, 
 2 
 
totted 
 
 

 ,-Jotiepfiine 
 
 C)03 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PACK 
 
 IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW . i 
 
 A PHILANTHROPIST 39 
 
 A REVERSION TO TYPE 91 
 
 A HOPE DEFERRED 129 
 
 THE COURTING OF LADY JANE . .179 
 
 JULIA THE APOSTATE 217 
 
 MRS. DUD S SISTER. . ., ... 253 
 
 592771 
 
IN THE VALLEY OF THE 
 SHADOW 
 

 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 yet, and the red-and-yellow leaves danced 
 heartlessly in the wind. A year ago they 
 had gone on a nutting-party, and Clarice 
 had raced with the children and picked 
 up more than anybody else. Now 
 even to think of her brought that faint 
 odor of salts-of-lavender and beef-tea that 
 disheartened him so, somehow, when he 
 sat by her bed coaxing her into sipping 
 the stuff. 
 
 Some one was coming down the stairs. 
 It was Peter s step his new one since 
 last Friday, when they had all, it seemed, 
 begun to walk and talk and breathe a lit 
 tle differently. Belden hurried across the 
 room and caught him at the foot of the 
 steps. 
 
 " Well, old man, how goes it ? " he de 
 manded, with a determined cheerfulness. 
 
 His brother-in-law stared at him 
 emptily. 
 
 " It s to-morrow," he said, gripping the 
 newel-post, " to-morrow afternoon. Jame 
 son is coming they ll do it here. Jame- 
 
 [4] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 son brings his special nurse for the 
 the operation, but the other one is due at 
 five, and you get her just the same. I 
 told Henry to put up the dog-cart. I 
 don t know, though maybe the run 
 about no, the tire s loose. Still, it 
 might do " 
 
 " For heaven s sake, Peter, don t 
 bother about it ! I ll find a rig. What 
 else does he say ? " 
 
 " He says there s a good fighting 
 chance a very good one. He says her 
 grit alone Oh, Belden, what shall we 
 do ? What shall we do ? " 
 
 Peter sat down heavily on the lowest 
 stair. 
 
 " Only last week she was so well 
 and yet she really wasn t. I suppose he 
 knows. But it doesn t seem possible 
 I can t get it through my head. Poor 
 little Caddy ! She never had a sick day 
 in her life. No headaches, like most 
 women, even no nonsense Oh, Bel- 
 den, what shall we do ? " 
 
 [5] 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 C Brace up, Peter ; think what a good 
 fighting chance means, think of that ! 
 It s not as if Caddy were old ; she has 
 that on her side. She s seven years be 
 hind me, you know." 
 
 Peter scowled. " You re fifty, aren t 
 you ? " 
 
 " Not a bit. Only forty-eight, and 
 just that, too. Now you go out and get 
 the nurse, and I ll stay here. It ll do 
 you a lot of good. Don t mope around 
 in the house all day what s the use ? " 
 
 " I can t leave the house. Honestly, 
 Belden, I can t. I ve tried twice, and I 
 just walk right back. It s no good. 
 There s the cart and you won t be 
 long, will you ? " 
 
 Belden took up the reins with a vague 
 sense of momentary relief: it was some 
 thing to do. Under the influence of the 
 fresh autumn air his spirits rose ; he 
 found himself enjoying the swift rattle of 
 the cart and the beat of the horse s feet. 
 After all, think of Caddy s grit ; think of 
 
 [6] 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 her fine constitution ! A fighting chance 
 that was little enough to say, though. 
 Why couldn t he have put it a little 
 stronger ? Hitchcock always was a pes 
 simist. 
 
 At the station the usual crowd of well- 
 dressed suburbanites quieted their horses 
 and waited impatiently for the express. 
 As Belden drew up into line, they greeted 
 him with a subdued interest ; coachmen 
 left their seats to ask how Mrs. Moore 
 was to-day, and when could one see her ? 
 A sudden mist came over his eyes as he 
 answered briefly, " Very soon I hope." 
 
 The train thundered in ; in an incredi 
 bly short time all the guests and com 
 muters were hurried off toward town 
 where was that nurse ? 
 
 As his glance wandered through the 
 thinning crowd, it was met suddenly and 
 squarely by two brown eyes set in a fresh 
 pink face framed by dark hair lightly 
 sprinkled with gray. The second that 
 he looked into that woman s eyes taught 
 
 [7] 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 him her character, absolutely, as finally as 
 if he had grown up with her. One could 
 trust her to the last ditch, he thought. 
 
 She walked straight up to the cart. 
 " I am the nurse sent for by Dr. Hitch 
 cock. Are you Mr. Moore?" 
 
 "I am Mrs. Moore s brother Mr. 
 Belden," he explained. " Have you 
 your checks ? " 
 
 " That is all arranged, * she returned 
 briefly. " I am all ready. May I ask 
 you to hurry ? Dr. Hitchcock was anx 
 ious for me to see her before six, when 
 the fever begins." 
 
 His nerves were more sharply edged 
 than he knew : an instant irritation seized 
 him. 
 
 "There is plenty of room in the back 
 of the cart," he insisted, " the express 
 people are very uncertain. Would you 
 not better give me the checks ? " 
 
 She swung herself up beside him with 
 a firm, assured motion ; for a heavily built 
 woman she carried herself very lightly. 
 
 [8] 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 " I think not," she said decidedly, 
 " the man has started, I am sure. I 
 would rather lose no time." 
 
 He bowed and started the horse : he 
 disliked her already. To a deep-seated, 
 involuntary disgust that any woman 
 should have to earn her living he added 
 a displeased wonder that one should 
 choose this method of doing it. There 
 must be disagreeable details connected 
 with it, embarrassments, absolute indig 
 nities : why did they not marry ? This 
 woman was good-looking enough. She 
 was very obstinate almost dictatorial. 
 His idea of womanhood was hopelessly 
 confused with clouds of white tulle, ap 
 pealing eyes, and a desire for guidance. 
 It was impossible to connect any of these 
 characteristics with the woman beside 
 him. 
 
 For a while they drove in silence. 
 Then compunction seized him and he 
 remarked on the beauty of the foliage. 
 She assented easily, but seemed no more 
 
 [9] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 relieved by the speech than embarrassed 
 by the silence. It was impossible to 
 treat her as a hired servant : one felt a 
 strong personality in her. Before they 
 reached the house he was searching for 
 conversation that should not bore her. 
 
 As they stepped into the wide hall, 
 where he observed with a shade of dis 
 pleasure that her luggage had come 
 before them, Dr. Hitchcock met them. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Strong, glad to see you. 
 Come right up. On time, as usual, of 
 course ! I was afraid you couldn t make 
 it. Jameson comes to-morrow, you 
 know " 
 
 They were up the stairs; Belden stood 
 idly in the hall where they had left him. 
 He had had an idea of showing her the 
 house, stating some of the facts of Clarice s 
 sudden and terrible need of her, indicating 
 that in a family so jarred from the very 
 foundations it would be wiser to look to 
 him than to the bewildered master of the 
 establishment; but this was not necessary. 
 [10] 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 Evidently she persisted in dispensing 
 with his services. 
 
 His hand slipped to his vest pocket, 
 but he replaced the cigar uncertainly : it 
 seemed not quite the thing to smoke. 
 Ought he to go to Peter? In his mind s 
 eye he saw the poor fellow haunting the 
 landing by Caddy s door; he had an idea 
 that in some way he kept things quiet by 
 doing this. And how could one be sure 
 that the troubled creature wanted com 
 pany? 
 
 There was a violent ring at the bell, a 
 jarring of wheels on the asphalt. The 
 door flew open and the prettiest little 
 woman imaginable, all fluffy ends and 
 scarlet flowers and orris scent, rushed 
 toward him. 
 
 "Oh, Will! Oh, Will!" she gasped, 
 "isn t it terrible? Where is Peter? Can 
 I see her ? Oh, Will ! " 
 
 Instinctively he took her in his arms 
 one always did that with Peter s sister 
 and she put her head on his shoulder and 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 cried a little, while he patted her and mur 
 mured, " There, there ! " 
 
 She was so manifestly comforted, and 
 it was so pleasant to comfort her this 
 was what a woman should be. He felt 
 a renewed sense of capacity, of readiness 
 for even the most terrible emergency. 
 He led her gently to the great cushioned 
 window-seat and listened sympathetically 
 to her excited babblings. 
 
 " It will kill Peter it will kill him ! 
 In in a great m-many ways, you know, 
 Will, Peter isn t so so c-calm as Caddy. 
 He is just bound up in her. Sup 
 pose Oh, Will!" 
 
 "Don t cry, Sue dear, don t!" he said 
 soothingly. "She has a good chance a 
 fine chance, really. These things are 
 mostly resisting power, you know, and 
 grit, and think what a lot of grit Caddy s 
 got!" 
 
 " Oh, I know, I know ! Don t you 
 know when the baby died that first 
 baby and s-she was so weak she could 
 [12] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 hardly speak ? c Never mind, P- Peter, 
 we ll have another ! Oh, dear, she 
 was so pi-plucky, Will ! And now to 
 think " 
 
 He choked a little. " I know, I know," 
 he murmured, cc Caddy s a brick. She 
 always was." 
 
 She sat up, not wholly withdrawing 
 from his arm, and patted her eyes, breath 
 ing brokenly. Little gusts of orris floated 
 toward him. 
 
 "Where are the children ?" she asked, 
 almost herself now. 
 
 " They re here Peter wants them one 
 minute and sends them away the next. 
 I should send them to grandmother s, 
 but he won t hear of it." 
 
 A light step sounded on the stair. The 
 nurse appeared on the lower landing. 
 She was dressed in cool blue gingham ; 
 the straps of her white apron marked 
 the firm, broad lines of her bust and 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Is this Mrs. Wylie ? " she said in 
 
 [13] 
 
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 her clear, assured voice. " Mrs. Moore 
 would like to see her a moment. Will 
 you come with me ? " 
 
 " I will come directly," and Sue gath 
 ered together her gloves and hand-bag. 
 
 <c She s very good-looking it s a pity 
 her hair is so gray," she breathed in his 
 ear. As the two women stood together 
 a moment on the landing he realized, not 
 for the first time, that Sue was a little too 
 small. But he had never thought her 
 sallow before. 
 
 Peter came in by the greenhouse door, 
 walking slowly, his hands behind his back. 
 He looked old for the first time in his 
 jolly, persistently boyish life. 
 
 <c Those chrysanthemums are all dry 
 ing up," he complained fretfully ; " not 
 one of the blamed servants has done a 
 thing since since O Lord, Will, 
 what shall we be doing this time to 
 morrow ? Where are the children ? 
 Where s Miss Strong? There s a wo 
 man for you ! Caddy took to her di- 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 rectly. She s there now. She s talking 
 to her about the children. Oh, my 
 God ! " 
 
 Belden grasped his hand and they 
 walked silently up and down the hall. 
 
 " Aunt Lucia s coming to-night," Peter 
 resumed nervously. " She will drive me 
 mad. Take care of her, will you ? If I 
 could have choked her off but when 
 you think she was just like a mother to < 
 Cad all these years, what can you do ? 
 She s got a right. You d think she d 
 have got some sense from living with 
 Cad so long. I told Henry to go for 
 her and there you are," he added, as 
 the cart drew up before the open door. 
 
 Belden went slowly down the steps ; 
 he detested Aunt Lucia, and Clarice had 
 always stood between them. 
 
 " How do you do ? " he began, assist 
 ing her from the high seat. Her long 
 crape veil caught in the wheel, and the 
 numberless black and floating ends of 
 her costume wound themselves about 
 
 [15] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 him as he bent down to disentangle 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, Wilmot, this is a terrible day for 
 us all, is it not ? Be careful of the hem 
 of that veil, please. When I kissed 
 Clarice good-by last Christmas I little 
 thought what a good-by it was ! Is she 
 conscious ? You have muddied the boa, 
 I think, but never mind. Can I see her 
 once more ? " 
 
 " For Heaven s sake, Aunt Lucia, 
 anybody would think Caddy was in her 
 grave ! She s a long way from it yet, 
 thank God ! Of course she s conscious, 
 and spunky as the as ever. I don t 
 think you really needed to " 
 
 " My dear Wilmot, I prepared Clarice 
 for her confirmation, I dressed her for 
 her wedding, and I was here when the 
 children were born. If you think that I 
 would fail her in this crisis you have a 
 very poor idea of my character. But 
 then, I am perfectly aware that you al 
 ways had. Oh, there is Peter! My 
 [16] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 poor Peter ! " She rushed toward him, 
 and Belden smiled sardonically as his 
 brother-in-law planted a perfunctory kiss 
 on her chin. 
 
 "This may comfort you, Peter, as it 
 has me so often in such circumstances. 
 So short, so true, so helpful. c Under 
 neath are the everlasting arms / Do you 
 feel that, Peter ? " 
 
 "I I yes, indeed, Aunt Lucia 
 you must want a bite of something, I m 
 sure, driving so far." 
 
 Peter writhed miserably in Aunt Lu 
 cia s crape-and-jet arms. 
 
 " Not till I have seen her, Peter. 
 Afterwards I shouldn t mind. I have 
 brought such a beautiful address by 
 Bishop Hunter. It was delivered on 
 the occasion of the death of Governor 
 
 , unless I forgot to put it in with 
 
 my knitted shawl. I believe I did. I 
 will send for it directly. When my dear 
 husband he was so fond of Clarice 
 died, I read it more than anything else, 
 
 [17] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 except the Prayer-book, of course. You 
 will surely find it a help." 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Lucia. Your room is 
 ready, and " 
 
 " Not till I have seen her, Peter." 
 
 " Susy is there now, and Miss Strong 
 says nobody else this evening. To 
 morrow " 
 
 Aunt Lucia drew away. 
 
 " Do I understand that Susy Wylie 
 no relation at all is preferred before the 
 only mother Clarice has had for all these 
 
 5 " 
 
 years r 
 
 Peter winced. " But you weren t here, 
 Aunt Lucia," he argued wearily. 
 
 " Who is Miss Strong ? " 
 
 " Here she is ! " There was great re 
 lief in Peter s voice. " Miss Strong, my 
 aunt, Mrs. Wetherly." 
 
 " Mrs. Moore sends you her best love, 
 and wants you to get thoroughly rested, 
 so that you can see her the first thing in 
 the morning, Mrs. Wetherly. She says 
 you are not to let them frighten you." 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 As if by magic the formidable frown 
 faded from Aunt Lucia s forehead. She 
 smiled approvingly at the nurse. 
 
 "Very well. I should like to ask you 
 a few questions Clarice was always 
 thoughtful." 
 
 They moved away together. The two 
 men stared at each other. 
 
 "How do you account for that?" 
 Belden queried. 
 
 " Oh, it s her calm way and her voice. 
 You want to do everything she says. 
 Norah says she s sure Mrs. Moore will 
 get well now, with her to take care of 
 her. By George, Will, if she pulls 
 Caddy through it ll be worth her while, 
 I tell you." 
 
 " Oh, they always do their best. And 
 they all have that habit, I fancy. It s 
 part of the training." 
 
 Peter looked up surprised. 
 
 " You don t like her, eh ? " 
 
 " How absurd. I never considered 
 her particularly. I don t care for mas- 
 
 [19] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 culine, dictatorial women, on general 
 principles " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! I tell you you ve 
 taken a grudge against her, and you want 
 to get rid of it as soon as possible." 
 
 " I suppose I have a right to my 
 opinion," Belden began hotly, but a 
 wave of remorse surged over him at 
 sight of the other man s drawn, nervous 
 face. 
 
 <c Any one would think we had noth 
 ing to do but scrap over a trained 
 nurse," he said lightly. " She s all you 
 say, I haven t a doubt, old man, and if 
 she pulls Caddy through, I ll sing her 
 praises louder than any of you." * 
 
 They sat in silence. A burst of laugh 
 ter from the kitchen-garden startled them, 
 and Belden started up as if to check it. 
 
 " Don t stop em it s the servants. 
 Why shouldn t they laugh ? " said Peter 
 quietly. " I ve been thinking it all over. 
 If Caddy if if she doesn t get well, 
 she doesn t want a lot of black and all 
 [20] 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 that. It s bad for the children. And 
 she said the children oughtn t to grow 
 up without a mother think of that ! " 
 
 " I guess that s all right," said Belden 
 sadly. " Look at my boy there ! " 
 
 A slender, stoop-shouldered lad 
 slouched by the long hall-window, his 
 hands in his pockets, an unlighted ciga 
 rette in his mouth. 
 
 " Well, well, we all have our load ! " 
 Peter s mood had changed utterly, to the 
 other s astonishment. He seemed gen 
 tler, more thoughtful, controlled beyond 
 belief. 
 
 " I don t see why we shouldn t smoke," 
 he added, and they lighted cigars. 
 
 " You see, we talked it all over," he 
 said, half to himself, "and she s so reason 
 able and calm, herself. . . . She says 
 Margaret s going to grow up just like 
 her. That s a comfort. And there s 
 the boy." 
 
 Suddenly the cigar dropped from his 
 lips to the floor. 
 
 [21] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 "Good God, Belden!" he shouted, 
 " I kept thinking she d be here, too ! I 
 forgot I Oh, what rot ! Do you 
 think I ll stand it? Do you think I ll 
 put up with it ? Why didn t Hitchcock 
 know before ? It was his business to 
 know ! I tell you I ll ruin that man if it 
 takes every dollar I ve got ! " 
 
 Belden stared at him helplessly. Was 
 this Peter, this red-faced, scowling men 
 ace ? As he watched him silently the 
 nurse came in from the greenhouse. 
 
 " Mrs. Moore wants to say good night 
 to you, Mr. Moore," she said, her deep, 
 clear voice echoing strangely after the 
 hoarse passion of Peter s rage. " I found 
 these all picked were you going to 
 take them to her ? " 
 
 Peter drew a deep breath and put out 
 a shaking hand for the flowers. 
 
 " I don t know what s the matter with 
 me, Will I talk like a fool," he half whis 
 pered. " I can t get used to this damned 
 see-saw. First I m all ready for it, and 
 
 [22] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 then I m nearly wild. And so it goes 
 up and down, up and down." 
 
 " How is she ? Is it all settled for 
 to-morrow ? Hitchcock said that per 
 haps" 
 
 " Mrs. Moore is doing very well 
 really very well. She was a little excited 
 when Mrs. Wylie was with her, but she 
 is nicely sleepy now. I think it will be 
 better to stay only a moment. She will 
 get a good night s rest to-night, it is so 
 cool. The weather is on our side." 
 
 She smiled into his eyes and nodded 
 gravely. He brightened and squared 
 his shoulders. As he went quickly up 
 the stairs, Belden stopped the woman. 
 
 " Tell me," he said authoritatively, 
 " how is my sister, really ? What do 
 you consider her chance ? " 
 
 She looked him easily in the eyes. 
 " It is impossible to say," she returned 
 gravely. "Your sister is a very brave, 
 self-possessed woman, and seems to have 
 a good constitution. That is, of course, 
 
 [23] 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 half the battle. But her case is very 
 complicated, and until the operation, no 
 one can tell. You may have every con 
 fidence in Dr. Jameson. He is a mag 
 nificent surgeon." 
 
 Before her non-committal eyes his own 
 fell baffled. He was more irritated than 
 he cared to own. Could she not see 
 that he was prepared for anything, that 
 his self-control was as great as her own ? 
 She treated him like a child ; those pro 
 fessional reserves, necessary, doubtless, in 
 the case of Peter and his excitable sister, 
 were wasted on him. Why could she 
 not see it ? 
 
 " I am quite aware of Dr. Jameson s 
 skill," he said coldly, " but I had hoped 
 that you would find yourself able to 
 break through the professional attitude 
 sufficiently to give me your real opinion, 
 which, of course, you must have formed." 
 
 She threw him a quick glance. " Ah, 
 my friend," he thought exultingly, " you 
 have a temper, then ! " But in an instant 
 it was gone. 
 
 [24] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 " I have told you all I was able to tell," 
 she said evenly. " I have been here but 
 a short time, you know." 
 
 She turned and left the hall, and he, 
 chafing under a sense of merited rebuke, 
 conscious of a foolish petulance, went 
 discontentedly into the library. He 
 seemed to be continually at fault with 
 Miss Strong, but unable to resist the 
 effort to master her. 
 
 The evening was very lonely and still. 
 Peter had gone to his room early, and the 
 children had effaced themselves : Susy 
 was with them. Aunt Lucia read the 
 " Imitation of Christ," by the fire. Bel- 
 den s mind turned unconsciously to the 
 old days when Caddy and he dreamed 
 out their future in the nursery. It had 
 all come out just as she had planned, 
 except this. Poor little Caddy a fight 
 ing chance ! 
 
 The next morning seemed to fly by 
 them : it was nine o clock, ten, eleven. 
 
 At this hour a feverish activity sud 
 denly spread through the house. They 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 met and passed each other, hurrying, 
 troubled, secretive ; the servants stum 
 bled and quarrelled in their purposeless 
 haste. To Belden, quieting when he 
 could, sternly optimistic everywhere, at 
 heart heavy and uncertain, it seemed that 
 the one anchor of their hopes was this 
 calm, clear-eyed woman in her uniform 
 of authority ! 
 
 Peter hung pathetically on her lightest 
 word ; the children, dazed and terrified, 
 ate and exercised at her command ; his 
 own boy, a strange hard look in his fur 
 tive eyes, followed her like a dog, and 
 Aunt Lucia submitted with unprecedented 
 meekness to an abrupt curtailment of her 
 interview with Clarice. He himself went 
 into the bedroom for a moment, half un 
 certain of the reality of the experience. 
 It was absurd to remember that he might 
 never see her, conscious, again his own 
 little Caddy. 
 
 He sat awkwardly on the side of the 
 bed. 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 " Well, little woman, how goes it ? " 
 
 "Queen s taste, Will!" 
 
 " Good for you ! I m proud of the 
 Beldens, Caddy Billy acts like a drum- 
 major." 
 
 Her eyes softened. 
 
 "The dear boy," she murmured. Their 
 eyes met. " Look after him" hers said, 
 and his, " As long as I live! " He stooped 
 and kissed her lightly. " Mind you look 
 as well as this to-morrow ! " 
 
 " Oh, I shall be all right. Miss Strong 
 will take care of me. When I think how 
 I have the best of everything such care 
 I ve been a very happy woman, Will 
 dear." 
 
 His eyes filled. He threw her a kiss 
 and went out blindly. 
 
 A hand touched his arm. " You ve 
 done her good," said the nurse softly. 
 "You stayed just long enough. She ll 
 take her nap now." 
 
 He went heavily into his own room. 
 Below him a little porch led out from 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 the smoking-room, and as he sat lost in 
 a miserable reverie, voices rose from it to 
 his window. 
 
 " Nobody knows what she s been to 
 me. As much like a mother as I d let 
 her. I did everything but the cigarettes, 
 and I meant to tell her I d do that too, 
 next month that s her birthday." 
 
 Was this his boy, that pleading, shaken 
 voice ? He looked out : the lad was 
 fingering Miss Strong s white apron ner 
 vously. She leaned over the railing of 
 the little porch, her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "You tell her about it I ll never 
 smoke another one. It was the last 
 thing she asked me." 
 
 " I ll tell her she will be so pleased, 
 I know. She asked about you yester 
 day. I ll let you know as soon as I can." 
 
 Belden, a little later, hurried down 
 stairs, with a confused idea of thanking 
 her. On the threshold of the library he 
 paused, amazed. Dr. Hitchcock sat be 
 fore a small green baize table, studying 
 [28] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 five playing-cards held fan-shape in his 
 left hand. Opposite him sat Miss Strong, 
 holding the pack expectantly. 
 
 "You can give me two, my dear, I 
 think," he said as Belden entered. Look 
 ing up, he smiled apologetically. 
 
 " I dare say you are surprised," he 
 suggested, " but I have been much exas 
 perated, Mr. Belden, and a long experi 
 ence has taught me that nothing so 
 quickly clears the mind as throwing a 
 few hands of poker. Miss Strong an 
 invaluable person is kindly assisting 
 me. Did I say three ? Yes, of course. 
 Thank you. We are playing for beans 
 only, you see." 
 
