alone sensed this 
 avoidance. She thought: "Jessie saw us. She knows 
 everything." But this was an exaggerated assumption, for 
 there was nothing to warrant so sweeping an assertion. 
 Fear is a swiftly growing plant, and from the moment the 
 thought entered Rose s mind she knew no peace. Instead 
 of listening to the gay talk of her companions, she was 
 wondering how she could set about restoring Jessie s 
 confidence or buying her silence, if that proved neces 
 sary. 
 
 When everything was ready Miss Plumey said : "You 
 ma 7 g> Jessie," as though both maid and tea were her 
 affair. She was filled with a vicarious importance, knowing 
 very well that she had been asked to come that afternoon 
 to fill the office of chaperone. At the same time she was 
 jealous and resentful of the ease with which the other 
 woman captured and held Cleve Harkness, and her merri 
 ment was assumed partly to conceal her spite. Miss Plumey 
 knew that in any case he would never have looked at her, 
 but she could not stifle the feeling that it would have been 
 easier to give him up to any other woman than her friend 
 and patron. 
 
 But nothing of this showed on the surface of the tea 
 hour which came to a hilarious close, punctuated with 
 gossip that had been gathered from Miss Plumey s inti 
 macies at other houses. She told an amusing story about 
 the Nevilles, a couple whose bickerings were so well known 
 that to discuss them could not be called gossip. 
 
 "He forbade poor Viola to charge anything over a certain 
 amount at the stores," explained the tale-teller, "and that 
 forced her to have a separate account. Well, my dears, one 
 day after Viola had been lunching somewhere she felt
 
 THE THRESHOLD 145 
 
 expansive and stopped into Deveraux s and had some per 
 fectly wonderful things sent up. Don t ask me what, Mr. 
 Harkness well, the stupid clerk charged them to Philip 
 or Viola forgot to tell them about her own account, or 
 something. . . . Anyway, at the end of the month the 
 charge was not on her bill and she rushed down to the 
 store but it was too late. The bill had gone to Philip and 
 all the things she had bought made a terrific item. Poor 
 Viola went home frightened to death, expecting a scene but 
 did it happen? It did not. Instead, Philip- brought her some 
 roses, the first in six months, and not a word was spoken. 
 She saw the bill in his pocket and the question is who 
 didn t get the things that Viola bought ?" 
 
 Miss Plumey and Cleve were departing amicably together 
 when they encountered Laurence Dupagny arriving some 
 what earlier than was his custom. His greeting was almost 
 uncivil and Ethel gave a nervous giggle. "He looks as though 
 he didn t approve of us," she whispered ; "poor Rose, won t 
 she pay for this." 
 
 "Does he bully her?" asked Cleve, glancing back at the 
 house they had left. He had not enjoyed the afternoon 
 especially and now a distinct impression of unpleasantness 
 persisted. This sort of thing might be termed "a mistake," 
 to quote Wickersham, and his annoyance extended to Rose. 
 Why should he be placed in the position of gaining a hus 
 band s displeasure when the reward was no greater than a 
 walk with Miss Plumey? "Is he unkind to her?" he asked 
 again in an absent voice. He was disturbed by the other 
 man s expression. He had not counted on Laurence Du- 
 pagny s enmity. 
 
 Rose had not moved from her position by the window 
 when her husband entered. She gave him a little nod and 
 closed her eyes. Her expression gave no hint that she was
 
 146 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 acutely aware of his presence or that it disturbed her 
 immeasurably. 
 
 "What is it?" she asked finally, when she could endure 
 his intent gaze no longer. 
 
 But the scene she expected did not develop. He only 
 sighed in a puzzled, resigned way and when she opened 
 her eyes had left the room to go heavily upstairs. 
 
 She followed slowly, with a sense of reprieve. She was 
 suddenly conscious of the nearness of disaster. What had 
 prompted her to send for Cleve and what could come of 
 such meetings except danger for both? She remembered 
 Miss Plumey s stories about other friends and resolved that 
 never again would she put such confidence to the test. 
 She was safe, but she might have lost everything! 
 
 An instinct of self-preservation urged her to make herself 
 beautiful in the eyes of the man she constantly betrayed, 
 and she called Jessie from her work in the dining-room 
 to help with her gown. 
 
 The girl came unwillingly. Once her silence would have 
 passed unnoticed, but now Rose was keenly alive to the 
 meaning of little things. "Something has disturbed her," 
 she thought, and wondered how she could begin an in 
 quiry. 
 
 She remembered her earlier suspicion that the girl might 
 have seen Cleve kiss her ! It was too absurd. Why should 
 the creature assume such airs even if this were true? She 
 was indignant at the criticism she read in Jessie s manner 
 and hurt at the lack of charity in one whom she had helped 
 in a hundred ways, but at the same time she reviewed her 
 wardrobe, mentally selecting what articles she could sacrifice 
 as a peace offering. 
 
 During the silent dinner the girl did not unbend. There
 
 THE THRESHOLD 147 
 
 was none of the pretty understanding she had managed 
 to convey to her mistress and through her service she re 
 mained sullen and aloof, with the manner of the domestic 
 whose virtue has been questioned. She was an excellent 
 maid with the capacity for serving carefully developed by 
 Rose, and her hostility was so blended with dignity that her 
 mistress conscience alone could distinguish between them. 
 The dinner progressed to its last moment and the Dupagnys, 
 having finished their undesired coffee, were about to rise 
 when Jessie, who had been absent in the pantry, reappeared. 
 For the first time she looked directly at Rose. 
 
 "My month is up to-morrow, Mrs. Dupagny, and I am 
 leaving," she said. 
 
 It was an unfair attack. Rose fell back before it. "Leav 
 ing?" she stammered. "What do you mean?" 
 
 The girl continued to watch her triumphantly. In a few 
 moments she was making reprisal for all the petty wounds 
 which are unescapable when one woman takes orders from 
 another. She had not known that these were wounds until 
 Rose sacrificed her respect, but now they were magically 
 healed by the sight of discomfiture, which was not what 
 she had expected. "I am going to Mrs. Tyson," she added 
 primly. "A reference is not necessary." 
 
 Rose was bewildered. It had been a day of errors. Like 
 Cleve she remembered too late that her action, simple in 
 the beginning, was a "mistake"! She resolved to beware 
 of impulse after this. Impulse had caused her to send for 
 Cleve and now Jessie was going to Nina Tyson who treated 
 her friends more cruelly than any woman in Cresston. 
 
 "How fiercely my head aches," she said to Dupagny, 
 taking refuge in the strong citadel which women have built 
 for themselves. She was afraid of any more conversation
 
 148 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 that evening each step seemed to lead to deeper disaster. 
 But Dupagny was thinking of Jessie s desertion. 
 
 "We owe her three months," he grumbled ; "why do you 
 let servant s wages fall behind? Servants can do more to 
 ruin credit than any other debt." 
 
 "Credit?" murmured Rose, and added silently, "If credit 
 were all."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MISS PLUMEY was one of those who from earliest 
 infancy seem doomed to suffer through the idiosyn 
 crasies of others. She was never able to understand, even 
 when she became old and ceased to be an active combatant 
 in life, just why the deeds and inclinations of those within 
 her radius should have the power of reflecting and influ 
 encing her own deeds and inclinations. Certainly it was 
 not through her desire that her neighbors weaknesses and 
 failures became her own. She did not attempt to understand 
 the universal laws which govern this human phenomenon 
 it is doubtful if she ever heard of such laws. And so she 
 was left free to fret and pine and bruise her shallow breast 
 against the inevitable. 
 
 Miss Plumey was not beautiful, yet she had seen others 
 with as little or even less attraction, win triumphantly in 
 the finals of life. She was not charming but she was clever 
 though not clever enough to diagnose her own weakness. 
 
 In her little aims it seemed that she was being continually 
 thwarted not by the persons whose friendship she sought, 
 but by those from whom she had every right to expect aid 
 and cooperation. Looking backward upon a childhood em 
 bittered by bodily existence in an ugly brown house upon 
 a modest side street when her soul was far afield among 
 the great of Armitage and Hyslop Avenues, she could 
 discern, through countless mistakes and disappointments, the 
 truth that much of her tragedy resulted from the low affili 
 ations of her family. 
 
 149
 
 150 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Mrs. Plumey herself was not to be blamed in this judg 
 ment. With the adaptability of her sex she had in a 
 measure discarded the customs of her early married life; 
 for constant association with a daughter, whose finer feel 
 ings were outraged by stone china and checked tablecloths, 
 had refined and elevated her tastes as well. Gradually she 
 had developed into an unostentatious club woman and 
 improver of the home, and the younger Plumeys, coming 
 after Ethel, were spared much that had distressed the mind 
 of their elder sister. Mrs. Plumey was not impossible. She 
 was a woman competent to take her place upon a committee, 
 and the children showed budding, social ambitions which 
 were carefully nurtured. The Plumeys shortcomings were 
 chiefly due to Mr. Plumey, upon whom all careful tutoring 
 was a wasted effort. For many years he had enjoyed his 
 supper in his shirtsleeves, and he continued to do so, though 
 the scene of his operations had been changed to a small 
 room opening off the kitchen. He had been a well digger 
 in his early youth and through the years had arrived at the 
 ownership of a plumbing establishment. He was now a 
 taxpayer and a member of the City Council, but nothing 
 had ever refined him and he was not proud from success. 
 His favorite companion was the policeman on the beat. 
 There were many times when his eldest daughter, returning 
 from the spectacle of a friend s wedding, looked upon her 
 parent peacefully smoking a vile pipe in the grape arbor 
 behind the house, and reflected bitterly that it was no 
 wonder she had never married. 
 
 On one occasion she was returning from a successful hour 
 with the chosen, triumphing in the reflection that she had 
 been called "Ethel" personally by three of the most exclu 
 sive women in town. As she pictured a future that would 
 see her rising consistently in the social scale in which
 
 THE THRESHOLD 151 
 
 flight she would bear with her the more or less dragging 
 impedimenta of an unambitious family she suddenly found 
 herself confronted by the demoralizing vision of her father 
 in close conversation with the patrolman who seemed to 
 stand like an ogre in the way of her social ambitions. 
 
 The Eurridges, who had recently made their money in oil 
 and therefore demanded an uncompromisingly clean slate 
 from every one, had driven her to the corner in their blue 
 limousine and even now were moving luxuriously away at 
 throttled third speed. They must have seen Mrs. Burridge 
 had the eye of a catbird and poor Miss Plumey s heart sank. 
 Mr. Plumey had enjoyed the contract for all the plumbing 
 in the Burridge s new house, which alone was bad enough, 
 and for this reason it was unlikely that he had escaped 
 recognition. Ethel recalled painful passages which must 
 have imprinted the Plumey image upon the Burridge mind 
 ineradicably. Mrs. Burridge was exactly the sort of person 
 to seize upon a little thing and make it the theme of end 
 less conversation. Ethel could hear her saying, "The 
 Plumey s are dreadfully low. Wasn t the man a well digger 
 or something? There is no telling whom you might meet 
 at their house." 
 
 All this and more flashed through Miss Plumey s mind 
 in a second as she saw her father and the policeman in 
 familiar, grinning companionship. She passed them with 
 an icy look and went in to her mother. 
 
 "Why can t Pa have a little pride ? The policeman ! And 
 there was Mrs. Burridge looking on. They might have been 
 brothers !" 
 
 But Mrs. Plumey had remained matter of fact in many 
 ways, despite her rise in the world. 
 
 "Well," she began defensively, "in a way they might as 
 well be brothers, as you say. Eddie Connally and your pa
 
 152 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 was raised side by side, and the only difference is that Pa 
 has got on while Eddie hasn t. I ll declare, Ethel, you do 
 talk sort of wild sometimes; anybody would think there 
 were kings and queens in Cresston instead of just ordinary 
 folks, like us and the Connallys and the Burridges." 
 
 But when Mr. Plumey came in to supper a half hour 
 later his wife remonstrated with him. "Ethel thinks you 
 are ruining her chances, Pa. You know how snobbish 
 this town has come to be. It isn t like old times. Those 
 have money now that never expected to have any and was 
 never meant for it, and their heads are sort of turned. But 
 if people have these silly notions I suppose we ve got to 
 live up to them whether we want to or not, for the sake of 
 the children. The best way to climb is by stepping on 
 somebody else, and my mother used to say " 
 
 "Who s trying to climb anywhere," growled Mr. Plumey, 
 arranging towel and soap, "not me. Anyway not on my 
 frien s necks. I gotta word to say to Ethel. The Plumeys 
 have always been respectable, if not fashionable. So s the 
 Connallys. So s the Burridges s far as I know. But some 
 of the folks our girl is runnin with can t lay much claim 
 to anything but fine clothes and such. You tell Ethel to 
 come to me." 
 
 And so long as Mr. Plumey was master in his house 
 his family was constrained to obey when he took that tone. 
 Confronted by her parent Miss Plumey lost a measure of 
 her superiority. After all, the plumbing establishment paid 
 the bills. 
 
 "I m not finding fault, Pa," she explained, "but it does 
 look queer, seeing you always with policemen and people 
 like that." 
 
 Mr. Plumey smiled. In spite of his crudity he had suffi 
 cient insight into the character of his women folk to know
 
 THE THRESHOLD 153 
 
 when he held the whip hand. "Ha," he said triumphantly, 
 "ha !" and his daughter was forced by a curiosity that was 
 stronger than her annoyed pride to ask what he meant. 
 
 "Ha!" Mr. Plumey repeated victoriously, drying his 
 fingers, "I reckon some of your swell friends would give a 
 pretty sum to be on the right terms with a policeman one 
 of these days. I reckon so." Then with a quick rejection 
 in insinuation and an equally swift resumption of parental 
 authority he emphasized his statement by thumping the 
 screen door in his progress through the house. "Don t ask 
 me questions. I won t answer em. But you keep away 
 from some of these folks you re so thick \vith. One of 
 these days this town s going to tear wide open with a 
 scandal. Don t let me hear the name of Plumey connected 
 up with it. Don t you, now." 
 
 Ethel Plumey and her mother were left alone to digest 
 and analyze this hint to speculate and finally abandon 
 paths that lead nowhere. 
 
 "What on earth does he mean?" gasped Miss Plumey, 
 staring open-eyed at her mother. 
 
 "Never you mind," the latter reassured, "I ll find out. 
 Edward Plumey can t keep anything from me. I ll have it 
 before to-morrow morning." 
 
 But all she learned from putting the master plumber 
 through the third degree familiar to all wives who are inter 
 ested in their husbands careers, amounted to bewilderment 
 that was pierced by vague high lights of speculation, as the 
 two women tried in vain to manufacture from the hints 
 they received some tangible evidence which would damn 
 certain of their friends. 
 
 Mrs. Plumey was completely at sea, but Ethel, permit 
 ting herself an ironical smile, remembered bitter hours spent 
 looking on at the unfair love making of others. "If they
 
 154 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 only knew," she said to herself. "Perhaps there is some 
 thing some dreadful scandal about to come to light. Let 
 it come." 
 
 But scandals, like summer storms, have a way of threat 
 ening long before they break. Not even a woman s fero 
 cious curiosity could force Mr. Plumey s elusive prognosti 
 cation nearer fulfillment, and weeks after, when the thing 
 should have been disclosed or when its hydra head should 
 have been hidden forever, Ethel Plumey savored the tantal 
 izing cud of uncertainty. She could not forget. 
 
 Often when she was fulfilling her mission of useful friend, 
 pouring tea, mending delicate lace hosiery, answering 
 troublesome telephone calls and the like, she was thinking: 
 "Perhaps in a moment I shall know. Some one will say a 
 word. I shall witness a look and I will know everything." 
 
 But this never happened. 
 
 One afternoon Mrs. Plumey, who had long since forgotten 
 the incident and was far from imagining herself an instru 
 ment of fate, concerned merely with the troublesome details 
 of the younger Plumeys fall wardrobes, asked her eldest 
 daughter to do an errand. 
 
 This was merely the trivial task of carrying a small 
 package of thread trimmings and what not, to the seam 
 stress who lived on sufferance in Mrs. Miller s boarding- 
 house on Thelma Avenue. 
 
 It was nearly five when Miss Plumey arrived at her des 
 tination. As she stood on the narrow porch and rang the 
 jangling bell, she was blind to the approach of destiny which 
 came to her with the aroma of Thursday night s dinner. 
 So far from welcoming this, she met Mrs. Miller with a 
 disdainful air when the landlady herself opened the door. 
 
 "How can people exist in such places? To think that 
 Qeve Harkness once lived here!" was the uncharitable
 
 THE THRESHOLD 155 
 
 thought in her mind, while her lips inquired for the seam 
 stress to whom the package belonged. 
 
 Mrs. Miller disliked Ethel Plumey and considered her an 
 upstart and a snob, but her welcome gave no hint of her 
 real feelings. Aside from the personal angle, she appre 
 ciated the Plumey cleverness which had overridden severe 
 barriers, and, to quote her literally, she was "always willing 
 to give the devil his due." Having a quarter of an hour 
 to spare before she was actually needed in the kitchen or 
 dining-room, she was not averse to a chat with the caller. 
 She apologized profusely for the enveloping apron that 
 covered her ample figure and confided some of her house 
 keeping woes without which no conversation could properly 
 begin according to boarding-house ethics. 
 
 "I have a houseful right now, and busy from morning till 
 night, you may be sure," the landlady sighed, fanning herself 
 with somebody s circular letter taken from the hall table. 
 
 "Really?" Miss Plumey was vague. She was sure 
 that no incident connected with Mrs. Miller s guests could 
 be of interest to her. The other confirmed this. 
 
 "The house is full," she repeated confidentially, "but 
 it isn t like it used to be a few years ago when one could 
 fill up on gentlemen. The war made a difference in more 
 ways than one. Women women I sometimes think I am 
 never to see the end of them. I had made up my mind 
 clearly that I d refuse the next one, when Antonia Christy 
 came along and wanted a room. It put me in an awkward 
 position, I must say. I couldn t refuse a young girl when 
 she was at outs with her own folks a perfectly ladylike 
 girl, too, with a father who never provided for her and 
 never will, believe me. Still, up to the last minute I didn t 
 think I d take her, but when she came walking in with 
 Cleve Harkness that rainy evening, what could I do? It
 
 156 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 made more trouble for me, and less money than a young 
 man would pay, but I couldn t say no, right before Cleve, 
 could I? Knowing the quarrel she d had with her folks, 
 he might have thought something wrong, you know. I had 
 to give in with what grace I had." 
 
 Miss Plumey lifted her head. In the semigloom of the 
 hall her profile and throat had a vague resemblance to an 
 eagle poised, searching the horizon for a glimpse of some 
 secret desire. 
 
 "Antonia Christy " she repeated. "Cleve Harkness 
 brought her here?" 
 
 "Why, yes." Mrs. Miller made an infinitesimal pause 
 before she answered eagerly. She was flustered a little by 
 her instincts; quick to grasp the meaning of a tone, but 
 defensive. "He brought her here that night. Of course 
 I knew all the circumstances everything, Miss Plumey. 
 She told me when she came to see about the room. She 
 already had her place with Mr. Peter Withrow, and she and 
 Cleve grew up together, like brother and sister, only of 
 course the Harknesses never were a match for the Christys. 
 It was perfectly natural for him to come with her and 
 carry her suitcase. He was so concerned that night, trying 
 to persuade her to go back to her father. He was going 
 to a party, I remember, and his clothes were nearly ruined 
 by the rain, and if ever there was a careful young man about 
 his clothes it is Cleveland Harkness, so it must have taken 
 something more than ordinary to keep him out in such 
 weather without even knowing it was raining." Mrs. Miller 
 paused for breath, feeling that she had said enough to 
 satisfy any one about her position, yet uncertain whether, 
 after all, she had said the right thing. 
 
 Miss Plumey s mind, absorbing the high lights of this 
 explanation, raced about like a little boat tossed by the
 
 THE THRESHOLD 157 
 
 waves. She was taken by surprise and this sensation pre 
 vented her from realizing the full importance of what 
 she had heard. She might have likened her experience to 
 having a door opened and shut in her face with bewildering 
 rapidity ; her eyes caught a glimpse, that was all. 
 
 While she searched for a careful phrase she remembered 
 the night Cleve had come late to the dance a night when 
 it had rained. Not even Rose Dupagny had brought him 
 early and this was why. The obscure Christy girl had a 
 claim that transcended other claims and for this he had 
 neglected Rose who believed him to be in love with her. 
 
 Her mind, performing gymnastics, recalled the refusal of 
 Rose to return safely in the Plumey carriage after Willetta 
 Porter s desertion. Then later had come the disgraceful 
 scene made by Laurence Dupagny, which was known to 
 every one next day, and Rose, after all, had risked broken 
 bones by going back with Cleve in the car at an unearthly 
 hour Miss Plumey gasped. So much had been going on 
 under her very eyes. 
 
 She was about to speak when there came a confusion of 
 footsteps and voices outside and Mrs. Miller from behind 
 the curtain exclaimed in flurried amazement : 
 
 "There she is now Miss Antonia! Such a sweet girl 
 . . . and as I live, Peter Withrow is with her Peter 
 Withrow! Ethel Plumey, what does this mean? He is 
 coming in with her, as I live " 
 
 There was no time for a reply. Mrs. Miller and her 
 companion had only just retreated from the hall window 
 when Antonia Christy, calm and unhurried in her move 
 ments, opened the door and entered, closely followed by 
 Peter, who gave the two women a quizzical glance followed 
 by a bow that recalled his father, the Colonel, whose man 
 ners had been the talk of the county thirty years before.
 
 158 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Antonia, smiling faintly, led the way to the red rep and 
 walnut parlor shrouded in blackness airless and disap 
 proving as the lowered brows of a world which she did not 
 suspect were in that instant turned upon her. 
 
 Peter entered the parlor in her wake, after the bow 
 which had transformed Mrs. Miller into a mere figurehead. 
 He was smiling at some secret thought of his own, but when 
 he found himself alone with Antonia this smile faded and 
 an expression of deep humility replaced it. 
 
 "You shouldn t have me here," he said in a lo*w voice 
 that only she could hear, as though he knew of the straining 
 ears outside the door that were grasping for every sound. 
 "Let me go now. I promise anything that you ask." 
 
 Peter had been drinking again. It could not be disguised, 
 but Antonia did not shrink from him. She looked into his 
 eyes earnestly as though he were a little boy and she im 
 measurably older a deeply understanding look that took 
 note of his weaknesses and the forgotten promises of the 
 past. 
 
 "Go, if you wish, Peter," she said, standing away from 
 the door so that he could pass. "But if you will stay with 
 me instead of going away alone, it will make me very 
 happy." 
 
 For answer he sat down in one of the stiff red rep 
 chairs and slid his long nervous hands across his eyes. He 
 wanted more than anything else in the world to say the 
 things that their position forbade him to say, and the 
 cowardice that is created from a great desire was a factor 
 in his silence. He knew that if he spoke he might lose the 
 little he could claim of her, but it was hard to take her 
 on the terms she innocently offered. Presently he said : 
 "Why should you bother about me? I m not worth it. If
 
 THE THRESHOLD 159 
 
 I can t keep straight myself you shouldn t hurt your little 
 hands trying to help me along." 
 
 She spread her fingers, white and supple now, against the 
 background of her dark serge skirt and smiled back at him. 
 "They are not little hands, Peter. And they ll always be 
 ready to help when you need them. But you mustn t think 
 I m wanting you more for your sake than my own. Some 
 times I m very lonely." 
 
 He understood that. He was lonely, too. They stared 
 at each other without speaking, filled with an overwhelming 
 desire to say to one another the simple poignant things 
 which were in their hearts. But because they were sitting in 
 the red rep parlor of the boarding-house with Mrs. Miller 
 just outside the door, this was impossible. 
 
 Peter said absently: "Harkness used to live here, didn t 
 he?" and Antonia answered gayly: 
 
 "He did. Perhaps it is Mrs. Miller s mission in life 
 to cradle genius. Tell me, Peter, do you think I am getting 
 along ?" 
 
 He looked a her gloomily. She was so frail and yet so 
 invincible sitting there before him that it was amazing to 
 think of her power. But he felt no gratitude for her gen 
 erous spirit loaned to his own in the hour of its eclipse. 
 Manlike, having this, he wanted more and was tortured 
 because he could not demand everything for which he was 
 longing. 
 
 "Why do you want to be a genius ? You are a woman," 
 he said brutally. 
 
 She flushed slowly but her eyes met his unwaveringly. 
 "That is not like you, Peter! This is why I asked you to 
 come with me to-day. When you are not yourself you 
 say things that are so cruel. You hurt your friends
 
 160 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 every one. It would be better to wound their bodies than 
 their hearts." 
 
 His head sunk. "Why do you bother with me, Antonia ?" 
 he said wearily, for the second time. "There s a dozen 
 men who would make pretty speeches to you ; yet you choose 
 to listen to me." 
 
 "Because I care so much for you, Peter," she murmured 
 with tears in her eyes. "Who has been so good to me ?" 
 
 He lifted his eyes to look at her. "Antonia, do you really 
 care" 
 
 She could not mistake the meaning beyond his words and 
 she was struck by the fear that this might lead to chaos. 
 Instead of helping him, she might be driving him further 
 away. Yet what could she say? 
 
 But he read the indecision- in her face and spared her a 
 reply. "I know you don t," he said with unexpected gentle 
 ness, "but if I can be your friend that will be enough." 
 
 "Oh, please understand," cried Antonia with a break 
 in her voice, "I don t want any of these things they are 
 not for me. I never cared for all that makes the lives of 
 other girls you know, Peter. We have talked it over a 
 hundred times. .But friendship ah, that is a thing worth 
 while. We will be friends, Peter, all of our days, and 
 sometime when we are old you will come to me and say 
 how very wise we have been to keep it warm and secure 
 when there have been shipwrecks all around us." 
 
 "What a cynic you are, child," Peter returned with a 
 smile. "Where did you learn to doubt the fundamental 
 law ? Not in your own home, I am sure." 
 
 "Yes, I learned it there," she said unexpectedly, "from 
 my own father and mother. Why should life be so unfair? 
 My mother loves and suffers through her children, but my 
 father suffers only through his thwarted ambitions. Even
 
 THE THRESHOLD 161 
 
 I was part of his disappointment. He would have loved 
 me as a son." 
 
 "He loves you now," said Peter gently, and added in a 
 tone of prophecy, "you will know that when love comes 
 to you." 
 
 Miss Plumey was about to depart in a daze. Events, 
 possibilities, had crowded her unfairly in the last half 
 hour. She stepped out on the porch and Mrs. Miller fol 
 lowed, because she, too, was aghast before the telepathic 
 communication of the other s attitude. She even accom 
 panied Miss Plumey down a part of the five steps, whis 
 pering in a strained monologue. 
 
 "I am taken out of my wits. I don t know what to think. 
 If ever there was a nice girl, I believed Antonia Christy 
 was one . . . but there must have been something behind 
 the way her pa behaved. Heavens above ! Two of them ! 
 And bringing Peter Withrow into my house in that condi 
 tion. I could smell the liquor as he passed me as plain 
 as anything I ever smelled." 
 
 But Miss Plumey only heard the half of this. Her eyes 
 and ears had given her mind the clew it sought, and her 
 thoughts were racing far beyond Mrs. Miller s weak surmise. 
 "If you will ask Mrs. Sneath to come over to our house 
 to-morrow " she murmured vaguely, "I m sure mamma 
 wouldn t approve she is so careful whom I meet 
 Good-by." 
 
 Mrs. Miller was left to gaze speechlessly after Ethel 
 Plumey as she carried the reputation of her house 
 away in her hands. She was perfectly aware that before 
 night the news would flash over the unseen wires of the 
 town that her house was run on lax principles, but Mrs. 
 Miller was first a woman, then a landlady, and her bow 
 was human as Peter Withrow passed her on his way out.
 
 162 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Peter drove his gray car to another county and back 
 that night, but he did not get drunk as he had intended to 
 do. In the fierce loneliness of the night hours he fought the 
 thing out and conquered; all the time hating the weak spirit 
 that made the fight necessary. For a long time he had 
 yielded in such struggles when the craving came upon him, 
 but to-night was different. If Antonia cared The thought 
 rushed to his brain like a swift flame and then was quenched 
 by the cold light of reason. She did not care as he wanted 
 her to care. 
 
 That afternoon, at the first symptom of his coming down 
 fall, she had given out all her sweetness and- gentle trust, 
 and the strength of it had seized upon his lagging spirit 
 and drawn it upright beside her own. And she had held him 
 there until he could stand alone. When he furned the car 
 homeward, long past midnight, he was ashamed and humble, 
 but he no longer lingered on the thought o f her caring. 
 
 The night -was in its deepest hours when he stopped the 
 gray car before the Sheridan- Building. He knew that there 
 would be no sleep 1 for him that night, and he remembered 
 some papers that should have been gone into that day. 
 Work is the best panacea for thought and he had had 
 enough of thinking. 
 
 It was so late that even the watchman, believing himself 
 safe, had slipped into some remote corner for a nap. An 
 atmosphere of stillness that was almost uncanny hushed 
 the night, nowhere so silent as between high walls and 
 paved streets. The elevator, had ceased running long ago 
 and Peter, stepping lightly, was halfway up the first flight 
 of stairs when he met the woman. 
 
 It was like a meeting of ghosts. The stairs were so dimly 
 lighted, the unexpected presence so vague and elusive, cling 
 ing to the wall in shadowy, supplicating fear, that it was
 
 THE THRESHOLD 163 
 
 like the quick shifting of a dream, gone before realiza 
 tion. . . . 
 
 When he reached his own door he saw ; that there was 
 a light against the frosted transom- of the office and in a 
 moment he opened the door and confronted Cleve Harkness 
 in a blue velvet housecoat, smoking a cigarette as he lounged 
 in an office chair. 
 
 The two men looked at each other rather blankly. It 
 was not their custom to meet at three o clock in the morning 
 on this common ground, and both were at a loss for words 
 to reduce the situation to a natural footing. But Peter 
 having a slight advantage was first to speak. 
 
 "You did not expect me," he said calmly, advancing into 
 the room until he stood directly in front of the other. 
 
 Cleve made no attempt to conceal his amazement which 
 verged upon consternation. His habitual air of boyish 
 complacency gave way to something like confusion. He 
 fumbled with the loose papers on the desk before him and 
 found nothing to say. 
 
 "I thought I would look into the Norton business," Peter 
 went on, moving over to his own quarters. "Don t let 
 me disturb you. Can t sleep, you know. . . . Good time to 
 read, everything still as a grave, thank the Lord." 
 
 But after the first demoralizing moment Cleve saw that 
 he had nothing to fear from Peter, and he managed to 
 recover his self-possession. He gathered the papers on his 
 desk into a formless mass and offered them to his partner 
 with an indifferent smile. "I was looking into it myself," 
 he said easily. "I had no idea you were interested." 
 
 "I am interested in everything," Peter returned. "The 
 unusual always excites my interest to fever heat. But it 
 does seem queer that you and I who are so widely at vari 
 ance on most points would be agreed upon the Nortons."
 
 164 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Cleve felt himself humiliated ; he knew that Peter was 
 laughing at him and secretly enjoying his confusion, or 
 believed that he was. The situation was worthy of some 
 thing better than this. He felt the need to insult Peter, since 
 Peter would not insult him. 
 
 "I thought you were drunk again," he said with a sneer, 
 "that was why I bothered." 
 