 Belden watched them curiously. She 
 sat as imperturbably as by Caddy s bed 
 side, her eyes fixed thoughtfully on her 
 cards. 
 
 " And raise you three," she said. 
 
 "Five more. You will excuse me, 
 Belden, but your aunt, Mrs. Wetherly, is 
 a somewhat unusually irritating woman. 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 I ll see you. Miss Strong ah, yes, two 
 pair, queens up." 
 
 " What has she done ? " 
 
 "She insists that Mrs. Moore shall 
 not only see Mr. Burchard, to which I 
 have not the least objection, but that he 
 shall hold a communion service, directly, 
 there. Now, if your sister had asked for 
 this herself, it would be another matter, 
 but unless this is the case I always re 
 gard it as a depressing agent. It is a 
 strain, in any case." 
 
 "I think Mrs. Moore will go through 
 with it very easily, doctor," Miss Strong 
 interposed, slipping the cards into their 
 leather envelope and gathering up the 
 beans. " She will be fresh from her nap, 
 and it will be very short. She has prom 
 ised Mrs. Wetherly, you know, and it 
 would distress her more to break it " 
 
 " All right, all right. Have it your 
 way. Much obliged." 
 
 He took the cards from her and went 
 out. 
 
 [30] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 " My aunt is very trying," Belden 
 began. 
 
 " Oh, many people feel so about it," 
 she assured him, "especially High Church 
 people. She only did what she thought 
 right." 
 
 He drew a breath of relief. 
 
 "You ll see she s not too tired?" he 
 asked; and as he went to luncheon he 
 wondered at the comfort he derived from 
 her mute nod. 
 
 He was roused from the table, where 
 the dishes left by them were untouched 
 for the most part, by a disturbance in the 
 hall. 
 
 " It s the priest," the waitress mur 
 mured, and with a frown he checked her 
 rising tears. 
 
 Aunt Lucia bustled through the room. 
 
 "You must come, Wilmot," she whis 
 pered eagerly, " she asked for you. Peter 
 is locked into his room, and neither of 
 the children has been confirmed. Susy, 
 of course, is a Presbyterian. Not that 
 
 [31] 
 
THE VALLEY OP THE SHADOW 
 
 dear Mr. Burchard would object he is 
 so broad. But you have no excuse. Oh, 
 it is beautiful, Wilmot ! She looks so 
 lovely!" 
 
 He followed her wearily. What did 
 it matter ? It seemed to him ominous, 
 terrible but it would please Caddy. 
 She sat propped up in the bed. Her 
 cheeks were crimson, her eyes bright. 
 White chrysanthemums stood in silver 
 vases, candles burned softly on the white- 
 draped dresser. Mr. Burchard, in the 
 hall just beyond, was slipping his surplice 
 over his head. A faint odor of wine 
 mingled with the flowers. 
 
 Belden dared not look at her. She 
 was to him, in that moment, mystic, holy, 
 a thing apart. He dropped on his knees 
 beside a silvery white apron, his eyes on 
 the floor, his heart beating hard. 
 
 The clergyman entered slowly, the 
 service began. It was all a murmured 
 maze to him. Aunt Lucia sobbed quietly 
 beside him, but as he glanced at her he 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 caught a light on her wet, uplifted face 
 that thrilled him strangely. Her deep 
 responses spoke a faith and surety that 
 swallowed for the moment all her little 
 sillinesses and obstinacies. 
 
 The solemn words grew in intensity, 
 the candles flickered audibly in the sacred 
 hush. The clergyman moved toward 
 the bed, and they heard Caddy s breath 
 draw out in a deep, shuddering sob ; her 
 teeth chattered against the cup. 
 
 Belden set his jaw; it was cruel, brutal! 
 They were killing her. His clinched fist 
 moved blindly toward his neighbor: he 
 touched her hand and gripped it fiercely. 
 
 In front of him on the wall hung a 
 large photograph of Billy s base-ball nine 
 in full uniform. He could have drawn 
 it from memory, afterwards. Billy, he 
 remembered, was a great catcher. He 
 held hard to that cool, firm hand. 
 
 " be amongst you and remain with you 
 always. Amen." There was a little stir. 
 The hand was drawn from his. 
 
 [33] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 "Come, now," whispered Aunt Lucia, 
 and he walked, stumbling and stiff from 
 kneeling, from the room. At the door 
 he glanced a second backward, but only 
 Dr. Hitchcock was to be seen, bending 
 over the bed. Miss Strong had already 
 taken away candles and flowers, and 
 Caddy s triple mirror was back on the 
 dresser. 
 
 Mr. Burchard, in his long black cas 
 sock, offered his hand cordially. 
 
 " I am glad you could be with us, Mr. 
 Belden," he began, but the other broke 
 in : 
 
 "If you have tired her, if this 
 makes a difference " he muttered 
 fiercely, " you will have me to settle 
 with. Mind that ! " 
 
 He hurried down the stairs, his hands 
 still clinched. Peter was starting off with 
 the road-wagon. They nodded shortly 
 at each other. 
 
 From then the time raced on incredi 
 bly. The great surgeon, with his two 
 assistants, was in the hall ; he was on the 
 
 [34] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 stairs ; he was lost to sight. There was 
 a momentary rush and bustle, the closing 
 of a door. Peter came out, whispering 
 to himself, and disappeared somewhere. 
 The others, clustered in the library, spoke 
 fitfully. 
 
 " They carried her on a cot into the 
 west room," somebody murmured close 
 to Belden. It was little Margaret. " I 
 saw her. She waved her hand at me ! I 
 threw her a kiss. Miss Strong smiled 
 at me I love Miss Strong." 
 
 Aunt Lucia sobbed. Susy bit her lip 
 and played with Billy s unwilling hand. 
 
 " Where s my father ? Where s he 
 gone ? " he demanded. cc Who s that 
 other woman with the apron ? " 
 
 Miss Strong appeared at the door. 
 " She has taken the ether very well in 
 deed ; they are much pleased," she said 
 softly. They hung on her words, they 
 overwhelmed her with questions. She 
 soothed them like children. 
 
 It grew suddenly clear to Belden that 
 Caddy would die. It must be so. He 
 
 [35] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 wondered that they had hoped for any 
 thing else. He was sorry for them all. 
 He watched indifferently while Miss 
 Strong led the children away he knew 
 she was taking them to their father. 
 Later, while Aunt Lucia, on her knees, 
 read through streaming eyes from her 
 prayer-book, and Susy talked nervously 
 to him, he watched the firm, full figure 
 of the woman pacing up and down the 
 piazza outside, her arm drawn through 
 his restless boy s. 
 
 " God bless her ! " he said aloud. 
 
 Afterwards he could never recall the con 
 secutive happenings of the end. He 
 saw only separate pictures. 
 
 In one, a strange young man opened 
 the door and said the words that fright 
 ened them with delight. 
 
 In another, a drawn, old, white-faced 
 man surely not Dr. Jameson leaned 
 weakly in a chair, while a woman handed 
 him a tiny glass of colored liquid. 
 
 [36] 
 
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
 
 In yet another, a father hid his face 
 in his little daughter s bosom and sobbed, 
 with shaking shoulders ; his tall son 
 smiled bravely over the bent head. 
 
 In the last picture he himself bore a 
 part ; for when he came upon his shy, 
 suspicious boy clasped in the kind arms 
 of the woman whose brown eyes, once 
 seen, had haunted his thoughts ever since, 
 he gathered them both to him irresistibly. 
 As he laid his cheek against hers, he felt 
 that it was wet with tears. 
 
 " It lies with you now," he whispered 
 in her ear, " to give her back to us, well 
 and strong. He says you can. After 
 wards " 
 
 She drew away from him. 
 
 "I I must go. I am so glad I 
 will do my best," she answered unsteadily. 
 
 He caught her hand. "And after 
 wards ? " he repeated, a growing mastery 
 in his voice. She tried to meet his eyes, 
 but her own fell, conquered. 
 
 [37] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 T SUSPECTED him from the first," 
 JL said Miss Gould, with some irritation, 
 to her lodger. She spoke with irritation 
 because of the amused smile of the lodger. 
 He bowed with the grace that character 
 ized all his lazy movements. 
 
 "He looked very much like that Tom 
 Waters that I had at the Reformed 
 Drunkards* League last year. I even 
 thought he was Tom " 
 
 " I do not know Tom ? " hazarded 
 the lodger. 
 
 " No. I don t know whether I ever 
 mentioned him to you. He came twice 
 
 [41] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 to the League, and we were really quite 
 hopeful about him, and the third time 
 he asked to have the meeting at his 
 house. We thought it a great sign 
 the best of signs, in fact. So as a great 
 favor we went there instead of meeting 
 at the Rooms. I was a little late I 
 lost the way and when I got there I 
 heard a great noise as if they were sing 
 ing different songs at the same time. I 
 hurried in to lead them they get so 
 mixed in the singing and it makes 
 me blush now to think of it! the wretch 
 had invited them all early, and and 
 they were all intoxicated ! 
 
 " I am sorry I told you," she added 
 with dignity ; for the lodger, in an en 
 deavor to smile sympathetically, had lost 
 his way and was convulsed with a mirth 
 entirely unregretful. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," he murmured 
 politely. " It is a delightful story. I 
 would not have missed it a choir of 
 reformed drunkards ! But do you not, 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 my dear Miss Gould, perceive in these 
 little setbacks a warning against further 
 attempts ? Do you still attend the 
 League ? It is not possible ! " 
 
 "Possible?" echoed his visitor; for 
 owing to certain recent and untoward 
 circumstances, Miss Gould was half re 
 clining in her lodger s great Indian chair, 
 sipping a glass of his 49 port. " Indeed 
 I do ! They had every one of them to 
 be reformed all over again ! It was most 
 disgraceful ! " 
 
 Her lodger checked a rising smile, and 
 leaned solicitously toward her, regarding 
 her firm, fine-featured face with flatter 
 ing attention. 
 
 " Are you growing stronger ? Can I 
 bring you anything ? " he inquired. 
 
 Miss Gould s color rose, half with anger 
 at her weakness of body, half with a vexed 
 consciousness of his amusement. 
 
 " Thank you, no," she returned coldly, 
 " I am ashamed to have been so weak- 
 minded. I must go now and tell Henry 
 
 [43] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 to pile the wood again in the east corner. 
 There will probably come another tramp 
 very soon they are very prevalent this 
 month, I hear." 
 
 Her lodger left his low wicker seat 
 a proof of enormous excitement and 
 frowned at her. 
 
 " Do you seriously mean, Miss Gould, 
 that you are going to run the risk of an 
 other such such catastrophe? It is 
 absurd. I cannot believe it of you ! Is 
 there no other way " 
 
 But he had been standing a long while, 
 it occurred to him, and he retired to the 
 chair again. A splinter of wood on his 
 immaculate white flannel coat caught his 
 eye, and a slow smile spread over his 
 handsome, lazy face. It grew and grew 
 until at last a distinct chuckle penetrated 
 to the dusky corner where the Indian 
 chair leaned back against dull Oriental 
 draperies. Its occupant attempted to 
 rise, her face stern, her mouth unrelent 
 ing. He was at her side instantly. 
 
 [44] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 " Take my arm and pardon me ! " 
 he said with an irresistible grace. "It 
 is only my fear for your comfort, you 
 know, Miss Gould. I cannot bear that 
 you should be at the mercy of every 
 drunken fellow that wishes to impose on 
 you ! " 
 
 As she crossed the hall that separated 
 her territory from his, her fine, full figure 
 erect, her dark head high in the air, a 
 whimsical regret came over him that they 
 were not younger and more foolish. 
 
 " I should certainly marry her to re 
 form her," he said to the birch log that 
 spluttered on his inimitable colonial fire- 
 dogs. And then, as the remembrance of 
 the events of the morning came to him, 
 he laughed again. 
 
 He had been disturbed at his leisurely 
 coffee and roll by a rapid and ceaseless 
 pounding, followed by a violent rattling, 
 and varied by stifled cries apparently 
 from the woodshed. The din seemed 
 to come from the lower part of the house, 
 
 [45] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 and after one or two futile appeals to the 
 man who served as valet, cook, and 
 butler in his bachelor establishment, he 
 decided that he was alone in his half of 
 the house, and that the noise came from 
 Miss Gould s side. He strolled down the 
 beautiful winding staircase, and dragged 
 his crimson dressing-gown to the top of 
 the cellar stairs, the uproar growing mo 
 mentarily more terrific. Half-way down 
 the whitewashed steps he paused, viewing 
 the remarkable scene below him with in 
 terest and amazement. The cemented 
 floor was literally covered with neatly 
 chopped kindling-wood, which rose as in 
 a tide under the efforts of a large red- 
 faced man who, with the regularity of a 
 machine, stooped, grasped a billet in either 
 hand, shook them in the face of Miss 
 Gould, who cowered upon a soap-box at 
 his side, and flung them on the floor. 
 From the woodhouse near the cellar 
 muffled shouts were heard through a 
 storm of blows on the door. From the 
 rattling of this door, and the fact that 
 
 [46] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 the red-faced man aimed every third stick 
 at it, the observer might readily conclude 
 that some one desirous of leaving the 
 woodhouse was locked within it. 
 
 For a moment the spectator on the 
 stairs stood stunned. The noise was 
 deafening ; the appearance of the man, 
 whose expression was one of settled rage 
 but whose actions were of the coldest regu 
 larity, was most bewildering, partially ob 
 scured as it was by the flying billets of 
 wood ; the mechanical attempts of Miss 
 Gould to rise from the soap-box, inva 
 riably checked by a fierce brandishing of 
 the stick just taken from the lessening 
 pile, were at once startling and fascinating, 
 inasmuch as she was methodically waved 
 back just as her knees had unbent for 
 the trial, and as methodically essayed her 
 escape again, alternately rising with dig 
 nity and sinking back in terror. 
 
 The red dressing-gown advanced a 
 step, and met her gaze. Dignity and ter 
 ror shifted to relief. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Welles ! " she gasped. Her 
 
 [47] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 lodger girded up his robe de chambre with 
 its red silk cord and advanced with decision 
 through the chaos of birch and hickory. 
 A struggle, sharp but brief, and he turned 
 to find Miss Gould offering a coil of 
 clothes-rope with which to bind the con 
 quered, whom conflict had sobered, for 
 he made no resistance. 
 
 " What do you mean by such idiotic 
 actions ? " the squire of dames demanded, 
 as he freed the maddened Henry from 
 his durance vile in the woodhouse and 
 confronted the red-faced man, who had 
 not uttered a word. 
 
 He cast a baffled glance at Miss Gould 
 and a triumphant smile at Henry before 
 replying. Then, disdaining the lady s 
 righteous indignation and the hired man s 
 threatening gestures, he faced the gentle 
 man in the scarlet robe and spoke as man 
 to man. 
 
 " Gov nor," he said with somewhat 
 thickened speech, " I come here an I 
 asked for a meal. An she tol me would 
 
 [48] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 I work fer it? An I said yes. An she 
 come into this ol vault of a suller, an she 
 pointed to that ol heap o wood, an 
 she tol me ter move it over ter that 
 corner. An I done so fer half an hour. 
 An I says to that blitherin fool over 
 there, who was workin in that ol wood- 
 house, what the devil did she care w ich 
 corner the darned stuff was in ? An he 
 says that she didn t care a hang, but that 
 she d tell the next man that come along 
 to move it back to where I got it from ; 
 he said twas a matter er principle with 
 her not to give a man a bite fer nothin ! 
 So I shut him in his ol house, an w en 
 she come down I gave her a piece of my 
 mind. I don t mind a little work, mis 
 ter, but when it come to shufflin kind- 
 lin s round in this ol tomb fer half an 
 hour an makin a fool o myself fer 
 nothin , I got my back up. My time 
 ain t so vallyble to me as tis to some, 
 gov nor, but it s worth a damn sight 
 more n that ! " 
 
 [49] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 Miss Gould s lodger shuddered as he 
 remembered the quarter he had surrepti 
 tiously bestowed upon the man, and the 
 withering scorn that would be his portion 
 were the weakness known. He smiled 
 as he recalled the scene in the cellar when 
 he had helped Miss Gould up the stairs 
 and returned to soothe Henry, who re 
 gretted that he had left one timber of the 
 woodhouse upon another. 
 
 " Though I m bound to say, Mr. 
 Welles, that I see how he felt. I ve 
 often felt like a fool explainin how they 
 was to move that wood back an forth. 
 It does seem strange that Miss Gould 
 has to do it that way. Give em some- 
 thin an let em go, I say ! " 
 
 It was precisely his own view but 
 how fundamentally immoral the position 
 was he knew so well ! He recalled Miss 
 Gould s lectures on the subject, miracles 
 of eloquence and irrefutably correct in 
 deductions that interested him not nearly 
 so much as the lecturer. 
 
 " So firm, so positive, so wholesome ! " 
 
 [50] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 he would murmur to himself in tacit apol 
 ogy for the instructive hours spent before 
 their common ground, the great fireplace 
 in the central hall. He never sat there 
 without remembering their first interview : 
 her resentment at an absolutely inexcusa 
 ble intrusion slowly melting before his 
 exquisite appreciation of every line and 
 corner of the old colonial homestead ; 
 her reserve waning at every touch of his 
 irresistible courtesy, till, to her own open 
 amazement, she rose to conduct this con 
 noisseur in antiquities through the rooms 
 whose delights he had perfectly foreseen, 
 he assured her, from the modelling of 
 the front porch ; her utter and instanta 
 neous refusal to consider for a second his 
 proposal to lodge a stranger in half of 
 her father s house ; and the nai ve and 
 conscientious struggle with her principles 
 when, with a logic none the less forcible 
 because it was so gracefully developed, he 
 convinced her that her plain duty lay 
 along the lines of his choice. 
 
 For as a philanthropist what could she 
 
 [5*] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 do ? Here were placed in her hands 
 means she could not in conscience over 
 look. Rapidly translating his dollars 
 into converts, he juggled them before her 
 dazzled eyes ; he even hinted delicately 
 at Duty, with that exact conception of 
 the requirements of the stern daughter 
 felt by none so keenly as those who sys 
 tematically avoid her. 
 
 His good genius prompted him to 
 refer casually to soup-kitchens. Now 
 soup-kitchens were the delight of Miss 
 Gould s heart ; toward the establishment 
 of a soup-kitchen she had looked since 
 the day when her father s death had left 
 her the double legacy of his worldly goods 
 and his unworldly philanthropy. 
 
 Visions of dozens of Bacchic revellers, 
 riotous no more, but seated temperately 
 each before his steaming bowl, rose to her 
 delighted eyes ; she saw in fancy the 
 daughters and nieces of the reformed in 
 smiles and white aprons ladling the nu 
 tritious and attractive compound, earning 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 thus an honest wage ; she saw a neatly 
 balanced account-book and a triumphant 
 report ; she saw herself the respected and 
 deprecatory idol of a millennial village. 
 She wavered, hesitated, and was lost. 
 
 That very evening saw the establish 
 ment of a second menage in the north 
 side of the house, and though a swift re 
 gret chilled her manner for weeks, she 
 found herself little by little growing in 
 terested in her lodger, and conscious of 
 an increasing desire to benefit him, an 
 irritated longing to influence him for 
 good, to turn him from the butterfly 
 whims of a pretended invalid to an ap 
 preciation of the responsibilities of life. 
 
 For in all her well-ordered forty years 
 Miss Gould had never seen so indolent, 
 so capricious, so irresponsible a person. 
 That a man of easy means, fine educa 
 tion, sufficient health, and gray hair 
 should have nothing better to do than 
 collect willow-ware and fire-irons, read 
 the magazines, play the piano, and stroll 
 
 [53] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 about in the sun seemed to her nothing 
 less than horrible. 
 
 Each day that added some new trea 
 sure to his perfectly arranged rooms, and 
 in consequence some new song to his 
 seductive repertoire, left a new sting in 
 her soul. She had been influencing 
 somebody or something all her life. She 
 had been educating and directing and 
 benefiting till she was forced to be grate 
 ful to that providential generosity that 
 caused new wickedness and ignorance to 
 spring constantly from this very soil she 
 had cleared; for if one reform had been 
 sufficient she would long since have been 
 obliged to leave the little village for 
 larger fields. She had ministered to the 
 starved mind as to the stunted body ; 
 the idle and dissolute quaked before her. 
 And yet here in her own household, 
 across her hall, lived the epitome of use- 
 lessness, indolence, selfishness, and she 
 was forced to admit it charm. What 
 corresponded to a sense of humor in her 
 
 [54] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 caught at the discrepancy and worried 
 over it. 
 
 What ! was she not competent, then, to 
 influence her equals ? For in everything 
 but moral stamina she was forced to 
 admit that her lodger was her equal, if 
 no more. Widely travelled, well read, 
 well born, talented, handsome, deferen 
 tial but persistently amused at her, 
 irrevocably indolent, hopelessly selfish. 
 
 With the firm intention of turning the 
 occasions to his benefit, she had finally 
 accepted his regular and courteous invi 
 tation to take tea with him, and had 
 watched his graceful management of sam 
 ovar and tea-cup with open disfavor. 
 " A habit picked up in England," he 
 had assured her, when, with the frank 
 ness characteristic of her, she had criti 
 cised him for the effeminacy. And his 
 smiling explanation had sent a sudden 
 flush across her smooth, firm cheeks. 
 Was she provincial ? Did she seem to 
 him a New England villager and nothing 
 
 [55] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 more ? She bit her lip, and the appeal 
 she had planned went unspoken that day. 
 
 But her desire could not rest, and as to 
 her strict notions the continual visits 
 from her side to his seemed unsuitable, 
 she gave in self-defence her own invita 
 tion, and Wednesday and Saturday after 
 noons saw her lodger across the hall 
 drinking her own tea with wine and plum- 
 cake by the shining kettle. 
 
 If she could command his admiration in 
 no other way, she felt, she might safely 
 rely on his deferential respect for the 
 owner of that pewter tea-service velvety, 
 shimmering, glistening dully, with shapes 
 that vaguely recalled Greek lamps and 
 Etruscan urns. And she piled wedges of 
 ambrosial plum-cake with yellow frosting 
 on sprigged china, and set out wine in 
 her great-grandfather s long-necked de 
 canter, and, with what she considered a 
 gracious tact, overlooked the flippancy of 
 her guest s desultory conversation, and 
 sincerely tried to discover the humorous 
 
 [56] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 quality in her conversation that forced a 
 subdued chuckle now and then from her 
 listener. 
 
 She confided most of her schemes to 
 him, sometimes unconsciously, and grew 
 to depend more than she knew upon his 
 common sense and experience ; for, 
 though openly cynical of her works, he 
 would give her what she often realized to 
 be the best of practical advice, and his 
 amusing generalities, though to her mind 
 insults to humanity, had been so bitterly 
 proved true that she looked fearfully to 
 see his lightest adverse prophecy fulfilled. 
 
 After a cautious introduction of the 
 subject by asking his advice as to the 
 minimum of hours in the week one could 
 conscientiously allow a doubtful member 
 of the Weekly Culture Club to spend 
 upon Browning, she endeavored to get his 
 idea of that poet. Her famous theory 
 as to her ability to place any one satis 
 factorily in the scale of culture according 
 to his degree of appreciation of " Rabbi ben 
 
 [57] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 Ezra " was unfortunately known to her 
 lodger before she could with any veri 
 similitude produce the book, and he was 
 wary of committing himself. The ex 
 quisite effrontery with which she finally 
 brought out her gray-green volume was 
 only equalled by the forbearing courtesy 
 with which he welcomed both it and her. 
 Nor did he offer any other comment 
 on her opening the book at a well-worn 
 page than an apologetic removal to the 
 only chair in the room more comfortable 
 than the one he was at the time occupy 
 ing. He listened in silence to her intel 
 ligent if somewhat sonorous rendering of 
 selected portions of cc Saul," thanking her 
 politely at the close, and only stipulating 
 that he should be allowed to return the 
 favor by a reading from one of his 
 own favorite poets. With a shocked re 
 membrance of certain yellow-covered vol 
 umes she had often cleared away from 
 the piazza, Miss Gould inquired if the 
 poet in question were English. On his 
 
 [58] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 hearty affirmative she resigned herself 
 with no little interest to the opportunity 
 of seeing her way more clearly into this 
 baffling mind, horrified at his criticism of 
 the second reading for she had brought 
 the " Rabbi " forward at last. 
 
 "Then welcome each rebuff 
 That turns earth s smoothness rough, 
 Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go ! " 
 
 she had intoned ; and, fixing her eye 
 sternly on the butterfly in white flannels, 
 she had asked him with a telling empha 
 sis what that meant to him ? With the 
 sweetest smile in the world, he had leaned 
 forward, sipped his tea, gazed thought 
 fully in the fire, and answered, with a 
 polite apology for the homeliness of the 
 illustration, that it reminded him most 
 strongly of a tack fixed in the seat of a 
 chair, with the attendant circumstances ! 
 After a convulsive effort to include in 
 one terrible sentence all the scorn and 
 
 [59] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 regret and pity that she felt, Miss Gould 
 had decided that silence was best, arid sat 
 back wondering why she suffered him 
 one instant in her parlor. He took 
 from the floor beside him at this point a 
 neat red volume, and, murmuring some 
 thing about his inability to do the poet 
 justice, he began to read. For one, two, 
 four minutes Miss Gould sat staring ; 
 then she interrupted him coldly : 
 
 cc And who is the author of that dog 
 gerel, Mr. Welles ? " 
 
 " Edward Lear, dear Miss Gould 
 and a great man, too." 
 
 " I think I might have been spared " 
 she began with such genuine anger that 
 any but her lodger would have quailed. 
 He, however, merely smiled. 
 
 " But the subtlety of it the immen 
 sity of the conception the power of 
 characterization!" he cried. "Just see 
 how quietly this is treated." 
 
 And to her amazement she let him go 
 on ; so that a chance visitor, entering un- 
 
 [60] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 announced, might have been treated to 
 the delicious spectacle of a charming 
 middle-aged gentleman in white flannels 
 reading, near a birch fire and a priceless 
 pewter tea-service, to a handsome mid 
 dle-aged woman in black silk, the fol 
 lowing pregnant lines : 
 
 " There was an old person of Bow, 
 Whom nobody happened to know, 
 So they gave him some soap, 
 And said coldly, c We hope 
 You will go back directly to Bow ! 
 
 And the illustration is worthy of the 
 text," he added enthusiastically, as he 
 passed the volume to her. 
 
 She had no sense of humor, but she 
 had a sense of justice, and it occurred to 
 her that after all an agreement was an 
 agreement. If to listen to insinuating 
 inanities was the price of his attention, 
 she would pay it. She had borne more 
 than this in order to do good. 
 
 So the readings continued, a source of 
 [61] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 unmixed delight to her lodger and a great 
 spiritual discipline to herself. 
 
 As the days grew milder their inti 
 macy, profiting by the winter seclusion, 
 led him to accompany her on her various 
 errands. She was at first unwilling to 
 accept his escort it too clearly resem 
 bled a tacit consent to his idleness. But 
 his quiet persistence, together with his 
 evident cynicism as to the results of these 
 professional tours, accomplished, as usual, 
 his end ; and the wondering village might 
 observe on hot June mornings its bene 
 factress, languidly accompanied by a slen 
 der man in white flannels, balancing a 
 large white green-lined umbrella, picking 
 his way daintily along the dusty paths, 
 with a covered basket dangling from one 
 hand and a gray-green volume distending 
 one white pocket. 
 
 There was material, too, for the inter 
 ested observer in the picture of Miss 
 Gould distributing reading matter, fruit, 
 and lectures on household economy in 
 [6a] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 the cottages of the mill-hands, while her 
 lodger pitched pennies with the delighted 
 children outside. It was on one of these 
 occasions that Miss Gould took the op 
 portunity to address Mr. Thomas Waters, 
 late of the paper and cardboard manu 
 facturing force, on the wickedness and 
 folly of his present course of action. 
 Mr. Waters had left his position on the 
 strength of his wife s financial success. 
 Mrs. Waters was a laundress, and the 
 summer boarders, together with Mr. 
 Welles, who alone went far toward es 
 tablishing the fortunes of the family, had 
 combined to place the head of the house 
 in his present condition of elegant leisure. 
 " I wonder at you, Tom Waters, after 
 all the interest we ve taken in you * Are 
 you not horribly ashamed to depend on 
 your wife in this lazy way ? " Miss Gould 
 demanded of the once member of the 
 Reformed Drunkards League. " How 
 many times have I explained to you that 
 nothing absolutely nothing is so dis- 
 
 [63] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 graceful as a man who will not work ? 
 What were you placed in the world for ? 
 How do you justify your existence ? " 
 
 " How," replied her unabashed audi 
 ence, with a wave of his pipe toward the 
 front yard, where Mr. Welles was ami 
 ably superintending a wrestling match, 
 " does he justify hisn ? " 
 
 Had Miss Gould been less consistent 
 and less in earnest, there were many re 
 plies open to her. As it was, she colored 
 violently, bit her lip, made an inaudible 
 remark, and with a bitter glance at the 
 author of her confusion, now cheering 
 on to the conflict the scrambling Waters 
 children, she called their mother to ac 
 count for their presence in the yard at 
 this time on a school-day, and for the 
 first time in her life left the house with 
 out exacting a solemn promise of amend 
 ment from the head of the family. 
 
 " I guess I fixed her that time ! " Mr. 
 Waters remarked triumphantly, as he 
 summoned his second pair of twins from 
 
 [64] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 the yard and demanded of them if the 
 gentleman had given them nickels or 
 dimes. 
 
 The gentleman in question became un 
 comfortably conscious, in the course of 
 their walk home, of an atmosphere not 
 wholly novel, that lost no strength in 
 this case from its studied repression. 
 That afternoon, as they sat in the shade 
 of the big elm, he in his flexible wicker 
 chair, she in a straight-backed, high- 
 seated legacy from her grandfather, the 
 whirlwind that Mr. Waters had so lightly 
 sown fell to the reaping of a victim too 
 amiable and unsuspecting not to escape 
 the sentence of any but so stern a judge 
 as the handsome and inflexible represen 
 tative of the moral order now before 
 him. 
 
 Miss Gould was looking her best in 
 a crisp lavender dimity, upon whose frills 
 Mrs. Waters had bestowed the grate 
 ful exercise of her highest art. Her sleek, 
 dark coils of hair, from which no one 
 
 [65] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 stray lock escaped, framed her fresh 
 cheeks most admirably ; her strong white 
 hands appeared and disappeared with an 
 absolute regularity through the dark- 
 green wool out of which she was evolving 
 a hideous and useful shawl. To her 
 lodger, who alternately waved a palm-leaf 
 fan and drank lemonade, reading at in 
 tervals from a two-days-old newspaper, 
 and carrying on the desultory and amus 
 ing soliloquy that they were pleased to 
 consider conversation, she presented the 
 most attractive of pictures. " So firm, 
 so positive, so wholesome," he murmured 
 to himself, calling her attention to the 
 exquisite effect of the slanting rays that 
 struck the lawn in a dappled pattern of 
 flickering leaf-shadows, and remarking 
 the violet tinge thrown by the setting 
 sun on the old spire below in the mid 
 dle of the village. She did not answer 
 immediately, and when she did it was in 
 tones that he had learned from various 
 slight experiments to regard as finaL 
 [66] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 " Mr. Welles," she said, bending upon 
 him that direct and placid regard that 
 rendered evasion difficult and paltering 
 impossible, " things have come to a 
 point " ; and she narrated the scene of 
 the morning. 
 
 " It is indeed a problem/ observed 
 her lodger gravely, " but what is one to 
 do? It is just such questions as this 
 that illustrate the futility " 
 
 " There is no question about it, Mr. 
 Welles," she interrupted gravely. " Tom 
 was right and I was wrong. There is no 
 use in my talking to him or anybody 
 while I while you while things are 
 as they are. You must make up your 
 mind, Mr. Welles." 
 
 "But, great heavens, dear Miss Gould, 
 what do you mean? What am I to 
 make up my mind about? Am I to 
 provide myself with an occupation, per 
 haps, for the sake of Tom Waters s prin 
 ciples ? Or am I " 
 
 "Yes. That is just it. You know 
 
 [67] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 what I have always felt, Mr. Welles, 
 about it. But I never seemed to be 
 able to make you see. Now, as I say, 
 things have come to a point. You must 
 do something." 
 
 " But this is absurd, Miss Gould ! I 
 am not a child, and surely nobody can 
 dream of holding you in any way re 
 sponsible " 
 
 "/ hold myself responsible/ she re 
 plied simply, "and I have never approved 
 of it -never ! " 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders desperately. 
 She was imperturbable ; she was impossi 
 ble; she was beyond argument or persua 
 sion or ridicule. 
 
 " Suppose I say that I think the situa 
 tion is absurd, and that I refuse to be 
 placed at Mr. Waters s disposal?" he 
 suggested with a furtive glance. She 
 drew the ivory hook through the green 
 meshes a little faster. 
 
 " I should be obliged to refuse to re- 
 
 [68] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 new your lease in the fall," she answered. 
 He started from his wicker chair. 
 
 " You cannot mean it, Miss Gould ! 
 You would not be so so unkind, so 
 unjust ! " 
 
 "I should feel obliged to, Mr. Welles, 
 and I should not feel unjust." 
 
 He sank back into the yielding chair 
 with a sigh. After all, her fascination 
 had always lain in her great decision. 
 Was it not illogical to expect her to fail to 
 display it at such a crisis? There was a 
 long silence. The sun sank lower and 
 lower, the birds twittered happily around 
 them. Miss Gould s long white hook 
 slipped in and out of the wool, and her 
 lodger s eyes followed it absently. After 
 a while he rose, settled his white jacket 
 elaborately, and half turned as if to go 
 back to the house. 
 
 " I need not tell you how I regret this 
 unfortunate decision of yours," he said 
 politely, with a slight touch of the hauteur 
 
 [6 9 ] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 that sat so well on his graceful person. 
 " I can only say that I am sorry you 
 yourself should regret it so little, and 
 that I hope it will not disturb our pleas 
 ant acquaintance during the weeks that 
 remain to me/ 
 
 She bowed slightly with a dignified 
 gesture that often served her as a reply, 
 and he took a step toward her. 
 
 " Would we not better come in ? " he 
 suggested. " The sun is gone, and your 
 dress is thin. Let me send Henry after 
 the chairs," and his eyes dropped to her 
 hands again. They were nearly hidden 
 by the green wool, but the long needle 
 quivered like a leaf in the wind ; she 
 could not pass it between the thread and 
 her white forefinger. He hesitated a 
 moment, glanced at her face, smiled in 
 scrutably, and deliberately reseated him 
 self. 
 
 " What in the world could I do, you 
 see ? " he inquired meditatively, as if that 
 had been the subject under discussion for 
 
 [70] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 some time. " I can t make cardboard 
 boxes, you know. It s perfectly useless, 
 my going into a factory. Wheels and 
 belts and things always give me the mad 
 dest longing to jump into them I 
 couldn t resist it ! And that would be 
 so unpleasant " 
 
 She dropped her wool and clasped her 
 hands under it. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Welles," she cried eagerly, 
 " how absurd ! As if I meant that ! As 
 if I meant anything like it ! " 
 
 <c Had you thought of anything, then ? " 
 he asked interestedly. 
 
 She nodded gravely. " Why, yes," 
 she said. " It wouldn t be right for me 
 to say you must do something, and then 
 offer no suggestions whatever, knowing 
 as I do how you feel about it. I thought 
 of such a good plan, and one that would 
 be the best possible answer to Tom " 
 
 <c Oh, good heavens ! " murmured her 
 lodger, but she went on quickly : " You 
 know I was going to open the soup- 
 
 [71] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 kitchen in October. Well, I ve just 
 thought. Why not get the Rooms all 
 ready, and the reading-room moved over 
 there, and have lemonade and sandwiches 
 and sarsaparilla, and Kitty Waters to be 
 gin to serve right away, as she s begin 
 ning to run the streets again, and Annabel 
 Riley with her ? Then the Civic Club 
 can have its headquarters there, and peo 
 ple will begin to be used to it before cold 
 weather." 
 
 " And I am to serve sarsaparilla and 
 sandwiches with Kitty and Annabel ? 
 Really, dear Miss Gould, if you knew 
 how horribly ill sarsaparilla is certain to 
 make me I have loathed it from child 
 hood 
 
 " Oh, no, no, no ! " she interrupted, 
 with her sweet, tolerant smile. She smiled 
 at him as if he had been a child. 
 
 " You know I never meant that you 
 should work all day, Mr. Welles. It 
 isn t at all necessary. I have always felt 
 that an hour or two a day of intelligent, 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 cultivated work was fully equal to a 
 much longer space of manual labor that 
 is more mechanical, more tiresome." 
 
 " Better fifty years of poker than a 
 cycle of croquet ! " her lodger murmured. 
 " Yes, I have always felt that myself." 
 
 " And somebody must be there from 
 ten to twelve, say, in the mornings, in 
 what we call the office ; just to keep 
 an eye on things, and answer questions 
 about the kitchen, and watch the reading- 
 room, and recommend the periodicals, 
 and take the children s Civic League re 
 ports, and oversee the Rooms generally. 
 Now I d be there Wednesdays to meet 
 the mothers, and Mrs. Underwood Sat 
 urdays for the Band of Hope and the 
 kitchen-garden. It would be just Mon 
 days, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays 
 from ten to twelve, say ! " 
 
 " From ten to twelve, say," he re 
 peated absently, with his eyes on her 
 handsome, eager face. He had never 
 seen her so animated, so girlishly insist- 
 
 [73] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 ent. She urged with the vivid earnest 
 ness of twenty years. 
 
 " My dear lady/ he brought out 
 finally, cc you are like Greek architecture 
 or Eastlake furniture or or c God Save 
 the Queen perfectly absolute ! And 
 I am so hideously relative But, after 
 all, why should a sense of humor be an 
 essential ? One is really more complete 
 I suppose Mahomet had none When 
 shall I begin ? " 
 
 The interested villagers were informed 
 early and regularly of the progress of the 
 latest scheme of their benefactress. 
 Henry and Mr. Waters furnished most 
 satisfactory and detailed bulletins to gath 
 erings of leisurely and congenial spirits, 
 who listened with incredulous amazement 
 to the accounts of Mr. Welles s pro 
 ceedings. 
 
 " Him an that hired man o his, they 
 have took more stuff over to them Rooms 
 than you c d shake a stick at ! I never 
 see nothing like it never ! Waxed that 
 
 [74] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 floor, they have, and put more mats onto 
 it fur and colored. An the stuff 
 oh, Lord ! China all that blue china 
 he got fr m ol Mis Simms, an them ol 
 stoneware platters that Mis Rivers was 
 goin to fire away, an he give her two 
 dollars for the lot all that s scattered 
 round on tables and shelves. An that 
 ol black secr tary he got fr m Lord 
 knows where, an brakes growin in col 
 ored pots standin right up there, an 
 statyers o men an women no heads 
 onto em, some ain t got ; it s all one 
 to him he d buy any ol thing so s 
 twas broke, you might say. An them 
 ol straight chairs no upholsterin on 
 em, an some o them wicker kind that 
 bends any way, with pillers in em. An 
 cups and sassers, with a tea-pot n -kittle ; 
 an he makes tea himself an drinks it 
 I swear it s so. An a guitar, an , Lord, 
 the pictures ! You can t see no wall for 
 em! 
 
 " It s a mighty lucky thing, havin 
 
 [75] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 this room, Thompson/ says he to that 
 hired man, c the things was spillin over. 
 We ll make it a bower o beauty, 
 Thompson, says he. c Yes, sir/ says 
 the man. That s all he ever says, you 
 might say. I never see nothin like it, 
 never, the way that hired man talks to 
 him; you d think he was the Queen o 
 Sheba. 
 
 " An he goes squintin about here an 
 there, changin this an that, an singm 
 away an laughin you d think he d 
 have a fit. Seems s if he loved to putter 
 about n fool with things in a room, like 
 women. I heard him say so myself. I 
 was helpin Miss Gould with the other 
 rooms she ain t seen his; she don t 
 know no more n the dead what he s got 
 in there an I was by the door when 
 he said it. 
 
 " Thompson/ says he, c if I don t 
 keep my present situation/ says he, c I 
 c n go out as a decorator an furnisher. 
 Don t you think I d succeed, Thomp- 
 
 [76] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 son? says he. c Yes, sir, says Thomp 
 son. 
 
 " You see, we ve got to do something 
 Thompson, says he. c We ve got ter 
 justify our existence, Thompson, an he 
 commenced to laugh. c Yes, sir, says 
 Thompson. Beats all I ever see, the 
 way that man answers back ! " 
 
 An almost unprecedented headache, 
 brought on by her unremitting labor in 
 effecting the change in the Rooms, kept 
 Miss Gould in the house for two days 
 after the new headquarters had been sat 
 isfactorily arranged ; and as Mr. Welles 
 had refused to open his office for inspec 
 tion till it was completely furnished, she 
 did not enter that characteristic apart 
 ment till the third day of its official ex 
 istence. 
 
 As she went through the narrow hall 
 way connecting the four rooms on which 
 the social regeneration of her village de 
 pended, she caught the sweet low thrum 
 of a guitar and a too familiarly seductive 
 
 [77] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 voice burst forth into a chant, whose lit 
 eral significance she was unable to grasp, 
 owing to lack of familiarity with the lan 
 guage in which it was couched, but whose 
 general tenor no one could mistake, so 
 tender and arch was the rendering. 
 
 With a vague thrill of apprehension she 
 threw open the door. 
 
 Sunk in cushions, a tea-cup on the 
 arm of his chair, a guitar resting on his 
 white flannel sleeve, reclined the director 
 of the Rooms. Over his head hung a 
 large and exquisite copy of the Botticelli 
 Venus. Miss Gould s horrified gaze fled 
 from this work of art to rest on a repre 
 sentation in bronze of the same repre 
 hensible goddess, clothed, to be sure, a 
 little more in accordance with the views 
 of a retired New England community, 
 yet leaving much to be desired in this 
 direction. Kitty Waters attentively filled 
 his empty cup, beaming the while, and 
 the once errant Annabel, sitting on a low 
 stool at his feet, with a red bow in her 
 
 [78] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 pretty hair, and her great brown eyes 
 fixed adoringly on his face as he directed 
 the fascinating incomprehensible little 
 song straight at her charming self, was 
 obviously in no present danger of run 
 ning the streets. 
 
 " Good morning, Miss Gould ! " he 
 said cheerfully, rising and handing the 
 guitar to the abashed Annabel. "And 
 you are really quite recovered ? Cest 
 bien ! Business is dull, and we are amus 
 ing each other, you see. How do you 
 like the rooms ? I flatter myself " 
 
 " If you flattered none but yourself, 
 Mr. Welles, much harm would be avoid 
 ed," she interrupted with uncompromising 
 directness. " Kitty and Annabel, I can 
 not see how you can possibly tell how 
 many people may or may not be wanting 
 lunch ! " 
 
 " Billy Rider tells us when any one 
 comes," the director assured her. " They 
 don t come till twelve, anyway, and then 
 they want to see the room, mostly 
 
 [79] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 which we show them, don t we, Anna 
 bel ? " 
 
 Annabel blushed, cast down her eyes, 
 lifted them, showed her dimples, and re 
 plied in the words, if not in the accents, 
 of Thompson : " Yes, sir ! " 
 
 " It s really going to be an education 
 in itself, don t you think so ? " he con 
 tinued. " It s amazing how the people 
 like it it s really quite gratifying. Per 
 haps it may be my mission to abolish 
 the chromo and the tidy from off the face 
 of New England ! We have had crowds 
 here just to look at the pictures." 
 
 " I don t doubt it ! " replied Miss 
 Gould briefly. 
 
 " And I got the most attractive sugar- 
 bowl from the little boy who brought 
 in the reports about picking up papers 
 and such things from the streets. He 
 said he ought to have five cents, so I 
 gave him a dime I hadn t five and 
 I bought the bowl. Annabel, my child, 
 bring me " 
 
 [80] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 But Annabel and her fellow-waitress 
 had disappeared. Miss Gould sat in si 
 lence. At intervals her perplexed gaze 
 rested unconsciously on the Botticelli 
 Venus, from which she instantly with a 
 slight frown lowered it and regarded the 
 floor. When she at last met his eyes 
 the expression of her own was so trou 
 bled, the droop of her firm mouth so 
 pathetic and unusual, that he left his 
 chair and dragged the little stool to her 
 feet, assuming an attitude so boyish and 
 graceful that in spite of herself she smiled 
 at him. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he asked con 
 fidentially. " Is anything wrong ? Don t 
 you like the room ? I enjoy it tremen 
 dously, myself. I ve been here almost 
 all the time since it was done. I think 
 Tom Waters must be tremendously im 
 pressed " 
 
 c < That s the trouble ; he is," said Miss 
 Gould simply. 
 
 " Trouble ? trouble ? Is his impres- 
 [81] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 sion unfavorable ? Heavens, how un 
 fortunate ! " exclaimed the director airily. 
 " Surely, my application Does the 
 room fail to meet his approval, or " 
 
 " Yes, it does," she interrupted. 
 " He says it s no place for a man to be 
 in ; and he says the pictures are are 
 well, he says they are improper ! " glan 
 cing at the Venus. 
 
 " Ah ! " responded the director with 
 a suspicious sweetness. " He does not 
 care for the nude, then ? " 
 
 She sighed deeply. "Oh, Mr. Welles !" 
 
 " It is indeed to be regretted that Mr. 
 Waters s ideals are so high and shall 
 we say so elusive ? " proceeded the 
 director smoothly. " It is so difficult 
 so well-nigh impossible to satisfy him. 
 One devotes one s energies I may say 
 one slaves night and day to win some 
 slight mark of approval; and just as one 
 is about to reap the well-earned reward 
 a smile, a word of appreciation all is 
 forfeited ! It is hard indeed ! Would 
 
 [82] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 you suggest the rearrangement of the 
 Rooms under Mr. Waters s direction ? 
 Thompson is at his service " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Welles ! " she sighed hope 
 lessly. " It isn t only that ! It s not 
 alone the room, though Mrs. Under 
 wood wonders that I should think she 
 would be able to conduct the Band of 
 Hope in here, and Mrs. Rider says that 
 after what her husband told her she 
 should no more think of sitting here for 
 a mothers meeting than anything in 
 the world. It s the whole thing. Why 
 did you treat them all to lemonade the 
 first day ? Surely you knew that our 
 one aim is to prevent miscellaneous 
 charity. And Tom says you smoked in 
 here he smelt it." 
 
 " I smelt him, too," remarked the di 
 rector calmly. cc That was one reason 
 why I smoked." 
 
 " And and having Kitty and Anna 
 bel here all the time ! The Girls Club 
 are so j Well, the Girls Club like 
 
 [83] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 the old rooms better, they say, and it s 
 so difficult to get them to work together 
 at best. And now we shall have to work 
 so hard 
 
 "And the men think it s just a joke, 
 the lemonade and everything, and the 
 room gave them such a wrong impres 
 sion, and they don t seem to want it, 
 anyway. Tom Waters says he can t 
 abide sarsaparilla " 
 
 "Great heavens!" the director broke 
 in, " is it possible? A point on which Mr. 
 Waters s opinion coincides with mine ? 
 I have not lived in vain ! But this is 
 too much; I have not deserved " 
 
 "Oh, don t!" she begged. "There 
 is more. When I corrected Annabel 
 for what I had heard about her her 
 impertinent behavior, she said that Mrs. 
 Underwood had never approved of the 
 whole thing, and that if I had consulted 
 her she would never have given her con 
 sent to your being here, and that I was 
 dictatorial I!" 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 Her lodger coughed and ejaculated, 
 " You, indeed ! " 
 
 " And when I said that their ingrati 
 tude actually made me wonder why I 
 worked so hard for them, she said oh, 
 dear ! It is all dreadful ! I don t know 
 what to do ! " 
 
 "I do ! " returned her lodger promptly. 
 "Go away and leave em! They aren t 
 fit to trouble you any more. Besides, 
 they re really not so bad, after all, you 
 know. There has to be just about so 
 much laziness and and that sort of 
 thing, don t you see. Look at me, for 
 instance ! Think of how much misdi 
 rected energy I balance ! And it gives 
 other people something to do. . . . Go 
 away and leave it all for a while ! " he 
 repeated smilingly. 
 