 "Ah!" said Peter. He was merely contemptuous, not 
 angry. He spoke in the tone of whimsical satire that always 
 maddened the younger man. "Antonia would not let me get 
 drunk. She took me home with her to that boarding-house 
 where she lives, and we decided that there were things in 
 life better worth while than time wasting. She gave me a 
 pretty lecture and it pulled me up short. Do you remember 
 when you lived in that house, Harkness? It is a queer 
 place that reminds me in a way of a railway station. The 
 people who come there only stop between trains to pick up 
 food and sleep. It is full of women now, all earning their 
 living with pretty, delicate little fingers all of them rushing 
 hither and thither, making life for themselves. It made me 
 wonder what had become of the men who used to catch all 
 the trains. It made me think " 
 
 Cleve was stung. "You allowed Antonia to do that for 
 you!" he exclaimed violently. "Do you want to ruin her? 
 Think of what people would say if they saw her trying 
 to reform you picking you up on the verge of one of 
 your lapses A man should protect a woman who trusts 
 him" 
 
 Their eyes met
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE rings on Rose s fingers were growing loose. There 
 were three diamonds and a pigeon blood ruby none of 
 them large stones but very pure, and sometimes when she 
 stood at the window that commanded the street, she would 
 twist these rings about, smiling cynically as she observed 
 the difference in the size of her fingers. 
 
 Her dressmaker remarked it also. "We ll have to change 
 all your measurements, Mrs. Dupagny," she complained. 
 
 Dupagny noticed nothing. They did not see much of each 
 other ; business was bad and Dupagny s time had become a 
 ceaseless unrewarded search for financial backing which 
 would see him over these dark days. His feverish optimism 
 was not daunted, nor would he accept the warning of each 
 failure. He could not see that his race was nearly run. 
 
 When he could do so, he avoided Rose, but from a 
 different cause than that which sent her shrinking from his 
 approach. The two seldom spoke of their affairs, plans, or 
 the castle building which had once been their pastime. All 
 this had vanished, swept away before an oncoming depres 
 sion that left no foundation for visionary hopes ; and this 
 sad tide, coming remorselessly closer day by day, numbed 
 their senses and blinded their eyes until they could not feel 
 its approach. 
 
 The house, once so gay, was changed. The veranda was 
 no longer the meeting place for Rose s friends, and its 
 bright cushions vanished before the dust storms and sweep 
 ing winds that came early that year. All the verandas up 
 
 165
 
 166 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 and down Armitage Street were equally bare except for 
 the falling leaves that escaped the housemaid s broom, but 
 the brightness had not been transferred to the interior of 
 Rose s home as in the others. The change was more certain 
 here than outside. 
 
 Jessie had been replaced by a lazy, good-natured negress 
 who took advantage of her mistress preoccupation and 
 allowed the rooms to become hopelessly littered; blighted 
 by that miasmic condition which marks a house without a 
 heart. 
 
 There had been no little parties or teas for weeks. Rose 
 had forgotten or had ceased to care. The women she had 
 once sought to please, the forms which had been so impor 
 tant, meant nothing to her any longer. The vague slipping 
 away of all customs barely touched her. When she thought 
 of it at all she promised herself that to-morrow she would 
 take up the reins, adjust herself, and again become the 
 leader of the petty little play. 
 
 But she never did. To-morrow would find her gazing 
 unseeingly from the window, twisting the rings on her 
 fingers, listening for the telephone. 
 
 Dupagny found her like this one day when, contrary to 
 his habit, he came in at lunch time. He scowled suddenly, 
 aware of the chill, inhospitable atmosphere of the room; 
 the dust motes circling in a ray of sunshine; Rose, herself, 
 in a morning negligee. He gave one look at all this and 
 his gloomy eyes returned to her indifferent face. 
 
 "A nice sort of home to come back to," he snarled. He 
 had been out of town on one of his frequent excursions to 
 other sources of revenue and the alteration in the house 
 and in Rose struck him with renewed force, following as it 
 did a series of disappointments, bitter and unprofitable. As 
 he looked at her his glance kindled with the anger that
 
 THE THRESHOLD 167 
 
 at last finds a subject to feed upon. She recognized this 
 and shrugged her thin shoulders. 
 
 "Why return?" she questioned wearily. 
 
 "By God . . . the time will come when I ll not return. 
 . . . You ll send for me and I ll not answer. . . . You 
 can t keep this up. No!" 
 
 His voice was inarticulate. She was startled by the pas 
 sion he betrayed and this captured her straying attention. 
 She saw that she must win him from this mood which 
 threatened to interfere with her own, for she shrank with 
 nervous dread from the jangling discords of a domestic 
 quarrel. She played the card that is always in a woman s 
 hands. "If you gave me the money to keep the place 
 properly " 
 
 She had him there. He stammered "I ve always given 
 you everything I could " 
 
 She was not listening. She wished that he would go 
 and not stand there arguing, regretting what would not come 
 again. Suppose the telephone rang while he was in the 
 room ! It would be like him to listen, to insist on knowing 
 who called. And the instrument was just outside the door 
 where every word could be overheard. She grew feverishly 
 anxious ; certain that something disastrous would happen 
 before he left the house. Fear gave a strange touch of 
 asperity to her soft voice. 
 
 "What do you want, Larry? Are you tired from your 
 trip? Shall I have Emily give you some luncheon?" 
 
 He sat down heavily. Now that she focused her attention 
 upon him she saw how desperate he w y as, how pale and 
 distraught. He struggled not to meet her eyes. In spite of 
 the chill in the room there was a faint gleam of perspira 
 tion upon his forehead and he passed his handkerchief over 
 his face repeatedly.
 
 168 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "It has come to this, Rose. I must have some money. 
 ... I couldn t get a dollar in Evanston . . . everybody 
 is tightening up, or rushing away to spend their money in 
 the big towns. . . . My deals are too small to attract 
 them. ... If I could get to New York with something 
 good but before that I ve got to have a little real money 
 to tide over " 
 
 She felt a queer sense of relief, as if he had given her a 
 word of commendation when she had expected blame. She 
 saw his wavering glance come to rest upon her hands as 
 the shaft of sunlight that was the home of the dancing 
 motes sent a flash of fire from the jewels on her fingers. 
 At least she could help a little. The instinct of giving 
 where she had defrauded lightened her spirit to a flash of 
 spurious gayety. She drew the loose, glittering rings off 
 one by one ; now she knew why she had been twisting them 
 so long. She dropped them into Dupagny s hand. 
 
 "They will bring something. Perhaps in a little while " 
 
 "Your rings! My God, Rose, I haven t come to that 
 yet. . . ." He protested against the sacrifice fiercely, though 
 he had come home for that very purpose, driven by the 
 inexorable, shameful need of money for the little things of 
 every day those unnecessary, unwanted things that obtrude 
 themselves at every turn. "I can t take your rings, Rose," 
 he said huskily. 
 
 But these were only empty words and it ended, as they 
 both knew it would, in Dupagny dropping the jewels into a 
 little unused pocket with an elaborate air of unconcern, as 
 though they were baubles of small worth. He explained 
 with rising spirits that their disappearance would be a mere 
 matter of a few days. 
 
 "This puts you in line with all the other society women," 
 he said, attempting jocularity. "And you re a good sport,
 
 THE THRESHOLD 169 
 
 Rose, in spite of everything. Some day I ll hang you with 
 diamonds like a rajah s bride." 
 
 She heard him in silence, feeling only contempt for his 
 shallow relief. The rings ha-d been her mother s she might 
 never see them- again. "Perhaps you had better go," she 
 said coldly, "Emily is always cross at an unexpected 
 luncheon." 
 
 Her coldness quenched his faint elation. Now that the 
 trivial but burning need had been met, his mind turned to 
 other matters less important and more familiar. He noticed 
 her abstraction, the enforced patience with which she 
 listened to him, so plainly longing for him to go. 
 
 "Why are you at home to-day?" he asked with new 
 born suspicion. "It s rather unexpected, finding you in on 
 a day like this and unusual." 
 
 She glanced at the world outside her window. She had 
 not known the sort of day it was ; to cover her thoughts she 
 made the trite excuse, "I haven t anything to wear 
 nothing new. Every one is getting their autumn clothes." 
 
 During their life together he had heard that a thousand 
 times. Clothes clothes clothes. He had been trained 
 to sympathize with this need as all husbands are trained, 
 and her complaint never failed to arouse his masculine in 
 stinct of protection. 
 
 "Don t worry, little girl," he soothed in the tone she 
 knew so well. "One of these days we ll show this town 
 what it means to spend money " With the rings in his 
 pocket he was anxious to get away, yet, drawn by some 
 unaccountable instinct created from her strange depression, 
 he lingered. "By the way," he said with an abrupt change 
 of tone, "I heard a bit of news to-day about a friend of 
 yours young Harkness." 
 
 All her self-control could not subdue her start of alarm,
 
 170 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 and he noted this with a leaping flame- of jealousy. The 
 mention of Cleve s name had been purely involuntary, but 
 now he believed that he had struck the note of her mood. 
 She flushed and turned pale, trying to conceal her agita 
 tion. It was as though he had reached into her heart with 
 an unerring touch and found the name that was always 
 present in her thoughts. He paused, watching her suspense 
 curiously. "Not entirely about him," he went on, slowly, 
 "but his father old Saul Harkness. The old man is about 
 to pass out, I believe, and somebody hinted to me that he d 
 been putting by a penny or two all these years. I suppose 
 he ll leave his money, if he has any, to a home for dogs." 
 
 "But could he do that?" she asked, moistening her lips. 
 "Could he really disinherit his son if he had anything to 
 leave?" 
 
 Dupagny laughed rather oddly as he turned to the door. 
 
 "Oh, no. His son would undoubtedly inherit if there 
 is anything. I will be interested in watching developments. 
 . . . Let me congratulate you, my dear, on your fore- 
 sightedness in making friends. Without your backing it 
 would be rather difficult for me to approach the young heir 
 if he is one. All that money lying hidden for years should 
 be put to work at once." He saw her shiver. "It does 
 sound rather cold-blooded, but we re living in a cold 
 blooded age. You have to fight for what you want, whether 
 it s money or a woman. Don t try to look shocked, Rose. 
 You know that if Cleve Harkness gets a lot of money he ll 
 probably forget every friend he has if they let him. 
 You ve seen it done more than once." 
 
 "You are very cynical," she forced herself to say. 
 
 "Not cynical; merely sensible. He s that sort. He s used 
 everybody he could for stepping stones some day he ll use 
 the town itself especially if he gets the money. He started
 
 THE THRESHOLD 171 
 
 out to climb to success on other men s shoulders. . . ." 
 He smiled dryly, knowing that he had punished her. "But 
 you like him I should do the same." 
 
 He was gone at last and she flew to the telephone. She 
 was choking with impatience and it was impossible to wait 
 in the hope that he would call later. Sometimes he did not 
 call for a day or two and now she remembered this as an 
 omen. He was overly cautious on her. account and she 
 never called his number without the chilling anticipation 
 of his displeasure, but Laurence Dupagny s words had 
 macle a profound impression on her because she sensed be 
 neath them a vestige of truth she could not deny. ... It 
 was as though he put into words a tiny fear that had long 
 lain at the bottom of her heart, poisoning her happiest 
 moments. . . . 
 
 When Cleve s voice came to her over the wire she could 
 hardly speak. With her ringless fingers she kneaded her 
 throat, loosening the muscles that contracted at his first 
 word. 
 
 But she left the instrument gayly exuberant as she 
 always Avas after a few words with him. His voice was 
 always the same, tenderly caressing, secretly pleading, 
 worshipful. 
 
 Emily followed her to her room where she was searching 
 rapidly through drawers and closets, assembling a toilette for 
 the street. The colored girl adored and admired her mistress 
 in the same way that her race loves all that is colorful and 
 exotic. Her interest took the form of maternal scolding. 
 
 "Yoah ain goin out without a little bite of somethin . 
 . . . Now don t you act like that, Mis Dupagny. Don 
 throw them looks at me. You can t stand up against that 
 wind without a morsel since mornin . . . ." 
 
 Emily was not Jessie by a wide margin, but she fastened
 
 172 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 her mistress s frock and laced her high boots creditably. 
 Rose was plainly dressed in a dark blue serge walking suit 
 with a bit of fur about her neck, although it was still 
 summer. She wore a thick dotted veil through which her 
 beautiful eager face shone like a cameo. In the mirror she 
 saw the maid watching her with speculation lurking behind 
 her admiration. 
 
 It was mid-afternoon when she hurried through the side 
 streets, avoiding houses she knew, turning her face away 
 when she met cars or people. Once a limousine freighted 
 with laughing, pretty women in afternoon frocks whirled 
 around a corner and she found herself facing a half dozen 
 faces she knew too well. But they did not see her, being 
 intent upon their own affairs, and she did not have to explain 
 why she was lurking there in a dark, stuffy frock with fur 
 about her neck and a thick veil, while the rest of her world 
 laughed in chiffon. 
 
 On one of the shabby streets that branched away from 
 Christy Square with all its new splendors, the Iris Theater 
 was squeezed miserably between an automobile repair shop 
 and a basket grocery, both spilling their wares upon its 
 threshold, crowding its poor, gaudy three sheets with adver 
 tisements of somebody s tires and the price of potatoes. The 
 dingy girl at the wicket gave Rose a ticket and she passed 
 in behind two arguing women who detained her for an 
 endless minute outside the brownish green curtain that 
 screened the aisle. At that houp the place was nearly 
 empty, and she slipped into an obscure seat to gaze unseeing 
 at the beginning of what was meant from the very first 
 to be the tragic history of love diverted from sane and 
 normal paths into an impassable labyrinth of adventure and 
 intrigue. 
 
 Cleve was late and she put her handbag on the next seat
 
 THE THRESHOLD 173 
 
 to hold it for him although there was a wilderness of vacant 
 chairs on every side. When her eyes became accustomed 
 to the gloom she picked out couples here and there, usually 
 in the side rows along the musty walls, sitting close together 
 with hunched shoulders, whispering indistinguishably. 
 These were lovers who, having no right to meet each other 
 in the light of day, had discovered this corner where they 
 might gaze at each other unmolested. It was the little hour 
 of their day when they could be together sometimes it was 
 at the beginning of their story and sometimes at the end. 
 When the droning mechanical piano ceased for a moment, 
 their whispering became audible like the wings of trapped 
 insects seeking escape. Invariably the attitude of these 
 couples was the same; the woman sat a little forward in 
 her chair, her face drooping anxiously, and the man leaned 
 toward her with his lips almost touching her cheek, their 
 secret interchange of words proceeding without pause 
 through the endless repertoire of the mechanical piano, 
 through the intermissions, the beginning and end of films. 
 
 A bulky man stumbling in the darkness forced his way 
 along the row of chairs and tried to sit beside Rose. She 
 almost shrieked aloud, her nostrils assailed by the odor of 
 his clothing and his coarse body so near her own. She 
 put her hand against his arm and pushed desperately. There 
 was no aisle on the other side and if he had taken the chair 
 she would have been forced to escape by climbing past his 
 knees. 
 
 He stared at her stupidly, not understanding her panic; 
 she could see the reddish square of his surprised face. 
 
 "This seat is taken taken " she gasped. "There are so 
 many others " He slouched sheepishly away. 
 
 Cleve came at last. With the realization of his presence 
 her nervous fear and distaste fled. She was ashamed and
 
 174 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 almost sorry for her rudeness to the wretched man who 
 had blundered into her presence. The sordid, musty odorous 
 place became touched with romance; its walls shut in love 
 and a thousand little secret happinesses. She breathed deeply 
 of enchanted air as his fingers closed over hers. 
 
 He discovered the absence of her rings at once. "What 
 have you done with them?" 
 
 It was impossible to keep anything from him. She hated 
 herself for disloyalty while she hurried to explain. She 
 told him that Dupagny needed a little money she had 
 given him the rings for a few days ; every one was hard up 
 at times. It was nothing to be serious about ; people bought 
 diamonds for the sole reason of having collateral at hand 
 when they needed it quickly. While she whispered this, 
 trying to excuse the husband whom she betrayed, she felt 
 herself upon false ground. The situation was slipping out 
 of her hands. For a long time she had sensed that with 
 every confidence given to Cleve she gained a little less of 
 his. She brought her explanation to a close haltingly an 
 awkward close feeling intensely her disadvantage, and 
 Cleve said with righteous disgust: 
 
 "What a rotter the fellow must be to take your rings !" 
 
 "He s been decent to me as decent as he could," she 
 defended. 
 
 They were on the verge of a quarrel in the moment of 
 their meeting, and with Laurence Dupagny as the object 
 of the disagreement. Realizing this, they stopped short and 
 looked at each other, lettting the passion that united them 
 come into its own once more. 
 
 "Tell me why you wanted to see me to-day ?" Cleve asked, 
 pressing her slim, bare fingers. 
 
 But it was too late to ask her that. One of those instan 
 taneous adjustments had taken place in her mind at the
 
 THE THRESHOLD 175 
 
 moment of this quarrel, and she knew that she would never 
 tell him what she had heard from her husband that day. 
 If it were true he would know in time, and the future would 
 happily arrange itself. She gave an evasive answer to his 
 question. 
 
 "Why I was lonely. There seemed to be nothing 
 ahead for us. He is staying home so much of late." 
 
 "And you are not going out as you did," said Cleve sud 
 denly, startling her as Dupagny had done, earlier in the day. 
 "There are half a dozen parties this afternoon " His 
 tone added, "Why are you here?" 
 
 There had been no invitations for her that day. Instinct 
 warned her to hide this fact from him, though she disdained 
 its triviality. There were a dozen reasons why she might 
 have been left out nobody owed her anything, for she 
 had not entertained in many weeks. She made these excuses 
 in her own mind, knowing all the time the fact of making 
 them proved she was lost. 
 
 "Parties bore me," she said at last, vaguely. 
 
 As though he sensed some reserve in her he went on 
 persistently. "Are you going to the Tysons to-night? It 
 was unwise to come to this place when we might meet there 
 in a few hours." 
 
 She lied quickly but ineffectually. "I don t think I ll be 
 there. Larry has an engagement and I hate going about 
 alone." 
 
 He turned to look at her searchingly. In the gloom the 
 white outline of his face hardened. Its softness was lost 
 and with that its charm ; a faint cruelty became an apparent 
 warning. 
 
 "Were you asked? Have the Tysons cut you?" 
 
 The baldness of this made her gasp. She summoned 
 her pride, trying to be angry and disdainful.
 
 176 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "You know that is not true. She would not dare. But 
 we were never friends why should she ask me to every 
 thing she has?" 
 
 They were almost quarreling again. A little while ago 
 it had been enough to be silently near each other. 
 
 After this dull silence fell between them. Rose, gazing 
 emptily at the flickering screen, found herself following the 
 foolish story pictured there. Some one was in mimic anguish 
 an impossible woman who wept carefully without dis 
 torting her face; a fool whose difficulties might have been 
 adjusted by a word. But some fantastic similarity in the 
 story held her the theme was a thousand years old the 
 woman loved and the man forgot. She was always trying 
 to win him back and he was as hard as stone. 
 
 "It s glorious seeing you for a stolen hour like this. I 
 wish we never needed to part," whispered Cleve, trying to 
 recapture the thrill that had left his voice. 
 
 "If something should happen " she whispered back 
 dreamily, "If a magical good fortune smoothed every 
 thing for us if one of us should be rich would you be 
 happy ?" 
 
 "What are you thinking of?" he questioned sharply. 
 
 She had a quick change of mood. "I heard an absurd 
 thing about you the other day," laughing half hysterically. 
 "Almost a scandal. You should never lecture me after 
 this that girl in your office " 
 
 "Well what of her?" 
 
 "Oh, that interests you! Well, there is a story going 
 around about her. She left her home, didn t she? Quar 
 reled with her father. And when she had to find another 
 place to stay, you took her to some friends, of yours?" 
 
 "Rose ! What infernal thing is this you are trying to say? 
 Antonia Christy Good God! We have no right to
 
 THE THRESHOLD 177 
 
 mehtion her name in such a place as. this ! Don t say that 
 again. There is nothing to such a story nothing! I have 
 known her all my life." He was breathing fast. It was 
 plain that there was more than a hot denial on his lips 
 and that he fought against such utterance. 
 
 "You have known her always, and now when she is in 
 difficulties she turns to you I see. But you have never 
 mentioned her to me. I have heard that she is very beau 
 tiful. . . ." 
 
 He made a gesture of intense impatience, but she was too 
 far gone in jealousy and unhappiness to recognize this. She 
 knew that she was all wrong and that the quarrel which 
 had been just below the surface of their thin self-control 
 might break into an open rupture at any of her ill considered 
 words ; but she could not be silent. She felt as if a hand, 
 irresistible and malicious, were pushing her further and 
 further into the breach. 
 
 "You have spoken of this before," said Cleve, trying to 
 be calm. "Why do you refer to it again? I have told 
 you that there is nothing in it." 
 
 "Then why have you never told me the pretty story of 
 your chivalry ?" she demanded, with quivering lips. 
 
 A memory came creeping back to him like red fires gone 
 nearly gray. A night of rain, a long ride with Rose s 
 slender, warm body pressed against his side. Why should 
 the recollection thrill while her presence left him unmoved? 
 It was easier to think of Antonia, sane and sweet, saying 
 good-night from Airs. Miller s porch but his mind had 
 held this image remote and pale beyond that night of flaming 
 splendor ! 
 
 "I had forgotten." he said in a wearied tone. 
 
 On the screen before their inattentive eyes the figurines 
 were approaching the end of their tragedy. The fool, unable
 
 178 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 to recapture the thing she had lost, developed frenzy. She 
 was about to die. With wild eyes set in the mask of her cari 
 catured face she hunted in a drawer and found what she 
 sought. 
 
 "She is going to kill herself she has found a pistol in 
 the drawer," scoffed Rose, grimacing. She was about to rise 
 when he restrained her. His attention had been caught by 
 the climax. 
 
 "No you will see!" he predicted with his boyish laugh. 
 
 He was right. The film spun off in dreary anticlimax and 
 inanity. Nothing like that could ever happen. . . . Life 
 was like that always finding excuses for going on, com 
 promising. 
 
 Rose got up to go. He made a pretense of keeping 
 her longer. "When will I see you again?" 
 
 "I cannot say. We shouldn t make plans you said so 
 yourself " 
 
 "Well, then you will call me, won t you, dear?" 
 
 She left before him, choosing a moment when the dreary 
 trickle of exits was thickest. Outside the late afternoon 
 sun was shining fiercely and the sudden glare gave her an 
 excuse for the tears that rushed to her eyes. She- had not 
 said half she meant to say. The time was so short. He 
 was not in earnest when he asked her to stay longer. 
 
 The fur about her neck was suffocating, but she was 
 safely away from this place. At the corner she stopped 
 before a hardware store where rows and rows of cooking 
 utensils were strung on a wire. She pushed the furs aside 
 and priced these articles with a bargaining air. 
 
 Dupagny reached the house shortly after Rose s arrival. 
 From behind her locked door she heard him moving about 
 in his own room, shaving, dressing, whistling. He seemed 
 carefree, now that he had possession of her jewelry.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 179 
 
 At dinner she would barely look at him and his confidence 
 evaporated under her coldness. 
 
 "I m glad we didn t go to the Tysons to-night," he said, 
 "it s good to be alone oace in awhile." 
 
 Was she never to hear the last of the Tysons and their 
 stupid parties? Cleve was there; she knew he would go 
 if only to cover her absence. They would give him the 
 prettiest woman in the room for a supper partner. 
 
 "Tyson has been pretty cool to me lately," mused Du- 
 pagny, refusing to let the subject alone. "Have you and 
 the missus had a row? It might have been better to 
 accept. The Tysons are a power i". this town, you know." 
 
 "She didn t send me a card," explained Rose with dry 
 lips. She had to say the truth ; it gave her a certain satis 
 faction, as though in some way the curtain of deceit that 
 covered her was lifted a little. She looked at him coolly, 
 enjoying his consternation. 
 
 "No ! What what !" she had a disagreeable conscious 
 ness of his wide eyes and hanging mouth. 
 
 "No, they didn t ask us ! Nina calls us hangers-on. 
 
 They know we are frauds frauds ." She stood up 
 
 violently ; a coffee cup was overturned, the cloth pulled 
 awry. 
 
 He did not follow her upstairs and she was thankful 
 for that. There had been enough of uarreling for one 
 day. She was mentally exhausted ; more words would have 
 found her without a reply. It was a relief to lie inertly 
 on her bed watching with half-closed eyes through the lacy 
 branches of the trees outside her window the dust of stars 
 coming out 
 
 Late in the night Dupagny returned. She heard his steps 
 coming up the walk, dragging steps; the faint click of his 
 latch-key, then his progress upstairs. He paused before
 
 180 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 her door as she knew he would, turning the baffling knob 
 softly. She hid her face in the pillow. The door was 
 safely locked. For a long time it had been locked. 
 
 She would not listen or she could have heard him whis 
 pering her name. Presently he turned away and in his 
 muffled footsteps there was something mutely pleading 
 entreating, like a voice to which no answer is given. . . .
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE news of old Saul s death held the interest of the 
 town. Ir. life he had been as unimportant as one of 
 the springless chairs rocking sadly in the wind on the side 
 walk before his door, but in death he became important. 
 People were excited over the problem of whether he had 
 left behind him sixty or one hundred thousand dollars. 
 As a matter of fact, it was nearer the lesser sum, but by 
 the time the truth was known other events had taken the 
 edge from speculation. Cleve, as the heir, occupied the 
 public eye as he had never done in the character of hero. 
 The war hysteria was dying down and the sight of khaki no 
 longer brought tears or heart throbs ; it was an achievement 
 to turn this dying interest into feverish curiosity. 
 
 As Cleve himself assimilated the astonishing news, he 
 weighed all these advantages and measured the easy heights 
 so amazingly raised before him, while he maintained a 
 proper air of regret and decorous grief. He was too subtle 
 to pretend actual sorrow, which he knew no one expected 
 him to feel, but he was lavish in the statement that if he 
 had known of the miser s fortune in time, he would have 
 conquered the penuriousness which made it possible. 
 
 The money was in Wickersham and Frye s hands, they 
 had known all along, it seemed. When he was alone and 
 could give vent to the mingled chagrin and triumph of his 
 mood, Cleve was humiliated to think that without doubt he 
 owed his early success to his secret future. His wounded 
 
 181
 
 182 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 self-esteem recalled even Bessie and her ardent pursuit of 
 his youth. Perhaps she knew, and it was old Saul s fortune 
 that she coveted instead of his heart. 
 
 But this phase of self-disillusionment was soon mitigated 
 by the possession of the actual money and in time the only 
 result was an impalpable hardening of his nature, struck 
 in its vulnerable point. If they had accepted him once for 
 an unknown benefit, they should give him openly in the 
 future what his brains, with the lever of money, could ex 
 tract. 
 
 He was not offended by the instantaneous change in his 
 position which occurred with the announcement of his heri 
 tage. He was not sensitive and to his code it was perfectly 
 fair that his value increased with his possessions. This was 
 a law the justice of which he could recognize and admit, 
 and the only emotion he felt was annoyance at his own 
 credulity that had taken for granted the popularity which 
 belonged solely to youth and a pair of good dancing legs. 
 He saw clearly now that in a little while this popularity, 
 founded upon nothing tangible, must have waned. Failure, 
 ignominy would have resulted. He was able to be glad that 
 fate had caught him in time. Reversing the usual pro 
 cedure, the money put a check upon his headlong descent 
 into insignificance. 
 
 He had always been popular with women and his changed 
 condition merely increased this, but he saw with cynical in 
 difference the vast readjustment of his status before his own 
 sex. Their faintly contemptuous attitude altered to a visible 
 respect. They had belittled his standing with their wives 
 and daughters, but now they admired the qualities that won 
 the praise of their women. Bankers invited him to lunch 
 and old Saul was spoken of everywhere -as a "collector." 
 
 One of the first changes considered by the newly rich
 
 THE THRESHOLD 183 
 
 young man was the dissolution of his partnership with 
 Peter; much as personal inclination urged this, instinct 
 warned against it and in the end instinct prevailed. In 
 spite of the Harkness money he was Cleve Harkness still, 
 and Peter was a Withrow, with ten times as many dollars. 
 In disposing of this thought he was not prepared for the 
 advent of Peter with the identical suggestion on his own 
 part. 
 
 "We might manage to straighten up all that we have on 
 hand by the first of the year," Peter argued ; "no use pulling 
 in double harness when it don t fit, my boy. We ll never 
 learn each other s ways, d ye think ?" 
 
 Cleve knew then that from the first Peter had wanted 
 be free of their bond, but his poverty had prevented the 
 utterance of this wish. He did not underrate the other s 
 generosity in remaining silent under the goad of a tie 
 which irked them both ; he merely thought Peter rather a 
 fool to think of some one else before himself. Had their 
 positions been reversed there would have been no partnership 
 in the beginning, but now he gave an injured consent to 
 the suggestion ; there was nothing else to do. But when he 
 spoke to Antania of the matter he wore an aggrieved and 
 defrauded air which appealed instantly to her sympathies, 
 as it would have done to any woman. 
 
 "I suppose I ll never see you when Withrow and I 
 separate," he complained. "You never have time to speak 
 to me now ; I actually see less of you than when you lived 
 at home, Antonia." 
 
 This was true. For weeks their intercourse had been 
 confined to nods and murmured good-mornings. Sometimes 
 even these were missing, when her head was bent over her 
 work, or when he passed her desk preoccupied and remote. 
 Reminded of their barren friendship Antonia blushed with
 
 184 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 painful remembrance. There had been no time when he 
 was near that she did not feel his presence ; her absorption 
 was a poor makeshift if he had cared enough to seek be 
 neath the shell of her pretense. But she had known for a 
 long time that their little romance, brief and delicate as a 
 sigh, existed only for her, in the rare times she allowed her 
 self for retrospection. Aloud she said: 
 
 "Major Bailey is coming in with Peter. I suppose I 
 shall be very busy then." 
 
 Cleve permitted himself a slight sneer. "Bailey? So he 
 will be here to order you around ? Are you still in love with 
 a profession, Antonia, or are you ready to admit that it is 
 not enough?" 
 
 He was in an ugly mood. His pride was wounded by 
 Peter s defection and he suddenly regretted that he had ac 
 cepted dismissal so weakly. This news opened up a fresh 
 train of thought. Bailey was a safely married man, the 
 respectable, august father of half a dozen young Baileys. 
 He had searched for some reason for Peter s sudden resolu 
 tion, aside from their constant warfare and here it was. 
 His place in the firm was to be filled with a man whose pres 
 ence could never touch Antonia. Could it be that Peter 
 wished to seclude her from contact with himself ? 
 
 "Look here," he said in a dictatorial tone, "has that fellow 
 been making love to you?" 
 
 Antonia trembled. She should have been indignant, but 
 her emotion could not be called indignation or anything of 
 that nature. It was too ridiculous to say that she was happy 
 but it is certain that his manner thrilled her. 
 
 "You have no right to speak in that way," she said un 
 steadily, and tried to look at him with coldness that turned 
 into a burning blush. 
 
 As Cleve returned this look a thought dazzled him. He
 
 THE THRESHOLD 185 
 
 had forgotten Antonia for a long time and with her their 
 childish romance that had been too fleeting to know by such 
 a name, but when he saw the color in her face, this recollec 
 tion returned like a story read and forgotten. He remem 
 bered their meetings, always by chance and yet predestined ; 
 the dusky spring nights when she had fluttered across his 
 path like a white moth. As a sleeper grasps at bits of reality, 
 he tried to recover moments they had spent together, but 
 in the kaleidoscopic months that intervened, all sequence 
 was lost. But one f aot presented itself with startling clarity, 
 for Peter to plan his removal from contact with Antonia 
 presupposed one certain condition ; Peter must be in love 
 with her himself. 
 
 Vistas of possibilities opened before this thought. Peter s 
 interest in" Antdnia ; his championship when she wanted to 
 study law, the whole story was plain. He found himself, 
 when alone, cursing Peter with unexpected bitterness. 
 "Damn him, he isn t fit to speak to her, the drunken 
 brute !" 
 
 He had a hundred important matters to think of, but all 
 these were postponed while he thought about Antonia. She 
 had suddenly assumed new and precious virtues in his eyes. 
 He had always known they were there, but like hidden 
 jewels, meant only for his eyes. He was bewildered to find 
 another man searching for them and grasping them. And 
 he hated Peter for other reasons than this. 
 