 " Go away ! But where ? Why should 
 I ? What do you mean ? " she stammered, 
 confused at something in his eyes, which 
 never left her face. 
 
 "To England you said you d like 
 
 [85] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 to see it. With me for I certainly 
 couldn t stay here alone. Why do you 
 suppose I stay, dear lady? I used to 
 wonder myself. No, sit still, don t 
 get up ! I am about to make you an 
 offer of marriage ; indeed, I am seri 
 ous, Miss Gould ! 
 
 " I don t see that it s ridiculous at 
 all. I see every practical reason in favor 
 of it. In the first place, if they are gos 
 siping oh, yes, Thompson told me, 
 and I wonder that they hadn t before: 
 these villages are dreadful places I 
 couldn t very well stay, you see; and then 
 where should I put all my things? In 
 the second place, I have so much stuff, 
 and there s no house fit for it but but 
 ours; and if we were married I could 
 have just twice as much room for it 
 and I m getting far too much for my 
 side. In the third place, I find that I 
 can t look forward with any pleasure to 
 travelling about alone, because, in the 
 fourth place, I ve grown so tremendously 
 [86] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 fond of you, dear Miss Gould ! I think 
 you don t dislike me?" 
 
 She plucked the guitar strings ner 
 vously with her white, strong fingers. 
 The rich, vibrating tones of it filled the 
 room and confused her still more. 
 
 " People will say that I that we " 
 He caught her hand : it had never been 
 kissed before. " Would you rather I 
 went away and then there would be noth 
 ing left for them to say?" he asked softly. 
 
 She caught her breath. 
 
 "I m too " 
 
 " You are too charming not to have 
 some one who appreciates the fact as 
 thoroughly as I do," he interrupted 
 gallantly. " I think you do me so 
 much good, you know," he added, still 
 holding her hand. She looked at him 
 directly for the first time. 
 
 " Do I really? Is that true?" she de 
 manded, with a return of her old man 
 ner so complete and sudden as to startle 
 him. " If I thought that " 
 
 [87] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 "You would?" he asked with a smile. 
 " I thought so ! Here is a village that 
 scorns your efforts and a respectful suitor 
 who implores them. Can you hesitate?" 
 
 His smile was irresistible, and she re 
 turned it half reprovingly. " Will you 
 never be serious ? " she said. " I won 
 der that I can " She stopped. 
 
 "That you can " he repeated, watch 
 ing her blush, but she would not finish. 
 
 " You must not think that I can give 
 up my work my real work so easily," 
 she said, rising and looking down on him 
 with a return of her simple impressive 
 seriousness. " I shall have to consider. 
 I have been very much disturbed by their 
 conduct. I will see you after supper," 
 and with a gesture that told him to re 
 main, she left the room, her head high as 
 she caught Annabel s voice from outside. 
 She turned in the door, however, and the 
 stern curves of her mouth melted with a 
 smile so sweet, a promise so gracious and 
 so tender, that when her eyes, frank and 
 [88] 
 
A PHILANTHROPIST 
 
 direct as a boy s, left his, he looked long 
 at the closed door, wondering at the 
 quickening of his pulses. 
 
 A moment later he heard her voice, 
 imperious and clear, and the mumble of 
 Mr. Waters s unavailing if never-ending 
 excuses. He laughed softly to himself, 
 and touched the strings of the guitar that 
 she had struck. " I shall save the wor 
 thy Thomas much," he murmured to 
 himself, "and of course I do it to reform 
 her I cannot pull down the village and 
 die with the Philistines ! " 
 
 She went up the long main street, Mr. 
 Waters at her side and Annabel Riley 
 behind her. Her lodger watched her out 
 of sight, and prepared to lock up the 
 Rooms. 
 
 "So firm, so positive, so wholesome!" 
 he said, as he started after her. 
 
 [89] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 SHE had never felt so tired of it all, 
 it seemed to her. The sun streamed 
 hot across the backs of the shining seats 
 into her eyes, but she was too tired to 
 get the window-pole. She watched the 
 incoming class listlessly, wondering whe 
 ther it would be worth while to ask one 
 of them to close the shutter. They chat 
 tered and giggled and bustled in, rattling 
 the chairs about, and begging one an 
 other s pardon vociferously, with that in 
 sistent politeness which marks a sharply 
 defined stage in the social evolution of the 
 young girl. They irritated her exces 
 sively these little airs and graces. She 
 
 [93] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 opened her book with a snap, and began 
 to call the roll sharply. 
 
 Midway up the room sat a tall, dark 
 girl, not handsome, but noticeably well 
 dressed. She looked politely at her ques 
 tioner when spoken to, but seemed as far 
 in spirit as the distant trees toward which 
 she directed her attention when not par 
 ticularly addressed. She seemed to have 
 a certain personality, a self-possession, a 
 source of interest other than collegiate ; 
 and this held her apart from the others in 
 the mind of the woman who sat before 
 the desk. 
 
 What was that girl thinking of, she 
 wondered, as she called another name and 
 glanced at the book to gather material 
 for a question. What a perfect taste had 
 combined that dark, brocaded vest with 
 the dull, rough cloth of the suit and 
 she dressed her hair so well ! She had a 
 beautiful band of pearls on one finger : 
 was it an engagement-ring ? No, that 
 would be a solitaire. 
 
 [94] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 And all this time she called names from 
 the interminable list, and mechanically 
 corrected the mistakes of their owners. 
 Her eyes went back to the girl in the 
 middle row, who turned her head and 
 yawned a little. They took their educa 
 tion very easily, these maidens. 
 
 How she had saved and denied herself, 
 and even consented to the indebtedness 
 she so hated, to gain that coveted Ger 
 man winter ! And how delightful it had 
 been ! 
 
 Almost she saw again the dear home 
 of that blessed year : the kindly house 
 mother; the chubby Made hen, who 
 knitted her a silk purse, and cried when 
 she left; the father with his beloved 
 cello and his deep, honest voice. 
 
 How cunning the little Bertha had 
 been ! How pleasant it was to hear her 
 gay little voice when one came down the 
 shady street ! " Da ist sie, ja ! " she 
 would call to her mother, and then Her 
 mann would come up to her with his 
 
 [95] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 hands outstretched. Had she had a 
 hard day ? Was the lecture good ? 
 How brown his beard was, and how deep 
 and faithful his brown eyes were ! And 
 he used to sing why were there no bass 
 voices in the States ? " Kennst du das 
 Land" he used to sing, and his mother 
 cried softly to herself for pleasure. And 
 once she herself had cried a little. 
 
 "No," she said to the girl who was 
 reciting, " no, it takes the dative. I can 
 not seem to impress sufficiently on your 
 minds the necessity for learning that list 
 thoroughly. You may translate now." 
 
 And they translated. H ow they drawled 
 it over, the beautiful, rich German. 
 Hermann had begged so, but she had 
 felt differently then. She had loved her 
 work in anticipation. To marry and settle 
 down she was not ready. It would be 
 so good to be independent. And now 
 But it was too late. That was years ago. 
 Hermann must have found some yellow- 
 braided, blue-eyed Dorothea by this 
 
 [96] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 some Mddchen who cared not for calcu 
 lus and Hebrew, but only to be what her 
 mother had been, wife and house-mother. 
 But this was treason. Our grand 
 mothers had thought that. 
 
 She looked at the girl in the middle 
 row. What beautiful hair she had ! 
 What an idiot she was to give up four 
 years of her life to this round of work 
 and play and pretence of living ! Oh, to 
 go back to Germany to see Bertha 
 and her mother again, and hear the father s 
 cello ! Hermann had loved her so ! He 
 had said, so quietly and yet so surely : 
 " But thou wilt come back, my heart s 
 own. And always I wait here for thee. 
 Make me not wait long ! " He had 
 seemed too quiet then too slow and too 
 easily content. She had wanted quicker, 
 busier, more individual life. And now 
 her heart said, " O fool ! " 
 
 Was it too late ? Suppose she should 
 go, after all ? Suppose she should go, 
 and all should be as it had been, only a 
 
 [97] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 little older, a little more quiet and peace 
 ful ? The very fancy rilled her heart with 
 sudden calm. A love so deep and sure, 
 so broad and sweet could it not dignify 
 any woman s life ? And she had been 
 thought worthy and had refused this love! 
 O fool ! 
 
 Suppose she went and found her 
 heart beat too quickly, and her face 
 flushed. She called on the bright girl in 
 the front row. 
 
 "And what havejy0# learned?" she said. 
 
 The girl coughed importantly. " It is 
 a poem of Goethe s," she announced in 
 her high, satisfied voice. " Kennst du das 
 Land " 
 
 " That will do," said the German as 
 sistant. " I fear we shall not have time 
 for it to-day. The hour is up. You may 
 go on with the translation for to-mor 
 row." And as the class rose with a grow 
 ing clamor she realized that though she 
 had been thinking steadily in German, 
 she had been talking in English. So that 
 
 [98] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 was why they had comprehended so well 
 and answered so readily ! And yet she 
 was too glad to be annoyed at the slip. 
 There were other things : her life was 
 not a German class ! 
 
 As the girls crowded out, one stopped 
 by the desk. She laid her hand with the 
 pearl band on the third finger on the 
 teacher s arm. " You look tired," she 
 said. " I hope you re not ill ? " 
 
 " 111 ? " said the woman at the desk. 
 " I never felt better. I ve been neglect 
 ing my classes, I fear, in the study of 
 your green gown. It is so very pretty." 
 
 The girl smiled and colored a little. 
 
 " I m glad you like it," she said. " I 
 like it, too." Then, with a sudden feel 
 ing of friendship, an odd sense of inti 
 macy, a quick impulse of common femi 
 ninity, she added : 
 
 " I ve had some good times in this 
 dress. Wearing it up here makes me re 
 member them very strangely. It s queer, 
 what a difference it makes " She 
 
 [99] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 stopped and looked questioningly at the 
 older woman. 
 
 But the German assistant smiled at her. 
 " Yes," she said, " it is. And when you 
 have been teaching seven years the dif 
 ference becomes very apparent/ She 
 gathered up her books, still smiling in a 
 reminiscent way. And as she went out 
 of the door, she looked back at the glar 
 ing, sunny room as if already it were far 
 behind her, as if already she felt the 
 house-mother s kiss, and heard the cello, 
 and saw Klara s tiny daughter standing 
 by the door, throwing kisses, calling, 
 " Da ist sie,ja ! " 
 
 Lost in the dream, her eyes fixed ab 
 sently, she stumbled against her fellow- 
 assistant, who was making for the room 
 she had just left. 
 
 " I beg your pardon I wasn t look 
 ing. Oh, it s you!" she murmured 
 vaguely. Her fellow-assistant had a 
 headache, and forty-five written papers 
 to correct. She had just heard, too, a 
 [100] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 cutting criticism of her work made by 
 the self-appointed faculty critic ; the 
 criticism was cleverly worded, and had 
 just enough truth to fly quickly and hurt 
 her with the head of her department. So 
 she was not in the best of tempers. 
 
 " Yes, it s I," she said crossly. " If 
 you had knocked these papers an inch 
 farther, I should have invited you to cor 
 rect them. If you go about in that ab 
 stracted way much longer, my dear, Miss 
 Selbourne will inform the world (on the 
 very best authority) that you re in love. " 
 
 " I ? What nonsense ! " 
 
 It was a ridiculous thing to say, and she 
 flushed angrily at herself. It was only a 
 joke, of course. 
 
 The other woman laughed shortly. 
 
 " Dear me ! I really believe you are ! " 
 she exclaimed. " The girls were saying 
 at breakfast that Professor Tredick was 
 ruining himself in violets yesterday so 
 it was for you ! " and she went into the 
 lecture-room. 
 
 [wi] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 A chattering crowd of girls closed in 
 behind her. One voice rose above the 
 rest : 
 
 " Well, I don t know what you call it, 
 then. He skated with her all the winter, 
 and at the Dickinson party they sat on 
 one sofa for an hour and talked steadily ! " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! She skates beauti 
 fully, that s all." 
 
 " She sits on a sofa beautifully, too." 
 A burst of laughter, and the door closed. 
 
 The German assistant smiled satirically. 
 It was all of a piece. At least, the 
 younger women were perfectly frank 
 about it : they did not feel themselves 
 forced to employ sarcasm in their refer 
 ences ; it was not necessary for them to 
 appear to have definitely chosen this life 
 in preference to any other. Four years 
 was little to lend to such an experiment. 
 But the older women, who sat on those 
 prim little platforms year after year a 
 sudden curiosity possessed her to know 
 how many of them were really satisfied. 
 [102] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 Could it be that they had preferred 
 actually preferred But she had, herself, 
 three years ago. She shook her head 
 decidedly. " Not for nine years, not for 
 nine ! " she murmured, as she caught 
 through the heavy door a familiar voice 
 raised to emphasize some French phrase. 
 
 And yet, somebody must teach them. 
 They could not be born with foreign 
 idioms and historical dates and mathe 
 matical formulae in their little heads. 
 She herself deplored the modern tendency 
 that sent a changing drift of young teach 
 ers through the colleges, to learn at the 
 expense of the students a soon relinquished 
 profession. But how ridiculous the posi 
 tion of the women who prided themselves 
 on the steadiness and continuity of their 
 service ! Surely they must find it an empty 
 success at times. They must regret. 
 
 She was passing through the chapel. 
 Two scrubbing-women were straightening 
 the chairs, their backs turned to her. 
 
 " From all I hear," said one, with a 
 
 C I0 3] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 chuckle and a sly glance, "we ll be afther 
 gettin our invitations soon. * 
 
 " An to what ? " demanded the other 
 quickly. 
 
 " Sure, they say it s a weddin ." 
 
 cc Ah, now, hush yer noise, Mary 
 Nolan ; tis no such thing. I ve had 
 enough o husbands. I know when I m 
 doin well, an that s as I am ! " 
 
 " Tis strange that the men sh d think 
 different, now, but they do ! " 
 
 They laughed heartily and long. The 
 German assistant looked at the broad 
 backs meditatively. Just now they 
 seemed to her more consistent than any 
 other women in the great building. 
 
 She walked quickly across the greening 
 campus. The close-set brick buildings 
 seemed to press up against her ; every 
 window stood for some crowded, narrow 
 room, filled with books and tea-cups and 
 clothes and photographs hundreds of 
 them, and all alike. In her own room 
 she tried to reason herself out of this 
 [104] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 intolerable depression, to realize the ad 
 vantages of a quiet life in what was surely 
 the same pleasant, cultured atmosphere 
 to which she had so eagerly looked for 
 ward three years ago. Her room was 
 large, well furnished, perfectly heated ; 
 and if the condition of her closet would 
 have appeared nothing short of appall 
 ing to a householder, that condition was 
 owing to the hopeless exigencies of the 
 occasion. With the exception of that 
 whited sepulchre, all was neat, artistic, 
 eminently habitable. She surveyed it 
 critically : the " Mona Lisa," the large 
 "Melrose Abbey," the Burne-Jones dra 
 peries, and the " Blessed Damozel " that 
 spread a placid if monotonous culture 
 through the rooms of educated single 
 women. A proper appreciation of pol 
 ished wood, the sanitary and aesthetic 
 values of the open fire, a certain scheme 
 in couch-pillows, all linked it to the dozen 
 other rooms that occupied the same rela 
 tive ground-floor corners in a dozen other 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 houses. Some of them had more books, 
 some ran to handsome photographs, some 
 afforded fads in old furniture; but it was 
 only a question of more or less. It looked 
 utterly impersonal to-day ; its very atmos 
 phere was artificial, typical, a pretended 
 self-sufficiency. 
 
 How many years more should she live 
 in it three, nine, thirteen ? The tide 
 of girls would ebb and flow with every 
 June and September; eighteen to twenty- 
 two would ring their changes through the 
 terms, and she could take her choice of 
 the two methods of regarding them : she 
 could insist on a perennial interest in the 
 separate personalities, and endure weari 
 ness for the sake of an uncertain influ 
 ence ; or she could mass them frankly as 
 the student body, and confine the con 
 nection to marking their class-room efforts 
 and serving their meat in the dining-room. 
 The latter was at once more honest and 
 more easy ; all but the most ambitious 
 or the most conscientious came to it 
 sooner or later. 
 
 [106] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 The youngest among the assistants, 
 themselves fresh from college, mingled 
 naturally enough with the students; they 
 danced and skated and enjoyed their 
 girlish authority. The older women, 
 seasoned to the life, settled there indefi 
 nitely, identified themselves more or less 
 with the town, amused themselves with 
 their little aristocracy of precedence, and 
 wove and interwove the complicated, 
 slender strands of college gossip. But a 
 woman of barely thirty, too old for 
 friendships with young girls, too young 
 to find her placid recreation in the stereo 
 typed round of social functions, that 
 seemed so perfectly imitative of the nor 
 mal and yet so curiously unsuccessful at 
 bottom what was there for her? 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on the hill-slope 
 view that made her room so desirable. 
 It occurred to her that its changelessness 
 was not necessarily so attractive a charac 
 teristic as the local poets practised them 
 selves in assuring her. 
 
 A light knock at the door recalled to 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 her the utter lack of privacy that put her 
 at the mercy of laundress, sophomore, 
 and expressman. She regretted that she 
 had not put up the little sign whose 
 " Please do not disturb " was her only 
 means of defence. 
 
 " Come ! " she called shortly, and the 
 tall girl in the green dress stood in the 
 open door. A strange sense of long ac 
 quaintance, a vague feeling of familiarity, 
 surprised the older woman. Her expres 
 sion changed. 
 
 " Come in," she said cordially. 
 
 "I am I disturbing you?" asked the 
 girl doubtfully. She had a pile of books 
 on her arm ; her trim jacket and hat, and 
 something in the way she held her arm 
 ful, seemed curiously at variance with her 
 tam-o -shantered, golf-caped friends. 
 
 " I couldn t find out whether you had 
 an office hour, and I didn t know whether 
 I ought to have sent in my name it 
 seemed so formal, when it is only a mo 
 ment I need to see you " 
 [108] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 "Sit down," said the German assistant 
 pleasantly. "What can I do for you?" 
 
 " I have been talking with Fraulein 
 Miiller about my German, and she says 
 if you are willing to give me an outline 
 for advanced work and an examination 
 later on, I can go into a higher division 
 in a little while. Languages are always 
 easy for me, and I could go on much 
 quicker." 
 
 " Oh, certainly. I have thought more 
 than once that you were wasting your 
 time. The class is too large and too 
 slow. I will make you out an outline and 
 give it to you after class to-morrow," 
 said the German assistant promptly. 
 " Meanwhile, won t you stay and make 
 me a little call ? I will light the fire and 
 make some tea, if that is an inducement." 
 
 "The invitation is inducement enough, 
 I assure you," smiled the girl, " but I 
 must not stay to-day, I think. If you 
 will let me come again, when I have no 
 work to bother you with, I should love to." 
 [109] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 There was something easily decisive in 
 her manner, something very different 
 from the other students, who refused 
 such invitations awkwardly, eager to be 
 pressed, and when finally assured of a 
 sincere welcome, prolonged their calls and 
 talked about themselves into the un 
 counted hours. Evidently she would 
 not stay this time ; evidently she would 
 like to come again. 
 
 As the door closed behind her the 
 German assistant dropped her cordial 
 smile and sank back listlessly in her 
 chair. 
 
 " After all, she s only a girl ! " she 
 murmured. For almost an hour she sat 
 looking fixedly at the unlit logs, hardly 
 conscious of the wasted time. Much 
 might have gone into that hour. There 
 was tea for her at one of the college 
 houses the hostess had a "day," and 
 went so far as to aspire to the exclusive 
 serving of a certain kind of tinned fancy 
 biscuit every Friday if she wanted to 
 [no] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 drop in. This hostess invited favored 
 students to meet the faculty and towns 
 people on these occasions, and the two 
 latter classes were expected to effect a 
 social fusion with the former which 
 linked it, to some minds, a little too ob 
 viously with professional duties. 
 
 She might call on the head of her de 
 partment, who was suffering from some 
 slight indisposition, and receive minute 
 advice as to the conduct of her classes, 
 mingled with general criticism of various 
 colleagues and their methods. She might 
 make a number of calls; but if there is 
 one situation in which the futility of these 
 social mockeries becomes most thoroughly 
 obvious, it is the situation presented by 
 an attempt to imitate the conventional 
 society life in a woman s college. And 
 yet she had gone over the whole ques 
 tion so often what a desert of awk 
 wardness and learned provincialism such 
 a college would be without the attempt ! 
 How often she had cordially agreed to 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 the statement that it was precisely be 
 cause of its insistence upon this connec 
 tion with the forms and relations of 
 normal life that her college was so suc 
 cessfully free from the tomboyishness or 
 the priggishness or the gaucherie of some 
 of the others ! And yet its very success 
 came from begging the question, after all. 
 
 She shook her head impatiently. A 
 strong odor of boiling chocolate crept 
 through the transom. Somebody began 
 to practise a monotonous accompaniment 
 on the guitar. Over her head a series of 
 startling bumps and jarring falls suggested 
 a troupe of baby elephants practising for 
 their first appearance in public. The 
 German assistant set her teeth. 
 
 " Before I die," she announced to her 
 image in the glass, " I propose to in 
 quire flatly of Miss Burgess if she does 
 pile her furniture in a heap and slide 
 down it on her toboggan ! There is no 
 other logical explanation of that horrible 
 disturbance." 
 
 [112] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 The face in the glass caught her atten 
 tion. It looked sallow, with lines under 
 the eyes. The hair rolled back a little 
 too severely for the prevailing mode, 
 and she recalled her late visitor s effec 
 tively adjusted side-combs, her soft, dark 
 waves. 
 
 " They have time for it, evidently," 
 she mused, " and after all it is certainly 
 more important than modal auxiliaries ! " 
 
 And for half an hour she twisted and 
 looped and coiled, between the chiffonnier 
 and a hand-glass, fairly flushing with 
 pleasure at the result. 
 
 " Now," she said, looking cheerfully at 
 a pile of written papers, cc I 11 take a 
 walk, I think a real walk." And till 
 dinner-time she tramped some of the old 
 roads of her college days more girlish 
 than those days had found her, lighter- 
 footed, she thought, than before. 
 
 The flush was still in her cheeks as 
 she served her hungry tableful, and she 
 could not fail to catch the meaning of 
 
 ["3] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 their frank stares. Pausing in the parlor 
 door to answer a question, she overheard 
 a bit of conversation : 
 
 cc Doesn t she look well with her hair 
 low ? Quite stunning, I think." 
 
 " Yes, indeed. If only she wouldn t 
 dress so old ! It makes her look older 
 than she is. That red waist she wears in 
 the evening is awfully becoming." 
 
 " Yes, I hate her in dark things." 
 
 The regret that she had not found 
 time to put on the red waist was so in 
 stant and keen that she laughed at her 
 self when alone in her room. She moved 
 vaguely about, aimlessly changing the 
 position of the furniture. How absurd ! 
 To do one s hair differently, and take a 
 long walk, and feel as if an old life were 
 somehow far behind one ! 
 
 Later she found herself before her 
 desk, hunting for her foreign letter-pa 
 per, and once started, her pen flew. 
 There were long meditative lapses, fol 
 lowed by nervous haste, as if to make up 
 
 ["4] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 the lost time ; and just before the ten- 
 o clock bell she slipped out to mail a fat 
 brown-stamped envelope. The night- 
 watchman chuckled as he watched the 
 head shrouded in the golf-cape hood bend 
 a moment over the little white square. 
 
 " Maybe it s one o the maids, maybe 
 it s one o the teachers, maybe it s one o 
 the girls," he confided to his lantern ; 
 " they re all alike, come to that ! An a 
 good thing, too ! " 
 
 In the morning the German assistant 
 dismissed her last class early and took 
 train for Springfield. On the way to the 
 station a deferential clerk from the book 
 shop waylaid her. 
 