 He almost planned to go to Antonia s father with the 
 story. Peter wanted him out of the way, Peter planned to 
 be alone with Antonia ! But better judgment forced him to 
 part reluctantly with this plan. Its crudity and foundation 
 of mere suspicion made it untenable. Old Christy would 
 demolish it with a word. Not even his swiftly evolving 
 jealousy could send him on such a mission without better
 
 186 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 arms. In a few hours he overreached months of indiffer 
 ence, constituting himself Antonia s guardian and protec 
 tor. He believed her to be totally unconscious of the 
 machinations attributed to Peter. He was honest in his con 
 viction that harm or at least an unwise influence was hover 
 ing over her, such as only he could see and forestall. His 
 own thoughts of her were idealistically high and noble ; he 
 alone appreciated her purity and simplicity. 
 
 The recollection of Rose s insinuation filled him with 
 anger and distaste. To him it was fabrication, no one 
 could seriously connect Antonia Christy with anything less 
 than honor and probity. He forgot that he himself had 
 already built up a melodrama with Peter as villain. 
 
 In the weeks that followed his father s death Cleve saw 
 Rose only a few times. With the romantic aura of money 
 left behind him, old Saul could not be ignored, and his heir 
 was debarred from society except in so far as chance en 
 counters in tearooms and discreetly sympathetic chats over 
 the telephone or brief single calls might be termed social. He 
 did not meet Rose in tearooms any more, but he did talk to 
 her from his rooms, always in the tenderest tones, but with 
 an annoyed frown she could not witness. 
 
 He was far from admitting, even to that secret self which 
 was his treasured counselor, that he had ceased to care for 
 Rose or that their romance was on its wane. Other matters 
 had crowded his mind during these weeks and the part that 
 was concerned with Rose remained undisturbed. She still 
 seemed to him an important figure in their world, one 
 whose smile and favor remained desirable. No one men 
 tioned her name to him ; he was too preoccupied to note the 
 significance of this omission. 
 
 Gossip concerning the Dupagnys was everywhere, though
 
 THE THRESHOLD 187 
 
 it did not penetrate to Cleve s ears. Laurence Dupagny was 
 slipping downhill. lie had been slipping for years, but now, 
 suddenly, every sustaining crevice was cruelly removed 
 from his clutching fingers. He could not find a prop any 
 where. For years he had been performing actively in a 
 crowd, deceiving every one with the pretense that he was 
 one of them, then he found himself alone in a circle of 
 mocking faces, miserably trying to stand without aid and 
 failing. 
 
 Without troubling to analyze him the men he had always 
 counted on turned uniformly away. They knew that he 
 had lost heart, but what they said was that he had never 
 been a safe man, too optimistic, too impressionable. They 
 remembered scores of schemes he had fathered, all of them 
 quickly burnt out, shallow, insecure. 
 
 People who had been a little flighty with the handling of 
 unexpected money derived from war speculation became 
 accustomed to it, settled into harness and looked around for 
 safe investments. Laurence Dupagny had nothing of this 
 character to offer, everything in which he was interested 
 was fantastic and extravagant ; a marsh to be reclaimed at 
 immense expense was more attractive to him than legitimate 
 tableland. One by one his hopes crumbled to dust. 
 
 Cleve Harkness would have learned of this long before he 
 did, had he been a visitor to the house on Armitage Street, 
 but this had been given up in the early stages of his affair 
 with Rose. Both imagined that they were hoodwinking 
 the public by this transparent subterfuge. In reality their 
 careful avoidance of each other lent importance to the most 
 trivial encounter which happened to be witnessed by an au 
 dience pretending to see nothing. 
 
 "My dear, they meet everywhere!" whispered little Mrs.
 
 188 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Porter, who had been Rose s most intimate friend, "like ser 
 vant maids and policemen. She has been seen in the most 
 impossible places." 
 
 "My maid Jessie who lived with her when it all began 
 says that the telephoning was continuous, every morning, 
 directly her poor husband left the house," Nina Tyson con 
 tributed in her deep, disapproving voice. 
 
 The town was talking, but the full weight of its censure 
 was not yet laid upon Rose. Could she have recalled a 
 tithe of her old spirit she might even at this late hour have 
 retrieved the situation, restored herself to the easy leader 
 ship of these stupid women, none of whom possessed the 
 courage to do battle with her in the open ; perhaps she might 
 even have rehabilitated Dupagny and saved him by the magic 
 of her own charm, but she could do nothing. Numbness lay 
 like a weight upon her ; she tore her mind from its personal 
 problems with difficulty; the world was slowly going to 
 chaos about her and she could not stay its destruction. 
 
 Cleve did not know that the Dupagnys were no longer 
 asked to the little intimate parties at the club or in certain 
 houses, but Miss Plumey knew, and though wisdom re 
 strained her from open intimacy with her one time friend, 
 malevolence drove her to secret visits, carefully timed. She 
 knew that in the quarter to which she aspired, this would be 
 condoned in return for the bits of news she could be able to 
 furnish Rose s detractors. She slipped into the Dupagny 
 yard through the hedge one September morning, wrapped in 
 her mother s pink knitted shawl. 
 
 "I had to come in and tell you about the tea for the Mor- 
 rell girl," she explained, when she found Rose still dawdling 
 over a coffee cup. "The decorations were beautiful, but 
 poor Cecilia couldn t get her hands white. They looked like 
 lobsters among the cups." She paused, after all her heart
 
 THE THRESHOLD 189 
 
 was not wholly bitter, "Why didn t you go ?" she ventured, 
 "Mrs. Morrell mentioned you." 
 
 Rose shrugged. She was wearing a lace negligee, a little 
 frayed here and there ; through its cobwebby surface her 
 thinness was apparent. 
 
 "What would they have talked about if I had been there?" 
 she murmured with a swift, disfiguring sneer. 
 
 Miss Plumey was startled. It was not her intention to be 
 led into open discussion of Rose s unpopularity. She looked 
 at her companion reproachfully ; the remark seemed to verge 
 upon indelicacy. She was trying to show sympathy, but it 
 was too much to expect partisanship from her. Retreating 
 slightly, she threw the onus upon Laurence Dupagny. 
 
 "Pappa says that every business man has his ups and 
 downs," she said, in false consolation. "The pursuit of 
 wealth always has its bitter side, but you shouldn t give up 
 like this, Rose. It makes people think that matters are 
 worse than they are." 
 
 There was soundness in this, but Rose could not explain 
 why she had ceased to care. She shook her head sadly but 
 not unkindly, and her visitor went on, approaching the sub 
 ject she longed to explore. 
 
 "You won t think me curious, dear. I am so anxious to 
 see you do well and be happy again, and I was wondering 
 if Peter Withrow ever put any money in Mr. Dupagny s im 
 provement scheme." 
 
 "Peter Withrow!" Rose flushed dully. The association 
 of the name with her thoughts gave her a guilty, trapped 
 feeling. She tried to speak with indifference. "Peter? 
 Oh, no! It is impossible to interest Peter in anything. 
 Laurence soon gave up trying to get him into anything 
 good." 
 
 "Really?" Miss Plumey exclaimed acrimoniously. "There
 
 190 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 are some things he is interested in, tremendously. That 
 girl in his office ! What a creature she must be ! First it 
 was Cleve Harkness and now it is poor Mr. Withrow. 
 They are seen together openly. He even goes to that dread 
 ful boarding house where she lives, I saw him there my 
 self, and I have Mrs. Miller s word that he was drinking 
 at the time." 
 
 Rose betrayed a flash of animation impossible to conceal. 
 This was the same informer who had brought her the story 
 of Cleve s adventure with the unknown girl, and this had 
 been at the foundation of many of their half quarrels which 
 gradually grew more bitter and significant as their meetings 
 became less frequent. How foolish she had been if this was 
 true! She was ashamed at the swift relief she found at the 
 substitution of Peter s name. 
 
 "She must be a charming person," she forced herself to 
 say, with an air of indifference. 
 
 "One of those dangerous, quiet girls," confided Miss 
 Plumey in a low voice, as though she feared being overheard 
 in a matter that was not quite delicate. "I knew her in school 
 years ago. Her family was once fearfully important, but 
 of course, nobody now . . . you know that . . . Peter 
 Withrow would be foolish to marry her ! I imagine she 
 soon found out that Cleve Harkness was not the wedding 
 ring sort . . . though you never can tell. Of course you 
 have heard that he has bought the Pendleton place ?" 
 
 Rose disguised her sudden trembling by lifting the coffee 
 cup to her lips. A tide of swift emotion rushed to her heart. 
 "The Pendleton place?" she repeated stupidly. "Why 
 should he buy that?" 
 
 Miss Plumey assumed an air of wisdom subtly freighted 
 with sympathetic understanding. She now had the conver-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 191 
 
 sational ball exactly where she wanted it and, thinking over 
 every move, she began to play warily. 
 
 "Ah ! Because he couldn t be serious with a girl like that 
 doesn t mean that he won t marry somebody. Pappa s so 
 up on politics and he says there is nothing Cleve Harkness 
 couldn t be, now that he has money to back him. He could 
 go to Washington in time, but of course there must be a 
 beginning. The first thing is to become a citizen with a 
 wife and a home, that sort of thing respectability. 
 Pappa says that Mr. Wickersham has already been talking 
 to him about it, sounding him out, you know. They need 
 a clever young man to represent the county. The very first 
 thing was getting him away from Peter Withrow s influence ! 
 Pappa says Cleve doesn t have to be told anything twice." 
 
 "No?" Rose stood up, signifying that she would permit 
 her caller to go without protest. She was physically un 
 able to hear more, though she longed to know everything, 
 all the lies, the innuendoes, the baseless speculations ; but 
 measuring her strength she found herself unable to cope 
 with the poisonous venom behind Miss Plumey s smile. 
 "Let us hope that he will find some charming girl to share 
 his good fortune," she said mechanically. 
 
 Cleve was aware of the interest the town took in his pur 
 chase of the old Pendleton place and this added to his satis 
 faction in possessing it. One of the first dormant longings 
 that sprang to life after the acquisition of his substantial 
 wealth was the desire for a home of his own. Having 
 known only cramped quarters during most of his life, 
 his thoughts turned naturally to the farthest extreme. He 
 wished for wide spaces and lofty ceilings ; wanted what he 
 had never had, the sensation of touching elbows with a 
 generation which had never suspected his existence.
 
 192 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 When he set out to buy his house he might have had any 
 of the new stucco edifices which were springing up all over 
 Cresston for half the money of his actual purchase, but the 
 possession of the old-fashioned mansion, associated in his 
 child s mind with the palaces of kings, had a charm with 
 which no newer grandeur could compete. There was no 
 mystery connected with its purchase as his audience sup 
 posed ; his reason for buying the place was as inexplicable 
 to himself as to others. It was probably the first uncalcu- 
 lated act of his life. 
 
 Antonia learned the news with glowing eyes. 
 
 "Then it will not be torn down, after all!" she exclaimed 
 eagerly. "I have always been afraid of that. The new 
 houses on Armitage Street have barely room to stand on, 
 poor things, and the Pendleton house seems so greedy. Its 
 wings spread over two big lots." 
 
 "I expected you to feel like that," Cleve answered grate 
 fully. "No, I shan t pull it down. There is something 
 opulent about it, something magnificent and independent. 
 A man living between its walls would have to be success 
 ful. The house would accept nothing less. I shall live 
 there and see what it will do for me." 
 
 Antonia looked thoughtful. "Yet the Pendletons were 
 not successful, or the house would not be sold. Living in it 
 did not keep them from going downhill." She was think 
 ing of her own family and how they had clung to greatness 
 while their roof crumbled above their heads. Somehow 
 Cleve s sophistry sounded childish and immature; she felt, 
 as she often did, his superior in age and wisdom. He was 
 about to try to live romance behind which she saw the 
 grisly truths. 
 
 But Cleve scoffed at retrospection. "That s because they 
 didn t know how to live. They kept themselves old, like the
 
 THE THRESHOLD 193 
 
 house, and humanity is the one thing that cannot afford to 
 be old-fashioned." 
 
 It was late afternoon in hazy September. The day had 
 been hot and still, but now the evening was coming like the 
 calm smile of a wise mother. The air was filled with peace, 
 the restfulness that is the aftermath of brilliant hours. 
 In the golden glow that was no longer sunlight Antonia s 
 dark hair gleamed like a crown. Cleve s hand closed the 
 book, where her gaze had been following the printed page 
 without grasping a meaning from its abstruse phrasing. 
 
 "You look so tired," he said, then began to beg 
 whimsically, "come with me to see my house. It is the first 
 house I have ever owned. Let s build it over without touch 
 ing a shingle." 
 
 She put on her hat obediently and Cleve locked the door 
 as they passed out. The last time they had walked to 
 gether seemed to have been years ago, and now an unac 
 countable tremor shook him so that his hand trembled on 
 the lock. He did not guess that Antonia was trembling, too. 
 There was a sort of freedom about this emotion that was 
 strange and new. If people met them walking together it 
 did not matter. He felt alone with Antonia and in a rush 
 a thousand little things came back to him, bewildering with 
 familiarity. When they were children they used to have 
 long serious talks together upon unchildlike subjects, walk 
 ing along dusty roads outside the town. This walk sud 
 denly reminded him in an overwhelming way of those days 
 when it had been customary to consult Antonia about every 
 thing. It became the most natural thing in the world to be 
 going to see his new house in her company. 
 
 Like all the important places in Cresston, the Pendleton 
 house was on Armitage Street only a few blocks from the 
 Square, much too close to the business district to please
 
 194 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 those fastidious persons to whom the sight and sounds of 
 commerce are distasteful. When the house was new it had 
 been the center of an estate, now it was only a large, square, 
 pale brown stone mansion, crowded uncomfortably by smart 
 bungalows and stylish colonials ; protected by its wide elms 
 and ancient rose trellises, it retreated in dignified seclusion 
 from all encroachment of the newcomers. The Pendletons 
 had sold their lots one by one and when such sacrifice would 
 no longer stem the rush of disaster they sold the house. In 
 the lonely dignity of its proud, shuttered windows, turned 
 emptily to the street, there was a reminder of the humility 
 that belongs to the very old who must dwell among 
 strangers. 
 
 As the two young people turned in at the gate, the 
 house seemed to welcome them. In spite of their youth 
 they could remember its past. The failing afternoon sun 
 touched the frowning facade with a faint radiance and the 
 old house seemed to say, "Come, my children, my roof will 
 cover you." 
 
 Antonia, standing on the broad flagged walk where the 
 grass had pushed its way through every crevice, looked up 
 at the sightless windows and read this message, but to Cleve 
 the sunlight on the brown face of the house meant nothing. 
 In the time-stained shingles he saw only a record of Pendle- 
 ton improvidence. 
 
 The garden, small as it now was, had become a place of 
 impenetrable depths. It was impossible to explore more 
 than a few yards without coming against a dense green wall, 
 and the imagination was taxed to grasp the fact of the 
 Tracy s white bungalow, full of children and dogs, crowd 
 ing against the wall from the other side. The place was a 
 riot of old-fashioned rose bushes left untrimmed for years 
 and sending out from their dying trunks long green creepers
 
 THE THRESHOLD 195 
 
 to trail through the heavy headed grass, where here and 
 there a gorgeous bloom, child of old age, glowed like a 
 perfect jewel set in decay. Under the trees it was dusk, 
 blue and fragrant, and somehow harboring a suggestion 
 of the oying year that had crept in here to linger in waiting 
 for the shortening of the autumn days. 
 
 "We can t explore very far until some of these old trees 
 and shrubs are cut away," said Cleve, looking dubiously at 
 his white flannel trousers. 
 
 "Not the trees, oh, no !" Antonia pleaded. 
 
 He laughed. "Oh, well, then. . . . You are like your 
 father after all, Antonia. You will never be thoroughly 
 modern while you love an old tree." 
 
 They laughed over this, and Cleve found the house key 
 on his ring as they went up the stone steps that were worn 
 into faintly hollowed grooves. As the double doors swung 
 back and they stepped across the threshold they turned in 
 stinctively toward each other. In the fleeting glance that 
 passed between them there was the first warning of the 
 rushing tide that was to come, as the light picks out the 
 dazzling white of an incoming wave upon the blue breast 
 of the sea. 
 
 Then it was gone and they turned to the faded walls of 
 the old house, its dusty, echoing floors, the cavernous 
 depths that yawned from above where the ancient carved 
 and winding balustrade of another day blindly pointed. 
 
 Antonia stood in the hall as she had stood outside on the 
 flags, looking about at emptiness that to her was peopled 
 with countless forms and voices. "Where have they gone ?" 
 she thought. 
 
 The Pendletons in their flight had abandoned a few 
 remnants of furniture and these had been moved into the 
 long drawing-room where they were left in awkward atti-
 
 190 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 tudes, like helpless people congregated unhappily together. 
 But the echoing floors were bare, except for the dust that 
 covered them like a gray veil, and the tall, dim mirrors, 
 set in panels of dull flecked gold between taller windows, 
 seemed to multiply these piteous cast-offs until the room in 
 bare, mocking grandeur, resembled a fallen king dressed in 
 a mendicant s shirt. 
 
 Cleve made Antonia sit in a green painted kitchen chair. 
 
 "It s a good house yet," he said, with a calculating look 
 at the dim frescoes high above. "Paint, new furniture, and 
 those old shutters taken away and burned, will make all the 
 difference between a home and the morgue. It s a better 
 investment than any new place run up in a hurry by highly 
 paid labor, anxious to be on with the next job." He laughed 
 triumphantly. He felt himself to be cleverer than other 
 home makers who had passed over the old Pendleton house 
 with its indestructible heart in favor of glistening new 
 structures. 
 
 But Antonia did not laugh with him. While acknowledg 
 ing that he was right she felt the disillusionment of his in 
 tention. It was as though a frail old book was to be put into 
 a garish art nouveau cover. But she said nothing. Little 
 by little the strong virile sweep of the living man s presence 
 dominated the formless atmosphere of the past and the 
 spirit that had welcomed her there lost shape and being. 
 Through Cleve s eyes she saw the dust, the need for paint, 
 the sweep of light and air that would recapture youth for 
 the old house. 
 
 They were sitting side by side now. The green wooden 
 chair had been exchanged for a garden bench, oddly in 
 congruous furniture for the dignified room. The heavy 
 shutters clamped everlastingly let in so little light that night
 
 THE THRESHOLD 197 
 
 seemed almost upon them. Cleve had taken off his hat and 
 his ruffled hair absorbed what little brightness was there. 
 He looked young and boyish, for a moment he had slipped 
 back into the youth which he had barely tasted in his haste 
 to accomplish manhood. Antonia felt an impulse to touch 
 him caressingly as she might have clone years ago when they 
 were children. But though she restrained this he must have 
 read something of it in her eyes for he leaned closer to her 
 saying eagerly : 
 
 "What is it, Antonia? You want to say something to 
 me." 
 
 She laughed ; the spell was broken. "No, no," she pro 
 tested in slight confusion, "I was only wondering what will 
 you do with this great house on your hands ? How can you 
 live here alone?" 
 
 From another woman this would have been a direct chal 
 lenge, and his answer, adept and evasive, would have closed 
 the door upon the delicate thing that was growing so swiftly 
 between them. But in her eyes lifted to his face there was 
 nothing but limpid questioning; a complete obliteration of 
 self as a factor of his future. There was something humble 
 and meek in the way she stood aside from him, not ventur 
 ing beyond the threshold of his life, and Cleve was touched 
 in his most vulnerable point by her simple acceptance of a 
 minor role in his future. 
 
 It was not in the least what Antonia had meant to say, 
 the words formed themselves merely as a cloak to cover 
 the intention of her eyes, but to Cleve it was like a child s 
 puzzle over which his hand had been hovering in uncertainty 
 for a long while. With amazing simplicity the answer 
 spread itself before his eyes and he knew at last what the 
 thing was that made complete happiness and which until
 
 198 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 now had eluded him persistently through his successes. 
 This was what he had builded for, and what the unmeasured 
 dreams of his heart stood for, to sit beside Antonia in 
 this bare, dusty old house, peopling it with a thousand 
 fancies, new and strange and inconceivably sweet. All the 
 time, the wasted time, he had forgotten her. she had lain 
 sleeping in his heart, waiting to clainr her own. Other 
 images which had banished her were banished in turn ; he 
 saw only this path to which other paths had been tributary, 
 giving their tiny importance to the most tremendous im 
 portance of all. 
 
 He had no words to tell her all this. It seemed that she 
 must know without the poor medium of speech and know it 
 in a fuller, broader sense than words could clothe. . . . He 
 lifted her chin, cupping it gently in his closed fingers and 
 turned her face upward. 
 
 She met his eyes with her own dark gaze, sweetly serious 
 but untroubled. She, too, knew suddenly that this had been 
 waiting for them a long time, that the uncertainties and 
 doubts had been only preparation and a part of the veil that 
 hides the inscrutable future. All of her hopes and aims 
 dwindled to tenuous dreams before this force that was so 
 strong and so old, like the motive power of a thousand lives 
 that had existed before this one. She felt no regret, no 
 shame in the sudden abandonment in a look, of the principles 
 she had set upon an altar and worshiped falsely. Her 
 dreams had all been pretty lies and this was reality. 
 
 And after they had looked into each other s eyes reading 
 the answer to the mystery, now so simple, they leaned to 
 one another with an impulse of exquisite tenderness, giving 
 each to the other the measure of all this new and untried 
 emotion that overwhelmed their hearts. They loved, and
 
 THE THRESHOLD 199 
 
 with such love there is no time, regret, or reproach. To 
 Antonia with her lover s first kiss upon her lips, life assumed 
 a meaning remote from anything that she had dreamed and 
 she looked at it with wonderment, forgetting like a child the 
 lessons she had known so well yesterday.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 IN a town like Cresston where no one is so meek or lowly 
 that he is not linked to the highest by lines that are in 
 visible but complete, it is impossible for scandal, whether 
 founded upon truth or surmise, to exist without its tentacles 
 touching one and all with the poison of its existence. 
 
 The undercurrents of the town seethed with the whis 
 pered innuendo which dares not name and therefore damns 
 more conclusively. The germ of truth behind the original 
 statement becomes swollen and distorted by the accumulated 
 venom it was asked to conceal. Like the poisonous adder 
 it turned upon the hand that nurtured it and friends of long 
 standing who had trusted found themselves watching each 
 other with suspicion and malevolence. And though this 
 scandal, frightful as its imaginary details had grown to be, 
 concerned those to whom the majority of the babblers were 
 unknown, it was this class that kept it alive, feeding upon 
 the poor defense set forth by those who, claiming kinship 
 with the unnamed victims, felt called to champion members 
 of their group even while condemning among themselves. 
 
 Mrs. Stevens, whose plum jelly, safely stowed upon her 
 pantry shelves, did not reconcile her to money paid for fruit 
 which had been a cheerful gift to others, listened to a 
 chapter of this fragmentary gossip while she tried on fall 
 hats in Irene s Specialty Shoppe on the Square. 
 
 "Thassay it has about ruined Miss Donnally," some one 
 was saying in the booth next to the one where Mrs. Stevens 
 
 200
 
 THE THRESHOLD 201 
 
 was surveying her image in a plum colored velvet toque, 
 "although her shop is downstairs and it s only shirtwaists 
 and neckwear, really, and a little lonjeray. People are 
 afraid to go in. Thassay one man in this town dared his 
 wife to cross that corner of the Square. He threatened to 
 get a divorce if his name was brought into it. Poor Miss 
 Donnally, she has my sympathy." 
 
 Hearing this, Mrs. Stevens lost interest in the toque and 
 other toques. She was not an experienced shopper and she 
 tried desperately to remember where Miss Donnally s shop 
 was located, all the while pretending to hesitate between two 
 articles of headgear that meant nothing to her. Her spirit 
 was fluttering pleasurably, conscious of being on the verge 
 of a discovery which had cost her nothing. Where had she 
 seen the name "Donnally" or heard it mentioned ? She was 
 acute enough to know that there was a connection some 
 where between her mind and this name which was more 
 important than the mere repetition of vague stories that 
 might be entirely without interest to her or her kind. 
 Finally, when she had driven her rather turgid mind to ex 
 treme lengths, she remembered. There was such a shop in 
 the Sheridan Building on the first floor. She recalled the 
 gilt lettering on the window quite plainly, and the pink silk 
 chemise thrown carelessly over a dark purple hassock, in 
 plain view of all the gentlemen whose legitimate business 
 took them to the office building. 
 
 Women of Mrs. Stevens sort do not consider such shops 
 seriously. To her it was as unnecessary as one of those 
 places in inland cities which sell steamship tickets for pas 
 sages around the world. No one ever saw the customers 
 who went into the Donnally shop, just as trusting ticket 
 buyers never see the ocean until unbelievable adventures 
 have befallen them. Mrs. Stevens, having located the
 
 202 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 scandal of which she had not been unaware, got up dizzily, 
 forgetting that she had come to Irene s to buy a hat. She 
 was only anxious to get away and made some mumbling 
 excuse to the person whose indignant duty it was to put 
 away the articles she had been examining. She was not in 
 the mood for a hat that day and in resisting the temptation of 
 Irene s artful mirrors she felt as though in some obscure 
 way she were preserving her virtue. 
 
 As she went out of the shop she noticed that in certain 
 ways its atmosphere catered to what was careless in a 
 woman s moral character, and she resolved to confine her 
 self strictly to department stores after this, for Irene s, in 
 a far lesser degree, partook of the delicate suggestiveness of 
 Miss Donnally herself. 
 
 Mrs. Stevens back was stiff as she walked toward home. 
 She had always known that such places as Donnally s con 
 cealed other motives than their wares, and she told herself 
 that she was not surprised, but she had never pictured such 
 possibilities as the whispered conversation in the neighbor 
 ing booth had revealed to her strained ears. In the midst 
 of her enlightenment she recalled the bit of transparent 
 pink stuff and a dull flush of vicarious shame stained her 
 cheeks. Her uncontrollable thoughts transposed it to 1 an im 
 pertinent and brazen flag, flaunting the secret signal of some 
 nameless iniquity sheltered beyond the gilded security of 
 the window. 
 
 She had heard no more than innuendo, but in hearing this 
 had learned as much and as little as the rest of the world 
 knew. 
 
 And this scandal, secret, insidious web that it was, reach 
 ing out, touching, and forever uniting itself by faint but 
 unbreakable cords to whatever object it might encounter, 
 enmeshed the interest and the sly, malicious thought of all
 
 THE THRESHOLD 203 
 
 those persons who, certain that they could not themselves 
 suffer from exposure, hoped continuously for a denouement. 
 
 And as is the way with all scandal, those most concerned 
 were the ones who heard least of all this; some of them 
 heard nothing at all, until messengers unwinged, but bearing 
 resemblance in fantastic ways to Mrs. Stevens and her ilk, 
 brought the sorry news, real and imagined, to their doors, 
 beneath the guise of humble friendship. 
 
 As she unlatched the Christy s gate, Mrs. Stevens remem 
 bered with justifiable pride that the hay and grain busi 
 ness had proven itself a paying one, in spite of the irritating 
 number of automobiles on the streets. She compared her 
 self, not unfavorably, with the family she was about to 
 visit. To her simple mind it all resolved itself into words 
 of one syllable. Her Joe was a man who knew when he 
 had enough of anything. If he failed to make money in the 
 poultry commission business, he dropped it like hot cakes, 
 and went a little deeper ; barley and oats paid if broilers 
 did not. All as easy as A B C, and the children were grow 
 ing up smart and well dressed, going along in school with 
 the best. At the Christy s the palings were dropping from 
 their fence with dry rot, their daughter was a nobody, 
 leaving home like a common girl to work in an office, and 
 now this story about the Donnally woman s shop ! 
 
 "Being a mother myself," she finished the story she was 
 recounting to Mrs. Christy, "I knew about how you d feel, 
 having your daughter going into such a place every day. 
 I ve always been against young girls living out and away 
 from home, and I always will be against it. Thank Heaven, 
 nothing like that can ever come to one of ours, Joe Stevens 
 is a forehanded man, and I hope to see both my girls safe 
 and married in homes of their own, long before they re as 
 old as Antonia. No doubt this Miss Donnally has a
 
 204 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 mother somewhere who ll ache when the truth is known." 
 
 In the effort to assimilate the tangled continuity of her 
 visitor s story, and, at the same time, to defend herself 
 from a secret attack to which she was without clew, Mrs. 
 Christy faltered behind the valiant front she presented to 
 the newsbringer. With no time to adjust her faculties, she 
 clutched at the simplest fact in the arraignment. 
 
 "And what has my Antonia to do with the goings on of 
 that Donnally woman?" she demanded, meeting Mrs. 
 Stevens squarely. "She s not behind a counter, thank you, 
 and her clothes I make myself, with my own hands. I 
 can t see the connection at all," and to prove this she 
 laughed light-heartedly, as though Mrs. Stevens had been 
 jesting and she had discovered this in time to rob the wit 
 of its point. 
 
 But Mrs. Stevens, though totally unaware of it herself, 
 was a schemer of the highest order. She at once began to 
 explain in the most indulgent manner the sordid usages of 
 a window which shamelessly displayed a single subtle gar 
 ment devoted to a certain kind of woman, not of their 
 kind. 
 
 "I heard it with my own ears," she concluded finally, 
 "no husband who has heard about this, allows his wife to 
 pass the Sheridan Building, even in daytime. A nice place, 
 I should say, for a young lady who respects herself to be 
 working, thrown in daily contact with such creatures !" 
 
 Both ladies were approaching heat in their remarks, but 
 Mrs. Christy was most successful in maintaining a light 
 attitude. 
 
 "Nonsense! What s the harm in one little chemise when 
 Loweribaum has his windows full of everything?" she 
 scoffed. "I do hope you re not so narrow as that, Mrs. 
 Stevens, and thanks very much for being interested in
 
 THE THRESHOLD 205 
 
 Antonia s welfare, but I d ask you to remember that my 
 daughter is both a Christy and a Saltwell, and with my 
 four sisters, there was not one of us who couldn t walk 
 barefoot over thorns and nettles without a scratch of sus 
 picion. You re very good, Mrs. Stevens, but the fact of 
 this Donnally woman being what you say she is, cannot 
 affect my daughter in any way that I can see." 
 
 The engagement was over. Mrs. Stevens was defrauded 
 of her sensation, and there was nothing but retreat for her. 
 She had hoped to wipe away her neighbor s tears ; but her 
 ministration had been rejected. There might have been 
 some gratification for her in the knowledge that, with the 
 first opportunity for escape, Mrs. Christy hurried into her 
 things and went scurrying through the streets to Mrs. 
 Miller s boarding-house, where she meant to wait until 
 Antonia returned even if her household schedule was thrown 
 into chaos. 
 
 On the way she repeated constantly in her own mind the 
 indictment which had shown itself Medusa-like behind the 
 false condolence in the other woman s eyes. There was 
 nothing in it, Mrs. Christy assured herself with vehemence. 
 She had not passed her life in Cresston without knowing 
 how basel.ss half the talk really was that came to life and 
 died in tlie town s millinery shops, but she knew as well, 
 with heart-freezing conviction, how damning was the power 
 of this same baseless fabric of lies. 
 
 Antonia was at home, though it was much earlier than 
 her accustomed hour of returning. She was sitting by the 
 window that looked out on a colorful mass of maples turn 
 ing hourly to unbelievable golds and red browns. Her long 
 hands were folded in her lap, and she did not turn her 
 face as the door opened. It is possible that she heard no 
 sound. But when her mother spoke she lifted her eyes from
 
 206 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 their contemplation and the older woman had the impres 
 sion of looking into wells of illimitable depths where the 
 darkness captured and held two miraculous fragments of 
 light from all the light in the world. 
 
 "What is it, mother ?" Antonia asked presently when they 
 had looked at each other in silence and it seemed necessary 
 at last for one of them to speak. In spite of her abstraction 
 she spoke in an awed tone. She was vaguely apprehensive 
 beneath the accusation or question she read in the eyes that 
 searched her own. 
 
 Mrs. Christy sat down, breathing deeply. She had al 
 most run through the streets to reach this room, but now 
 she saw how foolish she had been. Nothing was changed 
 or altered ; Antonia was the same. The mother s arms 
 trembled with the desire to clasp her daughter, to thank 
 and bless her for some unspeakable reassurance, to prove 
 to herself, by the mystery of contact, that the child she 
 loved was still her own as she had been, years ago, upon 
 her breast. But she only began to repeat the story she had 
 heard in the disconnected phraseology in which it had been 
 told to her. 
 
 Antonia barely listened; it could be seen that this meant 
 nothing to her. When it was over she only said dreamily : 
 
 "Oh, mother! Who do you think has bought the old 
 Pendleton place? Cleve! Cleve Harkness. He is going 
 to restore it. It will be the most beautiful house in Cress- 
 ton." 
 
 Mrs. Christy shuddered. "I shouldn t want to be there 
 when it is being torn down. . . . The deaths that have been 
 under that roof ! And with old Saul s spirit to join in, 
 groaning over the money being spent " 
 
 Antonia was obliged to laugh, though her mind failed to 
 follow the processes of her mother s. She could not under-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 207 
 
 stand the rapid transition from tragedy to mirth that made 
 Mrs. Christy what she was, and now her merriment was of 
 short duration. Without warning, her eyes blurred over 
 with tears. Emotion fell upon her features like a delicate 
 veil, extinguishing familiar lines and altering her whole face 
 until it became a new face from which a strange, new An- 
 tonia looked. She faltered; "Oh, mother! I am glad you 
 are here ! I am so happy so happy !" 
 
 "Antonia!" Mrs. Christy sat up, electrified. "What 
 has happened? Tell me " 
 
 "He loves me !" said Antonia in a whisper. 
 "Loves you? Who? Tell me your mother! Has 
 Peter Withrow " 
 
 "Peter ? No. Cleve " 
 
 Mrs. Christy was dumb only for a moment. "Do you 
 mean that Cleve Harkness has proposed ? Are you engaged 
 to him?" 
 
 "Engaged, no. He he loves me," Antonia repeated 
 in a bewildered tone. She was bewildered because her 
 mother did not seem to understand what was so plain to 
 her. Her mother could not grasp the miracle of her hap 
 piness, and because it was so rudely handled it was suddenly 
 slipping away. She began to awaken like a sleeper dis 
 turbed in a delicious dream, and this change was helped by 
 the alteration in Mrs. Christy s face. 
 
 "You must come home with me," her mother said, rising, 
 with an intonation of command, totally unlike her usual 
 voice. She continued, with growing harshness, "Come. The 
 place for you is under your father s roof. I always knew it 
 would end like this. Love ! You have allowed a man to 
 speak to you of love and not of marriage? My daughter!" 
 She was trembling convulsively. Her feeling seemed out of 
 all proportion to its cause, unless it was considered that Mrs.
 
 208 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Stevens communication had sunk deeper into her conscious 
 ness than she knew and now returned with added and sin 
 ister force. The hints and innuendoes which had been 
 ignored^ that afternoon were suddenly fraught with power 
 ful warnings, all of which contained a modicum of reason. 
 In spite of the restraining voice of conscience she added 
 sternly, "How far -has this gone ?" 
 
 Antonia was looking at her in alarm. "But you do not 
 understand, mother," she said, trying to be calm. "Nothing 
 is changed. There is no reason why I should return home 
 like like a prodigal. I will not come." 
 
 If Mrs. Christy had been asked to put her thoughts into 
 words the task would have been impossible. In bald 
 language she might have shrunk abashed from the pictures 
 imagination conjured, the dreadful prognostications incu 
 bated from fear ; but, having no words, her mind recoiled in 
 silent anguish from the abyss of fancy that tormented her. 
 "I will see your father," she managed to say. 
 
 It was late, past the supper hour that was as inexorable 
 as one of the Commandments. Darkness had come on sud 
 denly and the streets were filled with a faint unfriendly 
 wind that sent regiments of leaves racing before it ; they 
 had not been softened by time and rain, and they clattered 
 against the pavement like fine hail. The night was threaten 
 ing, without a sign of storm, for the stars were unnaturally 
 strong and cold. It was a rare experience for Mrs. Christy 
 to find herself alone in the streets on such a night, but she 
 had no fears. Rather, she was strengthened by some 
 mysterious force that came from -all this wildness to blow 
 upon her spirit. She could have run on and on for in 
 terminable distances with this strength in her heart. She 
 did not recognize it as the exaltation of a divine love that 
 breaks all bounds at hint of disaster to the one who is loved.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 209 
 
 To her the wind meant only freshness, the deceitful energy 
 which autumn brings with its wild starry nights. 
 
 She turned in at her own gate at last. The house was 
 dimly lighted and when she passed around the ell to the 
 side porch she caught a glimpse, through the shadeless win 
 dow, of her husband standing in the center of the cold, in 
 hospitable kitchen surveying its emptiness. Before this she 
 had always been there. 
 
 He looked at her frowning as she entered. "I have been 
 here for half an hour," he said. 
 
 She put her hat aside and with it the light cape she wore 
 and began the mechanical supper tasks with apologetic haste, 
 for although the empire of her heart might fall, the men 
 and children must eat. 
 
 She was too wrapped in her own turbulent thoughts to 
 notice that, contrary to habit, he lingered in the kitchen 
 door, or that he was .watching her face as she went about 
 her work. Donnie slipped in for a drink of water, and, 
 observing his father and mother in this unusual companion 
 ship, hastily vanished. It could be seen that something 
 menaced, a power to destroy was almost visible in the 
 homely room where a thousand homely deeds had been 
 completed. 
 
 But presently through her abstraction Mrs. Christy be 
 came conscious of the somber regard of her husband. This 
 espionage disturbed her, caused her to spill the coffee she 
 was carefully measuring, finally forced her to involuntary 
 speech. Without looking at him she said defiantly, "I have 
 been to see Antonia." 
 
 The name was like the opening of a barred door. He 
 came over to where she stood by the stove and they faced 
 each other across the steaming coffee pot and the hissing 
 pans. It was necessary to speak in raised voices to be
 
 210 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 heard over the miniature tempest of a meal in progress. 
 
 "You cannot go there any more. The girl is disgracing 
 herself. She is disgracing all of us," he said in a harsh 
 voice. 
 
 "That is not true. Antonia has done nothing wrong. It 
 is you who are hard on her. You have always been hard," 
 cried Mrs. Christy, trembling all over with the intensity of 
 her restraint. 
 
 His face changed. Opposition from her was too unex 
 pected and rare not to have the result of slight demoraliza 
 tion. He had expected her to be satisfied with his command 
 and her rebellion forced him into unintentional revelations. 
 
 "She spends her time among men as no modest girl 
 would, it was young Withrow for a while, and now it is 
 Harkness, old Saul Harkness boy whom I picked out of 
 the gutter and taught to read. You don t know everything. 
 . . . Yesterday yesterday I saw them coming out of the 
 Pendleton house together. I saw my daughter my 
 daughter and the Harkness boy together. He had bought 
 the house it is empty " 
 
 Mrs. Christy heard a loud voice crying "Engaged no! 
 But he he loves me !" Her heart seemed to be contract 
 ing until it wounded her. But she lifted a lid and examined 
 boiling potatoes with exaggerated care. 
 
 "They played in that yard a hundred times together when 
 they were children," she said, with the sprightly calm used 
 in conversing with Mrs. Stevens. "Why shouldn t he show 
 it to her now, if he s really bought it?" 
 
 He turned away frowning upon her levity. "You under 
 stand? You cannot go there after this. There can be no 
 conditional surrender to her course. She is not my daughter 
 not yours."
 
 THE THRESHOLD 211 
 
 This was ridiculous. She wanted to laugh but the surge 
 within that had sent her flying through the windy streets 
 forbade laughter. Instead she said quietly : 
 
 "She must come home, Roscoe. She is not old enough 
 to judge for herself. Maybe you two can get on better 
 after this." 
 
 "But I say she shall not come back here." From the 
 doorway he turned on her violently, his face slowly purpling. 
 "When she left this house it was for all time. No Christy 
 woman can walk the public streets 
 
 A door shut between them. She heard his feet echoing 
 distantly on the boards of the uncarpeted hall. The walls 
 of the house seemed to draw in until her body was cramped 
 for room to breathe. She went to the window and flung it 
 wide open and the wild winds came hurrying in and played 
 havoc with the draughts of the stove and with her hair that 
 was unaccountably damp and clinging about her face. But 
 it only felt free and sweet to her as she leaned against it. 
 "I am her mother !" she cried fiercely to the wind. 
 
 Donnie had bread and milk on a corner of the kitchen 
 table that night. He washed his hands without being told 
 to do so, and, red and shining from buffetings by wind and 
 water, he watched his mother surreptitiously between 
 mouthfuls. Finally he could endure the void between them 
 no longer. 
 
 "Ain t you goin to eat supper, Ma?" 
 
 "Not now, Donnie, I m busy." 
 
 "What you want to iron for, Ma, nobody irons at night." 
 
 "I must get these things finished before morning, " Mrs. 
 Christy had pulled garments from a closet, sprinkled them 
 and now she bent over a board, furiously pressing with an 
 iron so hot that the cloth it touched sent out an acrid smoke.
 
 212 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 She worked swiftly, covering long sweeps with the bold 
 strokes of her iron and the smooth lengths fell magically 
 from her hands. Donnie watched her, forgetting to eat, and 
 presently his silent scrutiny pierced her consciousness which 
 had ignored his right to share in the coming catastrophe. 
 
 "Donnie, would you care if we went away from here?" 
 she said, when the little boy had nearly finished his supper. 
 She went on in the wheedling tone that mother s sometimes 
 use to their sons of any age. "Don t you miss your sister, 
 Donnie ?" 
 
 He resented this gruffly. " Course I miss her," and he 
 began to look for his cap. He revolted from inquisition 
 and a sense of injury was born. His mother knew and 
 he knew that he missed Antonia and that was enough. 
 
 But there seemed to be no end of prying to-night. 
 
 "Would you care very much if we went away from this 
 house" Mrs. Christy continued in a dim voice "and 
 stayed somewhere else where your sister could stay with 
 us for instance ?" 
 
 Change has the eternal lure for youth. Donnie s exit was 
 arrested his momentary twinge of regret for the gang 
 who might be abandoned. . . . "All of us ?" he questioned 
 unbelievingly, "Pa and all?" 
 
 ". . . Not your father. He d have to stay to look 
 after things " 
 
 Expectancy fell flat. Donnie had no way of looking into 
 the minds of older people but he possessed intuitions. With 
 increasing frequency the air castles of his childhood were 
 tumbling down. Big things were becoming small and unim 
 portant events, such as his mother s ironing at this hour and 
 scorching cloth without comment, were assuming propor 
 tions which perplexed him. When he heard that his father 
 was to stay behind on this problematical journey, he knew
 
 THE THRESHOLD 213 
 
 that his mother s proposal was based upon nothing real 
 she was only playing the old game of "if." 
 
 "Guess we wouldn t go very far," he said flatly, and dis 
 missed the subject. "Say, Ma, I want t go over to Brownie s 
 fer a little while. I won t stay out late, hones I won t." 
 
 "But listen, Donnie," she stopped him with a rigid hand 
 and the boy turned back frightened by her earnestness. 
 "Would you rather stay here with your father or go with 
 me to Antonia? You just have to say which. I m giving 
 you your choice. . . ." 
 
 People who would weep over a cut finger or a bird s 
 broken wing are always inflicting this unspeakable cruelty 
 upon children tearing the fragile secret impulses of their 
 hearts from them and forcing their tender loves into the 
 light of acknowledgment. Donnie endured his crucifixion 
 dumbly. He did not know what to say. He was suddenly 
 confronted with an impossible problem and one which had 
 masked itself in the ordinary guise of everyday ; therefore 
 it was more incredible and unanswerable. 
 
 "I dunno," he said, dully. 
 
 "But you must know. You re old enough now to under 
 stand. Would you rather stay here with your father?" 
 
 Mrs. Christy refused to see that she was demanding that 
 to which she had no right. Her own problem blinded her 
 to the problems of other people, and this was a child s, 
 delicate and scarcely formed within his own heart. She 
 looked into his face, demanding his allegiance. 
 
 Donnie had never thought of his father in connection with 
 love ; he had never thought of love at all. He was there 
 the others of his family were there. They belonged to each 
 other. Even the incredible departure of Antonia had not 
 separated them. He saw her every day nearly. She 
 stopped on the street to dab his face with her sweet smelling
 
 214 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 handkerchief to give him five cents now and then, slyly, 
 so the other boys would not witness the largesse of a 
 woman. 
 
 Yet now he was asked to analyze an unknown emotion, 
 non-existent until the present. He was conscious of a feel 
 ing for his mother; it hurt him to see tears in her eyes, 
 and he missed Antonia s hands, which had a way of tidying 
 him without wasted moments. But these sensations had no 
 relation to the excitement of his spirit as his mind pictured 
 the scene of his father alone in the house, walking through 
 the empty rooms, sitting before his food, arising, departing, 
 alone ! 
 
 He looked at his mother in quivering silence impossible 
 to choose, impossible to go or stay, apart from one of these 
 who until now had been associated only with childish needs 
 or punishment. He searched her face for some sign of 
 relenting. He believed until the last that this would prove 
 a hoax or a queer jest of hers to prove his fidelity to her. 
 His own mates played the game of "choose" and it meant 
 nothing more than strength of numbers. Reassured he 
 smiled at her wanly. 
 
 "I knew you couldn t stay away from me," cried his 
 mother, choosing for him. She spoke in the low crooning 
 voice that belonged to his babyhood. She was innocently 
 convinced that he felt no tie stronger than the tie between 
 them. 
 
 Donnie did not go to play that evening. It was already 
 eight. Night had begun to come far too early. 
 
 In the morning he had forgotten. The wind had stilled 
 in the night; the sun was shining calmly. It promised a 
 day as hot as July. Thick white dust lay upon everything 
 after the blowing of yesterday and gigantic piles of leaves 
 in every fence corner were the harvest of the wind. There
 
 THE THRESHOLD 215 
 
 were millions more upon the trees that were still green 
 but the fallen warriors were of every hue and of every 
 tortured shape. 
 
 When he had once looked upon this world Donnie could 
 barely wait to dress. Vistas of time must elapse before 
 recess ; centuries until the closing bell released him and his 
 kind. Before that time interference might create havoc 
 in the playground arranged by his friend, the wind. He 
 dressed feverishly. 
 
 Breakfast was there as usual, the white cloth and the sun 
 shining, strongly in the window. But what was this ? 
 
 His father was there, sitting in his place, but not eating, 
 not drinking it was like another morning weeks past when 
 he had not eaten or drunk. His mother showed a more 
 surprising change. 
 
 She was wearing her best dress and hat at breakfast 
 time on a school morning. She did not even sit in her 
 place. Over by the door was a large bamboo suitcase, 
 bulging. Across this impossible scene Donnie s memory 
 grasped at last night and the things she had said. What if 
 it was no game, after all? 
 
 She was speaking. "You see, I ve got to go to her, 
 Roscoe. I can t let them talk freely about Antonia. I ve 
 got to be there behind her. If you won t bring her home " 
 
 "She left home of her own desire. If you side with her 
 against honor " 
 
 "You shall not say that!" cried Mrs. Christy sharply. 
 "The dishonor lies at the door of those who think and 
 speak evil! And even if it was true if she was that, I d 
 have to go she s mine mine mine !" 
 
 His mother was crying. Her face which he was used 
 to seeing in smiles was twisted into a strange likeness. 
 This w r as not the mother he knew, a woman who was so
 
 216 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 strong that the biggest question resolved into nothing in 
 her hands. . . . Her tears seemed to fall upon his quiver 
 ing spirit, releasing it to tremendous endeavors. He looked 
 belligerently at the man who caused these tears, but there 
 was nothing fierce or cold in his father s face to-day. He 
 was gripping the tablecloth as if it was something strong 
 which could sustain him by its fixity. For the first time he 
 was not afraid of his father; he sensed in him a weakness 
 matched by the weakness his mother showed. If Donnie 
 had possessed the power to put his feelings into words he 
 would have said to them, "Lean upon me," but he was a 
 child and did not recognize the power that tried to find 
 utterance through his puny body. He heard his father 
 saying in a queer voice that thrilled him as his mother s 
 weeping had done. 
 
 "But you were mine first, Mattie. . . . First. They 
 came afterward. You re tearing it down." 
 
 "I can t help that," sobbed Mrs. Christy. "She s my first 
 baby that lived nothing can change that. I never thought 
 such a thing as this could happen, but you might have 
 known. My great aunt, Louisa Saltwell, walked right 
 through the Yankees, root and branch, and woke up a 
 general in the middle of the night, stopping at nothing until 
 she got to her boy, lying wounded behind the lines. I could 
 do that and I will. You won t suffer for anything, Roscoe. 
 I ll come over every Friday and bake the bread and see to 
 things, but I ve got to go to her now." 
 
 Donnie was prepared for resistance from his father and 
 was surprised when none came. He was wholly on his 
 mother s side now, and was ready to resist if commanded 
 to remain. He was sure that some danger menaced Antonia 
 which he was called upon partially to avert and his father 
 descended the scale in proportion to the help he withheld.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 217 
 
 But he was not called upon for manifestation. Nothing 
 happened. The figure at the head of the table remained 
 quiescent and* Mrs. Christy took up the suitcase and opened 
 the door. Outside Donnie began to sniffle and pull away. 
 
 "Aw, wait, Ma. Can t you? I didn t get t tell the fellers 
 good-by. Lemme whistle t Brownie, won t you? They ll 
 say I m a quitter." 
 
 "Be quiet, Donnie," said his mother in a strange, hard 
 voice, "we re only going a little way. You ll see your 
 friends every day." 
 
 His exaltation diminished as his feet lagged. Five 
 minutes ago he had been a knight, now he was only a small 
 boy reluctantly following a woman. Like everything else, 
 the importance of this change became nullified with realiza 
 tion. He was defrauded as he had been defrauded a hun 
 dred times, by the inexplicable failure of people to live up 
 to their promises. It would not be fair to say of Donnie 
 that he was disappointed in the dramatic failure of this 
 finale ; his mind was too immature to plan, but he had been 
 prepared for greater sacrifice than this. He sought for a 
 key to the incomprehensible occurrence, but found nothing 
 that explained it. Reviewing the scene, he knew that he 
 would have chosen differently had he been unswayed by 
 his mother s weeping for this was something faintly shame 
 ful ; a thing he must defend while condemning it in his 
 heart. 
 
 There could be no reason strong enough to take his mother 
 to live in another house while her own remained deserted. 
 
 The gate closed behind them.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ANTQNIA S eyes had grown troubled, and beyond 
 this trouble was expectation the wonder of youth 
 puzzled by the delay of happiness. 
 
 Every day she went to the office in the Sheridan Building 
 as usual, performed the duties that belonged to her ; read 
 the books that were necessary to her growing knowledge, 
 and when this was over, returned to the boarding-house and 
 to the room she now shared with her mother. 
 
 It was amazing to see how Mrs. Christy, the most conven 
 tional of mortals, whose bringing up as one of the Saltwell 
 girls had been impeccable, met the situation in which the 
 abrupt desertion of her lifework placed her. 
 
 From the first she announced to Antonia that she did 
 not intend to be a "burden" as she expressed it. Antonia s 
 small wage was barely sufficient to provide for her own 
 support, and Mrs. Christy, looking over her resources, chose 
 one of the two occupations which have been the bulwark 
 of needy gentlewomen for all time. . . . She "took in" 
 sewing, and after the first child s gingham frock left her 
 hands she was inundated with orders. Her room was 
 turned into a pink and blue bower where she stitched from 
 morning until night, finding a secret, satisfying delight in 
 contact with dainty materials and pale colors which had 
 been denied her before this. Her customers were nearly 
 all children ; small, dressy persons, and in catering to them 
 she was able to carry on the dream of frivolous young girl 
 life which Antonia had refused to enter. 
 
 218
 
 THE THRESHOLD 219 
 
 The first day of every week always brought a letter 
 addressed in a cramped script that, in spite of its ugliness, 
 was perfectly legible ; when she was alone she would open 
 this, extract the folded check which it contained, and enclose 
 it in another envelope on which she wrote her husband s 
 address in characters fine and delicate as copper plate, using 
 the long "s" in Christy, which somehow gave the missive a 
 Chaucerian effect as though a careless postoffice had kept 
 it hidden for years and only released it now- for the mysti 
 fication of its modern employees. 
 
 The vast alteration which had taken place in the Christy 
 family caused Antonia poignant and secret anguish. It 
 would have wounded Mrs. Christy deeply could she have 
 known how little Antonia was in sympathy with her de 
 cision. Nature alone is the prelude to such an action, 
 and Antonia, not having experienced motherhood, could 
 hardly be expected to understand the power that drew her 
 own mother from the anchor of established habit to the 
 defense of her child. But Antonia understood love and 
 thought she had a conception of what marriage meant, and 
 she could not comprehend abandoning one tie for the other. 
 It is the tragic law of creation that the parent love con 
 tinues long after the new life has turned away to its own 
 gods. But Antonia was, of course, blind and was merciful 
 only in keeping her real attitude a secret from her mother 
 who she believed had blundered. 
 
 She was troubled about her father, for almost visibly 
 her resentment toward him was fading into nothingness. 
 She had been unable to gauge the full measure of her own 
 unfaithfulness, but she could plainly see her mother s lack 
 of faith. Without knowing she was cruel, Antonia assumed 
 a vast cruelty in her contemplation of the forces which 
 actuated the behavior of her parents. She could not under-
 
 220 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 stand why they felt it incumbent upon them to suffer for 
 her sake, and to interfere with her progress. Why was it 
 impossible for them to see that she was a separate person 
 ality ; that all their pain was useless and could not touch her 
 beyond the call it made upon her sympathy. And even 
 this sympathy was sorely tried by the pressing of their 
 claim upon her at this time ; she felt their hands holding 
 her back, reclaiming her for the childhood she had left 
 behind, and restraining her from the full realization of life 
 which was her due. 
 
 But there were times when she felt nearer to her father 
 than she had ever felt ; her eyes were seeing new visions every 
 day, and her impatience with his resistance to her growing 
 personality was changing to tolerance, sweet and wistful for 
 his love and approval. As the feminine side of her nature 
 assumed form and importance, she marveled at the seeming 
 ease with which Mrs. Christy broke the bonds of a lifetime 
 spent in service and the simple dignity of a wife, to choose 
 a lowly seat in Mrs. Miller s basement dining-room and 
 the companionship of the people who harbored there. 
 
 "You mustn t bother about me, Antonia," her mother 
 assured her every morning, as she sat, rocking gayly back 
 and forth in the sunshine of the neat bedroom, her needle 
 threaded, ready to begin. "This is the first rest I ve had for 
 a long time. You ve got to admit that things wcfe a little 
 behind the- times at home half the pans with holes in them 
 and the eternal grind of housework. It s really pleasant to 
 be boarding, and if it were not for Donnie, I d enjoy the 
 change." 
 
 Only an adept in psychology could have known how much 
 of this- was real and how much pretense. Whether Mrs. 
 Christy s volatile side had gained control, or whether she 
 was playing, the common role of contentment, only she could
 
 THE THRESHOLD 221 
 
 say. But Antonia, with the one-sided judgment of youth, 
 looked upon her mother with coldness not to be concealed. 
 She had never denied that housework and leaky pans were 
 distasteful, but coming from Mrs. Christy, this complaint 
 savored of disloyalty. Later that morning she walked a 
 block or two with Donnie on his way to school. 
 
 "You ll go back home one of these days," she comforted 
 him. "Father will come and take you away. I know it s 
 beastly, not having the boys come near the place, but a 
 boarding-house isn t home. The main thing is that -you 
 mustn t let mother see that you are unhappy." 
 
 Donnie had been the principal sufferer from the change, 
 and occupied the unique position of an alien in the austerity 
 of Mrs. Miller s house. In the injustice of this separation 
 from his mates, he had come to a closer understanding with 
 the sister who alone could measure his isolation. It was 
 natural that he should make her the confidant of that which 
 a boy of eleven confesses only to those who are closest to 
 him. 
 
 He shared with her the secret that he had already paid 
 surreptitious visits to his home ; once he had eaten supper 
 with his father, a supper cooked by themselves and posses 
 sing all the qualities of a man-made meal. Donnie described 
 it as a "bully supper," and smacked his lips in reminiscent 
 appreciation. 
 
 "Yes, but does he ever speak of me?" Antonia asked 
 wistfully, and the little brother, who was beginning to allow 
 love a recognition in his heart, was forced to say, "No." 
 
 "But he will, some day," he added, in order to comfort 
 her. "I ll get to talking about you sometime. I ll tell him 
 how many pretty dresses you ve got. He ll wanta see 
 em. . . ." 
 
 They had come to the corner of separation.
 
 222 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "No, no, you must not tell him that !" warned Antonia 
 in a stifled voice. "He wouldn t want to hear that. We ll 
 tell him something else." 
 
 She saw Cleve every day. Their moments together were 
 stolen moments, because Major Bailey had moved a great 
 many of his belongings into the office which Cleve was 
 soon to vacate, and was fussily busy cataloguing books a 
 task at which Antonia helped him gratefully. There might 
 have been opportunity for longer, more intimate talks, but 
 she held shyly aloof. She trusted Cleve profoundly; the 
 understanding between them was crystal clear and, looking 
 into each other s eyes, they found no shadows there. 
 
 But the wound dealt to her delicate first love by her 
 mother s incredulity persisted in its sting. . . . She could 
 not forget that Mrs. Christy had linked engagements and 
 declarations of love into indissoluble partnership. The 
 bloom of her happiness was disturbed by this conventional 
 banality. She knew that she was to be Cleve s wife 
 that he already thought of her as such, but because he had 
 not spoken of this in words she drew back, afraid. 
 
 Cleve, whose soul was as conventional as his boots, was 
 not unaware of this omission, though he did not measure its 
 influence upon the spirit of the girl he had chosen and 
 intended to make his own. 
 
 But Cleve was now paying the price of those who exact 
 a tarnished tribute from love instead of the true metal. 
 Before he could build his first hearth fire in the new char 
 acter, he must put the house of his past in order. A bona 
 fide engagement with Antonia would mean solitaires and a 
 published announcement. This, with his relations with Rose 
 unsettled, was unthinkable. In spite of this new happiness 
 that blew upon his soul like a fresh wind, he thought more 
 and more frequently of Rose. He was amazed to find him-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 223 
 
 self thinking of her more seriously than in the time of their 
 early love and, looking the matter over with the dispas 
 sionate eyes of vanished passion, he told himself that he 
 had been a fool the worst kind of a fool. More and more 
 he longed for the honorable calm of marriage and 
 propriety. 
 
 Cleve was sophisticated by instinct if not by experience ; 
 that is, he could gauge the exact extent of his dangerous 
 experiment and without hesitation choose the proper remedy. 
 He was in love with Antonia ; he had actually loved her all 
 his life without realizing it, because he had been too blinded 
 by his passion for self -advancement to think of such love as 
 a possible achievement. But the money left by old Saul had 
 given him a respite ; he learned in a flash that the hard road 
 of success need not be for him, and he very quickly reorgan 
 ized his plans, which included marriage with the one girl 
 who he knew answered to the half vulgar advice of his 
 friend, "a woman you can trust." 
 
 His mad passion for Rose was ended ; it had completed 
 its cycle and existed no more, but shame for his own weak 
 ness continued to exist, and marriage was the one remedy 
 suggested which promised to take the sting from remem 
 brance and salve his self-disgust. 
 
 Rose had ceased to send for him or to telephone, and 
 her silence was cause for more uneasiness than messages 
 would have given. His excuse of retirement following his 
 father s death was worn thin, and now there was nothing 
 left to shield him but an unaccountable dread of seeing her, 
 of having to explain what was so simple yet so inexplicable. 
 He wished with impatience, as many another man has 
 wished, that she would look at things sensibly and of her 
 own volition drop back into their old pleasant relation. 
 
 Yet as he longed for this he knew it to be impossible.
 
 224 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Rose would never again be the Rose he had first known, who 
 by her sweetness, her brilliant wit and gentle sarcasm had 
 ruled her little world with an unseen scepter. When he 
 thought of this, his dread of meeting her grew immeas- 
 ureably. He would not admit even to himself that his 
 hand had helped bring her to disaster, but in his heart he 
 knew this to be true. 
 
 Dupagny had come to grief. It was no longer possible 
 for his clever tongue to beguile money from pockets where 
 it belonged. He was found out, and like some poor 
 masquerader whose disguise has been pierced, he turned to 
 flee, finding a stone in every hand that once had held a 
 flower. But Cleve, with the clear sighted acumen which 
 in this case was an unwelcome attribute, saw that the real 
 reason for Dupagny s failure was in Rose, herself. It had 
 been Rose all along who braced him by her joyous spirit, 
 her calm defiance to bad luck. When she drooped his 
 courage took wing. She could have upheld him and urged 
 him on until something might have been saved from the 
 wreck, but she seemed to have forgotten him. . . . Cleve, 
 the tired lover, saw nothing in this situation except blame 
 for the woman. He had no pity for her drooping standards ; 
 if she had fought back and conquered the fools who were 
 pushing her down she might have held him not his love, 
 but the feeling she had first won from him, a curious 
 assembling of boyish admiration, a sort of hero-worship, 
 sexless and all the more sincere. 
 
 But she had not held her own and now he was with the 
 crowd who watched her curiously, wondering what she 
 would do next. 
 
 That she did nothing failed to reassure him. He knew 
 that, however great her collapse, there must be a readjust 
 ment when her wings would struggle to regain their freedom.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 225 
 
 Therefore he did not speak the magical words that would 
 have bound Antonia s life to his before the world. He knew 
 that she was his to claim when he would, and the joys that 
 were to come possessed in his eyes some of the calm of 
 eternity. 
 
 In one of their brief meetings Antonia told him timidly 
 of her mother s decision to live with her for a time. "My 
 father is alone," she said in a blurred voice. 
 
 It was singular that Cleve should be one of the few 
 persons in Cresston unaware of the scandal which was 
 coming each day nearer to a revelation. Major Bailey, 
 who must have known, preserved a delicate air of neu 
 trality and contented himself with blundering interference 
 whenever he saw Antonia and Cleve together. He and 
 Judge Christy had once been friends, though there was 
 more than a decade between their years, and the Baileys 
 and Christys belonged to the same past era. 
 
 Cleve thought of no explanation for the queerness of Mrs. 
 Christy s step, nor did he seek for one. The answer might 
 have been found in his origin. He saw nothing strange or 
 sinister in the separation of the Christy family it seemed 
 entirely fitting that Antonia s mother should be with her ; 
 the quarrel between father and daughter would be easily 
 adjusted when Antonia became his wife and her hectic 
 fancies had merged into wifehood and motherhood. It was 
 not possible for him to conjecture malevolent gossip with 
 the name he secretly revered, so that he read no meaning in 
 Antonia s tone. 
 
 "You must not fret about the Judge," he consoled her, 
 "some day he s going to know what a wonderful girl he s 
 father to." 
 
 She looked at him wistfully. She wanted to explain that 
 she was beginning to love her father and to understand in
 
 226 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 him what had been hidden from the unawakened eyes of 
 her childhood. But she could not speak of these things 
 without touching upon others which were forbidden by his 
 silence. And she saw in his eyes that he was far from 
 following where her thoughts wandered. 
 
 "You must not mind, dear. I love you," whispered Cleve, 
 as though that covered everything. 
 
 Peter Withrow was away during these weeks. His 
 absence might have had something to do with Laurence 
 Dupagny s hopeless depression ; Peter had invested money 
 in some mad-hatter scheme of the promoter, and, with most 
 un-Peter like perspicuity, had decided to investigate before 
 sending safe money after that which was imperiled. 
 