 " One moment, please. Those books 
 you spoke of. Mr. HartwelFs library is 
 up at auction and we re sending a man 
 to buy to-day. If you could get the 
 whole set for twenty-five dollars " 
 
 She smiled and shook her head. " I ve 
 changed my mind, thank you I can t 
 afford it. Yes, I suppose it is a bargain, 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 but books are such a trouble to carry 
 about, you know. No, I don t think of 
 anything else." 
 
 What freedom, what a strange baseless 
 exhilaration ! Suppose suppose it was 
 all a mistake, and she should wake back 
 to the old stubborn, perfunctory reality ! 
 Perhaps it was better, saner that quiet 
 taken-for-granted existence. Perhaps she 
 regretted but even with the half-fear at 
 her heart she laughed at that. If wake 
 she must, she loved the dream. How 
 she trusted that man ! tc Always I will 
 wait " and he would. But seven 
 years ! She threw the thought behind her. 
 
 The next days passed in a swift, con 
 fused flight. She knew they were all 
 discussing her, wondering at her changed 
 face, her fresh, becoming clothes ; they 
 decided that she had had money left her. 
 
 " Some of my girls saw you shopping 
 in Springfield last Saturday they say 
 you got some lovely waists," said her 
 fellow-assistant tentatively. " Was this 
 
 [116] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 one ? It s very sweet. You ought to 
 wear red a great deal, you look so well in 
 it. Did you know Professor Riggs spoke 
 of your hat with wild enthusiasm to Mrs. 
 Austin Sunday ? He said it was won 
 derful what a difference a stylish hat 
 made. Not that he meant, of course 
 Well, it s lovely to be able to get what 
 you want. Goodness knows, I wish I 
 could." 
 
 The other laughed. " Oh, it s per 
 fectly easy if you really want to," she 
 said, " it all depends on what you want, 
 you know." 
 
 For the first week she moved in a kind 
 of exaltation. It was partly that her 
 glass showed her a different woman : soft- 
 eyed, with cheeks tinted from the long, 
 restless walks through the spring that 
 was coming on with every warm, green 
 ing day. The excitement of the letter 
 hung over her. She pictured her an 
 nouncement, Fraulein Miiller s amazed 
 questions. 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 " c But but I do not understand ! 
 You are not well ? 
 
 " Perfectly, thank you/ 
 
 " c But I am perfectly satisfied : I do 
 not wish to change. You are not sick, 
 then ? 
 
 " c Only of teaching, Fraulein. 
 
 C ( But the instructorship I was go 
 ing to recommend do not be alarmed ; 
 you shall have it surely ! 
 
 " c You are very kind, but I have 
 taught long enough. 
 
 " c Then you do not find another po 
 sition ? Are you to be 
 
 Always here her heart sank. Was 
 she ? What real basis had all this sweet, 
 disturbing dream ? To write so to a 
 man after seven years ! It was not de 
 cent. She grew satiric. How embarrass 
 ing for him to read such a letter in the 
 bosom of an affectionate, flaxen-haired 
 family ! At least, she would never know 
 how he really felt, thank Heaven. And 
 what was left for her then? To her 
 [118] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 own mind she had burned her bridges 
 already. She was as far from this place 
 in fancy as if the miles stretched verita 
 bly between them. And yet she knew 
 no other life. She knew no other men. 
 He was the only one. In a flash of 
 shame it came over her that a woman 
 with more experience would never have 
 written such a letter. Everybody knew 
 that men forget, change, easily replace 
 first loves. Nobody but such a clois 
 tered, academic spinster as she would have 
 trusted a seven years promise. This 
 was another result of such lives as they 
 led such helpless, provincial women. 
 Her resentment grew against the place. 
 It had made her a fool. 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon, and she had 
 omitted, in deference to the day, the 
 short skirt and walking-hat of her week 
 day stroll. Sunk in accusing shame, her 
 cheeks flaming under her wide, dark hat, 
 her quick step more sweeping than she 
 knew, her eyes on the ground, she just 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 escaped collision with a suddenly loom 
 ing masculine figure. A hasty apology, 
 a startled glance of appeal, a quick breath 
 that parted her lips, and she was past the 
 stranger. But not before she had caught 
 in his eyes a look that quickened her heart, 
 that soothed her angry humility. The 
 sudden sincere admiration, the involun 
 tary tribute to her charm, was new to her, 
 but the instinct of countless generations 
 made it as plain and as much her pre 
 rogative as if she had been the most suc 
 cessful debutante. She was not, then, an 
 object of pity, to be treasured for the 
 sake of the old days ; other men, too 
 the impulse outstripped thought, but she 
 caught up with it. 
 
 " How dreadful ! " she murmured, 
 with a consciousness of undreamed depths 
 in herself. " Of course he is the only 
 one the only one !" and across the 
 water she begged his forgiveness. 
 
 But through all her agony of doubt in 
 the days that followed, one shame was 
 [120] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 miraculously removed, one hope sang 
 faintly beneath : she, too, had her power ! 
 A glance in the street had called her from 
 one army of her sisters to the other, and 
 the difference was inestimable. 
 
 Her classes stared at her with naive 
 admiration. The girls in the house 
 begged for her as a chaperon to Am- 
 herst entertainments, and sulked when a 
 report that the young hosts found her too 
 attractive to enable strangers to distinguish 
 readily between her and her charges ren 
 dered another selection advisable. The 
 fact that her interest in them was fitful, 
 sometimes making her merry and inti 
 mate, sometimes relegating them to a 
 connection purely professional, only left 
 her more interesting to them ; and boxes 
 of flowers, respectful solicitations to 
 spreads, and tempting invitations to long 
 drives through the lengthening afternoons 
 began to elect her to an obvious popu 
 larity. Once it would have meant much 
 to her ; she marvelled now at the little 
 [121] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 shade of jealousy with which her colleagues 
 assured her of it. How long must she 
 wait ? When would life be real again ? 
 
 She seemed to herself to move in a 
 dream that heightened and strained 
 quicker as it neared an inevitable shock 
 of waking to what ? Even at the best, 
 to what? Even supposing that she 
 put it boldly, as if it had been another 
 woman she should marry the man who 
 had asked her seven years ago, what was 
 there in the very obvious future thus as 
 sured her that could match the hopes her 
 heart held out ? How could it be at once 
 the golden harbor, the peaceful end of 
 hurried, empty years, and the delicious, 
 shifting unrest that made a tumult of her 
 days and nights ? Yet something told 
 her that it was ; something repeated in 
 sistently, " Always I will wait." . . . 
 He would keep faith, that grave, big 
 man ! 
 
 But every day, as she moved with 
 tightened lips to the table where the mail 
 [122] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 lay spread, coloring at a foreign stamp, 
 paling with the disappointment, her hope 
 grew fainter. He dared not write and 
 tell her. It was over. Violet shadows 
 darkened her eyes ; a feverish flush made 
 her, as it grew and faded at the slightest 
 warning, more girlish than ever. 
 
 But the young life about her seemed 
 only to mock her own late weakened im 
 pulse. It was not the same. She was 
 playing heavy stakes : they hardly real 
 ized the game. All but one, they irri 
 tated her. This one, since her first short 
 call, had come and come again. No ex 
 planations, no confidences, had passed 
 between them ; their sympathy, deep- 
 rooted, expressed itself perfectly in the 
 ordinary conventional tone of two re 
 served if congenial natures. The girl did 
 not discuss herself, the woman dared not. 
 They talked of books, music, travel ; 
 never, as if by tacit agreement, of any of 
 the countless possible personalities in a 
 place so given to personal discussion. 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 She could not have told how she knew 
 that the girl had come to college to please 
 a mother whose great regret was to have 
 missed such training, nor did she remem 
 ber when her incurious friend had learned 
 her tense determination of flight; she 
 could have sworn that she had never 
 spoken of it. Sometimes, so perfectly 
 did they appear to understand each other 
 beneath an indifferent conversation, it 
 seemed to her that the words must be the 
 merest symbols, and that the girl who 
 always caught her lightest shade of mean 
 ing knew to exactness her alternate hope 
 and fear, the rudderless tossing toward 
 and from her taunting harbor-light. 
 
 They sat by an open window, breathing 
 in the moist air from the fresh, upturned 
 earth. The gardeners were working over 
 the sprouting beds ; the sun came in warm 
 and sweet. 
 
 " Three weeks ago it was almost cold 
 at this time," said the girl. "In the 
 springtime I give up going home, and 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 love the place. But two years more 
 two years ! " 
 
 cc Do you really mind it so much ?" 
 
 " I think what I mind the most is that 
 I don t like it more," said the girl slowly. 
 " Mamma wanted it so. She really loved 
 study. I don t, but if I did I should 
 love it more than this. This would seem 
 so childish. And if I just wanted a good 
 time, why, then this would seem such a 
 lot of trouble. All the good things here 
 seem seem remedies ! " 
 
 The older woman laughed nervously. 
 Three weeks three weeks and no word ! 
 
 "You will be making epigrams, my 
 dear, if you don t take care," she said 
 lightly. " But you re going to finish just 
 the same ? The girls like you, your work 
 is good ; you ought to stay." 
 
 The girl flashed a look of surprise at 
 her. It was her only hint of sympathy. 
 
 cc You advise me to ? " she asked 
 quietly. 
 
 " I think it would be a pity to disap- 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 point your mother," with a light hand 
 on her shoulder. "You are so young 
 four years is very little. Of course you 
 could do the work in half the time, but 
 you admit that you are not an ardent 
 student. If nobody came here but the 
 girls that really needed to, we shouldn t 
 have the reputation that we have. The 
 girls to whom this place means the last 
 word in learning and the last grace of 
 social life are estimable young women, 
 but not so pleasant to meet as you." 
 
 Three weeks but he had waited 
 seven years ! 
 
 " I am very childish," said the girl. 
 " Of course I will stay. And some of it 
 I like very much. It s only that mam 
 ma doesn t understand. She overesti 
 mates it so. Somehow, the more com 
 plete it is, the more like everything else, 
 the more you have to find fault with on 
 all sides. I d rather have come when 
 mamma was a girl." 
 
 " I see. I have thought that, too." 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 Ah, fool, give up your senseless hope ! 
 You had your chance you lost it. Fate 
 cannot stop and wait while you grow wise. 
 
 " When that shadow covers the hill, I 
 will give it up forever. Then I will 
 write to Henry s wife and ask her to let 
 me come and help take care of the chil 
 dren. She will like it, and I can get 
 tutoring if I want it. I will make the 
 children love me, and there will be a 
 place where I shall be wanted and can 
 help," she thought. 
 
 The shadow slipped lower. The fresh 
 turf steeped in the last rays, the birds 
 sang, the warming earth seemed to have 
 touched the very core of spring. Her 
 hopes had answered the eager year, but 
 her miracle was too wonderful to be. 
 
 A light knock at the door, and a maid 
 came toward her, tray in hand. She lifted 
 the card carelessly her heart dropped 
 a moment and beat in hard, slow throbs. 
 Her eyes filled with tears ; her cheeks 
 were hot and brilliant. 
 
 [1*7] 
 
A REVERSION TO TYPE 
 
 " I will be there in a moment." How 
 deep her voice sounded ! 
 
 The girl slipped by her. 
 
 " I was going anyway," she said softly. 
 " Good-by ! Don t touch your hair 
 it s just right." 
 
 She did not wait for an answer, but 
 went out. As she passed by the little 
 reception-room a tall, eager man made 
 toward her with outstretched hands. Her 
 voice trembled as she laughed. 
 
 "No, no I m not the one," she 
 murmured, " but she she s coming ! " 
 
 [ I2 8] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 MISS SABINA dropped a lump of 
 sugar into each of the little cups 
 and poured the coffee with a pretty care 
 fulness, handing one across the table and 
 rising with a grace that was almost girlish. 
 
 " Shall we drink it on the porch? " she 
 asked, in her gentle, deprecating voice 
 with the minor tone in it, that one asso 
 ciated with her as closely as her gray 
 dress, her quaint old-fashioned rings, and 
 the faint odor of dried rose-leaves not 
 attar or essence of rose, but dried rose- 
 leaves that went with her when she 
 walked. 
 
 For ten years she had asked this ques- 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 tion, pleasantly, deferentially ; and for ten 
 years M. Laroche had taken his cup, pre 
 ceded her to the door that opened directly 
 on the piazza, bowed low as he held it 
 for her to pass, and exclaimed with an 
 ever-fresh enthusiasm, " Ze porrch, by 
 all means ! " 
 
 It was a pleasant porch with a climbing 
 vine and a box of scarlet geraniums, and 
 directly in front of it a little unfenced 
 green with a small fountain the park 
 of the street, which was one of those clean 
 and faded byways of a rapidly growing 
 city that surprise the discoverer with a 
 sense of what the old town used to be 
 two generations ago. The rumble of the 
 city died away before one entered Maple 
 Avenue ; the women sat and gossiped 
 on the stoops ; the children played hap 
 pily in the park ; the late afternoon seemed 
 almost rural as the sun slanted through 
 the maples that shaded either side of the 
 narrow, dusty road. 
 
 Miss Sabina finished her coffee and 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 wiped her fingers daintily. In the fading 
 glow her pale hair turned almost golden, 
 and her soft cheeks took a deeper tint 
 one realized what a charmingly pretty 
 girl she must have been. She looked 
 long at the green before them and broke 
 the friendly silence : 
 
 " How well the grass is looking, mon 
 sieur, for this time of year ! " 
 
 M. Laroche beamed expressively on 
 the grass. " But how charming, Mile. 
 Sabine, and how green ! It is also neat 
 so neat ! " 
 
 Miss Sabina sighed. 
 
 " I suppose that in England it is much, 
 much finer," she said softly. " I sup 
 pose we haven t the least idea of the 
 parks there one must see them." 
 
 M. Laroche shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Ah, ze parrks ! C est possible it 
 may be. But zey are damp, verry damp 
 n est-ce fas ? " 
 
 Miss Sabina smiled gently to herself, 
 with eyes that saw beyond the little green. 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 " And the abbeys, monsieur ! West 
 minster and Oxford and Melrose ! Only 
 think of standing of my standing by 
 Melrose Abbey ! " 
 
 M. Laroche raised his brows eloquently 
 and appeared lost in contemplation of 
 the picture. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! Indeed ! " he sighed. " Zat 
 is a great abbey Mel-h-rose ! " 
 
 " And London, monsieur, and the 
 Tower ! And Fleet Street, and Picca 
 dilly, and the Strand ! How strange it 
 is to feel that you know them so well, 
 that you love them so well, and yet that 
 you ve never seen them. When we used 
 to play, my cousins and I, in Grand 
 father Endicott s house, and choose what 
 pictures we would have, I always took 
 c Melrose Abbey from the South and a 
 big engraving of Windsor Castle. The 
 children used to laugh at me, but I al 
 ways chose them. Cousin Frank used 
 to tease me and say that I d never get 
 there, and that girls couldn t travel around 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 like boys. Grandmother Endicott, too, 
 she was so cold and distant toward me ; 
 you see, she hated poor mother so. 
 When Cousin Frank s will was read she 
 was very, very angry. I don t know 
 whether I told you that she said quite 
 publicly that it was absurd for a woman 
 of my age to be so crazy for travelling. 
 I thought that rather unkind, for she s 
 been so much herself. But then, she s 
 so old, perhaps she s not quite respon 
 sible. She s eighty-four, you know." 
 
 " Ah," said M. Laroche, with admira 
 tion, cc she is verry old, verry old indeed, 
 your grandmozzer ! " 
 
 He was as charmingly attentive, as gal 
 lantly interested, as if he had not heard it 
 all before a hundred times over. Every 
 movement of his expressive, whimsical 
 face meant courteous regard ; every atti 
 tude of his figure, a little bent now, in 
 clothes a little shabby, but so exquisitely 
 mended and brushed and polished that 
 the necessity for such artistic care seemed 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 almost fortunate, expressed close and def 
 erential sympathy with the eager, vivid 
 soul beside him. 
 
 And the interest might well have been 
 unfeigned, for under those smooth gray 
 folds beat a vigorous, determined heart 
 that forty years of denial and monotony 
 could not still nor tame. The soft, calm 
 eyes of this New England spinster had 
 never looked beyond her native town ; 
 but in fancy she had voyaged the seas for 
 years, and in her dreams she wandered 
 through strange and wonderful streets of 
 foreign lands and heard the speech of all 
 the peoples of the world. No school 
 boy was ever more thirsty for the ends of 
 the earth than she ; this little stay-at- 
 home knew all the routes by sea and 
 land, and delighted in the customs of the 
 fortunate dwellers in the places of her 
 lifelong desire. 
 
 To-night her hand shook as she laid 
 the coffee-cup aside, and the flush in her 
 cheeks did not die with the sunset. A 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 twinge of remorse defied her tremulous 
 joy ; a nervous fear of her unworthiness 
 came over her, and it was with an un 
 certain voice that she approached her 
 friend. 
 
 " It seems as if I were almost too old, 
 monsieur. Perhaps some younger per 
 son ought to have it, after all. I ve gone 
 on so long without it 
 
 " I asked Mr. Alden about it last Sun 
 day, after morning service. I said it 
 seemed dreadful to be so perfectly happy, 
 and Cousin Frank just dead ! But how 
 can I help it ? Frank knew just how I d 
 feel. It s just as he said : c When I go 
 to heaven, Sabina shall go to Europe, if 
 she s alive, and I don t know which of 
 us ill be the happier/ And then to 
 think of Miss Ellsworth and her friends 
 going, and wanting me to go with them 
 it seemed too good to be true ! I 
 asked Mr. Alden if he thought Grand 
 mother Endicott ought to have said the 
 will was blasphemous, and he said no, 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 that it was a nice will and a kind one. 
 And I nearly cried right there. I could 
 just get out, Oh, Mr. Alden, you don t 
 know what this means to me you don t 
 know ! and then I had to run right away, 
 or I d have broken down." 
 
 M. Laroche nodded sympathetically. 
 " Zat is a good man, M. Aldenne, tres 
 aimable most kind. I sink every one 
 likes heem. It is but yesterday zat he 
 has asked me, c And where do you go 
 when Mees Sabina is away, monsieur ? 
 You will not find anozzer soch landlady, 
 hein ? I sink not. He is a kind man." 
 
 " Miss Ellsworth wanted me to take 
 some German lessons, and there was a 
 f Life of Goethe she wanted me to read. 
 But I couldn t do that. The time s so 
 short now. And I m too old to go to 
 school again. So I just had to tell her 
 then and there. 
 
 " ( Miss Ellsworth, I said, c it isn t quite 
 the same with me as tis with you. 
 You ve been before and you know all the 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 places from experience, not just as I do 
 from books, so I m glad to go with you. 
 But I must tell you, Miss Ellsworth, 
 that I m not going to learn, the way you 
 are. I m just going for pleasure and 
 happiness and comfort, and nothing else. 
 You know how it is with me. All my 
 life I ve had to stay right here, and I 
 could only live decently and as father 
 would have wanted me to live we re 
 Endicotts, you know, if we are the poor 
 branch by scrimping and saving and 
 being very, very careful, and making 
 things last. Almost the last thing poor 
 father said to me was to keep things up. 
 cc c <c There s just enough, Sabina, if 
 you re careful, to do it," he said. " I 
 want you should always have the house 
 neat, and a good, plain, nice little dinner 
 with the silver, and a cup of coffee after, 
 and a bottle of wine kept, in case mother 
 should ever come in. And the engrav 
 ings and the pianoforte and those mahog 
 any things, and the mother-o -pearl cabi- 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 net never let em go, Sabina. When 
 they come in to our funerals I don t 
 want anybody to be ashamed of the Endi- 
 cotts it s a gentleman s house." 
 
 " c So I ve kept everything up, I said, 
 c though many s the time I d have given 
 the world to let Hannah go, and do for 
 myself, and sell the things, and just get 
 to Europe, and tramp through it, if I had 
 to, like those two teachers from your 
 school. But of course twould have 
 been ridiculous a woman of my age ! 
 And I didn t dare take the money for 
 the funeral and if sickness should come, 
 and go with that, for it would break 
 father s heart he had it all planned out. 
 And of course a woman doesn t need 
 to go tisn t as if I were a man 
 
 M. Laroche pursed his lips and shook 
 his head thoughtfully. 
 
 " But if zat is ze sing you want, what 
 deeference is it zat you are not a man ? " 
 he asked luminously. 
 
 Miss Sabina threw him a grateful 
 glance. 
 
 [140] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 C c So you see, Miss Ellsworth/ I said, 
 c here s my chance. Now, I don t care 
 if I don t understand them in Paris or 
 Berlin. I can see them, I can hear them, 
 I can walk on the sidewalks and breathe 
 the air, can t I ? I can see the shops 
 and the houses and the palaces and the 
 canals, and how the sky looks there. I 
 can go from one country to another, and 
 be on the ocean, and perhaps I can see 
 the Alps. I don t need to know French 
 and German to appreciate them, do I ? 
 I want to just go and drink it in and 
 realize that it s really I that I m there. 
 There s only ten weeks or so, and then 
 I ll come home, but I ll live on it all the 
 rest of my life ! Oh, monsieur, what 
 will I care that I haven t any money 
 then ? " 
 
 Her eyes were glowing, her breath 
 came fast ; she was home again, in fancy, 
 with her precious load of memories and 
 experiences, and down on her knees be 
 fore the treasures that were to adorn her 
 henceforth quiet life. 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 M. Laroche looked at her with admira 
 tion. 
 
 " Mam selle, vous etes vrande dame^ 
 
 o 
 
 vous" he said, wondering at the pink 
 flush and the thrown-back head. 
 
 She sank back, ashamed of such a dis 
 play of feeling. 
 
 " I run on like a chatterbox of a girl," 
 she said shyly. " You ll think I m a self 
 ish, talkative old thing, monsieur." 
 
 He bowed gallantly. 
 
 " Zat would never be, Mile. Sabine," 
 he said. " And your affairs, are zey not 
 mine ? But yes ! Indeed ! " 
 
 They sat quietly for a time, in the 
 dusk, watching the evening star grow 
 before them, enjoying the cool stillness 
 and the scent of the freshly watered 
 green. The young people strolling by 
 now and then smiled at them for a con 
 tented pair of middle-aged friends, and 
 thought their pleasant quiet the placid 
 repose of those who have tacitly done 
 with life and its strong tides of feeling. 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 They could not know that the woman 
 with the softly parted hair was all a-trem- 
 ble for romance, thirsty for adventure, 
 bohemian-souled and utterly fearless ; 
 they could not see the heart of the little 
 foreigner with the shabby clothes and gray 
 imperial, how it was eaten up with home 
 sickness and regret with all his grati 
 tude to his gentle hostess for France, 
 with her queen city, her familiar sights and 
 smells, her zest and color, and more than 
 all, the fishing-coast where his mother had 
 rocked him to sleep in sight of the sails. 
 
 They sighed together, and blushed, 
 and glanced quickly aside, and Miss 
 Sabina rose hastily and slipped through 
 the long French window. 
 
 "Shall I sing?" she asked, not waiting 
 for an answer to a question of such long 
 usage. While she felt through the dusk 
 to the old pianoforte, M. Laroche lit his 
 cigarette and waited with gentle expecta 
 tion. The lilacs from the next yard 
 drifted in and met the faint odor from 
 
 [143] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 the old china rose-jar that stood on the 
 polished mahogany table inside. The 
 first few notes of the piano carried with 
 them to him who knew the room so well 
 a never-fading picture of the peaceful, 
 old-time parlor : the willow plates in the 
 mother-o -pearl cabinet, the "Sistine Ma 
 donna " and Correggio s " Holy Night/ 
 the dim oil-paintings that great-grand 
 mother Endicott had made so long ago, 
 the bronze Chinese idol that squatted 
 near the rose-jar, the dusky, elusive pier- 
 glass with its dull gilding of another gen 
 eration and its mysterious, haunting 
 reflections they were all confused with 
 the tune that Miss Sabina s sweet, reedy 
 voice had so often quavered through ; a 
 tune that she would not have known by 
 its title of " Fair Harvard " : 
 
 Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, 
 That I gaze on so fondly to-day, 
 
 Were to change by to-morrow and to fleet 
 
 in my arms, 
 Like fairy gifts fading away, 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment 
 
 thou art, 
 
 Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 
 And around the dear ruin each wish of my 
 
 heart 
 Would entwine itself verdantly still. 
 