 He sent no word of his return and Antonia was astounded 
 to find him walking up and down the office with nervous 
 strides and an awakened look somewhere about him when 
 she came in one morning. He had come straight from the 
 train; the marks of travel and a sleepless night were there 
 as plainly as his bags piled by the door. Peter was not 
 looking his best; he had not shaved and his face was thin 
 and careworn. He came to meet Antonia and took her hand, 
 looking earnestly into her face with his own near-sighted 
 eyes. 
 
 "You are still coming here?" he said, as though her 
 presence surprised him. 
 
 She was taken aback. Her fingers, about to remove her 
 hat, slowly relaxed and curled into her palms. She returned 
 his look wonderingly, but beneath the wonder was a glint 
 of understanding. 
 
 "You you did not expect to find me?" she faltered, 
 trying in vain to speak steadily. "Did you write?" 
 
 Peter took a long breath. "No, I did not write," he 
 replied absently. Then he reached for one of her curled
 
 THE THRESHOLD 227 
 
 hands and drew her to him until they stood closely together, 
 face to face. "Antonia," he said, "will you marry me ?" 
 
 She must have been startled. Nine in the morning is not 
 a normal hour for a proposal of marriage, nor is a business 
 office, at the mercy of every intruder, the place for such 
 an event. Antonia was not as accustomed to proposals as 
 a girl so lovely might have been expected to be, and such 
 a development from her relation with Peter was unlocked 
 for. But she received it after a scant space of confusion, 
 with a sweet steadiness that removed all element of unre 
 ality from the moment. Peter had blundered unpardonably 
 in offering himself to her under these circumstances ; he 
 might have known that she would see through him and 
 demand to know his reasons. He was prepared for it when 
 she spake. 
 
 "Peter," she asked, letting him keep her hands, "what 
 has happened?" 
 
 It was not the way she should have answered and it 
 robbed him of his obscure hour and reduced his words to im 
 materiality. Antonia s clear and reasoning brain would not 
 accept this incongruous situation on its face, but he was 
 offended by her plain rejection of his sincerity. He released 
 her hand at once, leaving her to stand unsupported before 
 him. 
 
 "I have always loved you, Antonia," he answered simply, 
 after awhile. "Why should you think it strange that I am 
 asking you to be my wife?" 
 
 "Peter, Peter !" she repeated and gave a little laugh. She 
 knew that his words were serious, but she could not believe 
 that he was. It was true that she had always known of 
 his love, but it had never impressed itself upon her as a 
 strong emotion. She overlooked the pathos of this love 
 that she refused, in seeking for its origin. But when she
 
 228 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 did think of this, her laughter ceased. "I I am sorry, 
 Peter," she faltered, becoming trite and feminine at the 
 realization that he offered himself as her husband. 
 
 "You mean that you won t marry me? or that you can 
 not love me?" 
 
 Jest and laughter were far away from them now. An- 
 tonia felt a surging desire for tears instead, as though she 
 had wounded something that clung to her. A sort of blank- 
 ness spread itself -between them. This would mean life 
 without Peter; his quizzical smile and slow, comforting 
 words would be absent from her days for Antonia was 
 not old or wise enough to know that the best of friends 
 are those who have denied themselves to love. 
 
 "You love somebody else," Peter stated, his face hard 
 ening. 
 
 She was instantly on the defensive. Here was another 
 who would try to drag her tender secret into the light. He 
 saw the quick changing of her face and added gently. "You 
 need not tell me anything. I have no right to ask. But 
 my love gives me the right to guard you, Antonia. You 
 must not stay here any longer." 
 
 She was stung by that. "Are you like the others? I 
 did not think so. Oh, how can people believe such things? 
 How can they doubt one another ?" 
 
 "Then you have heard " 
 
 "My mother wanted me to give up my position here 
 because there were stories going about," she returned, meet 
 ing his gaze steadily, "but I refused. Why should I admit, 
 by doing that, that these things concerned me? How does 
 any one know that they are true? If if any one has done 
 wrong why should I run away as though I feared con 
 tamination ?" 
 
 He saw the impossibility of making her understand. She
 
 THE THRESHOLD 229 
 
 was determined not to betray her convictions of personal 
 independence. Like all reformers she was blindly and 
 cheerfully putting her strength against the unconquerable. 
 
 "You cannot stay here any longer!" he said harshly, 
 giving it up. "Good God ! What can Harkness be thinking 
 of ? Don t stop even for an hour. You must go now !" 
 
 In his effort to right a wrong Peter acted with exag 
 gerated haste and the wrong was confused with injustice. 
 Humiliated, she turned to obey. "You mean that it is 
 all over? You don t want me any more?" 
 
 "Good God !" he exclaimed again, aghast at her unbe 
 lief. "Don t you understand? Try to understand! It is 
 for your own sake. I can t make anything plainer. This 
 place isn t fit for you for a girl like you. How blind I 
 have been. ... A lot of it is my fault but I never saw 
 what was plain to everybody " 
 
 She did not wait, to take even her small belongings from 
 her desk which had been moved the day before into Major 
 Bailey s rooms. She was about to pass without another 
 word when Peter spoke again in a dull, changed voice, 
 devoid of feeling or passion. 
 
 "Will you remember that I love you, Antonia? No 
 matter what happens, that I will always love you that I 
 will come to you anywhere at any hour and that my life 
 is yours?" 
 
 She could not answer. She was crying softly as she 
 went out the door.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ROSE was surprised on.e day to hear Nina Tyson s voice 
 speaking to Emily at the door. 
 
 "Ask Mrs. Dupagny to come down or may I go up? 
 Perhaps that would be better." 
 
 Rose surveyed herself in the glass, looked at the room 
 which would reveal far too much to the keen eyes of her 
 visitor, and then called over the balustrade, "Don t bother. 
 I m coming clown." 
 
 When the two faced each other in the living-room, both 
 found it difficult to make a beginning. Nina Tyson had 
 never been one of Rose s friends and her motive in coming 
 now was not easy to explain. 
 
 She was a tall, handsome woman affecting a somewhat 
 masculine pose, which excused her spare, large-boned figure 
 and brusk manners. Her eyes were cold, weary, and dis 
 satisfied eyes that had never found what they sought and 
 were tired of their quest. She was the distinct antithesis 
 of Rose Dupagny and there had always been an unac 
 knowledged war between the two, a war of clothes, admirers 
 and entertainment. Everybody knew how Nina felt toward 
 her husband, who was as narrow and parsimonious as he 
 was rich, and every one had pitied her except Rose, who 
 had not understood why money was not enough. There 
 had been no common ground between the two women, yet 
 now Rose discovered that it was Nina Tyson, alone of all 
 her set, who was offering help when she was sinking. 
 
 230
 
 THE THRESHOLD 231 
 
 "Why don t you pull up?" Nina asked, in her cold emo 
 tionless voice. "It isn t too late. . . . We ll stand behind 
 you we women. I ll make em. But you ve got to get 
 rid of him first. Nobody can win when they re whipped at 
 heart. This is your chance to come back, Rose." 
 
 Rose was huddled in -her chair. She felt herself shrivel 
 ing beneath the hard scrutiny of her visitor s eyes. 
 Although her heart was numb with its continued piteous 
 ache, her pride, fighting feebly, urged her to reply. 
 
 "Are you talking about my husband?" 
 
 "Your husband ! You know ! am not. I mean Cleve 
 Harkness. Good Lord, girl, can t you see how you ve 
 wasted yourself on him? He s not the sort to love a 
 woman he wouldn t try." 
 
 "What makes you think " 
 
 Mrs. Tyson moved impatiently. She liked Rose less than 
 ever for her reluctance in meeting advances that were de 
 cently fair. But she was- able to pity her opponent who 
 cringed under the lash of truth. There was nothing subtle 
 in her make-up and she believed the most merciful course 
 would be to show the facts as every one saw them. So she 
 said brutally : 
 
 "You ve lost your head like a child that pulls its play 
 house down. You think that you re in love with Cleve 
 Harkness and because you can t get him or can t hold 
 him you won t accept anything less. You re not a woman, 
 you re a spoiled youngster and if you were sixteen you d 
 be sent to boarding-school and taught to think about normal 
 things but being a woman you have free rein to ruin 
 every one who depends on you. Why don t you buck up 
 and save yourself and your husband and show that mucker 
 he doesn t count? Don t deny anything . . . you ve been 
 foolish enough to turn a servant who knows everything
 
 232 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 loose in the town. . . . You didn t realize that girls like 
 that really hate us. If they are virtuous they hold it over 
 us like a bank book. ... As I said before, we ll help you 
 even my brute of a mother-in-law will help. She s 
 promised." 
 
 Rose was sobbing; her restraint was broken down, her 
 pride tortured beyond endurance, but with this came a re 
 freshing sensation of activity. The torpor of waiting was 
 demolished; whatever came now must be the quick. But 
 as the picture developed by the other s words unfolded, 
 her courage drooped. She knew that she could never run 
 the gauntlet of those eyes that read her defeat. 
 
 "You don t knoAv . . . you ve never loved," she stam 
 mered, between her sobs. 
 
 Mrs. Tyson got up to go. "Perhaps not," she admitted 
 dryly, "not as you know love. But I have felt a lot, off 
 and on, though it never conquered me. It s all a question 
 of temperament, I suppose, whether we re Magdalens or 
 Christian martyrs. But I didn t come here to bully you, 
 though it looks like it. I m going now, but try to see the 
 right of things before it is too late. Don t let your con 
 science bother you, my dear. I daresay under the skin we re 
 all ravening wolves, and it s only a thin coat of decency 
 that keeps us from tearing each other s throats. You ve 
 dropped your decency, Rose: try to pin it on again and 
 come back and play with us." 
 
 Late in the following morning the Dupagny maid of all 
 work, going languidly about her duties, entered her master s 
 bedroom with brooms and dusters and found him still there, 
 clothed as he had been at the eight o clock breakfast in a 
 soiled dressing-gown, once rich and lustrous, and with a 
 stubble of gray beard showing upon his lean face, as back 
 ground for his hollowed, desperate eyes.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 233 
 
 He was sitting on the edge of the tumbled bed and on 
 the floor before him were spread two or three traveling bags 
 of various sizes, into which he had been folding articles of 
 clothing, awkwardly sorted, as though his hands were acting 
 without relation to his brain. Beside him on the bed were 
 a brief case and a quantity of papers divided into two 
 careless piles. His attention, given to these matters, was 
 undiverted by the entrance of the servant who began her 
 work by flinging open a window whose draught sent the 
 papers scurrying while it cleansed the atmosphere of the odor 
 of stale tobacco with which the room was heavily charged. 
 
 But Dupagny was annoyed by the confusion in his work 
 and ordered the girl to leave the room. He spoke to her 
 roughly, and as she was an insolent creature with the 
 stimulus of a month s unpaid wages behind the impertinence 
 she flung at him as she obeyed, he was more disturbed 
 by her voice than by the clean wind. She left the window 
 open and as he crossed the room to close it he swore 
 feebly under his breath. Across the hall in Mrs. Dupagny s 
 room where conditions were no better, she complained 
 bitterly and hinted at leaving. 
 
 Nobody could keep a house "straightened" when people 
 stayed cluttered in their rooms for half the morning, she 
 said, and Rose learned from her ill-tempered grumblings 
 that Dupagny was still in the house. 
 
 She had tried earnestly to live up to the hope that Nina 
 Tyson held out to her; since their conversation the day 
 before she had made a tremendous effort to tear her 
 thoughts from the sickening round of conjecture which had 
 Cleve as its central figure, and to concentrate on some plan 
 for a future that seemed headed for destruction. She had 
 slept little that night, and, like a person throwing off the 
 bonds of sickness, she struggled to touch something real and
 
 234 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 stable that would help her to hold the course she knew was 
 right and sane. 
 
 With each day she had clung more desperately to the 
 belief that her love would be justified, but the bald re 
 proaches of Nina Tyson who represented the world, took 
 this fading fetich from her hands. The words, "he never 
 loved you" had a ring of finality. If he had never 
 loved her, what then remained? 
 
 She had almost eliminated Dupagny from her thoughts, 
 but when she learned that he was still in the house the old, 
 feverish impatience for his absence asserted itself. His 
 presence disturbed and demoralized her ; it was a continual 
 reproach and she could not rest while he was near her ; yet 
 apart from this she felt a vague uneasiness at what the 
 servant s words disclosed. 
 
 Her own cold coffee stood on a tabouret beside the day 
 bed, where she lay, pretending to read the morning paper 
 that had been brought to her long before and which she 
 would never read. She was staring at the blank columns 
 of black and white, when she said idly: "Does Mr. Du 
 pagny seem ill? He breakfasted?" 
 
 "He was down but he never touched anything." The 
 maid s voice was dispirited. Nothing is more fatal to 
 service than a master and mistress without appetite. Emily 
 took up the uninviting coffee tray and abandoned the morn 
 ing duties. "When you get ready to go out, call me," she 
 said defiantly. 
 
 Rose slipped into a heavier peignoir and took a mechanical 
 survey of herself in the cheval mirror. This was not vanity, 
 but the cold appraisal of a woman whose weapon has been 
 beauty. She knew that other things had failed her and 
 she wanted to see if this asset survived the sleepless hours 
 of the night.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 235 
 
 And she was to be disappointed in this. The rose-colored 
 garment she wore did not conceal the sharp and pitiful 
 outlines of her form, though even in its meagerness it was 
 far from unlovely. It was in her face that the tragic 
 alteration had been wrought. 
 
 Her features were not less beautiful, but all expression 
 had gone from her face except a fantastic hunger, rigid 
 and wondering. Her eyes were dry, her lips were dry and 
 parted. . . . She dabbed a rouge stick across them, but 
 it only accentuated their pallor; rouge could not blend 
 with the drawn outline, and in disgust she drew a handker 
 chief across her scarlet mouth. The stain that came with 
 it was hideous and nauseating in the hot sunshine that 
 flooded the room and she flung the stained rag away. 
 "What can I say to him?" she wondered, as she crossed 
 the hall to Dupagny s room. 
 
 He was still sitting on the bed, and he looked up haggardly 
 as Rose entered. It was a long time since she had voluntarily 
 come into that room, and, remembering this, a half smile 
 found its way to his lips. He had news which would 
 pay her for coming at last. 
 
 "Are you going away?" she asked, looking at the bags, 
 the scattered papers, everywhere but at him. 
 
 She had her answer in the look he gave her, cold, de 
 tached, as one stranger looks at another because of unwar 
 ranted interest in his affairs. "Yes, I am going away," he 
 said, echoing the look, as though words meant nothing. 
 
 She lingered in the doorway, not knowing whether to go 
 or stay. For the first time she felt awkwardness in his 
 presence and a sense of fright. He did not ask her to sit 
 down, nor show any interest in her presence there, but 
 continued to sort the endless letters, stowing some away 
 in the brief case, tossing others into an untidy heap on the
 
 236 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 floor. She now saw that a steamer trunk had been dragged 
 from a closet and that all of his clothes were hanging about 
 on chairs in formless heaps. She was amazed to hear 
 herself saying timidly: "Perhaps I can help you!" 
 
 He paused in his work to look at her, then began unex 
 pectedly to laugh. She was frightened and made a move 
 ment to go, but with her hand on the doorknob she recov 
 ered her courage. 
 
 "Why do you laugh ?" she demanded indignantly. "What 
 is there so strange in having help from me?" 
 
 Dupagny got up, holding his greasy dressing-gown about 
 him and offered an elaborate bow. There was a sort of 
 wildness in his attitude; his face was a little mad. "I beg 
 your pardon. It was the spirit in which your offer was 
 made which caused my laughter. A sense of humor may 
 be a saving grace; on the other hand it may be misin 
 terpreted." 
 
 Words were dragged from her against her will. "What 
 spirit should I have but a desire to help you ?" 
 
 "The spirit that speeds the parting husband, should I 
 say ? But my dear lady, why should you trouble now ? My 
 goings and returnings have not disturbed you before this !" 
 
 She wished now that she had left the rouge upon her 
 lips. It was difficult to act a part when she knew herself 
 at such disadvantage, so haggard, so distraught. Dupagny 
 was watching her curiously, his attention held by her obvi 
 ous distress. "Why bother, now?" he repeated, dully. 
 
 There was something in his resignation so opposed to the 
 sneering reproach of his earlier speech that a chord, long 
 mute in her heart, was touched. With an impulse of pity 
 she spoke to him in an altered tone. "Larry, where are 
 you going? Has anything happened? What does this 
 change mean?"
 
 THE THRESHOLD 237 
 
 Dupagny resumed his seat upon the bed and clasped one 
 of his knees between his hands. The dressing-gown slipped 
 aside and his leg, clad in pale blue silk, was exposed. The 
 delicate color was faded to yellow in spots from careless 
 washing and there was a large, frayed rent through which 
 his bony knee protruded. Nothing could have accentuated 
 the demoralization of their household and their relation as 
 this trivial flaunting of neglect betrayed it. He had for 
 gotten his interest in packing to watch her face change 
 with every uncertain thought and the movement of her 
 slender body, swaying by the door, uncertain as her 
 thoughts. He smiled when he saw her eyes upon the torn 
 garment and she remembered in a queer kind of relief 
 that it was not really her fault. She could not sew and 
 this was one of the duties that belonged to the maid, who 
 ever she was. 
 
 After a long pause Dupagny answered her repeated ques 
 tion, but with deliberation, as though the time had come 
 to explain everything and he wished to make his words 
 count. "Much has happened," he said, gravely, "and the 
 change means, in a few words, that the end has come." 
 
 "You mean that you have failed " 
 
 "Gone to smash. Withrow got back from Colorado this 
 morning. I had a night letter from him and he followed 
 immediately. I believe he s a good scout after all. He 
 wanted to give me a chance to make my getaway before I 
 met him and the other stockholders. He knows it s a clean 
 loss. They can t recover anything from me. The boy 
 dropped twenty thousand himself, but he s a good loser. 
 He doesn t want to send me over the road." 
 
 This touched her. "Could he do that?" she whispered. 
 She had never come so close to the truth before. He had 
 always lightly concealed the thin ice from her careless eyes
 
 238 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 and she had never known, because she preferred not to 
 know. It was easier to take what had come so easily, with 
 out questioning . She had relied on Dupagny s cleverness 
 without admitting reliance to herself, but now the danger 
 unfolded like a sinister script. "Could they send you to 
 prison?" she faltered. 
 
 "For twenty years," he responded crisply; then smiled 
 when she gave a little cry. "Ah, that hurts, doesn t it? To 
 be known as the wife of a convict! You couldn t stand 
 notoriety or social disgrace, could you, Rose?" 
 
 Her eyes drooped in spite of her effort to face the taunt 
 boldly. "I was only thinking of you. It would be impos 
 sible to imagine you in prison." 
 
 "But entirely probable if I don t get off before Withrow 
 makes his report," he said dryly, beginning his work again 
 in a matter-of-fact way that made her excitement seem 
 exaggerated and ridiculous. 
 
 Already he seemed to have forgotten her and she took 
 a few hesitating steps into the room. In spite of the 
 estrangement which had endured between them for a long 
 time, she could not understand this ignoring of her now. 
 She had always been first, and a lesser position with him was 
 incredible. She had taken his love for granted for so long 
 that to find it replaced by a dull indifference puzzled and 
 diverted her from her train of thought. 
 
 "And what of me?" she asked in a low voice when he 
 did not speak. "What is to become of me ?" 
 
 It was the moment he had waited for. He flung it 
 straight at her quivering lips. "That is Cleve Harkness 
 affair, isn t it ... not mine, any longer." 
 
 "Oh " she shrunk away, hiding her face in the curve of 
 her arm like a child that had been unfairly struck. 
 
 Dupagny s chin sunk on his breast. He did not enjoy his
 
 THE THRESHOLD 239 
 
 triumph as he had expected ; after all his words had fallen 
 flatly on a woman who could not strike back. When he 
 spoke again the rancor had gone from his voice. 
 
 "I need not have said that. You ll have enough to suffer, 
 poor girl. . . . But you have maddened me. . . ." 
 
 She began to sob. His softened tone did not heal the 
 wound, but his pity brought tears to both their eyes. 
 
 "We have both suffered but how could it be helped? 
 We do not make ourselves." 
 
 "No? But we can stop when we see ourselves going 
 wrong. I could have stopped long ago, and that would have 
 saved you. It has not all been your fault " 
 
 His sardonic mood was laid aside like a silly paper mask, 
 and with his new purpose some of his old dignity returned ; 
 even his unshaven face ceased to be repulsive. He began 
 to pace the floor slowly, passing close to where she stood 
 with her face half hidden. 
 
 "I will tell you everything," he said presently, in a labored 
 voice, as though he dragged the words from some unplumbed 
 depths of his spirit. "I am starting for New Orleans to-day 
 and from there I shall take ship for South America. Any 
 boat will do. Fugitives cannot choose their route. The 
 second important thing I have to say is I do not go alone." 
 Seeing her uncontrollable start, the shadow of his abandoned 
 mood returned to play for a moment upon his features. 
 "Not you," he corrected, "another woman." 
 
 She lifted incredulous eyes to follow his endless progress 
 back and forth. 
 
 "Another woman. What did you expect ? Did you think 
 that I would knock forever at your door? Did you think 
 that your cold smile that could warm for others would not 
 chill my heart until some day it would seek for warmth 
 itself ? Poor little Rose, you have prided yourself on know-
 
 240 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 ing men and on your foolish play that is no more play for 
 you than for other women. And I believe you have lost, my 
 dear." The immeasurable sadness of his voice robbed his 
 words of any bitterness they might have held. "It is very 
 sweet to be warm when you have been out in the cold so 
 long. She is not beautiful, like you, but she cares! By 
 God, she must ! There could be no other reason for throw 
 ing herself away on a hulk like me . . . ruined, discredited, 
 with only enough to get to another country. She must care ! 
 It s miraculous. And she is young, a good girl, too." 
 
 "It is the girl in your office," said Rose, in a flat tone, "I 
 know. She looked at me as though she hated me." 
 
 "Perhaps. Why shouldn t she hate you? You had 
 everything, and had thrown away everything which she 
 would have given her life for Just as I hate men who 
 have opportunities and let them slip, while poor devils like 
 me sweat and suffer and lose for want of a few dollars 
 and somebody s trust. ... I haven t been dishonest, it s 
 only that I didn t have enough of anything, not enough 
 money, or credit, or confidence. . . . And women like this 
 girl are not dishonest ; they only take what other women toss 
 away, a poor, squeezed carcass that they believe can be 
 built up again . . . the best they can get for their poor 
 charms. . . . They want a man and babies, and women 
 like you want neither. Why shouldn t they have what they 
 want ?" 
 
 Rose was unmoved by this. She felt only a sullen loath 
 ing for the unnamed woman; a paradoxical desire to con 
 demn her. "It is she who told you " she said coldly. 
 
 "Right. She told me a lot about you and Harkness. 
 Malicious, of course, but feminine. Naturally, she would 
 fight. But she is not to blame for all the talk. Your own 
 friends have helped things along."
 
 THE THRESHOLD 241 
 
 "And you are leaving me for this this woman ! You 
 dare to tell me the details of your affair you have discussed 
 me with her?" 
 
 "Only when it could not be helped. . . . Remember she 
 has rights as well as yourself. I have no wish to hurt you 
 unnecessarily, I only want to tell you what you will hear 
 from every one to-morrow. Come, Rose, we are not chil 
 dren. Let us talk this over calmly. You cannot claim 
 jealousy or the role of the wronged wife after what has 
 been. . . . But after all, this is unimportant. It is the cause 
 behind all this which you and I should discuss. Why 
 should this be? What could have remedied it?" He spoke 
 musingly, as though the matter were impersonal, concern 
 ing any one but himself. "I think if we had based marriage 
 on a sounder foundation it might have stood the wear better. 
 When I look back upon what has passed the ceremony 
 of marriage appears to be merely a license to do as \ve 
 pleased. Nothing sacred, nothing sacrificial. . . . God !" 
 He stopped in his restless walk, f;, ;in r ; her. "What did we 
 ever think of but easy money ; putting it over on our friends, 
 trimming everybody who trusted us and using this house 
 and its popularity as a trap to catch our flies? What sort 
 of a foundation was that, I ask you? Built upon lies, it 
 couldn t last. Now it s falling, Rose. I m getting out and 
 you must look for yourself, my girl !" 
 
 "You are deserting me!" she gasped, struck by the sig 
 nificance of his last words. "What will become of me?" 
 
 "You don t trust him, then?" 
 
 She cried out at the insult as she had wept before, and 
 Dupagny was astonished at her emotion. He himself had 
 passed beyond the delicacies of speech into the bigger issues. 
 He had meant no taunt ; it seemed to him the simple ques 
 tioning of a fact, important to them both, and her passion
 
 242 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 appeared both fraudulent and childish to him. "We gain 
 nothing by this !" he said with a touch of impatience. 
 
 She no longer felt the inclination to tears. The crowded 
 moments left no time for consecutive thinking. She saw 
 herself to-morrow, crowned with the shame of desertion, 
 a desertion that pierced her heart as well as her pride. How 
 her little world would laugh ! Dupagny s crimes would be 
 overlooked in the keen appreciation of his revenge. But as 
 she turned away her head did not droop nor her shoulders 
 bend. The rose-colored peignoir fell in straight folds from 
 her neck to the floor; her lifted chin sent a curve to her 
 hollowed cheek. In her complete defeat she held to the one 
 thing she had left; in her destruction she did not lose the 
 dignity that belonged to her. 
 
 "Rose !" Dupagny cried as she reached the door. His 
 hand closed upon hers as it touched the knob. She saw 
 the sweat upon his forehead and under the stubble of his 
 lips. He repeated her name in sudden-born anguish. "It 
 is not too late ! Come with me, Rose. See, the tickets are 
 here, you can go, you can escape it all if you wish. I 
 can t give you up! I will forgive everything, I will for 
 get!" 
 
 For a moment a ray of sweetness swayed her heart. He 
 meant that to-morrow she might be far away from all this 
 and free from the pain that ached in her breast eternally. 
 So far away that even she might learn to forget ! Then as 
 she pictured this, her eyes met his. 
 
 "You mean that I -am to take her place ?" she said slowly. 
 
 Desperate passion conquered his abasement. "I mean 
 that," he cried fiercely, "you are to be my wife, my real 
 wife, mine to do with as I will . . . the possession they call 
 a chattel. Not a dressmaker s dummy or a plaything for 
 other men as such women as you have been and are. . . .
 
 THE THRESHOLD 243 
 
 You are to be mine utterly, heart and mind, body and soul, 
 you shall belong to me as you have never belonged and we 
 will build upon that union, which is the only ground strong 
 enough to hold our future. . . ." 
 
 She was afraid. She gave a low scream and struck at -his 
 hand, freeing her own. His face.confronting her threatened 
 her with abysses of degradation that were like dim fantasies, 
 too frightful to be seen in their entirety. She saw her soul, 
 stripped of its secret trappings, suffering in his brutal grasp. 
 All this was in her eyes. 
 
 "Then, go!" he cried with an oath and thrust her through 
 the door. 
 
 She was in her own room, in the midst of the staring sun 
 shine with the unmade bed and the delicate, untidy finery 
 lying about. She looked on all sides of her, trying to recog 
 nize the place as though she had been apart from it for 
 years. 
 
 "I can die !" she whispered with her closed hands shutting 
 this out, "I can die!"
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SHORTLY after luncheon, Cleve Harkness drove his 
 glittering new car to Mrs. Miller s door and asked for 
 Antonia. The machine created a sensation in that modest 
 thoroughfare if the owner did not, though he came in for his 
 share of admiring consideration. There were few who did 
 not remember when he, himself, emerged from that doorway 
 to make his way with -the rest of the humble population to 
 the corner where the trolley stopped. The new car owed 
 its importance to the miserliness of poor old Saul, buried 
 weeks ago, with all his piteous economies laid bare to the 
 world, but if Cleve could claim no credit for such posses 
 sions he deserved commendation for having chosen a father 
 who, by crucifying his son s childhood, managed to provide 
 so magnificently for his maturity. 
 
 The morning hours had been full of annoyance for Cleve, 
 for following Major Bailey s announcement of Antonia s de 
 parture to return no more, came the knowledge that now he 
 must face the issue with himself, and he had been indulged 
 by chance for so long that it irked him unreasonably to be 
 asked to make a choice of two courses without time for 
 deliberation. Then in the midst of this came the summons 
 he dreaded, the voice of Rose Dupagny, calling tremulously 
 across the wire. She said very little, but he gained an im 
 pression of the trouble in which she was turning to him. 
 
 He promised to call upon her later in the day, and this 
 promise, made to a woman who refused to step out of his 
 
 244
 
 THE THRESHOLD 245 
 
 life when the time arrived for her exit, had its influence in 
 bringing his decision to a close. He began to be angry at 
 the unconscious part she played in his day. When he saw 
 her he would have taken the irrevocable step; then she 
 would be helpless to affect him, except as she injured her 
 self. His quick mind seized upon and executed a program 
 that would advertise his stand to the world, and his call at 
 the Thelma Avenue house was the first move in a rapid 
 sequence of acts that, he believed, would relieve him forever 
 of unwanted ties. 
 
 Antonia came down, pale and starry eyed, in answer to 
 the summons. In her heart she had longed for the justifica 
 tion of his coming, and now to find him anxiously awaiting 
 her was dear relief and consolation. 
 
 Cleve himself was pale and there was an unwonted gravity 
 upon his features which erased somewhat the boyishness 
 and exuberant youth that was so much of his charm. 
 
 Major Bailey, describing Antonia s dismissal, had taken 
 a fussy delight in the communication, seeing in it a check 
 mate to the upstart who had made half the women in Cress- 
 ton mad about him. But Cleve saw far more in the cir 
 cumstance than this. He read in it a determination on 
 Peter s part to force him into the open, for he knew that 
 Antonia would now expect his championship as she had the 
 right to expect it, and that if he was to keep her love he 
 must not withhold this right. He had not yet encountered 
 Peter, nor had he sought him out for he felt the conviction 
 that a meeting between them then would be to Peter s ad 
 vantage, and he meant to be triumphant when he next 
 saw the man who had been his friend and was now his 
 enemy. 
 
 He asked Antonia to drive with him for half an hour 
 and she accepted the invitation without reflecting that in tak-
 
 246 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 ing the seat beside him she was creating consternation, de 
 light, and envy among those who watched the progress of 
 the automobile from the vantage of curtained windows. 
 Without knowing it Antonia had crossed the Rubicon that 
 separates the persecuted working girl from the willing victim. 
 It depended now upon her alone, which station she would 
 occupy in the mind of the public. 
 
 But Cleve knew. He had deliberately chosen this method 
 of announcing his loyalty to her. With a sort of cynical 
 satisfaction he drove straight to the Penclleton house which 
 was now the Harkness house, and stopped before it. The 
 place was slowly assuming a new character. Men were 
 busy demolishing the overgrowths of the grounds, and, in 
 and about the house, carpenters and painters were at work, 
 tearing down and rebuilding. The shutters were no longer 
 closed. Light and air and sunshine were penetrating to the 
 frozen heart of the deep rooms from whidi the garden bench 
 and the green painted chairs had been banished. But in 
 spite of this new freedom the uncurtained windows bore a 
 look of desolation, mute and tragic, as if they now gazed 
 with open yearning for those who would- never return. 
 
 "We will be happy here," said Cleve, as if he stated a fact 
 that was familiar to both. "That will be your room, 
 Antonia, the one that extends over the drive. In. summer 
 there are a million roses on that trellis underneath, and when 
 you wake in the morning you can step out on that little 
 balcony and choose the color you love the most. I hope it 
 will always be- red. I want you always to wear brilliant 
 colo rs, you have had enough of gray." 
 
 He*r face had color enough to please him then, but her 
 eyes lost their starry look and she did not smile under the 
 half serious, half playful raillery of his voice. It was not 
 the setting which any woman would have chosen for the
 
 THE THRESHOLD 247 
 
 important love scene of her life, and Antonia was not dif 
 ferent from her sisters. A strip of pavement and lawn 
 alone separated them from the hearing of a dozen workmen; 
 people were passing along the street, some of them looking 
 with open curiosity at the splendid new car, and the two 
 young people in it, sitting before the Pendleton place. 
 Many of these passers-by knew Cleve, and a few recognized 
 Antonia as old Roscoe Christy s daughter, and all of them 
 smiled and conjectured over the absorption of the pair. 
 
 "We ll live all our lives here," said Cleve. "That old 
 place will stand for ages. By Jove, I must order a new 
 stone for the front." 
 
 Against the curb was the gray, furrowed block from which 
 the name was almost erased, and which had been used by 
 Pendleton ladies of bygone years as a mounting block to 
 help* their mincing feet to the carriage step. 
 
 "Except for the look of the thing, I d not have another," 
 mused Cleve, "but it gives a sort of dignity. I ll have 
 Harkness cut so deeply that it will never wear away." 
 Suddenly he turned to Antonia, and took her hands. There 
 was a look that approached exaltation on his face. He 
 looked deep into her eyes, reaching to her spirit through the 
 material folds that separated them. "Our children will play 
 among these trees, Antonia. They will run through that 
 house and over this grass. They will not be afraid or cold 
 or ashamed. . . . They will love us and we will love each 
 other in each of them " 
 
 Antonia closed her eyes with a slight sensation of shock. 
 Her head whirled a little as though she had been looking 
 at some dazzling object. The swift alteration of their in 
 tangible relationship and the ruthless tone of Cleve s mas 
 terful statements snatched her fancies from girlish dreams 
 and thrust her remorselessly into reality that dazzled with
 
 248 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 its procession of possible events. She was conscious of an 
 indefinable repulsion so incomplete that to call it by such a 
 name was unfair. She was bewildered by her inability to 
 share his mood ; it was as if she had failed him without 
 knowing why, in something that was his best, offered to 
 her and rejected, why, she could not say. 
 
 Cleve was disappointed, too. His exaltation had fallen 
 flat, and he missed the sympathy he confidently expected. 
 But in a moment his natural conceit asserted himself and 
 he attributed her lack of response to the convenient excuse 
 of girlish shyness. This reflection helped to heal whatever 
 hurt he knew and in the end created an added tenderness in 
 his feeling for her. She was not like other women, he 
 knew, nor did he wish her to be. 
 
 The new car slipped easily along the smooth pavement. 
 Not all of Cresston s streets were asphalted, but the main 
 arteries were in as perfect condition as the state of public 
 finances permitted, though the little side streets, where less 
 important people lived, were left to smother in dust until a 
 fresh impetus was given to taxation. There had never been 
 enough money and now that money promised to be forth 
 coming from a subdued public, there was no labor to be had. 
 Here and there were barred streets, with signs forbidding 
 passage placed in front of them, and piles of rock and 
 gravel and idle engines, all dust covered. There was small 
 pleasure to be found in driving about Cresston, but in the 
 country were long, pleasant, tree-shaded vistas where lovers 
 could be alone. 
 
 Cleve remembered too late that he would be forced to 
 pass the Dupagny house unless he retreated ignominiously. 
 This he would not do. The car was so new that possibly 
 Rose had not seen it and it might pass unnoticed. And
 
 THE THRESHOLD 249 
 
 even if she saw them together, so much the better it would 
 make the explanation to come later much easier. 
 
 And Rose did see them. She had been waiting for -him 
 since one o clock and though it was then barely three, cen 
 turies seemed to have passed. "Surely he will not fail me 
 now, when I have asked for his pity," she thought, when 
 she heard his voice, cool and reasonable, answering her own. 
 She fancied that already the whole town knew of Laurence 
 Dupagny s defalcation, and that he had gone, leaving her 
 behind, taking with him another woman to share his exile. 
 In telephoning Cleve she had obeyed an impulse half hyster 
 ical, half desperate. Her pride had been so beaten down 
 that she could make even this humiliation serve as an excuse 
 for claiming his attention. 
 
 Dupagny left the house shortly after their talk without 
 seeing her again. Locked in her room, she listened to his 
 lagging feet descending the stairs and from her window saw 
 an angle of the taxicab which waited to take him to the sta 
 tion. It was ironical that she could see only the engine of 
 the car, and that Dupagny s haggard look, directed at her 
 window, failed to reach her. 
 
 When the noise of the motor was lost in the noise of 
 other passing vehicles, Rose turned back to her room with 
 a rebounding sense of freedom. 
 
 This experience, then, was ended. She was a deserted 
 wife, widowed, as the law would not hesitate to declare her, 
 when the extent of Dupagny s misbehavior became known. 
 Her swift revulsion of feeling was false and misleading, as 
 hope mounted in her heart. The mere fact of Dupagny s 
 absence, which destroyed the tie between them forever, 
 helped to dissipate the depression which had become un 
 bearable.
 
 250 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 It was in this unnatural state of exhilaration that she sum 
 moned confidence to telephone to Cleve, but at the sound of 
 his voice her spurious courage deserted her and she fell to 
 trembling so that her voice was husky and full of tears when 
 she stammered : "Come to me. I need you." 
 
 She called to the servant who, after the manner of her 
 kind, was preparing to vanish at the warning of disaster. 
 At the last Dupagny had grudgingly paid her overdue 
 wages, and, softened by this, she was ready to champion the 
 cause she had insulted that morning. She obeyed the sum 
 mons of her mistress, but stood sullenly in the door, poised 
 for flight, if she should be asked to perform an unwelcome 
 task. 
 
 "There will be a caller presently," said Rose. "Will you 
 see that the living-room is in order, it is Mr. Harkness, and 
 you are to admit no one else." 
 
 The woman smiled knowingly. Her stay in the house had 
 been short, but she had made friends with neighboring ser 
 vants and they had not left her in ignorance of what they 
 called "the goings-on" of her lady. 
 
 "Will Mr. Dupagny be away long?" she asked insolently. 
 She believed that the wife was taking instant advantage of 
 the disappearance of her husband to arrange for a meeting 
 with her lover, and in her tone was both contempt and 
 familiarity. 
 
 Rose twinged beneath the question. She could not read 
 what was in the other s mind and she thought that already 
 some inkling of the truth had penetrated even to this 
 ignorant creature. This was the first gibe, or so she thought, 
 and she schooled herself to answer as she would be expected 
 to answer on a thousand occasions. 
 
 "He has gone on a long trip," she explained simply. 
 
 But she saw that Emily was not interested in her reply.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 251 
 
 The insolent eyes were searching the room, prying into 
 closets that were filled with dainty clothing; making an in 
 ventory of the rows of shoes and slippers and the hats upon 
 their pegs. Suddenly she remembered that money must be 
 owing this servant as it was to every one, and this had the 
 effect of dampening her spirits for a moment. Until now 
 the thought of money had not presented itself in its various 
 guises, and she was instantly aware of the necessity of 
 placating the claimant in the doorway. She could not be 
 left alone in the house, and there was no one she could 1 ask 
 to stay with her. 
 
 There was very little money left in -her purse. Later this 
 would be remedied. With the optimism* which Dupagny had 
 taught her, she trusted to a supply from unrealized sources, 
 but this did not supply the present need; and she had a wist 
 ful desire to right herself in this girl s eyes ; the witness to 
 her humiliation and ignominy. 
 
 A dark blue cape with a deep squirrel collar hung at the 
 door of the closet. She took this garment from its hook, 
 and folded it in long soft lengths. Rose loved all her clothes 
 and this cape had been a favorite. 
 
 "I am sorry that I have not the money for your wages," 
 she said gently, "but perhaps this will satisfy you. It is 
 nearly new and worth very much more than the sum owing 
 to you." 
 
 The girl was taken aback ; she had not suspected that the 
 trouble between her employers had reached this extent, but 
 she was quick to see and seize her advantage. The closets 
 were full of beautiful garments, many of them much more 
 to her taste than the dark blue duvetyn cape. She permitted 
 her insolence to increase as she looked at Rose and her 
 offering. 
 
 "You needn t expect me to take your wornout duds in
 
 252 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 place of my good money," she began loudly. "If I m to 
 take secondhand clothes for my wages, I ll take something 
 worth while. That purple suit there, an some of your silk 
 underclothes, an stockin s might suit me, if you want to do 
 the right thing." 
 
 Rose turned away. "Take them," she said in a frozen 
 voice. 
 
 When she was gone, bearing her spoils, Rose had a re 
 turn of her depression. She now saw how impossible it 
 would be to live on in the town which was to witness her 
 complete downfall. She would have to go somewhere, to 
 some large city, Chicago or New York, and hide herself 
 among strangers for a time. Yet how could she go when 
 she had no money ? There were only the furnishings of the 
 house left and these would have to be sold before she could 
 escape. It was about this she meant to talk to Cleve when 
 he came. She was determined to talk sanely to him that 
 afternoon. There would be no tears, no reproaches. Al 
 ready there had been too much of both. 
 
 While she dressed she rehearsed speeches in which she 
 was once more the self-contained, delicately cynical Rose 
 Dupagny who had ruled her friends daintily. . . . The little 
 play was successful except when she thought: "It may be 
 for the last time the last time. Perhaps directly afterward 
 I shall go away. Surely we could not part upon such terms 
 as these !" 
 
 She made a careful toilette. Excitement brought back 
 some of her beauty and softened her features with a natural 
 glow. She applied the rouge delicately, disguising it with 
 careful little strokes and blending it into her skin with other 
 creams and powders. She wore a different face than the 
 one which had met Dupagny that morning . . . now such 
 ages ago. She had not tried to be beautiful then, and it was
 
 THE THRESHOLD 253 
 
 not her beauty which he had tried to hold. She shuddered, 
 remembering her parting with him. 
 
 She chose her prettiest, gayest frock to wear that after 
 noon ; she was determined to carry out the role she had 
 chosen to play, and experience had taught her the long 
 heralded lesson that men dread and dislike tears and gloom 
 in a woman even in a deserted woman. Her gown was a 
 delicate color and she chose pale gray satin slippers to wear 
 with it. When she was dressed she looked like a gorgeous 
 gold and crimson poppy swaying on a pale green stem, for 
 all her exotic beauty had rushed to her aid. The triumph 
 of recapturing it elated her extravagantly; only her hands 
 were cold and she shivered now and then. It was autumn, 
 and, though the Indian summer sun outside held burning 
 heat, the shaded house was chilled with the premonition of 
 winter. 
 
 As Rose left her room and went down the shallow stair 
 she left behind her an impression of finality ; she might have 
 been leaving the shelter of her door forever. An impulse 
 had caused her to lock both the lonely rooms staring emptily 
 across the hall at one another. To-morrow she would begin 
 the tasks of packing and dismantling the house, but to-day 
 she wanted its secrets to sleep behind closed doors. 
 
 Downstairs the darkened living-room smelled of dust and 
 stale flowers, and Rose, remembering it as it had been, could 
 not bring herself to enter the place. When Cleve came they 
 would open the windows, but she shrunk from facing the 
 ghost of departed happiness alone. There was no better 
 place to pass the moments before he came and she went 
 hesitatingly into the deep porch that was still shaded by 
 wistaria vines, approaching dissolution like all the green life 
 out of doors, but with form enough still to shield her vigil. 
 
 People were passing; cars were rushing back and forth,
 
 254 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 but none brought Cleve, though it was past the hour he had 
 promised to come. Miss Ethel Plumey in a new fall cos 
 tume strolled past and, seeing Rose standing there, yielded 
 to the temptation of speaking to her. An hour before she 
 had received the first hint of the freshest Cresston scandal, 
 the elopement of Laurence Dupagny with his office girl, an 
 unknown person who suddenly became famous. Miss 
 Plumey could not forbear sounding Rose upon this subject, 
 and, in learning how. much her one time friend knew and 
 suffered, became herself the purveyor of added sensation. 
 
 At the sound of her voice Rose hastened down the walk 
 to meet her, in dreadful fear that she had become telepath- 
 ically aware of Cleve s intended visit. She would have re 
 fused had- she dared, or taken refuge in the house, but she 
 knew how futile this would be. Miss Plumey could not be 
 disposed of in this fashion and would not have scrupled to 
 follow, prying with her protruding pale eyes until she had 
 learned everything. 
 
 But when the two women met there was no sign of this 
 derangement upon their faces. Their greetings were as 
 insincere, as casual as they had ever been. When this had 
 passed, Miss Plumey said, "What a shame you couldn t go 
 with your husband upon his wonderful trip. How could 
 you bear to miss it ?" 
 
 Rose answered: "I loathe traveling. And we are not 
 rich. We couldn t do it as it sh ould be done." 
 
 "Luckily all women are not so particular. Are you quite, 
 quite sure it was safe to let him 1 go so far away, quite 
 alone?" 
 
 Rose was still brave enough to battle with an adversary 
 like this. 
 
 "You can never tell about men, especially husbands. It 
 is best not to inquire too closely."
 
 THE THRESHOLD 255 
 
 She managed to rid herself of her tormentor after what 
 seemed an age, and returned to the wistaria screen. Miss 
 Plumey had left the sting of bitterness behind her, and the 
 excitement of anticipation was fading into the familiar, dull 
 torture of suspense. The chill of the house followed her 
 into the brilliant sunshine. She shivered. 
 
 A flashing automobile, startling in newness of varnish, 
 glittering trimmings, low and luxurious, rolled noiselessly 
 past. The man and woman who occupied it were almost 
 hidden by the cramped windshield and the low, flat hood. 
 The machine gave an impression of attempting to slip past 
 unnoticed, almost with guilt, as a dishonest man evades his 
 creditor. 
 
 But Rose s eyes, quick with pain, unbelieving, yet stricken 
 with belief, were not to be denied. Nothing could* hide him 
 from her, not distance or movement, or the impossible* vision 
 of another woman between them. 
 
 He was not coming. He had forgotten or he had done 
 this with intention or unwittingly! Her mind leaped to a 
 hundred conjectures, all equally unreal and filled with un 
 speakable pain. 
 
 Another woman ! At the hour when he should have been 
 with her, he had chosen to be with another woman, some 
 one who held and charmed him as she had done one time. 
 She needed no second glance to assure her that it was Cleve, 
 but she could not be certain of his companion though the 
 outline of the drooping head beneath the simple hat was 
 vaguely familiar. She ran forward a few steps, forgetting 
 that she herself might be seen, to gaze searchingly after the 
 disappearing car. 
 
 Strangely enough she lost the familiar sense of pain for 
 the time in the overwhelming desire to see their faces. . . . 
 If she could meet them face to face, let them see her scorn,
 
 256 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 her indifference! She felt oddly lifted above the ordinary 
 emotions of jealousy and despair. Her heart was wrung 
 dry of everything but curiosity ; she was as curious as Ethel 
 Plumey ! 
 
 But the car was gone and she was left stranded upon the 
 dreary porch with the empty house behind her. No use to 
 wait, he would not come now ! Her mind, unnaturally clear, 
 leaped to a remedy for this. It was possible to see them 
 again if she ran very fast ! 
 
 Two blocks further the paving was being repaired and 
 he must turn into one of the side streets. There was a 
 succession of vacant lots which she could cross to reach a 
 high bank from which she could gain a long and unob 
 structed view. If the car made slow progress she could 
 intercept it here. 
 
 In frantic haste, her whole body strained and palpitating 
 with the violent desire to reach the bank, she ran through 
 the shabby street behind her own house, leaving the uncer 
 tain sidewalk to run in the edge of the street itself. But 
 with all her effort she made little progress. The high, deli 
 cate heels of her slippers turned, threatening to throw her ; 
 the satin strained and cut keenly into her flesh. Obstruc 
 tions came into her way, little things, such as fallen 
 branches and round pebbles, playthings of the wind and of 
 the astounded children who gazed wonderingly after her 
 flight. A violent pain began in her side and scorched her 
 body from shoulder to thigh. . . . She came to the vacant 
 lots at last and here a narrow trail, ankle deep in dust, led 
 straight to the high bank. The burning summer had 
 stripped the place of grass and now it was arid and desolate, 
 but the path marked a wavering line. She ran along this 
 path, letting her light dress trail about her unheeded. Her 
 hands were outstretched, her lips slightly parted.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 257 
 
 The bank was there in front of her, but the path ended 
 at its base. There was no foothold but that which she 
 could make herself in the brown, unfriendly earth. Hold 
 ing to dead grass roots ; on her knees, stumbling, slipping, 
 but making a sort of progress, she stood on the bank at last. 
 It was a dreary place, covered with upthrown debris, broken 
 bottles and discarded tins. Summer had survived here a 
 little longer than- on the ground below, for long, dead gray 
 grasses waved mournfully in the freshening breeze and 
 helped to* hide the desolation beneath. 
 
 The street beyond stretched like a smooth pale river, and, 
 as she* gained her footing, the glittering car was just passing 
 with slow, and insolent leisure. In a moment its speed in 
 creased ... it was gone. . . . The faces in the car eluded 
 her as before. 
 
 She turned to retrace the way she had come, forgetful of 
 the figure she made outlined against the sky. She looked at 
 the dizzying thread of path across the lots far beneath her; 
 then at the descent which now seemed sheer and precipitous, 
 yet inevitable. From this to her swollen feet, which had be 
 gun to burn and torture her. The little gray slippers were 
 twisted and broken; the delicate satin burst and frayed. 
 The soles rasped with sand and minute pebbles and her 
 thin stockings were in rags, inadequate to protect her flesh 
 from a thousand fierce stings of weed and pollen. She be 
 gan to climb down the bank and to do this she had to use 
 her hands to hold on as she slipped lower and lower, some 
 times with her face against the earth. Finally this was over 
 and she stood again in the open ground, ankle deep in the 
 asronv of the dust.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 CLEVE and Antonia did not prolong their drive into the 
 country. Poor Rose would have been spared some of 
 her despair if she had seen them turn back after a half hour 
 spent in the silence which had submerged their earlier hap 
 piness. Antonia s mood was a strange one. To her moods 
 were simple phases of sorrow and joy and she did not 
 analyze them. 
 
 And Cleve in mystification found himself influenced by 
 her silence until he, too, fell silent, and by unspoken con 
 sent turned the glittering car, which had been unable to 
 communicate its magnificent satisfaction to them, in the 
 direction of home. 
 
 In Thelma Avenue the sensation of their departure had 
 not been dissipated. Those who depart must return, and 
 spectators who had not witnessed the beginning were on 
 hand to see the end. Cleve was annoyed by the invisible, 
 staring eyes which he knew were looking at them. 
 
 "Thank God, we shan t have much more of this !" he said, 
 as he opened the door for her. 
 
 Antonia asked him to come in and speak to her mother, 
 but he begged off with a hurried and negative excuse. The 
 raw edge of his nerves would not be improved by Mrs. 
 Christy s conversation, and for the last ten minutes he had 
 been thinking of the appointment with Rose which he had 
 evaded and forgotten. He decided that this must not be put 
 off any longer and with his ugly mood growing upon him he 
 resolved to see Rose before further time passed. 
 
 258
 
 THE THRESHOLD 259 
 
 His love for Antonia was as unselfish as any impulse he 
 had ever known and for the moment was strong enough to 
 assert its importance over his self-contemplation. As they 
 were about to part he returned to her side and blindly 
 reached for her hands, unconscious of the publicity of their 
 station. She was startled by the intensity of his action but 
 when she looked up she read something in his eyes, so 
 changed from the gay confidence she knew, that to question 
 his design was impossible. 
 
 "Antonia, do you love me ?" 
 
 Unlike any lover who ever existed, he had never asked 
 this question before. He had taken her love for granted as 
 he took everything that came to him. And Antonia had 
 taken it for granted, as well. But now, hearing it put into 
 irrevocable words, she was suddenly dismayed. Love was 
 so final. She sent him a startled glance and drew away, 
 not answering, and this broke the spell. He laughed, tossed 
 her a gay, affectionate smile and ran down the steps to his 
 car. 
 
 He was not offended by Antonia s coldness or lack of re 
 sponse. Instead it increased his pride and his extraordinary 
 satisfaction in possessing her. Her coldness fed his desire 
 and withdrawal emphasized her importance in his eyes. The 
 easy capitulation of the class which he had believed so im 
 portant had completed a readjustment of his judgments. 
 He was now able to see that men and women are merely 
 men and women, in any case, and that his conquest of 
 Antonia Christy was worth far more than the conquest of 
 another woman whose fancy had been given elsewhere be 
 fore his coming. It would be too much to say that he had 
 put Antonia upon the pedestal which is the inalienable right 
 of about-to-be-married mankind ; no one would ever occupy 
 that enviable position quite as he occupied it, but he was con-
 
 260 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 tented that Antonia should reserve her emotions until she 
 belonged exclusively to him. In that way she became more 
 precious, more exclusive. 
 
 Thinking of these things, he turned his car unwillingly 
 in the direction of Armitage Street. He would see Rose, if 
 only for five minutes, but his resolution to tell her the truth 
 began to fade into uncertainty. He excused himself for this 
 weakness on the score of Laurence Dupagny s catastrophe. 
 Like every one else he had heard an incomplete rumor of 
 this and believed himself charitable and kind in sparing the 
 woman additional worry. He had been so far from really 
 loving Rose that he was incapable of estimating the actual 
 part he had played in her tragedy. He already thought of 
 himself in the guise of a sympathizing friend, offering con 
 solation for a disaster he was powerless to modify. 
 
 But his stop at the Dupagny house was without result, for 
 though he found the door ajar, his impatient ring remained 
 unanswered. Then after a moment s wait he pushed the 
 door further open and cautiously, like an intruder, took a 
 survey of the interior. He saw at once that the house was 
 empty and that it would be useless to ring the bell again. 
 In quick relief he closed the door hastily ; he had done all 
 that could be expected of him; he would not wait. 
 
 But, as he turned to go, a feeling of extraordinary de 
 pression fell upon him. The house, once so gay, so full of 
 color, seemed to have been shocked into silence ; there was 
 a waiting pause about the place, as though presently, waking 
 from its trance, it would begin to feel and live again. As 
 he went hurriedly down the steps, the vagrant leaves that 
 covered the lawn began to scurry in tiny battalions here 
 and there, some of them mounting to the veranda, where 
 the chairs rocked back and forth with the quickening 
 wind.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 261 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when he returned to the office 
 in the Sheridan Building, which he found deserted as it 
 had been most of the day. He had no further interest there. 
 Several days ago his belongings had been removed to the 
 rooms he still occupied in the adjoining apartment, and the 
 stamp of the pompous and methodical Major Bailey was 
 upon the place. His mail lay in a cold little heap beside the 
 telephone, on the desk that had been Antonia s, and this 
 he took up and went into his own apartment, closing but 
 not locking the communicating door. Suddenly tired, he sat 
 down in a reading chair beneath the wide, yellow lamp and 
 began to open his letters. 
 
 None of them was important, though he was obliged to 
 read all. People had already begun to write to him about 
 investments ; temptingly ridiculous offers that reminded him 
 of Laurence Dupagny s schemes. He sneered as he glanced 
 through the typed pages. How could a man be fool enough 
 to let himself be caught by this balderdash? 
 
 Once he thought he heard a sound in the outer office, the 
 faint passing of a footstep and the turn of a knob some 
 where, but his attention failed to concentrate on this 
 infinitesimal sound. Presently the letters were finished and 
 he put them aside to glance around the rooms which were 
 in uninviting confusion. He had already arranged to give 
 them up and the next day would see his belongings trans 
 ferred to his new home ; but before this could be done there 
 loomed the distasteful task of packing and destroying 
 the endless souvenirs of this period. No one could attend 
 to this but himself, and the prospect of the evening spent in 
 this melancholy task was not alluring. But before he had 
 more than accepted the duty as his own, he heard Peter s 
 voice calling to him from the outer office. 
 
 Peter had entered unheard, and, without knowing why he
 
 262 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 should yield to the summons, Cleve got up from his com 
 fortable chair and returned sullenly to the office. 
 
 He found Peter leaning lightly against the edge of a desk, 
 smoking a cigarette with leisurely enjoyment. He was care 
 fully dressed and bore no resemblance to the Peter who had 
 once presented himself after four in the afternoon. His 
 nearsighted eyes were masked by their shielding glasses and 
 offered no solution of his intention. 
 
 "A busy day," he offered, casually. "This Dupagny affair 
 has made no end of a row." 
 
 "I hope," said Cleve, behind his own mask, "that you 
 haven t been hit very hard, though undoubtedly you re the 
 chief loser. What do you mean to do about Dupagny?" 
 
 Peter eyed him steadily. "What," he asked in return, "do 
 you mean to do about his wife?" 
 
 Cleve was stunned. His face turned from white to red. 
 "By God!" he stammered, "by what right do you ask me 
 that?" 
 
 "As his creditor," Peter said calmly, "I m taking over all 
 his effects, and his wife is chief among them. I ve got to 
 find her status. So I ask you, what do you mean to do 
 about her?" 
 
 "You beast," stammered the younger man, helplessly, 
 "you damned beast! I d like to choke you with those 
 words " 
 
 "Why don t you ? If I suggest a responsibility which 
 you may honestly repudiate, then by all means choke me. 
 I shall not resist." 
 
 But Cleve did not move from where he stood. "The 
 scandal dragging her name into publicity a low brawl be 
 tween men " 
 
 "You are right," Peter agreed with a sad smile, "a 
 woman s reputation may endure any wrong from a man s
 
 THE THRESHOLD 263 
 
 hand, rather than an honest fight over her. In that case she 
 always emerges more blackened, more bruised than the com 
 batants themselves. Well, then, since we are not to fight, 
 shall we discuss the issue calmly and find the remedy, if one 
 exists ?" 
 
 Sweat stood out on Cleve s forehead. There was a 
 strained and livid look about his mouth, but he managed to 
 speak in a natural tone. 
 
 "I am glad if you have decided to cease insulting me. It 
 is hard to endure when I could break you so easily. . . . 
 Don t imagine that I am afraid of you physically. ... I 
 went to war, and I am not a coward. You who remained 
 behind, are an unknown quantity. . . ." 
 
 Peter smiled quietly. "That is one of the unanswerable 
 questions. Who were the brave men? Who will ever 
 measure the courage of those who were too young or too 
 old ; the sick and the helpless ; those with weak eyes and im 
 perfect limbs, the comedians who were too short or too 
 tall ? Posterity will have to choose its heroes from too 
 few." 
 
 The other took refuge in a sneer. "Did you call me in 
 here to discuss the war, and your reasons for not going? 
 If that s the case, would you mind excusing me? I m leav 
 ing the rooms to-morrow." 
 
 The room was unlighted except for the shaft of yellow 
 that came from the open door of Cleve s apartment, but this 
 was enough to reveal the alteration in Peter s mocking smile 
 to grim resolution. "Do you mean that you are abandoning 
 her ? Leaving her to the mercy of the public ?" 
 
 "How dramatic you are ! If you are interested, why not 
 come to the aid of the lady yourself? She is very beautiful 
 and you could make her entirely happy in your philanthropic 
 way "
 
 264 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "What a scoundrel you are !" 
 
 "Look here," said Cleve, reasonably. He suddenly 
 abandoned anger as unlikely to get the argument to safer 
 ground. It was not his intention to quarrel violently with 
 Peter Withrow if that could be avoided, and, aside from that, 
 he hated intense emotions almost as much as he dreaded to 
 make enemies. All this bandying of words appeared 
 foolish and thriftless to him; it seemed that they would 
 reach solid ground somewhere if Peter could be persuaded 
 to discuss the matter amicably. He met the hostile gaze 
 of his opponent, his own eyes filled with kindly, pleasant 
 lights. "Look here, you know, Withrow, you are disposing 
 of a lady s name rather carelessly. How do you know that 
 she d care for my companionship, or yours, for that 
 matter? And as for the gossip of the town, what would 
 be said if you or I took an active part in relieving her nat 
 ural distress at Dupagny s failure? You know how impos 
 sible it is for a man to help a woman, a woman of his 
 own class ? Try to look at this calmly. We must find some 
 other way to reach her and protect her at the same time." 
 
 There was enough truth in what he said to bring Peter 
 to a pause. On second thought he admitted that he had 
 rather bungled things ; pity for Rose and a deeper reason, 
 unmentionable in this scene, swayed him beyond caution. 
 But he was only partially mollified by Cleve s specious 
 words, seeing in them only another cause for contempt. 
 
 "Mrs. Dupagny and I have been very good friends," con 
 tinued Cleve, more confidently, noting the change in the 
 other s face. "We are still friends, I hope. But what can 
 I do more than offer my sympathy and more material help, 
 if that is necessary?" 
 
 "You can make her your wife," Peter said, in a low voice. 
 
 While the words hung in the air, Cleve laughed outright.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 265 
 
 His wife! It seemed to him that Peter must be joking. 
 Not even when he believed himself in love had he thought 
 of that possibility. Then the absurdity of the whole thing 
 struck him afresh and he laughed again. Dupagny was a 
 defaulter, but Rose was nevertheless his wife, and here was 
 Peter preaching propriety and heroics, and planning to 
 marry her off to him before her freedom had been sug 
 gested. It sounded more than immoral. 
 
 "Gad ! But you re a modern !" he exclaimed, when he 
 had finished laughing. "Has it occurred to you that 
 Dupagny is still in the land of the living, though I ll admit 
 a divorce would not be difficult?" When his mockery 
 brought no response he became as grave as Peter himself, 
 understanding that the subject was not to be disposed- of so 
 easily. He continued in a changed voice : "When a man is 
 thinking of marriage a real marriage he doesn t go about 
 looking among other men s wives for a woman to make his 
 own, or that isn t my idea of finding my own wife. My 
 future is in the making, Withrow, and a large part of it de 
 pends on the woman who will share it. Marriage, to my 
 mind, is the most important thing in life, not in itself, per 
 haps, but to the future of mankind. It isn t to be entered 
 into lightly, attraction of the senses isn t enough. . . . 
 Good Lord, man, think of giving your name and honor into 
 the hands of a woman \vho has abused those gifts from an 
 other man " 
 
 Peter, grown paler than ever during this speech, said 
 dryly, "But when you haven t any honor to give " 
 
 The subtle meaning in his tone eluded Cleve. "Every 
 man has honor," he said briskly. "The honor of his promise 
 to live straight, his children s honor " 
 
 "Then you are thinking of marriage ?" 
 
 "Right," Cleve admitted, holding his attitude of imper-
 
 266 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 sonality. "You see, I can t do anything. I belong to an 
 other woman. She loves me. And Rose Dupagny is not 
 an innocent girl. She expects nothing from me she 
 couldn t. I have promised nothing." 
 
 Peter s shoulders dropped. His passion subsided. Be 
 fore Cleve s unanswerable statement, his championship of a 
 lost cause took on a hopeless aspect. The words "she loves 
 me" deprived him of courage, and, seeing his advantage, 
 Cleve pursued it eagerly. "Her name mustn t be brought 
 into this !" he concluded with meaning. 
 
 There was no more to be said. Peter made a tentative 
 gesture of resignation and moved toward the door of his 
 own room, so seldom used ; he opened and closed the door 
 without a parting word, and Cleve, after a moment of silent 
 contemplation in which he reviewed the interview, trying to 
 see if his case might have been more strongly put, shrugged 
 his shoulders lightly and retreated to his own apartment. 
 This time as the door shut, the key clicked in the lock. He 
 had no intention of enduring a second interruption. 
 
 Then in the large office everything was dark and quiet. 
 There was no sound from either of the rooms where the 
 two men had disappeared. When this was certain beyond 
 a doubt, the door of Major Bailey s office, which during this 
 time had been lightly ajar, opened wide enough to permit 
 Antonia Christy to pass through. Being familiar with every 
 object in her way she was able to reach the exit without a 
 sound, though she moved slowly and with all the care of a 
 sleep walker. When she was safe in the street she almost 
 ran. 
 