 Miss Sabina knew other songs 
 "When other lips and other hearts," 
 and " Joys that we ve tasted," and 
 "Come with thy lute to the fountain"; 
 but into this one she threw most mar 
 vellously all the passion of her yet girl 
 ish, tender heart ; and the yellow keys 
 yielded to her tremulous touch a throb 
 bing, jarring melody that came to the 
 listener like an old perfume from some 
 dusty, just found rose-jar of a long- 
 dead beauty. 
 
 It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, 
 
 And thy cheeks unprofaned.by a tear, 
 That the fervor and faith of a soul can be 
 
 known, 
 
 To which time will but make thee more 
 dear. 
 
 CHS] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 M. Laroche smiled. 
 
 " c And zy chicks onprofenned by a 
 tearr/ " he repeated softly. " Ah, yes ! 
 Indeed!" 
 
 No ; the heart that has truly lov d never 
 
 forgets, 
 
 But as truly loves on to the close, 
 As the sunflower turns on her god, when he 
 
 sets, 
 
 The same look which she turn d when he 
 rose. 
 
 The last faint quaver died away, there 
 was a light rustle of skirts, and Miss Sa- 
 bina stood at the window. 
 
 " Good night, monsieur, * she said 
 softly. 
 
 M. Laroche tossed away the end of 
 his cigarette. 
 
 " Vous chant ez tres bien, mademoiselle" 
 he said, with his inimitable bow. " Good 
 night." 
 
 And with this, his invariable phrase, 
 he went to his room off the piazza. 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 Miss Sabina had been waiting a long 
 time when he came to breakfast the next 
 morning, heavy-eyed from a night which 
 he admitted to have been sleepless, and 
 too tired to present his apologies with 
 the whimsical grace that gave his sim 
 plest words and acts such a kindly flavor. 
 His hostess watched his untouched plate 
 with concern, and suddenly cut short her 
 small, friendly confidences of ways and 
 means for the summer, struck by his 
 languid manner and weary eyes. 
 
 "Why, monsieur, you re eating noth 
 ing ! Is it the headache again ? You 
 surely won t go out to-day and try to 
 teach it s too much ! " 
 
 He tried to rally, and smiled bravely 
 at her anxious eyes, made his little nega 
 tive gesture that was half gratitude to the 
 questioner, and would have turned the 
 talk ; but Miss Sabina was alarmed in 
 earnest. The thought that he might be 
 alone and sick in the summer cut sharply 
 for a second, and her quick fancy saw 
 
 EH?] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 him in the agony of his terrible head 
 aches, housed with strangers, lonely and 
 too proud to ask for help. Her eyes 
 filled with tears, and she leaned impul 
 sively across the table. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur, you re ill you re 
 really ill ! " she cried. " Go to the doc 
 tor promise me you ll go ! You ve 
 not been the same for a week, now; 
 you ve been so tired and worn. I ve 
 noticed it ever since last week. It was 
 when I first got the notice from Cousin 
 Frank s lawyer that the money was in the 
 bank that you had that terrible headache; 
 don t you know how we sat and talked 
 till so late, and I was so excited ? And 
 I ve been talking so much and planning 
 so hard that I haven t thought oh, I m 
 very selfish, monsieur! It s terrible to 
 think of you being sick just when I m 
 so happy. You ll go to the doctor? 
 Promise me you will ! " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " But zere is no need for a doctorre, 
 [ I4 8] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 Mile. Sabine, indeed no ! It is only to 
 day I am well to-morrow. Not to 
 sleep, it makes one weary for the day 
 ri est-ce pas? It is not a good country 
 for sleep, I have found. In France I 
 have always slept, ah, most easily ! But 
 here, no. In France " 
 
 He paused a moment, and the room 
 was perfectly still. He looked at her, 
 but he did not see her, and Miss Sabina 
 had a strange, swift memory of her little 
 brother who died at school, and the look 
 in his eyes when he cried to be taken 
 home. 
 
 It was over in a moment, and M. La- 
 roche shrugged his shoulders lightly. 
 
 " One imagines I come to America to 
 sleep, hein ? " he asked her, with such a 
 humorous, friendly smile that she half 
 forgot her anxiety. But before he left 
 for the old school, where dwindling classes 
 lessened his scanty salary every year, she 
 had made him promise to see the doctor 
 before night. 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 " And a cup of tea with your lunch 
 don t forget, monsieur ! " she called after 
 him as he walked off she hated to real 
 ize how slowly, nowadays. They were 
 good friends, these two, and they knew 
 it well : if she came back and he was not 
 there her heart contracted and seemed 
 to wait while she caught her breatli and 
 shook the thought away. 
 
 " We re not so old as that," she whis 
 pered under her breath. " We re not 
 really old, either of us ! " 
 
 All day she thought about him, and to 
 her just quickened sight much that the 
 excitement of the past had made trivial 
 loomed suddenly large before her. She 
 realized how quiet he had grown of late, 
 how seldom he essayed the jokes, the small 
 kindly nonsense, the half-serious homage 
 to her charm of personality that bright 
 ened her life so much that had been, 
 indeed, almost her only social pleasure. 
 It occurred to her that he had been less 
 quick of comprehension than ever before, 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 less ready to follow her mood with that 
 wonderful delicacy of perception that had 
 enabled her shy, secluded, half troubled 
 at the restlessness of her own eager heart 
 to talk to him as she had never been 
 able to talk to her only sister. She re 
 membered how every innocent ruse for 
 concealing the scantiness of a meal had 
 succeeded of late, and how unconsciously 
 he had, at any excuse of hers, eaten what 
 he would once have indignantly insisted 
 that she should share. But more than 
 all this, he had talked as he had never 
 talked before of his childhood and his 
 childhood s home. Miss Sabina had 
 learned her Paris well from him long 
 ago. For years in the winter evenings, 
 when they could not enjoy the piazza 
 and the green, they had sat by the Frank 
 lin grate in the sitting-room, and she had 
 followed him breathlessly through " Les 
 Miserables " his rapid and broken 
 translation heightening incalculably the 
 sense of strangeness and intensity or 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 he had led her about Paris and its out 
 skirts till she had grown to an actual 
 intimacy with that city of his dreams ; for 
 hitherto it had been Paris that he had 
 spoken of as his home, where he had 
 lived since he was a boy of ten with his 
 older brother Jules, who had written a 
 <c French Grammar for Beginners " and 
 was enrolled by M. Laroche among the 
 great lights of his native literature. 
 
 But of late when he spoke of France 
 it was to no city that he carried his eager 
 listener, but to a little fishing-village, 
 with the nets drying on the sand, and the 
 setting sun on the sails, and the clatter of 
 his white-capped mother s sabots as she 
 led him down to the beach to kiss his 
 sunburnt father. The rush and clamor 
 of the city streets died away before the 
 sleepy Breton cradle-song, and the lights 
 of the boulevard faded as he watched the 
 stars shine down upon the sea in that 
 land so far from him. 
 
 Miss Sabina thought how her father 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 toward the end had told her over and 
 over of the games at school and the holi 
 days at the old Endicott home, and had 
 even described the old play-room to her, 
 as if his mother had never ceased to love 
 him and mend his broken toys. Did 
 men always remember, then, at the end ? 
 Did it mean but she threw it off again 
 and told herself, "We re not so old as 
 that ! We re not really old! " 
 
 At dinner that night she would have 
 talked of nothing but his health and her 
 fears for his lonely summer, but he 
 would have none of that. 
 
 " I do quite well, you shall see, chere 
 mademoiselle ; I greet you in ze autom at 
 ze ze docke. You are surprise , you 
 do not know me I am so restored! 
 Est-ce possible! ce pauv* Laroche! Comme 
 il se porte bien how he is well ! " 
 
 His expressive pantomime, his laugh, 
 his old kindly smile as he met her eyes, 
 frankly, yet with that confidential regard 
 that seemed to say more than his words, 
 
 [153] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 almost deceived her ; but even as she 
 laughed, his lids drooped, his smile faded, 
 and he fingered the cloth restlessly under 
 her steady gaze. 
 
 " I don t know, monsieur, I don t 
 know," she said, in her soft, troubled 
 minor voice. " You weren t so well this 
 last fall, you know ; the heat wore on 
 you dreadfully. I wish you could go 
 away somewhere and rest this summer, 
 and not take those vacation classes I 
 wish you would ! " 
 
 He shook his head. " R-h-est ? 
 R-h-est ? " he said softly to himself, 
 and with the throaty little r that was 
 so marked when he was absent-minded. 
 "In zis country? Jamais, jamais, made 
 moiselle. It is queeck, queeck ! imme- 
 diatement at once ! Teach me zis 
 moment it is no matter zat it takes 
 you a lifetime to learn teach me zis 
 moment I mus know it zis verry day! 
 I mus run now to somesing else, but I 
 come ag-gain, and you teach me immedi- 
 
 [154] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 ately ag-gain, for I have forgotten it all. 
 But zere is no time to lose no, indeed!" 
 
 She was amazed at the bitterness of his 
 tone ; she could hardly understand, he 
 poured out the words so quickly, but 
 she could see that this was more than a 
 passing irritation, that his years of teach 
 ing were beginning to tell on him. Be 
 fore she could reply he had risen and 
 opened the door, and she found herself 
 passing through to the porch without 
 the formula of invitation that preceded 
 the coffee. When he joined her with 
 the neglected cups the storm had passed, 
 and as he talked quietly of the prepara 
 tion for the voyage that had formed the 
 subject of their evening conversation for 
 weeks, she could hardly realize the depths 
 of weariness and loathing that the sudden 
 glimpse of exhausted patience had shown 
 her. 
 
 That night Miss Sabina did not sing. 
 She played through two or three of the 
 stiff, sweet little preludes, but the lilacs 
 
 [155] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 were so strong, the old melodies waked 
 such confused, excited sadness in her, 
 that the songs would not come. The 
 sight of that keen, drooping profile dark 
 against the orange glow reproached her 
 somehow with its loneliness how many 
 weeks he would sit alone! and she rose 
 hastily and went out again. 
 
 "You do not sing? You have not ze 
 mood, hein ? Eh bien^ not to sing, it is 
 well sometimes." . . . And they sat in 
 silence long after the stars came out. 
 
 That night Miss Sabina slept lightly. 
 Strange, confused dreams, half-conscious 
 delusions, troubled her with voices that 
 she knew were unreal, that yet murmured 
 and muttered and droned, till, in her 
 effort to dismiss them and sink to deeper 
 sleep, she woke with a start. Surely some 
 one was talking ! She hesitated, and from 
 somewhere below her came the sound of 
 a voice that rose and fell almost monot 
 onously not loud, but clear and con- 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 tinuous. Without a moment s hesitation 
 she got out of bed, put on a dressing- 
 gown and slippers, and opening her door 
 quietly, paused a moment at the head of 
 the stairs before going down. Without 
 doubt it was a voice, and only one. The 
 fear that a more timid woman would have 
 felt in the first uncertainty of waking came 
 to her now with the conviction that this 
 was no thief, no stranger, but her ten 
 years friend, speaking with a passionate 
 earnestness that terrified her ; appealing 
 to whom ? with a sadness, a despair, 
 that wrung her heart. 
 
 She slipped like a shadow down the 
 stair, and crouching on the lowest step, 
 she listened breathlessly for a moment. 
 Ah, yes ! It was to her he was talking ! 
 Her own name, in his strange, sweet, 
 French handling of it, came to her 
 through the half-open door. She looked 
 through the warped and widened crack at 
 the side, where the light streamed through, 
 unconscious of the time, the place, even 
 
 [157] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 of her silent, peering attitude, knowing 
 only that a deep, ominous excitement 
 thrilled her to the very centre of her soul. 
 
 He had sunk exhausted on the narrow 
 white bed, a thin, pathetic figure in a 
 faded, mended silk dressing-gown, with 
 a tired white face and black eyes that 
 glowed like coals. His hands were 
 clinched between his knees, his head 
 hung upon his breast. His voice was 
 weak and strained now, no longer the 
 deep tone that had waked her, and his 
 quaint broken English, as if he saw her 
 there before him, was sadder than any 
 eloquence. 
 
 " c But you will go to ze doctorre 
 promise me you will go. Ah, mon Dieu, 
 Mile. Sabine, what good is zat ? I want 
 no doctorre me ; I want my home ! 
 To you, what is it ? But only a strange 
 land, a new people, a voyage, and you 
 come back. Ah, me, I am twelve years 
 away ! Twelve years away ! 
 
 <c c You work too hard, you need rest. 
 
 [158] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 I tell heem I must work ; I come here to 
 work would I rest here ? 
 
 " c You must go back to France, you 
 fret yourself too much ; you have ze weak 
 heart, monsieur, you are here too long 
 already/ Dame ! Is it zat I stay for my 
 pleasure ? 
 
 " c I have no medicine for you, mon 
 sieur; it is not ze doctorre nor ze ton- 
 ique nor ze r-h-est for you it is to go 
 home. Ze systemme it runs down, 
 down, zen ze heart it grows weak, 
 weak, and zen, monsieur, vous savez, it 
 stops/ . . . 
 
 cc c MaiSy monsieur, I cannot go, I have 
 not ze money ze school grows small, 
 I am so often sick/ Ah, mademoiselle, 
 figure to yourself! I, Sylvestre Laroche, 
 say zis to a stranger I speak so ! 
 
 cc c It is to regret, monsieur. Zere is 
 no friend ? 
 
 " c Monsieur, I have no money but a 
 little ; how shall I pay ? 
 
 " Ah, Mile. Sabine, how can I laugh 
 
 [159] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 wiz you ? How shall I stay alone ? But 
 how can I go ? I know so few. I say, 
 1 Lend me money so zat I go home, and 
 zey say to me, c Mon Dieu, M. Laroche, 
 how do you pay zis money ? To 
 morrow ? Next year ? I do not know. I 
 cannot tell zem. . . . 
 
 cc c And if I go, monsieur, I am well ? 
 I need fear no more ze heart ? c Ah, 
 monsieur, who can tell ? Maybe yes, 
 maybe no. It is to guard well against 
 ze worry, ze alarrm, ze queeck starrt 
 vous savez ? Ten years, five years, one 
 year I cannot tell, monsieur/ 
 
 "Cest terrible, nest-ce pas, Mile. Sa- 
 bine ? Vous partez demain. You are so 
 soon gone, and I stay here ! And I am 
 twelve years away from home and I 
 have ze weak heart. Vous me dites c au 
 revoir, mademoiselle mot, je vous dis 
 < adieu. " 
 
 The woman crouching on the stair bit 
 her lip and pressed her finger-nails into 
 her hands to keep back the sobs that 
 [160] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 shook her. It seemed to her that he 
 must hear the beating of her heart, that 
 every long, hard breath would surely 
 startle him. So helpless, so poor, so 
 horribly, hopelessly sad ! She had read 
 of terrible homesickness the Swiss for 
 his Alps, the peasant for his farm ; they 
 seemed romantic, elemental, vague. But 
 this little Frenchman, this dapper chat 
 terer of the light-heartedest language in 
 all the world, did he harbor this tragedy ? 
 For to her tender, unworn heart the 
 tragedy was remorselessly clear. This 
 bent figure in its faded dressing-gown ; 
 this face almost strange to her in its 
 worn, gray anguish ; these nerveless, half- 
 open hands she read them all too well. 
 
 " Oh, no, he mustn t, he mustn t ! " 
 she whispered, and grasped the banisters, 
 and tried to turn away her eyes : for his 
 own filled slowly before her. 
 
 She got up the stairs, her fingers in 
 her ears, stumbling over the long wrap 
 per, seeming to herself to wake the house 
 [161] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 with every misstep. She closed her eyes 
 not to see that strained, white face, and 
 saw it plainer in the dark. Her thoughts 
 were all a confused pain, an incoherent 
 revolt at the cruelty of it, the help 
 lessness ; for what could she do ? Even 
 she, who cared for him so ah, how she 
 cared ! - what could she 
 
 Her hand jumped to her heart and 
 clutched rigidly there ; her breath went, 
 and she gasped like the drowning man 
 under the last sucking breaker ; her 
 strength left in a great sickening ebb, and 
 she grasped the bedpost with all her 
 might. 
 
 " No, no ! Oh, no, no ! " she cried 
 weakly. " Oh, no ! " She felt her way 
 to the bed and dropped on it, utterly un 
 conscious that she had moved since that 
 wave of desolation broke on her. She 
 seemed to have been standing by the 
 bedpost, grasping it hard and thinking 
 there, for years. 
 
 She saw him as he had come to her 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 so long ago : handsome, polite, younger 
 then, and merrier perhaps, with his inim 
 itable bow and the neat printed card : 
 
 M. SYLVESTRE LAROCHE, 
 
 Paris. 
 
 Irregular Verbs a Specialty. 
 Conversation Classes Formed. 
 
 How she had admired him ! She had 
 felt sure that father would never have 
 objected to his lodging there, recom 
 mended by Mr. Alden, too ! How 
 amusing he had been, how constantly 
 cheerful ; how exquisitely sympathetic 
 when her sister died ! She could not 
 send him away then. 
 
 He had been so gentle, so thoughtful, 
 so interested in all her small affairs, so 
 forgetful of his own. How grateful he 
 was for the slightest attendance when his 
 terrible headaches weakened him for days, 
 and how charmingly he had thanked her 
 for what she had done ! Hardly a day 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 during that long winter sickness, when 
 she would have died if left alone to her 
 nervous melancholy, that he did not 
 bring home some flower or bit of fruit. 
 She guessed later what meagre lunches 
 had made their purchase possible. One 
 of his pupils would have taken him 
 South for the winter vacation, but he had 
 refused and stayed with her. And the 
 cold tried him so. 
 
 " I shall never forget this, monsieur," 
 she had said, when she found it out ; she 
 had not thought to be able to repay that 
 quiet sacrifice. 
 
 How sweetly, how sympathetically he 
 had listened to her plans ; how he had 
 helped, suggested, advised, admired, and 
 congratulated ! The very pattern of her 
 travelling-dress, the marking of her trunk 
 and he sick for home, dying in a for 
 eign land ! 
 
 11 Cest terrible, nest-ce pas, Mile. Sa- 
 bine?" 
 
 What was it, that strange pain that 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 never ceased, that hopeful, hopeless yearn 
 ing? She had never left her home or 
 country ; she knew only the happy 
 dream of one day seeing another, not her 
 own, fair, strange, and distant ; she was 
 homesick for new lands. Did he feel 
 what she felt did he feel perhaps more ? 
 Her heart cried out that this could not 
 be, but she hushed it, and saw him grow 
 ing slowly old, old, waiting for the lurk 
 ing death how soon would it come ? a 
 year, a month? dreaming of France 
 and youth, waking to the dull reality ; 
 sitting alone in a strange, cheap boarding- 
 house, while she went gayly from land to 
 land. 
 
 " Vous me dites c au revoir, mademoi 
 selle moiyje vous dis adieu 
 
 She knew little French, but she under 
 stood that, and as that harsh sob rang in 
 her ears again, as she saw that bent fig 
 ure, that hopeless face, she knew in one 
 quick, far-seeing flash of bereavement 
 that it was over, that she could bear her 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 own sorrow, but not his ; she could stay 
 she could not let him. Waves of 
 pain broke against her resolution, tug 
 ging remonstrance, momentary weakness, 
 passionate prayers to make this happiness 
 possible for both of them, but beneath it 
 all was the certainty : it was done. 
 
 She met him at breakfast with a ner 
 vous flush that hid the pallor of the 
 night, with a voice whose cheerfulness 
 amazed her, with an excitement she had 
 never thought to feel again. He was 
 gaunt and hollow-eyed, and yielded read 
 ily to her persuasions to stay at home, 
 rousing himself to assure her that he 
 would allow this small indulgence only 
 because she was going so soon. 
 
 "It is but four five days now, and 
 you are gone, Mile. Sabine, and zen I 
 shall not want ze vacation, hein ? So I 
 stay. I have but one class only, and I 
 sink I do not teach it well to-day," he 
 said, with elaborate cheerfulness. She 
 [166] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 poured the coffee and drank a little of 
 her own. 
 
 " I m not so sure I shall be gone in 
 four or five days, monsieur," she re 
 turned easily. 
 
 He stared vaguely at her. " No ? 
 You wait for some one take ze place of 
 M. Ellsworse ? " 
 
 She drew a long breath and clasped 
 her hands beneath the table. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said, with an almost 
 humorous smile, " I suppose you ll think 
 I m a very silly woman, but I can t help 
 it I ve about decided I m not going at 
 all." 
 
 " M, ais, mademoiselle, quavez-vous done? 
 What is zis zat you say ? Mon Dieu ! " 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "You see, I ve lived here now more 
 than forty years, and when I came to 
 think of leaving Hannah and the house 
 and father s things and the house isn t 
 insured and when I remembered how 
 Miss Ellsworth is seasick " 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 " Mais, Mile. Sabine, ce nest pas pos 
 sible ; zis is in fon zat you talk " 
 
 " Indeed, it is not, monsieur; I m in 
 earnest. You see, I m at home" her 
 voice fell, and she paused a moment 
 " I m quite safe here. If I should get 
 sick in in England, who d take care of 
 me ? It is not as if I were young and 
 strong ; it is not as if Miss Ellsworth 
 was to be with me always. And I can t 
 speak French or German, and and all 
 these steamer accidents frighten me ter 
 ribly ! I just lie awake nights imag 
 ining " 
 
 "Mais, mais y Mile. Sabine " 
 
 His startled, tired face was too much 
 for her : he was too exhausted to adjust 
 himself to this sudden turn, and some 
 instinct warned her to go straight ahead 
 and say it all, before he had time to no 
 tice her dark-ringed eyes and nervous, 
 broken voice. 
 
 " Don t you see, monsieur, what I m 
 trying to say ? " she asked quickly. 
 [168] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 " Don t you see that we ve both been 
 planning wrong? that it s I who ought 
 to stay, and you who ought to go? No, 
 no ; let me finish ! Here am I, a fussy 
 old maid, born and brought up here all 
 my life, silly enough to imagine I could 
 ever really like it away from home. Why, 
 monsieur, do you like it away from home? 
 And here are you, who want a vacation, 
 who d like to see your friends and your 
 family, who d thoroughly enjoy every 
 minute of it. It s you who can take Mr. 
 Ellsworth s berth, dear monsieur ! We re 
 such old friends, you and I " 
 
 " Mile. Sabine ! I take your money, 
 par exemple ! I go ah^jamais de la vie! 
 Cest impossible " 
 
 He dropped his head upon his arms, 
 and she leaned over him, stroking his 
 hair, holding his hands, her timidity 
 utterly gone, her heart carried away and 
 exalted above all girlishness in the mag 
 nitude of her love and sacrifice. For 
 this hour he was hers her child to com- 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 fort, her brother to help, her lover, for 
 whom any offering was too small. She 
 was no longer the ignorant, untravelled 
 little spinster : she had flung away all 
 her own hopes and fears to be the life 
 and happiness of one poor soul that had 
 none but her, and at that height the 
 world seems small indeed. 
 