 Her presence there had been brought about by simple and 
 natural means and in visiting her once familiar ground she 
 had no thought of disobeying Peter s stern injunction which 
 had dismissed her. When she returned from the drive with
 
 THE THRESHOLD 267 
 
 Cleve her mother had met her with an assortment of mes 
 sages from the irascible Major. There were some impor 
 tant papers which she had brought home a few days before 
 for special study and forgotten to return. The Major had 
 made it plain that his future peace of mind depended on the 
 return of these papers that night, and Antonia, not daring 
 to trust the mission to Donnie, chose to return them herself. 
 But she had barely entered the Bailey office when she heard 
 Peter, entering on her very footsteps, call his summons to 
 Cleve. 
 
 She had been an unwilling and unintentional listener to 
 their conversation, but after the first few sentences, she did 
 not remember that she was eavesdropping. There was a 
 consideration at stake much too important for the splitting 
 of hairs, and in learning what she could from the words 
 of these two who did not dream of her presence, she acted 
 with the supreme independence which was coming more 
 and more to mark her swift decisions. She had promised 
 to be Cleve Harkness wife, and almost at once she under 
 stood that he was not free to marry her, not as she under 
 stood freedom. 
 
 She walked swiftly along the quiet streets that were 
 already dark, except for the street lights that were begin 
 ning to glow at every corner. She passed through Christy 
 Square in the shadow of the staid old building where her 
 name was inscribed with honor, and, looking up at its 
 solemn windows as her own father never forgot to look, 
 she smiled with brave reassurance that soon everything 
 would be righted. Something lay cold and heavy in her 
 breast so that she found it difficult to breathe, but her 
 steps did not pause and she held her head proudly, 
 
 The Square was deserted and most of the shops were 
 dark, but on a corner the gayly colored lights advertised a
 
 268 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 drug store. The place was occupied by a few loitering cus 
 tomers who were drinking the first hot cocoa of the season 
 and she made her way through these idlers to the telephone 
 booth at the rear. When she called Peter Withrow s number 
 and finally heard his voice replying, she said without a 
 break in her own, "Come to me."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 ROSE remembered. She was at her own door when the 
 graceful, drooping figure at Cleve s side recalled itself 
 to her memory. The Christy girl, of course. Why had 
 she not known at once, when long ago her heart warned 
 her of this inevitable climax? Toward the end of her 
 journey she walked with difficulty. One of her slipper 
 heels had twisted and broken in two, and though there were 
 shoes in plenty waiting her choice, she did not think of 
 changing the ones she had worn on the pitiful pilgrimage 
 across the town. 
 
 While she was in the street she thought the time would 
 never come when she could hide her face and the tattered 
 rags she wore behind closed doors, but now, at home once 
 more, the walls of the house smothered her, and she waited 
 only long enough to cover herself with the long cape 
 rejected by the servant, who had long since departed with 
 her spoils. She found a hat whose drooping brim con 
 cealed her face effectively, and dressed in this fashion it 
 was possible to slip through the late afternoon streets of 
 Cresston unobserved. 
 
 While she was making ready and while she was walking 
 as eagerly and rapidly as she could toward her destination, 
 she rehearsed her pain continuously, as a child protests 
 futilely against injustice. She could think of nothing but 
 that girl, sitting beside Cleve so naturally, as if she belonged 
 there by right. 
 
 269
 
 270 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 It was the frankness of their association that appalled 
 her. It was almost as though he meant the town to under 
 stand that here was an affair that need not be hidden 
 something he was not ashamed of ! And yet, that would 
 be too absurd. Men like Cleve did not court serious love 
 affairs with young persons who typed their letters. She 
 had never been deceived about Cleve ; she knew that his 
 character was not sacrificial, and this was the time when she 
 rejoiced in his selfishness. It reassured her. 
 
 But the moment of her relief was shattered by other recol 
 lections, dubious and obscure. Even while she traduced 
 Antonia she knew that the girl was not of the ordinary 
 clay of which her imagination tried to fashion her. Peter 
 Withrow had loved her ; she was extraordinary enough to 
 charm Peter, who had been indifferent to all women. 
 
 Confronted by this thought, so menacing in its possibili 
 ties, her unseen wounds became too much to bear alone. 
 Her mind, sharpened by this conflict, leaped to meet a plan 
 as cruelly simple, as childish, as primitive emotion alone can 
 invent. 
 
 The lateness of the hour made the chance of meeting 
 any one who knew her a small one. At this hour her one 
 time friends were lingering over tea tables, nibbling repu 
 tations with their almond cakes; doubtless in a dozen 
 houses her own name occupied the public moment. ... It 
 was not yet five, but already street lamps had begun to flare 
 into yellow brilliancy, the same lights that Antonia had 
 seen appear. The two might have passed within a yard 
 of one another, but in spite of their thoughts, clinging 
 desperately to each other, they did not meet. . . . The sun 
 had gone down in reddened splendor and these lights, reflect 
 ing against the wind-swept sky, caught their reflection in 
 the windows of the Sheridan Building which dominated
 
 THE THRESHOLD 271 
 
 everything, like a giant caught playing with pigmies at 
 nightfall. 
 
 She found the place she sought in a mean little side 
 street, off-shooting from the Square. Once, weeks ago, she 
 had idly noted the faded lettering upon the windows and 
 her subconscious mind retained the knowledge for a reason 
 she now recognized. At first she did not know how to 
 reach the rooms, now that she had found them, but a sullen 
 grocer on the first floor, putting his stock in order, showed 
 her the dim stairway leading up between the two build 
 ings. 
 
 It was dark in the upper hall and a musty odor pervaded 
 everything: the smell of ancient papers, cobwebs, and old 
 books seldom opened and never read. 
 
 Doors appeared at intervals along the corridor, but it was 
 much too dark to read the names upon the clouded glass 
 panels. As she was hesitating in the shadow, one of these 
 doors opened to allow a man to pass out ; another stood on 
 the threshold and from his bared head and air of occupancy 
 she knew that he belonged there. 
 
 The man who was leaving was a policeman. Rose was 
 aware of policemen as one is aware of awesome, unpleasant 
 features of life. They arrested motorists for speeding and 
 searched the baggage of dishonest servants, but she herself 
 had never encountered one never stood trembling in the 
 background while a policeman, huge in the gloom, smelling 
 of strong tobacco, virile, ominous, kept her waiting. 
 
 Believing themselves alone, these two, the gray, dusty 
 man in his cell and the portly, tightly buttoned officer, so 
 incongruous and mysterious in their affiliation, continued 
 speaking in low, guarded tones of the subject that engaged 
 them. The policeman said in the blustery way that is sup 
 posed to frighten little children:
 
 272 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "You know, Judge, you can catch most any sort of a 
 butterfly in a net." 
 
 But the other man saw Rose before he could reply, as 
 she stood half revealed in the light of the door. At the 
 same time the officer also saw her standing there and 
 doffed his gold-banded cap quite as another man would 
 do, watching her disappear into the room from which 
 he had emerged. She was glad when the door closed and 
 she was alone with the bare-headed elderly man she had 
 come to see. 
 
 It was a little lighter in the room, and, seeing the sort 
 of person she was alone with, all the vague and indistinct 
 fears set in vibration by the burly officer left her. There 
 was nothing to cause her uneasiness here. This dingy 
 personality in the midst of his dingy books and with the 
 aroma of countless dead days about him was such a man 
 as she might have passed a thousand times in the streets 
 without knowledge of his existence. 
 
 He made a seat for her by sweeping a clutter of papers 
 from a chair that creaked protestingly beneath even her 
 slight weight. Then he sat down facing her. 
 
 Rose began uncertainly, "You you are Judge Christy?" 
 Now that she was here, there were obstacles that prevented 
 the completion of her plan. She searched in her mind for 
 explanations that would satisfy him but found none. 
 
 He inclined his head a little to her questioning, admitting 
 without comment. She saw that he was studying her from 
 beneath his shaggy brows, but this scrutiny was so imper 
 sonal that she could not resent it. "Why have you come ?" 
 his attitude asked, though he said nothing. 
 
 Rose s face was concealed by the droop of her hat. Under 
 this shelter she was safe, but it did not lessen her confusion 
 in the presence of the man who silently regarded her while
 
 THE THRESHOLD 273 
 
 she sought desperately for words to begin. Finally she 
 said in a low, faltering voice : 
 
 "I am interested in young girls. ... I wonder if you 
 know that your daughter " 
 
 "You are Laurence Dupagny s wife?" he said. 
 
 She started, forcing back an explanation that would have 
 betrayed her panic. Yet after this brief confusion she 
 became calm. What did it matter? His recognition had 
 the effect of organizing her straying faculties and instantly 
 she had provided herself with a plausible story behind which 
 she could reveal her true purpose. 
 
 "You are correct," she said, more evenly. "I am Mrs. 
 Dupagny, and because I have suffered so much from a 
 persisting evil, I would save others from suffering if I 
 could." 
 
 "What do you wish to say to me?" he asked in a muffled 
 voice. 
 
 She had the sensation of plunging into deep water that 
 closed more relentlessly over her head with erery word 
 she uttered. She had no time to think where this might 
 lead her. All was chaos. 
 
 "Do you know that the building where your daughter is 
 employed is a den a den of vice. Women go there 
 
 women " She stopped, appalled at the confirmation 
 
 of his face. "You you know " she stammered. 
 
 "But what has this to do with your coming here?" he 
 demanded, sternly. 
 
 She shook with nervousness. Without the jealous fury 
 that preyed upon her heart she could not have answered, 
 but she forced herself to say: "She is a young girl 
 perhaps she does not know that being there with those 
 
 two young men both of them . And she has been 
 
 seen with first one and then the other. ... It is becoming
 
 274 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 a scandal. To-day to-day she was driving with Cleve 
 Harkness boldly, as though her name had never been con 
 nected with his." She stopped to moisten her lips, appalled 
 by what she was saying, yet driven to continue. "Do you 
 know that when she left her home your house it was to 
 meet him. He took her to the house where she now 
 lives ... he lived there himself ... he made the woman 
 take her in " 
 
 She could think of no further calumny. This indictment 
 which before coming here had been so overwhelming, seemed 
 to fall helplessly on the air, as rain upon the stone face of a 
 granite wall. She had expected a scene of recrimination 
 and anger, but nothing like this happened. It had grown 
 swiftly darker and she could see the bulk of his figure 
 undistinguished by any signs that would betray his mental 
 processes. She could not even say if she had wounded 
 him ; but presently he startled her, not by. replying to her 
 allegations but by making a statement of his own. 
 
 "My child, you love this man." 
 
 He said this simply, but in so deep and tender a tone 
 that at once her resistance was broken. She pressed her 
 knuckles against her lips to silence the sobs that convulsed 
 her throat. She had expected anything but this, and she had 
 no answer ready. He did not seem to be a man who would 
 understand, yet he was saying this ! How did he know ? 
 
 "You love him, and now he is turning away from you to 
 another," he went on. "You have not learned yet that men 
 cannot be held by other men s wives?" Then he added in 
 a dry voice: "What would you have me do?" 
 
 Rose wrung her hands. "Give him back to me ! If she 
 
 were not there with him every hour Oh, don t you 
 
 understand? I have given up everything everything and
 
 THE THRESHOLD 275 
 
 I have lost ! And this girl is your own daughter. Don t 
 you love her? Don t you care about saving her?" 
 
 This seemed to touch him in some remote way. He 
 shifted in his chair, but when he spoke it was in the same 
 emotionless tone. 
 
 "My daughter is a woman. She has chosen to take a 
 place in the world and she must endure with this all that 
 other women who leave the shelter of their homes must 
 endure blame and praise and, if deserved, punishment. 
 My feeling is not a factor." He turned from this phase 
 abruptly: "Your husband has left you?" 
 
 "This morning," she acknowledged drearily, as though this 
 meant little. "A girl went w r ith him one of those girls. 
 She was in his office." 
 
 He heard this, his chin sunk on his breast. By this time 
 they would have been in complete darkness, but for the 
 shallow rays of a street light outside. In this darkness they 
 became only two voices ; her own quivering and choked with 
 tears and his the dry, husky tone of a man who lives in 
 silence, speaking as little as he may. After a brief pause 
 she heard him say. . . . 
 
 "Your home has been broken by this woman?" 
 
 She waited for him to say more, but, when nothing came 
 she timidly pursued her inquiry: "What do you intend 
 to do?" 
 
 Then the voice turned upon her with some dreadful ex 
 clamation, a word she had never heard. It fell upon her 
 like a missile hurled from some inconceivable height. 
 
 "You barren woman ! If you had ever borne a child 
 you would not dare ask that 
 
 She ran from the place in terror, stumbling on her 
 broken slipper. Her mouth hung open ; she thought he was
 
 276 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 about to strike her. But when she reached the hall her 
 footsteps were the only sound she heard and trembling at 
 what she had done, she groped her way to the square of 
 light that led to the stairway. 
 But he had already forgotten her.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 IT was much later when he left the office, locking the 
 door methodically and made his way. to the street. In 
 the same block a belated butcher still remained, pathetically 
 attentive behind his narrow counter. Christy entered the 
 shop and carefully selected and paid for two chops, and, 
 with the small package in his hand, made his way diagonally 
 across* the Square to the intersection of Armitage Street. 
 On his way home he was obliged to pass the Pendleton 
 house which, in spite of changed name-plates, would always 
 be known by that title ; then the Withrow place, a huge and 
 starkly ugly building, where a housekeeper was mistress and 
 the Colonel, beginning to lose his gallantry and become 
 addicted to old men s interests, pottered about on bright 
 mornings with a garden hose and rose scissors. Then a little 
 further and he came to the Dupagny house emptiest of 
 all, for here no spirit of other days lived, and already the 
 trees and- flowers that grew around it seemed to have closed 
 in jealously; as though to hide the secret of its inner wounds. 
 
 When he reached the corner where the big arc light threw 
 a ghastly pale blue aura over the orchard world of his own 
 premises, there was a scattering of little boys who had been 
 holding conclave in the corner of the fence. He had seen 
 them there often and Donnie had always been among them 
 until now 
 
 A man crossed the street and intercepted him. It was 
 the officer who constantly humiliated Miss Plumey by pre- 
 277
 
 278 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 suming upon his acquaintance with her father. The two 
 men meeting under the arc light uttered indifferent greet 
 ings, and stopped to talk together for five minutes in voices 
 too low to be heard except by one another. When their con 
 ference was over the officer went on with quickened steps, 
 but Roscoe Christy turned into his own gate heavily. 
 
 It was long past the usual supper hour, but when he had 
 lighted the gas in the middle room he did not go into the 
 kitchen to begin the preparation of a meal which had been 
 his habit since Mrs. Christy went away. Instead, he dropped 
 the little brown paper package upon a table where it re 
 mained, forgotten. 
 
 The room was much as it had always been. Mrs. Christy 
 would slip back in the mornings and with the touch of 
 legerdemain set everything right, so that when he returned 
 at night it was as though the pixies had been at work. But 
 he never knew this. He would sit in the same place, scat 
 tering the ashes from his pipe over the brushed hearth, leav 
 ing the pages of the newspaper lie as they fell from his 
 hand, unconscious that the debris from the previous night 
 had been taken away. He did not feel her simple ministra 
 tions ; what he missed was her visible presence and the light 
 in the home kitchen at evening. 
 
 The middle room was cold and dull ; the gaslight accentu 
 ated the gloomy cavern that yawned like a pit. He sat down 
 in the great chair as though his legs failed him after the 
 long walk. There was something that he would do after 
 awhile, but now he was tired and must rest. 
 
 There was not a sound anywhere about the place but the 
 stertorous breathing from the chair and the loud and endless 
 ticking of the old silver watch hanging on the peg beneath 
 the high mantel shelf. The place was wrapped in an atmos 
 phere of waiting, like the breathless void that preceded
 
 THE THRESHOLD 279 
 
 some violent stroke from the elements. Then presently, 
 persistently calling, as a voice calls from a distance, the 
 ticking of the watch pierced his abstraction. 
 
 The room had grown colder and a black draught came 
 from the heart of the fireplace. He was astonished to find 
 that so much time had passed it was nine o clock. Soon 
 it would be ten eleven ! He was conscious of the chill of 
 the room, but he was not cold. Once he lifted his hand to 
 his face and found it burning hot. That was strange, though 
 he did not try to interpret the mystery of it. He felt no 
 actual discomfort, but, reminded by the moving hands of 
 the watch, the dead hearth pressed itself upon his con 
 sciousness at last, and with this came a recurrence of the 
 thought which had been borne in his mind hours ago. A 
 Christy was dead and watch fires must be lighted ! 
 
 He got up deliberately and went through the house to 
 the orchard beyond. It was impenetrably dark here and 
 he turned back for a lantern from the store house. It was 
 an old-fashioned lantern, the kind that had become obsolete, 
 and when lighted it threw searching rays, warm and yellow, 
 along the ghostly rows of trees whose branches hung half 
 dead and drooping almost to the ground. While he was 
 searching for the lantern he found an axe with a broken 
 handle and he brought this with him. 
 
 The debris that littered the ground beneath the trees 
 was plentiful but of no use to him. A fire built of such 
 refuse could not last ; it would be without dignity. When 
 Christys died they built bonfires upon the hills to light their 
 spirits to the beyond. In sudden fury he dropped the 
 lantern and swung the axe aloft. It fell upon the bending 
 bough of a sweet apple, rending it frightfully. With un- 
 diminished ferocity he sought the very heart of the tree. 
 The lantern resting unevenly upon the hillocks of dead
 
 280 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 grass sent out wavering shafts of light, and in this illumina 
 tion the long dim rows of trees seemed to falter and shrink, 
 as though fearing their time must come next. As the 
 destroyer passed among them they meekly yielded, like old 
 men who are too plentiful and understand that they must 
 make way, voicelessly and without reproach for the fruit 
 they have borne. 
 
 When his arms were loaded he made his way to the house, 
 leaving the ax where it fell, but carrying the lantern in 
 some fashion upon a crook of his ringer. As he fed the 
 branches, some of them raw and bleeding, to the insatiable 
 mouth of the black hole, there seemed to be no end to it. 
 The cavern, empty so long, would swallow the whole orchard 
 without becoming satiated. 
 
 But this night it should have enough and he made a 
 second and third trip to the wounded trees before he touched 
 the pile with fire. As the match struck against a spray of 
 fiber, there was a faint flame, tiny as a spark against the 
 limitless sky, and after this a curl of smoke and the aromatic 
 odor of leaves that had clung to the last. Finally there was 
 a pillar of flame, leaping like an upflung arm into the 
 tunnel that would at last free its hot spirit. 
 
 He returned to his chair exhausted after his efforts which 
 had been violent and unremitting. Time had passed. It was 
 nearly ten by the watch that was now turned to a face of 
 gold by the conflagration that leaped toward the distant 
 sky. He could no longer see the hands move, but the 
 glinting metal made a spot of radiance against the dark 
 face of the wall, flashing a message of rich approval for 
 what he had done. 
 
 The whole room was changed by the living hearth. Its 
 desolation passed, yet its loneliness became doubly poignant. 
 A time like this, which marked the passing of one whose
 
 THE THRESHOLD 281 
 
 name would be heard no more, was not meant to be spent 
 in unshared watch. Yet who was there to sit with him, but 
 the shades of those who must approve of what he had 
 done? As if some voice which must be answered accused 
 him, he began to bluster in a guttural voice that found 
 stoppage somewhere in his throat : "She is no different from 
 other women. By God, no different ! What is a woman ? 
 By accident she remains virtuous " Then as though this 
 blasphemy troubled him, he became silent, after a long 
 while muttering: "Let her stand in the stocks " 
 
 Ten had come and gone the half hour. The fire, burn 
 ing tumultuously, ate its way through the rampart of round 
 limbs and victoriously settled into glowing and subtle harvest. 
 The poor room was wrapped in borrowed glory. Warm 
 shadows played upon the ceiling and upon the stiff faces of 
 hideous old portraits which alone had survived time and 
 poverty. All the fuel would soon be gone and with its 
 end would come the time he waited for. As the minutes 
 ticked remorselessly away he began a monotonous counting, 
 as prisoners count the seconds before their reprieve. How 
 fast they came, how inexorable. In the beginning time had 
 lagged, but now it rushed upon him like a tide as years 
 crowd upon a life. 
 
 Leaving the computation of time, his mind retreated be 
 yond the hour to years that had gone seeing Antonia in 
 the phases of her life which led to to-night; reviewing her 
 as a baby, "the first one that lived," a solemn-eyed sedate 
 child of parents who had lost the first joy in accomplishing 
 parenthood. Then he recalled her toddling age when she 
 had disdained help from older hands, choosing to make her 
 world discoveries alone ; and all along the way to girlhood, 
 remote and pure, with her large, intent eyes that demanded 
 to know everything.
 
 282 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 This had been his daughter. He had not known her 
 very well, being content to have the shell beneath his hand 
 without seeking its heart. And she had slipped away. Now 
 he did not know what held her, or where were the four 
 walls that closed her in. 
 
 Too late he knew now how much he had loved her. From 
 the hour she had lain across his knees in this chair, he had 
 loved her more than all ! But what had he loved ? Was it 
 her beauty, delicate and fine, lighted by the glow of her 
 spirit that was always reaching beyond? What had he 
 loved ? 
 
 He had loved in her the presentment of his race, the 
 women long dead who were to live again in her ; the sullen 
 pride which demanded of life that which was stubbornly 
 withheld. He had not loved the real Antonia, who, remorse 
 lessly stealing the dreams of his own youth, refused to let 
 him choose her fate. He had not loved her spirit which, 
 having no sex, defeated him with the strength inherited 
 from his own. Fruitless love ! It might have been unmeas 
 ured, but he had refused her even a moiety. 
 
 The recurrence of this thought became intolerable. The 
 very bitterness of self-accusation began to create a slow 
 reversal of feeling which was inevitable. He tried to find 
 excuses for his coldness to her, and to justify the wrong 
 he had done with the foreshadowing of another wrong. If 
 he had withdrawn from her in the understanding of the 
 spirit, so had she no less withheld herself from him. She 
 had done more. She had taken from him the love of her 
 mother that he sat alone to-night was because of her. 
 
 Sorrow had come and gone. He no longer grieved ; he 
 lifted his eyes to the watch above his head and saw that 
 the hands had moved across the face. In the hour passed 
 since his first vision of her upon his knees, he had run
 
 THE THRESHOLD 283 
 
 the gamut of all memories of her. No more could come. 
 The past had thrust itself upon him but vanquished it would 
 come no more. 
 
 He had longed fiercely for the hour of his vengeance, 
 but now that it was almost here he was not so sure. He 
 felt a weakening of his hatred and fury against the elements 
 which had defeated him; already he sounded the shallow 
 depths of hatred and the fire of his fury left him cold. 
 In the beginning he could have helped in the sacrifice like 
 a pagan god before an altar that knows no kinship, but 
 with the burning down of the fire his resolution changed to 
 the gray of covered embers. He was no longer sure. In 
 the uncertainty of this fading resolve his immobile face 
 began to break like the crumbling apple boughs. Revenge 
 was certain, but was it revenge he longed for, or was it the 
 breath of forgiveness? 
 
 The dull glow of the watch turned to crimson, then it 
 became dull as the fire sank, but out of the darkness the 
 faint, measured sounds of the escaping moments sent their 
 message. He could no longer see even the face of the 
 watch. Terrified, he realized that the hour might come and 
 go, leaving him unwarned. All at once he longed for 
 silence, complete and unbroken by a sound ! If only the 
 watch would stop to relieve the torture of this suspense. 
 But this had never happened. He remembered the years 
 that had passed, his lifetime and his father s lifetime, and 
 all that time those tiny hands had never been stilled. At that 
 his calm was broken as a structure crumbles before a flood. 
 He tried to stand, but the effort was not fulfilled ; his limbs 
 would not respond. 
 
 Despair seized him; he was chained to the chair, while 
 just beyond his hand the echo of passing time beat upon 
 his ears. If he could stop that hold it back! With an
 
 284 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 intolerable struggle for freedom he tore himself from the 
 chair which held him in its dead arms, and took one, two, 
 dragging steps toward the sound that tormented him. He 
 could see the insensate face turned mockingly to meet him. 
 The hands pointed to twenty-five minutes past eleven. 
 
 What had he done ? This could not be ! He threw out his 
 arm, stiff as one of the tree arms his ax had severed, and 
 swept the old watch away before it. It fell with a loud crash 
 and like a log he fell with it. 
 
 Presently he recovered enough to turn his drawn face 
 to a voice that called persistently through a stupor fast 
 controlling him. The watch lay close to his cheek, its crystal 
 shattered to a thousand tiny particles. But this only served 
 to release the sound that penetrated to his ears with re 
 doubled volume. The second hand had not lost a single 
 beat, as the day does not lose a moment or the years an 
 hour. His brain was clear though his body no longer 
 vibrated with the passions that had brought him to this. 
 All that had been important lost its importance and in his 
 fall he read the catastrophe of his whole life. He had tried 
 to hold back the years by the greatness of a name which 
 other men had earned, but now at last he was to learn that 
 time cannot be stayed. Measured by this infinite process the 
 puniest instrument has time to defy a nation, just as the 
 broken relic beside him defied destruction at his hand, while 
 events moved mercilessly on without waiting for his poor 
 shell to rise and follow.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 ROSE had found refuge on one of the hard iron benches 
 in Christy Square. She had been there for a long 1 
 time, hours, it seemed, and she did not know where she 
 would go when she left the shelter of the trees. Dim people 
 passed and repassed her retreat, growing fewer as the eve 
 ning advanced and the lighted lamps of their houses called 
 them home. In this concealing darkness Antonia passed, 
 her skirts almost touching Rose, and a little later Roscoe 
 Christy went by going to his lonely vigil without seeing her. 
 Had these three, who were so near, been drawn together, 
 their hands might have closed each other s wounds, but 
 this was not to be. Though their breath mingled, contact 
 between them was impossible. 
 
 Presently no one passed. 
 
 Like the others whose lives touched her own that night, 
 she watched the lights come on around the Square with 
 night ; fireflies captured behind closed doors. Somewhere, 
 shut in by shrouded windows, a band met for practice ; the 
 lonely, piercing ripple of a clarionet forced its way through 
 walls and space, melting into the dull world outside. The 
 plaintive purity of this sound found its way into her heart 
 and brought tears to soften her dry eyes. 
 
 She was ashamed now of what she had done, for, with 
 passion spent, she could not see what this availed except to 
 further the degradation of her spirit. She tried to erase it 
 from her mind, but her own words, repeating themselves in 
 endless iteration, had the effect of a relentless lesson which 
 
 285
 
 286 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 she accepted passively. All that she had said was a lie ; 
 the reverse was the truth and the certainty of this was part 
 of her punishment Cleve loved this girl as he had never 
 loved her, even in the beginning. 
 
 She saw everything now, and it seemed the most inexcus 
 able stupidity that she had not seen it long ago, saving 
 herself such pain as she had endured. For surely in time 
 she would learn not to care. 
 
 The emotional crisis through which she had passed, her 
 exhaustion, the physical weakness of her body, all helped 
 to crystallize this momentary vision of the truth. She had 
 ceased to feel; her body with its heart that beat so thickly, 
 and the pulsing blood that could race through her being like 
 a flame, was now a spent thing, lying on an iron bench 
 beneath the trees, and she was some one else who watched 
 its throes with calm and pitying eyes. 
 
 Why had she loved so much ? Now she could see herself 
 as a spendthrift pouring out the golden coin of her love to 
 find it cherished so little, and she was ashamed of having 
 given so much. And why had she given? What was 
 there in her body so delicate and fragile, that called only 
 to evil ? No one had loved her no one had given her what 
 others received in full measure. Her beauty had brought 
 only this ! 
 
 And being in that moment beyond the reach of passion, 
 she began to recall with faltering, timid hope, that life 
 might not be over for her, even though this had happened. 
 Yesterday a chance had been offered. The women, her own 
 kind, had not deserted her. One of them had said that she 
 would be helped she was not forgotten ! The thought was 
 like a soothing hand. She had never liked women, yet 
 now their strength was behind her she could lean on them 
 until her own returned.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 287 
 
 Yesterday she had wept and maundered about love the 
 love she had never had. If this cleansed feeling had been 
 hers then, what might have been saved her to-day? She 
 could still feel her feet in the dust! 
 
 Remembering this, she tried to rise in the effort to release 
 herself from the cloying thought, but she was numb with 
 cold and long inaction, and found that she could barely 
 stand. 
 
 She began to walk with painful, slow steps across the 
 Square, afraid, now that she had left the bench, to linger 
 in the shadow. The broken heel of her shoe turned with 
 every step ; at last it became like a dull knife, pressing 
 against the hollow of her foot, but always goading her to 
 move on. When she reached the pavement she walked close 
 to the closed fronts of the stores, putting out her hand now 
 and then to steady herself. For awhile her progress was 
 mercifully shielded by the dimness of the shuttered lights, 
 but presently she came to a brighter area. There was a 
 great arched doorway, guarded on either side with wrought 
 iron lamps whose pale yellow glass sides bathed the pave 
 ment and the wide interior, with a penetrating radiance. In 
 the midst of this glo.w she paused irresolutely ; the place was 
 as familiar to her as her room at home. She had passed 
 those doors a hundred times ; had watched their stones laid 
 one upon another. Poor Dupagny, this had been his pride ; 
 now what was it to be ? 
 
 The doors drew her irresistibly, and she began to think 
 about Cleve with a dull insistence that would not be denied. 
 Perhaps he was there, within touch at this very moment! 
 She could see him if she would, hear his voice and answer 
 it ; tell him what she had learned in this last hour. 
 
 Now that she loved him no longer it could not hurt to 
 see him once again ! It would not be disloyal to her new
 
 288 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 clean heart to tell him with her own lips that he was free 
 from any claim of hers ! Deceived by the torpor of her 
 body, she yielded, turning in between the yellow lamps, 
 crossing the tiled lobby in the broken shoes that made a 
 delicate clatter as she walked, and finally slipping like a 
 shadow into the stairway that arose beside the closed ele 
 vator. 
 
 When she disappeared a man who had been standing close 
 to a marble pillar behind the cigar stand, stepped out into 
 the lighted space and made a signal to some concealed 
 person who lingered in the recesses of the locked Hewlett 
 Street entrance. If Miss Plumey had been there her sur 
 prise might have been great to recognize Connally, the 
 despised companion and confidant of her father, but now 
 in plain clothes with no visible sign of his business about 
 him, and her further amazement would have been over 
 whelming when she recognized her own father, Edward 
 Plumey, who told his wife only what he pleased, and who 
 now came forth, pleasurably rubbing his hands. 
 
 Connally, the policeman, was worried. What a business 
 for a town like Cresston, he said, and did the gentlemen 
 have no respect for themselves? 
 
 And Mr. Plumey was equally concerned. He wanted to 
 know if the other had noticed the shoes ! A poor creature, 
 down to the dregs, no doubt walking the pavement with 
 her feet nearly bare. He was a father and his tone was 
 tinged with pity, but Connally only said sternly: "They 
 must be taught a lesson !" 
 
 Cleve looked up from his work at the faint signal of 
 footsteps pausing before his door. He was engaged in the 
 pleasantly sentimental task of destroying old love letters 
 after he had first glanced over them, and smiled at the ardent 
 credulity of the writer. Why did people keep such things
 
 THE THRESHOLD 289 
 
 but more remarkable still, why write them? He was glad 
 that he had never written letters to women, even in reply 
 to the scores he had received, for he had a conviction that 
 women never made away with these trophies, even after 
 ashes had claimed their love. 
 
 The pretty gold and gray rooms were in a chaotic state ; 
 drawers were pulled from the chiffonier; the writing-desk 
 yawned ; in a brazier the white dust of note paper smol 
 dered and died ; and scattered everywhere were the belong 
 ings accumulated after months of occupancy. Cleve himself 
 was in a gorgeous dressing-gown, a new purchase, and 
 his hair was pleasantly ruffled. Occasionally he would 
 glance at the fabric of the rich robe and caress it lightly, 
 with the pleased admiration of a child in love with finery. 
 He frowned impatiently at the thought o - f visitors, but called, 
 "Come in," when the steps did not move on. 
 