 " Mais, mademoiselle, I take your 
 money and go home, I restore myself, 
 I return how do I pay ? I sink till 
 now zat you desire to go more zan to do 
 anysing I say nossing zen. Now zat 
 you fear to go, you want your home (ah, 
 Mile. Sabine, vous avez raison : to be 
 home, c est le parodist), now I tell you 
 zat, I, too, I die if I go not back to 
 France! I am too long away. . . . But 
 how do I pay ? I pay someway, vous 
 savez, I will not go else ! " 
 
 " But, monsieur, you will get it when 
 you get there ! Don t you remember 
 your brother s book the Grammar ? 
 You always said that if ever you got to 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 France you could make them give you 
 that share. It s yours, monsieur : you 
 ought to have it ! " 
 
 His face flushed ; he seized her hands 
 and clutched them till she could have 
 screamed with the pain. He babbled 
 incoherent thanks and blessings. He 
 saw himself returned with double her 
 loan. His delight was childish to think 
 that he should have forgotten that ! 
 And when, struck by sudden misgiving, 
 he let go her hands : 
 
 cc Ah, mademoiselle, it is long ago, all 
 zat ! It is mine, yes ; but if I cannot 
 get it ? Ce nest pas sur, $a I cannot 
 tell if I shall have from all zat one single 
 sou " 
 
 " Monsieur," she said, with sincerity 
 and pride, " I have been poor all my life. 
 You would have done this for me, I am 
 sure you did something just like it 
 once. Will you not let me give as I 
 should like to for once in my life ? I 
 believe you will pay it back : if you 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 can t, are you too proud to please an old 
 friend ? " 
 
 He took her hand again and kissed it. 
 " Vous etes tout a fait grande dame^ made 
 moiselle" he said simply. " Vous me 
 sauvez la vie. I will go." 
 
 After that the days were hours to her, 
 the hours minutes. She tasted the full 
 sweet of her renunciation, she rode on 
 the top wave of the strange, excited joy 
 that urged her on to the minutest prep 
 arations for his comfort. He moved in 
 a waking dream, a confused tremble of 
 happiness ; he could not know her alter 
 nations of fierce regret and quiet resigna 
 tion, he did not see how the hand shook 
 that filled his plate, nor how the eyes 
 that smiled so kindly and serenely into 
 his were red with crying. Le bon Dieu 
 had laid in his lap the blessing he was 
 hungering and thirsting after, and he 
 took it with the happy blindness of a 
 starving child. 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 The days flew in preparations. He 
 was utterly helpless with delight, and 
 while she packed and mended and 
 brought out in a very luxury of giving 
 the little conveniences of travel that had 
 pleased her so in that far-away last week, 
 he sang his old French songs, and kissed 
 her hand, and was a boy again in the 
 home he was to see so soon. 
 
 Only when she laid a certain embroid 
 ered case in the trunk, filled with tiny 
 pockets whose uses she had once so de 
 lightedly explained to him, did her ex 
 pression vaguely trouble him. 
 
 "You are sad, Mile. Sabine ! You 
 would go? You change ze mind " 
 But she smiled at him and said that she 
 was selfish enough to want him to stay, 
 now that he was going so soon. 
 
 But he would soon be back; he would 
 be with her in ten weeks ! 
 
 The last day was gone, the last even 
 ing ; the last breakfast lay untouched be 
 fore them : she could do no more for 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 him now. His carnage was at the door; 
 then would come the train, then the 
 noisy seaport city, then the wonderful 
 great boat he would be half the world 
 away. Their hearts were too full for 
 speech. This old Frenchman with his 
 jaunty air, his shining boots, his mended 
 gloves, this quiet, middle-aged woman 
 with the pale, lined face, were not ro 
 mantic to look upon; but one was strug 
 gling with a passionate gratitude that 
 choked him, and the other was sending 
 away from her perhaps forever the 
 love and youth and brightness of her 
 life. 
 
 The driver called; they loosed hands. 
 He walked silently down the steps, but 
 with an inarticulate cry she summoned 
 him back. She put her arms around 
 him, as about a child she would send 
 away to school, and laid her cheek softly 
 against his. He caught in her eyes what 
 sent his hand to his heart. 
 
 " Mile. Sabine ! What is it you have 
 
 [174] 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 done ? You would go mon Dieu, you 
 have lied to me ! " 
 
 With one last effort she smiled away 
 his sudden fear. 
 
 " Why, no ! " she said through her 
 tears. " Why, no, monsieur ! I only 
 miss my friend ! Good-by ! " And 
 
 then, to please him, " Bon voyage, mon 
 
 ft 
 
 ami I 
 
 When the carriage was out of sight she 
 went in and cried by the old pianoforte 
 but not all for sorrow. 
 
 "He may come ! He may come ! " 
 she sobbed over the yellow keys, and the 
 old sounding-board thrilled softly and 
 called back to her with a jangling minor 
 cadence. 
 
 Her sobbing quieted to a sigh ; be 
 neath her tears her cheeks burned with a 
 soft hot flush. " Maybe he will ! May 
 be he will ! " she whispered, and " I know 
 he will if he can ! " while her hands 
 clasped each other tightly, with ringers 
 intertwisted like a girl s. She sat there 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 in the morning sunlight that turned her 
 hair to yellow, lost in strange, vague 
 dreams ; a shy happiness curved her lips 
 even while the new haunting pain that 
 tugged at her heart brought a tiny 
 wrinkle between her slender eyebrows. 
 She went about her simple household 
 duties half unconsciously. The old ser 
 vant watched her curiously. She could 
 not understand why her mistress should 
 wipe her eyes, if later she could sing till 
 the dim parlor thrilled to the sweet old 
 tunes. Nor did Miss Sabina herself 
 quite certainly know. She was of a sim 
 ple, modest generation that analyzed lit 
 tle: the rose of her life she could shut 
 away forever, hidden in some precious 
 yellowed book, but she could not tear 
 apart the leaves, even to know it better. 
 To Miss Ellsworth, who came in 
 later, hurried and amazed, she was inex 
 plicable. She had travelled much, this 
 successful, ordinary woman, and she was 
 well educated, as women count such mat 
 ters to-day ; but this quiet spinster, sit- 
 
A HOPE DEFERRED 
 
 ting out of the strong currents of life, 
 alone in her quaint, old-time parlor with 
 its rose-leaves and mahogany of another 
 day, had somehow left her behind with 
 all her experiences and acquisitions, and 
 bade her good-by with a manner that 
 obliterated forever from her friend s mind 
 the image of deprecating gentleness she 
 had so long patronized. 
 
 For she had travelled the great way of 
 all, had Miss Sabina, and the pride and 
 happiness of her waiting heart had come 
 to her in the steepest places of that won 
 derful road. The teacher of women 
 since the beginning had spared no pains 
 with this simple, eager soul, and she 
 grew at once young and wise under the 
 dear and unrelenting discipline. 
 
 " He will he will if he can ! " she 
 whispered, as she waited for him on the 
 porch, while the children played in the 
 distance with faint, cheerful cries, and the 
 roses grew strong toward dusk. And 
 even to herself her tears seemed not 
 wholly sad. 
 
 [177] 
 
THE COURTING OF 
 LADY JANE 
 
THE COURTING OF 
 LADY JANE 
 
 THE colonel entered his sister s 
 room abruptly, sat down on her 
 bed, and scattered a drawerful of fluffy 
 things laid out for packing. 
 
 " You don t seem to think about my 
 side of the matter," he said gloomily. 
 "What am I to do here all alone, for 
 Heaven s sake ? " 
 
 " That is so like a man," she mur 
 mured, one arm in a trunk. " Let me 
 see : party-boots, the children s arctics, 
 Dick s sweater did you think I could 
 live here forever, Cal ? " 
 
 " Then you shouldn t have come at 
 [181] 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 all. Just as I get thoroughly settled 
 down to flowers in the drawing-room, 
 and rabbits in a chafing-dish, and people 
 for dinner, you skip off. Why don t 
 you bring the children here ? What did 
 you marry into the navy for, anyway ? 
 Nagasaki ! I wouldn t live in a place 
 called Nagasaki for all that money could 
 buy!" 
 
 " You re cross," said Mrs. Dick plac 
 idly. "Please get off that bath-wrapper. 
 If you don t like to live alone Six 
 bath-towels, Dick s shoe-bag, my old 
 muff (I hope and pray I ll remember 
 that!) Helen s reefer Why don t you 
 marry ? " 
 
 " Marry ? Marry ! Are you out of 
 your mind, Dosia ? I marry ! " 
 
 The colonel twisted his grayish mus 
 tache into points ; a look of horror 
 spread over his countenance. 
 
 " Men have done it," she replied seri 
 ously, " and lived. Look at Dick." 
 
 " Look at him ? But how ? Who 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 ever sees him ? I ve ceased to believe 
 in him, personally. I can t look across 
 the Pacific. Consider my age, Dosia ; 
 consider my pepper-and-salt hair ; con 
 sider my bronchitis ; consider " 
 
 " Consider your stupidity ! As to 
 your hair, I should hate to eat a salad 
 dressed with that proportion of pepper. 
 As to your age, remember you re only 
 ten years ahead of me, and I expect to 
 remain thirty-eight for some time." 
 
 " But forty-eight is centenarian to a 
 girl of twenty-two, Dosia." 
 
 The colonel was plaiting and un- 
 plaiting the ball-fringe of the bed-slip ; 
 his eyes followed the motion of his fin 
 gers he did not see his sister s trium 
 phant smile as she dived again into the 
 trunk. 
 
 " That depends entirely on the girl. 
 Take Louise Morris, for instance ; she 
 regards you as partly entombed, proba 
 bly " the colonel winced involuntarily 
 " but, on the other hand, a girl like 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 Jane Leroy would have no such non 
 sense in her head, and she can t be much 
 more than twenty." 
 
 " She is twenty-two," cried the unsus 
 pecting colonel eagerly. 
 
 " Ah ? I should not have said so 
 much. Now such a girl as that, Cal, 
 handsome, dignified, college-bred, is just 
 the wife for an older man. One can t 
 seem to see her marrying some young 
 snip of her own age. She d be wasted 
 on him. I happen to know that she 
 refused Wilbur Vail entirely on that 
 ground. She admitted that he was a 
 charming fellow, but she told her mother 
 he was far too young for her. And he 
 was twenty-eight." 
 
 "Did she?" The colonel left the 
 fringe. " But but perhaps there were 
 other reasons ; perhaps she didn t " 
 
 " Oh, probably she didn t. But still, 
 she said he was too young. That s the 
 way with these serious girls. Now I 
 thought Dick was middle-aged when I 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 married him, and he was thirty. Jane 
 doesn t take after her mother; she was 
 only nineteen when she was born I 
 mean, of course, when Jane was born. 
 Will you hand me that crocheted shawl, 
 please ? " 
 
 " My dear girl, you re not going to 
 try to get that into that trunk, too ? 
 Something will break." 
 
 " Not at all, my dear Clarence. Thank 
 you. Will you send Norah up to me 
 as you go down ? " 
 
 It had not occurred to the colonel that 
 he was going down, but he decided that 
 he must have been, and departed, forget 
 ting Norah utterly before he had accom 
 plished half of the staircase. 
 
 He wandered out through the broad 
 hall, reaching down a hat absently, and 
 across the piazza. Then, half uncon 
 scious of direction, he crossed the neat 
 suburban road and strolled up the gravel 
 path of the cottage opposite. Mrs. Le- 
 roy was sitting in the bay-window, at- 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 taching indefinite yards of white lace to 
 indefinite yards of white ruffles. Jane, 
 in cool violet lawn, was reading aloud 
 to her. Both looked up at his light 
 knock at the side door. 
 
 " But I am afraid I interrupt/ he sug 
 gested politely, as he dropped into a low 
 chair with a manner that betokened the 
 assurance of a warm welcome. 
 
 "Not the least in the world, * Mrs. 
 Leroy smiled whimsically. 
 
 " Lady is reading Pater to me for the 
 good of my soul, and I am listening 
 politely for the good of her manners," 
 she answered. " But it is a little wear 
 ing for us both, for she knows I don t 
 understand it, and I know she thinks me 
 a little dishonest for pretending to." 
 
 " Mother ! " 
 
 The girl s gray eyes opened wide above 
 her cool, creamy cheeks ; the deep dim 
 ples that made her mother s face so 
 girlish actually added a regularity and 
 seriousness to the daughter s soft chin. 
 Her chestnut hair was thick and straight, 
 
 [186] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 the little half-curls of the same rich tint 
 that fell over her mother s forehead 
 brushed wavelessly back on each side of 
 a deep widow s peak. 
 
 The two older ones laughed. 
 
 " Always uncompromising. Lady Jane ! " 
 the colonel cried. 
 
 " I assure you, colonel, when Lady be 
 gins to mark iniquities, few of us stand!" 
 
 Jane smiled gravely, as on two children. 
 " You know very well that is nonsense," 
 she said. 
 
 Black Hannah appeared in the door, 
 beaming and curtsying to the colonel. 
 
 " You-all ready foh yoh tea, Miss 
 Lady ? " she inquired. 
 
 A sudden recollection threw Mrs. 
 Leroy into one of her irresistible fits 
 of gentle laughter. 
 
 " Oh, Lady," she murmured, " do 
 you remember that impossible creature 
 that lectured me about Hannah s asking 
 you for orders ? Did I tell you about 
 it, colonel ? " 
 
 Jane shook her head reprovingly. 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 " Now, mother dearest, you always 
 make him out worse " 
 
 " Worse, my darling ? Worse is a 
 word that couldn t be applied to that 
 man. Worse is comparative. Positive 
 he certainly was, superlative is mild, but 
 comparative never ! " 
 
 " Tell about it, do," begged the guest. 
 
 " Well, he came to see how Lady was 
 growing up he s a sort of species of 
 relative and he sat in your chair, 
 colonel, and talked the most amazing 
 Fourth Reader platitudes in a deep bass 
 voice. And when Hannah asked Lady 
 what her orders were for the grocer, he 
 gave me a terrible look and rumbled out: 
 c I am grieved to see, Cousin Alice, that 
 Jennie has burst her bounds ! 
 
 "It sounded horribly indecorous I 
 expected to see her in fragments on the 
 floor and I fairly gasped." 
 
 " Gasped, mother ? You laughed in 
 his face ! " 
 
 " Did I, dearest ? It is possible," 
 
 [188] 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 Mrs. Leroy admitted. "And when I 
 looked vague he explained, c I mean that 
 you seem to have relinquished the reins 
 very early. Cousin Alice ! * 
 
 " Relinquished? Relinquished?* said 
 I . c Why, dear me, Mr. Wadham, I never 
 held em ! " 
 
 " He only meant, mother dear, that " 
 
 " Bless you, my child, I know what he 
 only meant ! He explained it to me 
 very fully. He meant that when a 
 widow is left with a ten-year-old child, 
 she should apply to distant cousins to 
 manage her and her funds." 
 
 " Disgusting beast ! " the colonel ex 
 claimed with feeling, possessing himself 
 of one of Hannah s beaten biscuits, and 
 smiling as Lady Jane s white fingers 
 dropped just the right number of lumps 
 in his tea. 
 
 How charming she was, how dignified, 
 how tender to her merry little mother, 
 this grave, handsome girl ! He saw her, 
 in fancy, opposite him at his table, mov- 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 ing so stately about his big empty house, 
 filling it with pretty, useless woman s 
 things, lighting every corner with that 
 last touch of grace that the most faithful 
 housekeeper could never hope to add to 
 his lonely life. For Theodosia had 
 taught him that he was lonely. He 
 envied Dick this sister of his. 
 
 He wondered that marriage had never 
 occurred to him before : simply it had 
 not. Ever since that rainy day in April, 
 twenty years ago, when they had buried 
 the slender, soft-eyed little creature with 
 his twisted silver ring on her cold ringer, 
 he had shut that door of life ; and though 
 it had been many years since the little 
 ring had really bound him to a person 
 ality long faded from his mind, he had 
 never thought to open the door he had 
 forgotten it was there. 
 
 He was not a talkative man, and, like 
 
 many such, he dearly loved to be amused 
 
 and entertained by others who were in 
 
 any degree attractive to him. The pic- 
 
 [190] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 ture of these two dear women adding 
 their wit and charm and dainty way of 
 living to his days grew suddenly very 
 vivid to him ; he realized that it was an 
 unconscious counting on their continued 
 interest and hospitality that had made 
 the future so comfortable for so long. 
 
 With characteristic directness he began : 
 
 "Will your Ladyship allow me a 
 half-hour of business with the queen- 
 mother ? " 
 
 She rose easily and stepped out 
 through the long window to the little 
 side porch, then to the lawn. They 
 watched her as she paced slowly away 
 from them, a tall violet figure vivid 
 against all the green. 
 
 " She is a dear girl, isn t she ? " said 
 her mother softly. 
 
 A sudden flood of delighted pride 
 surged through the colonel s heart. If 
 only he might keep them happy and 
 contented and and his! He never 
 thought of them apart : no rose and bud 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 on one stem were more essentially to 
 gether than they. 
 
 " She is too dear for one to be satisfied 
 forever with even our charming neigh- 
 borliness," he answered gravely. " How 
 long have we lived ( across the street 
 from each other, as they say here, Mrs. 
 Leroy ? " 
 
 She did not raise her eyes from her 
 white ruffles. 
 
 " It is just a year this month," she 
 said. 
 
 cc We are such good friends," he con 
 tinued in his gentle, reserved voice, 
 " that I hesitate to break into such pleas 
 ant relations, even with the chance of 
 making us all happier, perhaps. But I 
 cannot resist the temptation. Could we 
 not make one family, we three ? " 
 
 A quick, warm color flooded her 
 cheeks and forehead. She caught her 
 breath ; her startled eyes met his with a 
 lightning-swift flash of something that 
 moved him strangely. 
 
 [192] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 " What do you mean, Colonel Dris- 
 coll ? " she asked, low and quickly. 
 
 " I mean, could you give me your 
 daughter if she at any time could 
 think it possible ? " 
 
 She drew a deep breath ; the color 
 seemed blown from her transparent skin 
 like a flame from a lamp. For a mo 
 ment her head seemed to droop ; then 
 she sat straight and moistened her lips, 
 her eyes fixed level ahead. 
 
 " Lady ? " she whispered, and he was 
 sure that she thought the word was 
 spoken in her ordinary tone. cc Lady ? " 
 
 " I know I realize perfectly that it 
 is a presumption in me at my age 
 when I think of what she deserves. Oh, 
 we won t speak of it again if you feel 
 that it would be wrong ! " 
 
 " No, no, it is not that/ she mur 
 mured. "I I have always known that 
 I must lose her; but she one is so 
 selfish she is all I have, you know !" 
 
 " But you would not lose her ! " he 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 cried eagerly. " You would only share 
 her with me, dear Mrs. Leroy ! Do you 
 think could she it is possible ? " 
 
 " Lady is an unusual girl/ she said 
 evenly, but with something gone out of 
 her warm, gay voice. " She has never 
 cared for young people. I know that 
 she admires you greatly. While I can 
 not deny that I should prefer less differ 
 ence than lies between your ages, it 
 would be folly in me to fail to recognize 
 the desirability of the connection in every 
 other way. Whatever her decision and 
 the matter rests entirely with her my 
 daughter and I are honored by your pro 
 posal, Colonel Driscoll." 
 
 She might have been reading a care 
 fully prepared address : her eyes never 
 wavered from the wall in front it was 
 as if she saw her words there. 
 
 " Then then will you ask her ? " 
 
 She stared at him now. 
 
 " You mean that you wish me to ask 
 her to marry you ? " 
 
 [>94] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 "Yes," he said simply. "She will 
 feel freer in that way. You will know as 
 I should not, directly, if there is any 
 chance. I can talk about it with you 
 more easily somehow." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders with a 
 strange air of exhaustion ; it was the 
 yielding of one too tired to argue. 
 
 " Very well, * she breathed, " go now, 
 and I will ask her. Come this evening. 
 You will excuse " 
 
 She made a vague motion. The colo 
 nel pitied her tremendously in a blind 
 way. Was it all this to lose a daughter? 
 How she loved her ! 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow morning," he 
 suggested, but she shook her head vehe 
 mently. 
 
 " No, to-night, to-night ! " she cried. 
 " Lady will know directly. Come to 
 night ! " 
 
 He went out a little depressed. Al 
 ready a tiny cloud hung between them. 
 Suppose their pleasant waters had been 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 troubled for worse than nothing ? Sud 
 denly his case appeared hopeless to him. 
 What folly a man of his years, and 
 that fresh young creature with all her 
 life before her ! He wondered that he 
 could have dreamed of it ; he wished the 
 evening over and the foolish mistake 
 forgiven. 
 
 His sister was full of plans and dates, 
 and her talk covered his almost absolute 
 silence. After dinner she retired again 
 into packing, and he strocfe through the 
 dusk to the cottage ; his had not been a 
 training that seeks to delay the inevitable. 
 
 The two women sat, as usual at this 
 hour, on the porch. Their white gowns 
 shimmered against the dark honeysuckle- 
 vine. He halted at the steps and took 
 off the old fatigue-cap he sometimes wore, 
 standing straight and tall before them. 
 
 Mrs. Leroy leaned back in her chair ; 
 the faintest possible gesture indicated her 
 daughter, who had risen and stood beside 
 her. 
 
 [196] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 " Colonel Driscoll," she said in a low, 
 uneven voice, "my daughter wishes me 
 to say to you that she appreciates deeply 
 the honor you do her, and that if you 
 wish it she will be your wife. She she 
 is sure she will be happy." 
 
 The colonel felt his heart leap up and 
 hit heavily against his chest. Was it 
 possible ? A great gratitude and pride 
 glowed softly through him. He walked 
 nearly up the steps and stood just below 
 her, lifting her hand to his lips. 
 
 " My dear, dear child," he said slowly, 
 " you give me too much, but you must 
 not measure my thankfulness for the gift 
 by my deserts. Whatever a man can do 
 to make you and your mother happy 
 shall be done so long as I live." 
 
 She smiled gravely into his eyes and 
 bowed her head slightly ; like all her 
 little motions, it had the effect of a grace 
 ful ceremony. Then, slipping loose her 
 hand, she seated herself on a low stool 
 beside her mother s chair, leaning against 
 
 [197] 
 
THE .COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 her knee. Her sweet silence charmed 
 him. 
 
 He took his accustomed seat, and they 
 sat quietly, while the breeze puffed little 
 gusts of honeysuckle across their faces. 
 Occasional neighbors greeted them, stroll 
 ing past ; the newly watered lawns all 
 along the street sent up a fresh turfy 
 odor ; now and then a bird chirped 
 drowsily. He felt deliciously intimate, 
 peacefully at home. A fine, subtle sense 
 of bien-etre penetrated his whole soul. 
 
 When he rose to go they had hardly 
 exchanged a dozen words. As he held 
 her hand closely, half doubting his right, 
 she raised her face to him simply, and he 
 kissed her white forehead. When he 
 bent over her mother s hand it was as 
 cold as stone. 
 
 Through the long pleasant weeks of 
 the summer they talked and laughed and 
 drove and sailed together, a happy trio. 
 Mrs. Leroy s listless quiet of the first 
 few days gave way to a brilliant, fitful 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 gayety that enchanted the more silent two, 
 and the few hours when she was not with 
 them seemed incomplete. On his men 
 tioning this to her one afternoon she shot 
 him a strange glance. 
 
 " But this is all wrong," she said 
 abruptly. " What will you do when I am 
 gone in the winter ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked. 
 " Gone where, when, how ? " 
 
 " My dear colonel," she said lightly, 
 but with an obvious effort, " do you im 
 agine that I cannot leave you a honey 
 moon, in spite of my doting parenthood ? 
 I plan to spend the latter part of the 
 winter in New York with friends. Per 
 haps by spring " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Leroy, how absurd ! 
 How cruel of you ! What will Lady 
 do ? What shall I do ? She has never 
 been separated from you in her life. 
 Does she know of this ? " 
 
 " No ; I shall tell her soon. As for 
 what she will do she will have her hus- 
 
 [199] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 band. If that is not enough for her, she 
 should not marry the man who cannot " 
 
 She stopped suddenly and controlled 
 with great effort a rising emotion almost 
 too strong for her. Again a deep, inex 
 plicable sympathy welled up in him. He 
 longed to comfort her, to give her every 
 thing she wanted. He blamed himself 
 and Jane for all the trouble they were 
 causing her. 
 
 That afternoon she kept in her room, 
 and he and his fiancee drank their tea 
 together alone. He was worried by the 
 news of the morning, dissatisfied out of 
 all proportion, vexed that so sensible 
 and natural a proposition should leave 
 him so uneasy and disappointed. He 
 had meant the smooth, quiet life to 
 go on without a break, and now the 
 new relation must change everything. 
 