 But when the door opened slowly he sprang to his feet 
 with a smothered exclamation: "Rose!" he cried, stunned 
 at seeing her there. 
 
 She came into the room, closing the door gently behind 
 her, and the patent lock slipped into place with a faint 
 click ; once there, she let the blue cape fall from her 
 shoulders as though its weight had at last become too much 
 for her strength. "Yes, it is I," she said quietly and 
 with a movement of her lips that might have been a 
 smile. 
 
 She had forgotten her torn and draggled gown, but he 
 saw everything in a glance and his amazement changed to 
 apprehension. "Rose !" he cried again, in genuine concern, 
 "what has happened? Have you been hurt?" 
 
 She did smile at that ; a flicker of amusement lighted the 
 evanescent beauty of her face. "Yes, I have been hurt," 
 she said, and laid her hand upon her heart.
 
 290 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Then he understood that she was here only to renew 
 the conflict he believed was past. He thought, as he had 
 thought ten minutes before, what fools women were ! Why 
 could they never Write finis to what had moved their 
 hearts? But he tried to speak casually, putting a simple 
 interpretation on her visit as he moved a chair forward for 
 her use. "Then you have run in to help me with this 
 rubbish ! I m moving to-morrow but of course you know 
 that." 
 
 "How was I to know?" 
 
 Annoyance, lurking just beneath the surface of his trained 
 smile, came to the fore at that. He frowned quickly. "I 
 thought we had decided to avoid each other for awhile. In 
 view of all that has happened " 
 
 "I know," she said wearily, "much has happened. But 
 you are wrong. I have not come here to reproach you." 
 
 "Then why have you come?" he demanded impatiently. 
 But as soon as the words left his lips he regretted them. 
 Nothing could be gained by arousing her anger or emotion 
 of any sort. He decided to use the tactics which had been 
 successful with Peter calm reason. If she had come in a 
 hysterical state over some grievance, he would soothe her 
 with commonplaces until the danger of a scene was averted. 
 But inwardly he cursed the impulse which had brought 
 her here to harass him with reproaches when he had asked 
 her to forget. 
 
 Abandoning the task of burning letters for the moment, he 
 put her in one of the big gray velvet chairs and took the one 
 directly opposite, certain that with his eyes intent upon 
 her he could influence her to his will. There was nothing in 
 his face but gentleness and concern for her welfare. It was 
 irony that a- mirror across the room reflected both, like the 
 figures in a life size painting, and Cleve s youth, contrasted
 
 THE THRESHOLD 291 
 
 with her dishevelment, became startlingly assertive. She 
 saw his eyes swiftly study this picture, and reading the satis 
 faction he could not conceal, her own smile became bitter. 
 "Yes, I am old," she said, as though he had made a 
 statement. 
 
 He hastened to repudiate this. "You re only a bit seedy, 
 my dear. What made you think of coming here to-night? 
 You ought to be resting you must have had a beastly 
 day " He spoke differently ; even to himself the words 
 did nat sound convincing. He tried hard to instill warmth 
 into the rest of his speech. "I came to see you to-day, 
 Rose, but you didn t wait for me. I made a point of 
 coming but the house was empty as a shell. It gave my 
 nerves a jolt and I didn t wait it reminded me of an 
 empty trench on the front. I couldn t stay without 
 you." 
 
 "That is a worthy comparison," she agreed dully, "an 
 empty trench. Many things have died in that house I have 
 watched them die." 
 
 The fixity of her tone disturbed him; he saw now that 
 this was not a situation to be disposed of with a few neatly 
 turned phrases, but he still had faith in his power to domi 
 nate her. "Why did you want to see me, Rose ?" he asked. 
 "Is there any way in which I can help you?" 
 
 It was by a strong effort that she followed what he said ; 
 the words were so empty, so meaningless and inconsequen 
 tial. She hardly realized that he was sitting opposite her, 
 for now he seemed to be some one else, and not the lover 
 she had known. This feeling was like that exalted moment 
 when she had seemed to see her own body lying on the park 
 bench. . . . But she forced herself to repeat what he said, 
 asking the question of herself: "Why have I come?" but 
 could find no answer.
 
 292 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "I wanted to see you," she said faintly, "but you have 
 changed." 
 
 In the materialism of his mood he missed her meaning 
 completely. All he could read in her words was that she 
 meant to cling to him and hamper him by her unwanted love. 
 He resolved to end this. 
 
 "Yes, I have changed," he answered in a flat voice. "What 
 did you expect? Did you think I was willing to play 
 forever with you for my companion for it was only 
 play, you know that. Neither of us was really in earnest. 
 You had your husband I had my career. We couldn t meet 
 on any ground but the flimsy one of a summer flirtation, 
 shall we say? Now the serious time of winter is coming 
 and the playtime is over. Can t you smile and be game 
 and let it be forgotten, Rose?" 
 
 Lying back in the big chair where she was half hidden, 
 she began to breathe deeply, as though to recapture some 
 thing that was about to elude her. Between the uneven 
 sighs of her parted lips she heard herself saying over and 
 over, "Don t let me sink again !" He thought she was 
 speaking to him and asked her to repeat, but she looked 
 at him strangely and was silent. 
 
 But as the strength that had been missing poured back 
 into her veins, that which had brought her here in resigna 
 tion eluded her again. "Then you have never loved me !" 
 she whispered. 
 
 He contemplated her gravely without grasping the 
 incredulity and despair beneath her words. He remained 
 unconscious of the importance of this meeting for the same 
 reason ; he was still thinking only from his own point 
 of view, how this affected him, and what would be the 
 ultimate solution of the annoying problem, for already she 
 had refused to accept the legitimate answer, clamoring
 
 THE THRESHOLD 293 
 
 instead for grisly details of the thing that was dead between 
 them. Looking at her so frail, so hectic in her destroyed 
 beauty, he felt a crass impatience with his own handiwork. 
 She was one of the women who refuse to lose graciously, 
 who must haunt tired lovers with their endless "why ?" He 
 hardened his heart, already so hard, reassuring himself with 
 the sophistry that to be cruel is kind. 
 
 "No," he admitted, slowly, "I don t believe I ever loved 
 you. I could not have loved you, could I, and now feel like 
 this?" 
 
 She stiffened slightly, bringing herself upright in her 
 chair. "Then it is ended," she said, steadily. 
 
 He was deceived into the belief that he was to escape 
 so easily. She did not intend to make a scene, after all! 
 But in his relief he made the mistake of hastening her de 
 parture, for at his first eager step toward the door she 
 lifted her hand in a gesture that halted him as though a 
 spring had snapped. He looked at her in amazement. Life 
 and color had come back into her face as though a flame 
 within had been sent leaping. For a moment he felt the old 
 sense of inferiority and humility before her, waiting for her 
 to speak. 
 
 "Why did you swear that you loved me?" 
 
 At this, his tension relaxed. He turned from the door 
 in resignation and laughed easily. 
 
 "Good Lord ! You talk like a novice. Why did I swear 
 that I loved you? Do I have to tell you why? Have you 
 still to learn the catechism of life? Dozens of men must 
 have said that they loved you, yet have any died from it? 
 Have any even suffered?" 
 
 "One has suffered," she cried, her voice breaking sud 
 denly, "my husband !" 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "Have you just discovered
 
 294 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 that? Or has love become so valuable to you that you 
 regret the loss of his ?" He began to move around the room, 
 replacing and disturbing articles here and there ; showing, 
 in every movement, how impatient he was to end the inter 
 view. "Why are you not with him wherever he is?" 
 
 This taunt brought a sharp cry from her : "You can say 
 this to me?" 
 
 He was furious at her persistency, but the caution of 
 which he owned so large a share silenced his desire to hurt 
 her further, and he was quick to return to the sure ground 
 of reason. "Don t let us quarrel, Rose," he begged. "If 
 we must part, let it be as friends." 
 
 At this her lips curved in their old sweet, ironical smile. 
 "Friends ? Could we be friends ?" 
 
 He accepted the challenge eagerly. "Why not? The 
 best of friends. I ll do anything to help you. If you want 
 to join Dupagny and begin over again, I ll help you. I ll 
 do anything in the world in reason. Why shouldn t you 
 be happy again with him !" 
 
 "How remarkable it is," she said mockingly, "that within 
 a few hours so many have offered to help me. First Nina 
 Tyson and the others, kind souls, wish to pick me up from 
 the mud, then Larry himself at the very last. Finally 
 you. But you are too late if you hope to utilize him in 
 your plan for there is already a woman with him. She 
 had taken my place, or the place I never held his chattel, 
 he calls her. You see, even that channel is closed to me !" 
 
 He was staggered : "Another woman " 
 
 "Why not?" she questioned wearily. "He only wanted 
 what all of us must have at one time or another. Love." 
 
 The trend of the conversation was making him uneasy. 
 They had reached an impasse so far as Laurence Dupagny 
 was concerned, and he saw that this subject must be aban-
 
 THE THRESHOLD 295 
 
 doned. But while he searched for something to replace it, 
 Rose began to laugh. 
 
 "He suggested that you would take care of me you!" 
 she gasped, with her handkerchief covering her shaking 
 lips. "What a joke it is, if you can see the f-funny side of 
 it. Here am I " Her laughter became uncontrollable. 
 
 He was frightened. "Rose !" he called peremptorily. He 
 had seen women in courtrooms hysterical because their 
 children were taken from them, and he had a hideous vision 
 of Rose in his apartment, screaming for him toinarry her! 
 He was deadly pale and sweat sprung out upon his fore 
 head ; a scene like this could ruin a man. "Rose !" he said 
 again, in such a voice that she stopped laughing as suddenly 
 as she had begun. He went on speaking rapidly. "You 
 are mad. No one but a madwoman would behave like this. 
 Why should Dupagny have said a thing like that, and why 
 did you let him believe it ? There are laws in the country 
 a man cannot hand his wife over to another " 
 
 "Those laws have been broken " she shuddered. 
 
 "But I never promised you anything. Be fair, Rose. 
 Did I promise anything?" 
 
 Her voice gained weird strength from somewhere in her 
 wracked body. "Promise. ... Is not love a promise? 
 What were your kisses on my lips but promises? Yet you 
 are right. I could hold you by an empty word if it had 
 been given me, but, no, no, you held it back ! You promised 
 nothing." 
 
 "Then what do you mean? Good God! Dupagny has 
 deserted you. You have everything on your side. You 
 can free yourself with clean hands, yet you risk everything 
 by coming here where you may be seen at such a time as 
 this! Listen. Rose, you must go at once. Slip out 
 quietly "
 
 296 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 "Out of your life," she finished and then began to sob 
 unevenly. "Men think that they can do anything to a 
 woman, but they can t they can t! Something will punish 
 you" 
 
 "You talk like a child. Nothing will punish me." He 
 was weary of the scene which promised to be endless. Noth 
 ing could come of this ceaseless reiteration ; by some means 
 he must bring it to a close. He took a cigarette from a 
 filigree box and lighted it, trying to decide on an opening for 
 what he meant to say. To his consternation she moved 
 closer to him, looking into his face with brimming eyes. 
 
 "Why did you cease to love me? What did I do that 
 turned you from me ? Cleve, Cleve, why have I lost you !" 
 
 He made a gesture of despair. "My God, if love could 
 be brought back! Rose, you don t know what ycu ask. If 
 love could be coerced what would the world be but a place 
 of groveling beasts, each fighting for what he desired. But 
 this cannot be. The lesson of life is resignation to its laws. 
 The first of these is decency and that is founded on mutual 
 respect not the thing we knew as love." 
 
 "You say this you?" 
 
 "And more. You have had your chance. You have been 
 a wife why didn t you have children? Give yourself an 
 anchor to rest on, in a day like this ? Why didn t you give 
 your husband something to work for beside the satisfaction 
 of your whims? No, no, Rose, I am free. You cannot 
 call me back. You have nothing for me. 
 
 "I have not begun to live, my dear, and my life is planned 
 far ahead of to-night. There is no place in it for you. 
 You are my past. You belong to the era that lies behind 
 me and time does not retrace its footsteps." 
 
 In the beginning he had thought of her, but in the sound 
 of his own voice he forgot her. He liked the cadence of
 
 THE THRESHOLD 297 
 
 these phrases that seemed to solidify the vague dreams of 
 his life to come with Antonia. He did not think of himself 
 as cruel ; his feeling for Rose had become so impersonal that 
 he could watch her shrink without emotion. But he was 
 not prepared for her passion. She ran to him, striking 
 out with her delicate hands. 
 
 "Damn you damn you " she cried fiercely, with the 
 impression that it was her own breast she was beating. But 
 this frantic action, pitiful and futile, only had the result 
 of changing his complacence to active anger. He pushed 
 her hands away with the disgust of a man for a woman s 
 blows, and, as though he had in turn struck an actual blow, 
 she staggered against the square table that occupied the 
 center of the room and clung there, gazing at him unbe 
 lievingly. 
 
 "You can do that because you love another woman," 
 she moaned. "You can treat me like this ! Oh, I know 
 that I have no pride I have lost everything by coming 
 to you, but I thought if I could see you again It is 
 too late ! You were with her to-day. It is for her sake 
 you have deserted me." 
 
 "What good can it do to go over all this again?" cried 
 Cleve in an exasperated tone. "Don t you see how it hurts 
 us both? I thought you understood. Yes, Rose, I love 
 some one else. Don t look like that. I am not trying to 
 hurt you, but you must see that anything between you and 
 me is impossible " 
 
 "But you will never marry her," she gasped, with a 
 return of her flickering passion. "I went to see her father 
 to-day. I told him that she came here to see you that 
 the whole town was talking about her. I made him think 
 Ah, what do I care if you strike me ! You killed me long 
 ago."
 
 298 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 He may have meant to strike her but it never came to that ; 
 his arm dropped heavily. In her words there was an un 
 canny prescience that shattered even his cruelty. He turned 
 away with a short laugh : "No one would believe such a 
 lie, 5 * he scoffed, controlling himself with difficulty. 
 
 He deliberately took up a package of letters and began 
 turning them with his ringers, glancing over the closely 
 written pages, smiling absently, pretending not to think of 
 her. His complete disdain was far more destructive than 
 his anger and her excitement died under it. His straight 
 back, clothed in the rich purple and gold brocade, was turned 
 squarely to her ; she could see the clean column of his neck, 
 bent slightly forward, and the way his hair was clipped 
 close around the edges in the military fashion he still 
 affected. She watched him toss the letters carelessly upon 
 the smoldering brazier letters written by some woman 
 who trusted and reach for others. 
 
 The disorder of the room began to press upon her con 
 sciousness and she remembered that he had spoken of leav 
 ing; this was but preliminary to the tremendous change 
 which was present in the very atmosphere about them. 
 Already the place was unfamiliar and ugly like the un 
 finished interior of a hastily made garment. Her eyes, tired 
 of tears, faltered. He was right; there was nothing for 
 her here. 
 
 Presently when she knew that she could control her voice, 
 she would speak to him, saying good-by for the last time. 
 As she steadied herself against the table she saw that the 
 drawer was half open. It was a deep drawer, full of such 
 relics as he was bent upon destroying, old letters, dance pro 
 grams, discarded gloves and a hundred useless things. On 
 top of all the miscellany, as though it had been placed there 
 as a silent invitation for her eyes, was a pistol.
 
 299 
 
 It was a cheap thing, possibly never used. The nickel 
 finish of the barrel Was black and discolored in spots, but 
 in its compact outline, so quiescent yet with such silent 
 menace, there- was a scwt of secret consolation that flashed 
 to her like the signal of a mysterious friend. 
 
 Her fingers closed cautiously about it and with the touch 
 of the cold metal there came a wild reaction to her moment 
 of resignation. She need not suffer any more. As she 
 stood looking at the thing" in her hand Cleve turned his 
 head and saw it. His exclamation brought her glance up 
 ward to his and she beheld a sort of bewildered and ludi 
 crous- terror in his face that was singularly familiar in 
 some distant way. . . . For a moment silence hung between 
 them like a visible object; the beginning of an event, tragic 
 and frightful, was in their awakening faces ; all that had 
 gone* before was nothing, mere lightning flashes from the 
 sky of their dead passion. In a heartbeat something of 
 what was to come revealed itself before it was lost in the 
 meaningless babble of words. . . . T-hen this was past and 
 her gaze left his to return to the object in her hand. 
 
 The vague similarity between this scene and another she 
 had witnessed returned to her mind; she sought for and 
 recovered the scattered threads of memory. She remem 
 bered the day when she had first doubted him ; the dark 
 theater where they had sat shoulder to shoulder and watched 
 the shadows play across the screen in a ridiculous pre 
 sentment of love and tragedy.- The woman in the picture 
 had wanted to die, and the convenient means had been 
 found beneath her hand, just as this had come beneath 
 her own. She remembered how she had gibed at this 
 such things could never happen ! Yet she was here staring 
 fascinated, like the woman of the play at the pistol in 
 the drawer !
 
 300 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 His voice, alarmed, persuasive, recalled her. "Put that 
 thing down. It might go off!" Words! She was im 
 portant only in her possession of this tawdry danger. 
 
 "Don t be afraid," she heard herself saying, but like a 
 sleepwalker she retreated as he advanced. He continued 
 to talk to her, holding out his hand and using the coaxing 
 voice one uses to a child. "Don t play with that . . . it s 
 an old gun . . . never safe . . . it s loaded. It might go 
 off!" But as he came toward her she continued to step 
 back until the circuit of the room had been made in this 
 ghastly fashion, as two wary gladiators avoid each other 
 before coming into conflict. 
 
 The pistol hung loosely in her hand and she smiled into 
 his face, a grimace, desperate and unreal. His obvious 
 terror surprised her and fed the consuming fire in her heart. 
 She said to herself: "He is afraid of this. This has the 
 power to punish him for me !" Yet while this furtive reas 
 surance voiced itself in her mind, another voice, more 
 poignant, more entreating, spoke dimly from her spirit: 
 "This is not I ... I who love him would not injure him." 
 
 Somewhere in the building a sound repeated itself 
 monotonously, but without meaning to them. He stared at 
 her fixedly, reading some wild purpose in her face, suddenly 
 crying out, "Rose! What do you mean to do?" 
 
 All the chaotic impulses that had played upon her for 
 hours crystallized into sudden knowledge. "I am not 
 afraid to die," she murmured. "It would be easier to die 
 than to suffer like this!" 
 
 But as she spoke he seemed to forget her : "What is that 
 sound?" he whispered. A sudden clamor had begun not 
 far away; the loud voices of men in a furious altercation: 
 other sounds. "It is the police !" Cleve cried, appalled. "Old
 
 THE THRESHOLD 301 
 
 Christy has set them on. They will find you here! This 
 will ruin me." 
 
 Nothing could have been, more obvious than his indif 
 ference to her ; nothing could have shown more plainly the 
 tremendous loss she had sustained in wasting her love upon 
 this man who* absorbed only ta give bitterness in return. A 
 vast disgust for him, for herself, for life, came between her 
 and her anguish of a moment before. She no longer saw 
 him as he appeared to her eyes, but as the living exposition 
 of the sin that had destroyed her. Staring at him without 
 recognition, she leveled the pistol at his breast. Even as 
 the trigger responded, she wa-s saying, "This is a dream^ 
 This cannot be I." 
 
 He turned slowly half away from her, and, his knees 
 bending like broken straws, let his body fall as it would. . . . 
 But as he swayed back and forth before her like some fan 
 tastic pendulum his eyes did not leave her own, and there 
 was still time left to read their incredulity. . . . Then it 
 was over. He was finished. He would wound her heart 
 no* more. . . . 
 
 The pistol fell crashing. She was afraid ... in deadly 
 fear. She covered her face and ran blindly, but a dozen 
 stefte brought her to the blank wall where she clung, beat 
 ing herself against it, body and hands, as though it must 
 open and take her in from very strength of her desire. 
 
 The report within the four walls seemed to reverberate 
 eternally, but at last silence overcame its echoes and a 
 dreadful stillness, more ominous than sound, replaced it. 
 Her deep sighs filled the room ; there was no movement any 
 where. 
 
 It was impossible to endure this! Little by little she 
 dragged herself from the sheltering wall and returned
 
 302 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 timidly to the center of the room. She was calm, now. 
 She did not wish to escape ; her blind terror was gone. She 
 called to him gently, "Cleve, Cleve." 
 
 He remained on the gray rug in a crumpled attitude, not 
 moving, one arm shielding his face. She thought he was 
 trying to frighten her and sank on her knees beside him, try 
 ing to draw the sheltering arm away. "I have not hurt you, 
 dear? I was mad, just as you said. Speak to me and I 
 will go away forever. You shall be happy." 
 
 But he did not speak. She gazed at his changing features 
 in heavy silence for a moment ; then she looked at her hands 
 which had caressed him, and at her knees, warm and wet, 
 kneeling on the rug that was no longer gray. 
 
 Sounds were everywhere. Dimly she heard them close 
 at hand, dull, hammering upon doors that would not open. 
 Voices in passion and excitement. 
 
 But what had that to do with the silence of this room? 
 She knew now what she had done, what love had done, 
 and she began to breathe deeply, like a tired child. Well, 
 she would rest once more upon his breast. No one could 
 take that from her. She crept feebly to where that thing 
 lay that in her hands had done this . . . then she returned 
 to him. 
 
 They were beating upon the door. Terrible voices de 
 manded that she should open but she only smiled, looking 
 around the room that had known a thousand happinesses 
 and was to shield her with silence to the last. Then she 
 laid her face against his.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 OMAR has wisely said that "One thing is certain- Life 
 flies " and if the rest of it is not so true he has said 
 enough in that. And as life flies it mercifully takes with it 
 that which it has given leaving behind the soothing gift of 
 forgetfulness. 
 
 It cannot always be winter and the coming of another 
 summer lay like a veil only lifted here and there upon An- 
 tonia s memory. 
 
 The tragedy that had been the culmination of so many 
 minor tragedies, became in time, from a monstrous foe, a 
 scattered and incoherent rabble of subdued sorrows which 
 attacked Antonia only in lonely moments. Once she had be 
 lieved that life without Cleve would always be dull and gray ; 
 that was before she knew he loved her, and upon the very 
 threshold of happiness, once incredible, she had begun to 
 question the reality of her love for him. She had moments 
 of bitter self-reproach in which she knew herself as a traitor 
 to the instincts of girlhood which called to Cleve as her mate, 
 but after a while she could find a queer comfort in the cer 
 tainty that her love had faltered before she knew of the dark 
 page which was stained with Rose Dupagny s name. Her 
 love had not failed because of what she knew but because 
 of what she felt, and in spite of regret and grief a little 
 secret, inner voice solaced her. When she passed the Pen- 
 dleton house she saw that the ruthless repair work was 
 abruptly stopped. The old house, with its scars cruelly ex- 
 
 303
 
 304 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 posed behind the new scaffolding, was like a maimed body 
 which the surgeons had abandoned; some of the trees had 
 been cut down but the trailing roses had been spared, and as 
 late autumn came on, a belated bloom sometimes glowed in 
 the dank grass; a spark of life within decay. Antonia at 
 first would turn her face away when she came to this part 
 of the street, but gradually the feeling of dread changed and 
 she found a melancholy pleasure in looking at the walls that 
 were to have sheltered her. She and the old house had a 
 secret that only the two of them would ever know, for she 
 had learned from its antiquity the shallowness of her own 
 brief emotion. As the months went by, Cleve s image be 
 came shadowed and dimmed ; the brilliance which dazzled 
 her was lost and she could see the thinness of the color that 
 warmed for a little while before it vanished. Sometimes 
 she felt the old pain like a hand upon her heart, but as time 
 went by this became instead of pain, a sort of ritual, like 
 the opening of a book with marked pages. 
 
 For the others the wheel had brought compensations for 
 its bitterness. All day long Roscoe Christy lay in his chair 
 under the windows where the plum trees thrust their frosted 
 fingers into his face, and all day long Mrs. Christy sat like 
 the White Queen among the billows of rosy dimities that 
 surrounded her and was happy with a passionate, thrilling 
 happiness that overflowed her simple heart. Nobody would 
 ever know what Mrs. Christy had felt during the weeks of 
 her voluntary exile. She masked her real feeling beneath a 
 profusion of meaningless words which might have been 
 illuminating to herself but left her hearers groping in the 
 dark. She had not been silent even when Cleve s name was 
 mentioned, because silence for her was impossible, but she 
 so swathed and wrapped her replies in endless allusion that 
 the mind wearied of attempting to discover her meaning.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 305 
 
 If she was grieved by Antonia s grief, her casual smile did 
 not falter, and if secretly she rejoiced in the revelation that 
 had come in time to prevent a greater disaster, she concealed 
 her gentle triumph. Antonia was there, living between her 
 father and mother, closer to them than she had ever been, 
 and Mrs. Christy, in her thankfulness, asked no more than 
 a satisfied present. 
 
 So far as could be seen life returned to its old measured 
 round in the dull little old-fashioned house buried in its old 
 trees, but, under the somnolence, the heart of life stirred like 
 the awakening of the orchard in spring, for life does not 
 stand still, even in its depths. Antonia s eyes, veiled to the 
 day, began to take on their old questioning, seeking look, 
 when she sat on the steps watching the mysterious night 
 which reveals everything, creep over the world. 
 
 "Mother, what is love ?" 
 
 Mrs. Christy s face, turned from the pale light of the win 
 dow was in shadow, but her voice after a pause was serene 
 and calm. 
 
 "I thought you knew, child." 
 
 "I thought I knew . . . but now. . . . Someway I have 
 lost it. Everything is dark. . . . How can I know?" 
 
 She could see her mother s profile against the dim back 
 ground, and by some miracle its youth lived again. All the 
 blurring shadows cast by unkind years were hidden and 
 only sweetness, the ineradicable blitheness of a young spirit, 
 remained. 
 
 In the room beyond, the breathing of some one in troubled 
 sleep came faintly to them, and Mrs. Christy from time to 
 time turned her listening face to this direction ; she never 
 quite forgot, though for a long time she had been listening 
 to this.
 
 306 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Antonia after setting out bravely to conquer her fate, had 
 returned to ask her question and to find the answer of her 
 heart, but her mother did not recognize this as a victory. 
 She did not know that Antonia had come back to her when 
 other things failed, or that she was troubled and ashamed. 
 
 "You cannot lose love," Mrs. Christy said slowly, seeking 
 for words because she had never expressed this but had 
 only known it as a part of her being . . . "unless you stop 
 giving it. Love is what you hold in your heart." She 
 touched the soft material that had fallen from her hands 
 when it grew too dark to sew. She did not know how to 
 explain what was so clear to her. "Love is giving yourself, 
 I think. ... I have loved your father a hundred times more 
 since he is so helpless and needs me so. ... Just as I loved 
 you and Donnie when you were little. . . ." 
 
 "But isn t there something more?" cried Antonia fiercely. 
 
 Her mother smiled wisely, "Dear me, child ! Of course 
 there is more. Didn t you ever notice the sun come out 
 after a long rainy spell? Even the mud puddles shine. 
 Love is like that ; it warms and blesses." 
 
 Antonia moved restlessly. "Love does not bless " 
 
 In that long year of readjustment and failure, one thing 
 had remained firm and unshaken, and because humanity is 
 naively selfish and regardful only of that which shakes its 
 repose, even Antonia, who believed that she was remorseful 
 and unselfish, could not see what was so close to her. 
 
 Peter Withrow had made so many of the hard places 
 smooth that Antonia stumbled only once in awhile. She 
 grew so used to him that she could not realize why her pain 
 and loneliness were less and less with every day. 
 
 But Peter was going away. When he first spoke of this 
 she was conscious of a little shock as though some dear,
 
 THE THRESHOLD 307 
 
 familiar thing had suddenly been snatched from her hands 
 and afterward, when she tried to accustom herself to the 
 thought, she found an emptiness and a growing wistfulness 
 where she had been content to drift. What would life be 
 like without Peter? She could find no answer to that, 
 though she asked it over and over again. 
 
 She watched him come swinging down the street, his steps 
 quickening as he neared the house, as though some inner 
 fire had been lighted. The arc lamp on the corner gave 
 her a glimpse of his shoulders, slightly drooped, carelessly 
 strong. She knew that he was watching eagerly for the 
 gleam of her white dress upon the steps and as he opened 
 the gate she went down the path to meet him. 
 
 What will I do when you are gone?" Antonia questioned 
 whimsically, but she was surprised to feel her heart pause, 
 \vaiting for his answer. It was a sensation so new and yet 
 so old that she wanted to grasp and hold it. 
 
 They were walking together in the dark old orchard under 
 the dark old trees whose wounds were already hidden and 
 healing beneath the veil of heavy hanging leaves. Peter 
 took her hand and held it gently. Her fingers clung to his 
 for a moment as if the two hands waited for some signal ; 
 then they fell apart. 
 
 After a little Peter spoke straightforwardly as he had 
 spoken on that unforgettable day a year ago. 
 
 "I can t do without you, Antonia. I ve tried and found 
 that I can t. I love you and I want you more than any 
 thing in the world, and if I can t have you I m going where 
 I won t see you for a long time." 
 
 "Until you get over it," she finished. 
 
 "I never will get over it, until I learn to live without 
 you, I wanted to say." 
 
 All at once she felt desolate. "Then it is true that every-
 
 308 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 thing passes, that nothing lasts. If if I loved you, my 
 love would pass and yours would pass and we would find 
 ourselves staring into empty space, is that love, Peter?" 
 
 He looked earnestly into her eyes, "Love does not pass, 
 my dearest." She could not see his face but she could feel 
 the strength of him that some way sent a message from his 
 heart to her own and peace, the answer to all that had been 
 inexplicable, followed this. Peter had no gift of eloquence 
 for himself, and they were both silent until they came to 
 the boundary fence where they stopped for a moment before 
 they turned back to the house. 
 
 "Love does not pass," he repeated. "It is we who change 
 and grow older and wiser, and if w r e find emptiness when 
 we look for our treasure it is because it was never there." 
 He went on in a musing tone, "I can t remember when I 
 haven t loved you, so how can I describe love when it has 
 grown to be a part of me, like my body and my soul ? And 
 yet this is what I have to offer for the gift of yourself. It 
 is so little that I am ashamed, but it is big enough to en 
 compass the world for your sake." 
 
 Antonia thought of all the people who had suffered from 
 what they knew of love, of poor Rose whose devastated 
 heart bred madness, of Cleve whose shallow self had taken 
 the best of what it touched; of Dupagny and of the other 
 figures in her little world, and suddenly she got a small, 
 sweet vision of security and selflessness which Peter had been 
 holding out to her and that she had been too blind to see. 
 And in that moment her heart answered his with a warm 
 responsive throb that drew the currents of their lives to 
 gether. Her hands fluttered in the darkness like white 
 moths and presently they were lying in his, tremulous but 
 secure.
 
 THE THRESHOLD 309 
 
 "It must have always been you," she said. "I never knew 
 because you were so close to me, but now I know, and if 
 you still love me like that " 
 
 After they had passed on a deep stillness came upon the 
 orchard. Under the bending trees, caves of intense shadow 
 yawned emptily but beyond the white fence the radiant 
 circle of blue white light teemed with life; millions of 
 senseless insects whirling dizzily in a pursuit that never 
 ended. The post where Donnie once was king now was 
 half hidden by a flamboyant poster that announced a com 
 ing attraction at the Auditorium. The corner had taken 
 on change as the world changes ; a little coarsened, made 
 public by its bid for attention, like an article offered for 
 sale and passing from hand to hand. The tree which once 
 shaded it had been cut down and its bare stump was re 
 vealed nakedly in a little oasis of tangled grass and withered 
 leaves. 
 
 It was the spot where Antonia used to wait in the velvet 
 dusk to see Cleve pass, but she did not remember that now. 
 
 THE END
 
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