 He glanced at Jane, a little irritated 
 
 that she should not perceive his mood 
 
 and exorcise it. But she had not her 
 
 mother s marvellous susceptibility. She 
 
 [200] 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 drank her tea in serene silence. He 
 made a few haphazard remarks, hoping 
 to lose in conversation the cloud that 
 threatened his evening ; but she only as 
 sented tranquilly and watched the chang 
 ing colors of the early sunset. 
 
 " Have you made a vow to agree with 
 everything I say ? " he asked finally, 
 half laughing, half in earnest. 
 
 " Not at all," she replied placidly, 
 " but you surely do not want an argu 
 ment?" 
 
 " Oh, no," he answered her, vexed at 
 himself. 
 
 " What do you think of Mrs. s 
 
 novel ? " he suggested, as the pages, 
 fluttering in the rising breeze, caught his 
 attention. 
 
 " Mother is reading it, not I," she re 
 turned indifferently. " I don t care very 
 much for the new novels." 
 
 Involuntarily he turned as if to catch 
 her mother s criticism of the book : light, 
 perhaps, but witty, and with a little tang 
 [201] 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 of harmless satire that always took his 
 fancy. But she was not there. He 
 sighed impatiently ; was it possible he 
 was a little bored ? 
 
 A quick step sounded on the gravel 
 walk, a swish of skirts. 
 
 " It is Louise Morris/ she said, " I ll 
 meet her at the gate. * 
 
 After a short conference she returned. 
 
 cc Will you excuse me, please ? " she 
 said, quite eagerly for her. " Mother 
 will be down soon, anyway, I am sure. 
 Louise s brother is back ; he has been 
 away in the West for six years. Mother 
 will be delighted she was always so 
 fond of Jack. Louise is making a little 
 surprise for him. He must be quite 
 grown up now. I ll go and tell mother." 
 
 A moment later and she was gone. 
 Mrs. Leroy took her place in the win 
 dow, and imperceptibly under her gentle 
 influence the cloud faded from his hori 
 zon ; he forgot the doubt of an hour ago. 
 At her suggestion he dined there, and 
 
 [ 202 ] 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 found himself, as always when with his 
 hostess, at his best. He felt that there 
 was no hypocrisy in her interest in his 
 ideas, and the ease with which he ex 
 pressed them astonished him even while 
 he delighted in it. Why could he not 
 talk so with Jane ? It occurred to him 
 suddenly that it was because Jane her 
 self talked rarely. She was, like him, a 
 listener, for the most part. His mind, 
 unusually alert and sensitive to-night, 
 looked ahead to the happy winter even 
 ings he had grown to count on so, and 
 when, with an effort, he detached this 
 third figure from the group to be so 
 closely allied after Christmas-tide the 
 date fixed for the wedding he per 
 ceived that there was a great gap in the 
 picture, that the warmth and sparkle had 
 suddenly gone. All the tenderness in 
 the world could not disguise that flash of 
 foresight. 
 
 He grew quiet, lost in revery. She, 
 following his mood, spoke less and less ; 
 [203] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 and when Jane returned, late at night, 
 escorted by a tall, bronzed young ranch 
 man, she found them sitting in silence in 
 a half-light, staring into the late Septem 
 ber fire on the hearth. 
 
 In the month that followed an imper 
 ceptible change crept over the three. 
 The older woman was much alone vari 
 able as an April day, now merry and 
 caressing, now sombre and withdrawn. 
 The girl clung to her mother more 
 closely, sat for long minutes holding her 
 hand, threw strange glances at her be 
 trothed that would have startled him, so 
 different were they from her old, steady 
 regard, had not his now troubled sense 
 of some impalpable mist that wrapped 
 them all grown stronger every day. He 
 avoided sitting alone with her, wondering 
 sometimes at the ease with which such 
 tete-a-tetes were dispensed with. Then, 
 struck with apprehension at his seeming 
 neglect, he spent his ingenuity in delicate 
 attentions toward her, courtly thought- 
 [204] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 fulness of her tastes, beautiful gifts that 
 provoked from her, in turn, all the little 
 intimacies and tender friendliness of their 
 earlier intercourse. 
 
 At one of these tiny crises of mutual 
 restoration, she, sitting alone with him 
 in the drawing-room, suddenly raised her 
 eyes and looked steadily at him. 
 
 " You care for me, then, very much ? " 
 she said earnestly. " You you would 
 miss if things were different ? You 
 really count on on our marriage ? 
 Are you happy ? " 
 
 A great remorse rose in him. Poor 
 child poor, young, unknowing creature, 
 that, after all, was only twenty-two ! She 
 felt it, then, the strange mist that seemed 
 to muffle his words and actions, to hold 
 him back. And she had given him so 
 much ! 
 
 He took her hands and drew her to 
 him. 
 
 " My dear, dear child," he said gently, 
 " forgive a selfish middle-aged bachelor 
 
 [205] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 if he cannot come up to the precious 
 ideals of the sweetest girlhood in the 
 world ! I am no more worthy of you, 
 Lady dear, than I have ever been, but I 
 have never felt more tender toward you, 
 more sensible of all you are giving me. 
 I cannot pretend to the wild love of the 
 poets you read so much ; that time, if it 
 ever was, is past for me. I am a plain, 
 unromantic person, who takes and leaves 
 a great deal for granted I thought you 
 knew that. But you must never doubt " 
 He paused a moment, and for the first 
 time she interrupted him nervously. 
 
 "I never will Clarence," she said 
 almost solemnly ; and it struck him for 
 the first time that she had never called 
 him by his name before. He leaned 
 over her, and as in one of her rare con 
 cessions she lifted her face up to him, he 
 bent lower than her forehead ; what com 
 pelled him to kiss her soft cheek rather 
 than her lips he did not know. 
 
 Unexpected business summoned him 
 
 [206] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 to New York for a fortnight the next 
 day, and the great city drew him irresist 
 ibly into its noisy maelstrom. The cur 
 rent of his thoughts changed absolutely. 
 Old friends and new took up his leisure. 
 His affairs, as they grew more pressing, 
 woke in him a keen delight in the strug 
 gle with his opponents ; as he shook 
 hands triumphantly with his lawyer after 
 a well-earned victory he felt years younger. 
 He decided that he had moped too long 
 in the country : " We must move into 
 town this season," he said to himself. 
 
 He fairly ran up the cottage steps in 
 the gathering dusk. He longed to see 
 them, full of plans for the winter. Han 
 nah met him at the door : the ladies had 
 gone to a dance at the Morrises ; there 
 had been an invitation for him, so he 
 would not intrude if he followed. 
 
 Hastily changing his clothes, he walked 
 
 up the street. Lights and music poured 
 
 out of the . open windows of the large 
 
 house ; the full moon made the grounds 
 
 [207] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 about it almost as bright as the rooms. 
 He stepped up on the piazza and looked 
 in at the swaying couples. Lady Jane, 
 beautiful in pale blue mull, drifted by in 
 her young host s arms. She was flushed 
 with dancing ; her hair had escaped from 
 its usual calm. He hardly recognized 
 her. As he looked out toward the old 
 garden, he caught a glimpse of a flowing 
 white gown, a lace scarf thrown over a 
 head whose fine poise he could not mis 
 take. 
 
 A young man passed him with a filmy 
 crepe shawl he knew well. The colonel 
 stepped along with him. 
 
 "You are taking this to Mrs. Leroy ? " 
 
 "Yes, colonel, she feels the air a little." 
 
 " Let me relieve you of it," and he 
 
 walked alone into the garden with the 
 
 softly scented cobweb over his arm. 
 
 She was standing in an old neglected 
 summer-house, her back to the door. 
 As he stopped behind her and laid the 
 soft wrap over her firm white shoulders, 
 
 [208] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 she turned her head with a startled pre 
 science of his personality, and met his 
 eyes full. He looked straight into those 
 soft gray depths, and as he looked, 
 searching for something there, he knew 
 not what, troubled strangely by her 
 nearness and the helpless surrender of 
 her fastened gaze, a great light burst 
 upon him. 
 
 " It is you ! it is you ! " he said 
 hoarsely, and crushing her in his arms, he 
 kissed her heavily on her yielding mouth. 
 
 For a moment she rested against him. 
 The music, piercingly sweet, drove away 
 thought. Then she drew herself back, 
 pushing him blindly from her. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " she gasped, " it is 
 Lady ! You are mad " 
 
 " Mad ? " he said quickly. " I was 
 never sane till now. When I think of 
 what I had to offer that dear child, when 
 I realize to what a farce of love I was 
 sacrificing her oh, Alice dearest, you 
 are a woman; you must have known!" 
 [209] 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 She raised her head ; an unquenchable 
 triumph smiled at him. 
 
 " I did know ! " she cried exultantly. 
 Suddenly her whole expression changed, 
 her head sank again. 
 
 " Oh, Lady, my child, my baby ! " 
 she moaned, all mother now, and broken 
 hearted. 
 
 " You must never tell her, never ! " 
 she panted. "You will forget; you I 
 will go away " 
 
 " It is you who are mad, Alice/ he 
 said sternly. " Listen to me. For all 
 these weeks it has been your voice I 
 have remembered, your face I have seen 
 in imagination in my house. It is you 
 I have missed from us three never 
 Lady. It is you I have tried to please 
 and hoped to satisfy not Lady. Ever 
 since you told me you would not spend 
 the winter with us I have been discon 
 tented. Why, Alice, I have never kissed 
 her in my life as I have kissed you." 
 
 She grew red to the tips of her little 
 [210] 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 ears, and threw him a quick glance that 
 tingled to his ringers ends. 
 
 "You would not have me oh, my 
 dear, it is not possible ! " he cried. 
 
 She burst into tears. " I don t know 
 I don t know ! " she sobbed. " It will 
 break her heart ! I don t understand 
 her any more ; once I could tell what 
 she would think, but not now." 
 
 " Hush ! some one is coming," he 
 warned her, and taking her arm he drew 
 her out through a great gap in the side 
 of the little house, so that they stood 
 hidden by it. 
 
 " Then I will tell him to his face what 
 I think of him ! " said a young man s 
 voice, angry, determined, but shaking 
 with disappointment. " To hold a 
 girl " 
 
 " He does not hold me I hold my 
 self ! " It was Lady s voice, low and trem 
 bling. " It is all my fault, Jack. I 
 bound myself before I knew what what 
 a different thing it really was. I do love 
 [211] 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 him I love him dearly, but not not 
 No, no; I don t mean what you think 
 or, if I do, I must not. Jack, I have 
 promised, don t you see ? And when I 
 thought that perhaps he didn t care so 
 much, and asked him oh, I told you 
 how beautifully he answered me. I will 
 never hurt him so, never ! " 
 
 " It is disgusting, it is horrible ; he is 
 twenty-five years older than you he 
 might be your father ! " stormed the voice. 
 
 "I I never cared for young people 
 before ! " 
 
 Could this be Lady, this shy, faltering 
 girl ? Moved by an overmastering im 
 pulse, the man behind the summer-house 
 turned his head and looked through the 
 broken wall. 
 
 Lady Jane was blushing and paling 
 in quick succession : the waves of red 
 flooded over her moved face and receded 
 like the tide at turn. Her eyes were 
 piteous ; her hair fell low over her fore 
 head ; she looked incredibly young. 
 [212] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 " Of course," said the young man bit 
 terly, "it is a good match a fine match. 
 You will have a beautiful home and 
 everything you want." 
 
 She put out her hands appealingly. 
 " Oh, Jack, how can you hurt me so ? 
 You know I would live with you in a 
 garret on the plains " 
 
 " Then do it." 
 
 " I shall never hurt a person so terri 
 bly to whom I have freely given my 
 word," she said, with a touch of her old- 
 time decision. 
 
 Colonel Driscoll felt his blood sweep 
 ing through his veins like wine. He 
 was far too excited for finesse, too eager 
 and he had been so willing to wait, once ! 
 for the next sweet moment when this 
 almost tragedy should be resolved into 
 its elements. He strode out into the 
 open space in front of the little house. 
 
 " My dear young people," he said, as 
 they stared at him in absolute silence, " I 
 am, I am " He had intended to carry 
 
THE COURTING OP LADY JANE 
 
 the matter off jocularly, but the sight of 
 the girl s tear-stained face and the emo 
 tion of the minutes before had softened 
 and awed him. His eyes seemed yet to 
 hold those gray ones ; he felt strangely 
 the pressure of that soft body against 
 his. 
 
 " Ah, my dear/ he said gently, cc could 
 you not believe me when I told you that 
 my one wish was to make you happy as 
 long as I lived ? Happiness is not built 
 on mistakes, and you must forgive us if 
 we do not always allow youth to mo 
 nopolize them. 
 
 "She has always been like a dear child 
 to me, Mr. Morris" he turned to the 
 other man " and you would never wish 
 me to change my regard for her, could 
 you know it ! 
 
 " Go with him, Lady dear, and forgive 
 me if I have ever pained you believe 
 me, I am very happy to-night." 
 
 He raised her softly as she knelt be 
 fore him weeping, and kissed her hair. 
 
 O4] 
 
THE COURTING OF LADY JANE 
 
 " But there is nothing to forgive," he 
 assured her. 
 
 They went away hand in hand, happy, 
 like two dazed children for whom the 
 sky has suddenly but not because they 
 are young too miraculously opened, 
 and the shrubbery swallowed them. 
 
 He turned and strode back into the 
 shadow. Mrs. Leroy sat crouching on 
 the fallen timber, her head still bent. 
 Stooping behind her, he drew her toward 
 him. 
 
 " They have forgotten us by now," 
 he whispered, " can I make you forget 
 them ? " 
 
 ["Si 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 T7OIJ don t think it s too young for 
 JL me, girls ? " 
 
 " Young for you par exemple ! I 
 should say not/ her niece replied, 
 perking the quivering aigrette still more 
 obliquely upon her aunt s head. Caro 
 lyn used par exemple as a good cook 
 uses onion a hint of it in everything. 
 There were those who said that she in 
 terpolated it in the Litany ; but Caro 
 lyn, who was born Caroline and a Bap 
 tist, was too much impressed by the 
 liturgy of what she called The Church to 
 insert even an uncanonized comma. 
 
 " Now don t touch it, Aunt Julia, for 
 it s deliciously chic, and if you had your 
 [219] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 way you d flatten it down right straight 
 in the middle you know you would/ 
 
 Miss Trueman pursed her lips quizzi 
 cally. 
 
 "I ve always thought, Carrie lyn" 
 she added hastily, as her niece scowled, 
 " that they put things askew to make em 
 different for a change, as you might 
 say. Now, if they re never in the mid 
 dle, it s about as tiresome, isn t it ? " 
 
 Elise, whose napkin-ring bore malig 
 nant witness to her loving aunt, Eliza 
 Judd, laughed irrepressibly : she had 
 more sense of humor than her sister. It 
 was she who, though she had assisted in 
 polishing the old copper kettle subse 
 quently utilized as a holder for the tongs 
 and shovel, had refused to consider the 
 yet older wash-boiler in the light of a 
 possible coal-scuttle, greatly to the relief 
 of her aunt, who blushed persistently at 
 any mention of the hearth. 
 
 She patted the older woman encour 
 agingly. 
 
 [ 220] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 " That s right. Aunt Ju-ju, argue it 
 out ! " she advised. 
 
 Miss Trueman winced. She had never 
 accustomed herself to those senseless 
 monosyllables that parodied her name ; 
 nor could she understand the frame of 
 mind that found them preferable to the 
 comfortable "Aunt Jule " of the old 
 days. 
 
 " Ju-ju ! " Strips of unwholesome 
 flesh-colored paste, sugar-sprinkled, dear 
 to her childish heart but loathed by a 
 maturer palate, rose to her mind. There 
 had been another haunting recollection : 
 for months she had been unable to de 
 fine it perfectly, though it had always 
 brought a thrill of disgust with its vague 
 appeal. One day she caught it and told 
 them. 
 
 "It was that dreadful creature Mr. 
 Barnum exhibited," she declared, " that 
 we didn t allow the children to go to see 
 Jo-jo, the Dog-faced Boy ! You re 
 member ? " 
 
 [221] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 Their cold horror, briefly expressed, 
 had shown her that she had trespassed 
 too far on their indulgence, and she 
 spoke of it no more, but the memory 
 rankled. 
 
 " It s so strange you don t see how 
 cunning it is," Carolyn complained ; 
 " everybody does it now. The whole 
 Chatworth family have those names, 
 Aunt Ju, and it is the dearest thing to 
 hear the old doctor call Captain Arthur 
 c Ga-ga. You know that dignified sis 
 ter with the lovely silvery hair? Well, 
 they all call her c Looty. And nobody 
 thinks of Hunter Chatworth s real name 
 he s always c Toto. 
 
 " And he has three children ! " 
 
 Miss Trueman sighed ; the constitu 
 tion of the modern family amazed her 
 endlessly. Ga-ga, indeed ! 
 
 " Do the children call him Toto, 
 too ? " she demanded, with an attempt at 
 sarcasm, a conversational form to which 
 she was by nature a stranger. 
 [ 222 ] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 " Oh, I don t know about that," Caro 
 lyn answered carelessly. " I suppose 
 not. Though plenty of children do, you 
 know. Mrs. Ranger s little girl always 
 calls her mother Lou." 
 
 " Mrs. Ranger you mean the woman 
 that smokes ? " 
 
 Miss Trueman s tone brought vividly 
 to the mind a person dangling from dis 
 gusted finger-tips a mouse or beetle. 
 
 " For heaven s sake, Aunt Jule " 
 in moments of intense exasperation they 
 reverted unconsciously to the old form 
 " don t speak of her as if she smoked 
 for a living ! " 
 
 " I should rather not speak of her at 
 all," said Miss Trueman severely. 
 
 They raised their eyebrows helplessly : 
 Carolyn s irritation was so unfeigned that 
 she omitted a justly famous shrug. 
 
 For two years they had devoted an 
 appreciable part of their busy hours to 
 modifying Aunt Julia s antique preju 
 dices, developing in her the latent ses- 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 thetic sense that their Wednesday art 
 class taught them existed in every one, 
 cajoling her into a tolerance of certain 
 phases of modern literature considered 
 seriously and weekly by the Monday 
 Afternoon Club, and incidentally utiliz 
 ing her as a chaperon and housekeeper 
 in their modest up-town apartment. 
 
 The first six months of her sojourn 
 had been almost entirely occupied with 
 accustoming herself to the absence of an 
 attic and a cellar ; long days of depres 
 sion they learned, finally, to trace to this 
 incredible source. Later she dealt with 
 the problem of subsisting from eight till 
 one on two rolls and a cup of coffee ; 
 successfully, in the ultimate issue, as 
 surreptitious bits of fried ham and 
 buckwheat cakes, with suspicious odors, 
 winked at discreetly by her nieces, wit 
 nessed. It would have been unkind, as 
 Elise suggested, to criticise Aunt Ju-ju s 
 performances at the ungodly hour of 
 seven in the morning, when their own 
 
 [224] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 correctly Continental repast, flanked by 
 a chrysanthemum in a tall vase, not only 
 tallied so accurately with their digestive 
 and aesthetic necessities, but appeared, 
 moreover, with such gratifying regularity 
 one hour later. 
 
 Both Carolyn and her sister had in 
 herited from their mother, Miss True- 
 man s older sister, a real gift for teaching, 
 and this, rather than their respective 
 abilities in art and music, enabled them 
 to impart very successfully the elements 
 of these necessary branches to the young 
 ladies of a fashionable boarding-school 
 just outside the city. 
 
 It was politely regretted by their 
 friends that they were unable to give 
 themselves unreservedly to the exercise 
 of their art without the cramping neces 
 sity for teaching ; but it is probable that 
 both the girls estimated their not too 
 extraordinary talents very sensibly, though 
 far from displeased by a more flattering 
 judgment. 
 
 [225] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 Miss Trueman, who possessed the 
 characteristic veneration of the bred and 
 born New Englander for his native or 
 imported school-ma am, resented persist 
 ently their somewhat patronizing atti 
 tude toward the profession second only 
 to the ministry in her stanch respect. 
 A little of the simple grandeur of those 
 childhood days when " the teacher 
 boarded with them " clung with the 
 ineradicable force of habit to her mind, 
 and she could not understand their 
 restive attitude at " the fine positions as 
 teachers Hattie s girls have got." 
 
 "I m sure you make more money than 
 that Miss Seymour that gets her own 
 meals in her room she said so herself." 
 
 " Oh, well, there are other things to 
 be considered, Aunt Ju ; and, anyway, 
 she s a real bohemian, Polly Seymour. 
 There s a fascination in it." 
 
 <c There s no fascination in being hun 
 gry that I can see, and she admitted that, 
 L Elise," Miss Trueman insisted se- 
 [226] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 verely. " I don t understand how she 
 could have done it I would have died 
 first. And she seemed to think it was a 
 great joke to have her friends give her 
 a dinner I think it was terrible." 
 
 " Why, Aunt Jule, how ridiculous ! 
 We were delighted to do it it was per 
 fectly dear of her to let us, too. And 
 think of the people we met there 
 Rawlins and Mr. Ware ! You don t 
 mind being poor if such men will come 
 just out of interest in you, I tell you. Do 
 you remember, Elise, how Mr. Rawlins 
 called her c little girl ? Mr. Ware lets* 
 her use his models whenever she likes, 
 too," Carolyn added respectfully. 
 
 " Oh, she s bound to arrive ! " Elise 
 agreed. 
 
 Aunt Ju-ju sniffed uncontrolledly. 
 
 " I should hope she d arrive at the 
 point where she could buy her own din 
 ners," she remarked. " To be beholden 
 for your bread "... 
 
 Here were two points of view as little 
 
 [227-] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 likely to coincide as the parallel lines of 
 science, and at some such stage as this 
 the discussions were wont to cease. 
 
 To-day the apartment was swept and 
 garnished for a social function long 
 planned by the nieces. Carnations leaned 
 from tall glass vases, intricate little cakes 
 jostled carefully piled sandwiches, and a 
 huge brass samovar, borrowed for the 
 occasion, gave dignity to the small parlor. 
 Miss Trueman had learned by now the 
 unwritten law that prevented the various 
 objects in the once proudly segregated 
 " drawing-room set " from association 
 with each other, and made no attempt 
 to correct their intentional isolation. 
 The samovar she refused utterly to med 
 dle with, assuring them that she would 
 as soon think of running a locomotive. 
 
 As the guests began to arrive Miss 
 Trueman found herself regarding them 
 even more critically than usual; an argu 
 mentative spirit rose in her, and her calm 
 contradiction of Mrs. Ranger, who dis- 
 
 [228] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 cussed with great subtlety the notable 
 advantages even from the artistic point 
 of view of the approaching spring when 
 experienced in the city, in comparison 
 with that be-rhymed season s vaunted 
 country beauties, startled more than one 
 person. 
 
 "Just because they re more delicate, 
 just because you must look harder to 
 discover them, just because you must 
 get as much from a pot of hyacinths on 
 the Avenue as from a whole field of prim 
 roses in the backwoods, you know," she 
 concluded, and the little circle nodded 
 sagely and congratulated themselves on 
 an unpublished paragraph. 
 
 " I don t agree with you, Mrs. Ranger," 
 said Aunt Ju-ju flatly, to the absolute 
 amazement of her nieces and the tolerant 
 amusement of the assembly. "I guess 
 you haven t lived in the country much, 
 or you wouldn t talk so. And primroses 
 don t grow in fields here, anyway. If 
 you could see my hyacinths and crocuses 
 [229] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 in round beds at home, you wouldn t 
 mention those poor little stalks in the 
 pots." 
 
 Mrs. Ranger laughed, and directed her 
 searching, level glance at the older wo 
 man, who combined in her comely, un 
 disguised middle age something at once 
 more matronly and more childish than 
 the analytic authoress could ever find in 
 her own mirror. 
 
 " Aha ! " she cried, " then you are no 
 friend of dear old Horace, after all, Miss 
 Trueman ! He and I, you see " 
 
 The relation of these two urbanites 
 was revealed no further, for a bustle in 
 the little hall drew attention to a new 
 comer unknown not only to the guests 
 but evidently to the hostesses, who rose, 
 smiling uncertainly, as a portly, broad- 
 shouldered man with iron-gray hair made 
 his way through the group about the 
 samovar. 
 
 " I ll have to introduce myself, I see," 
 he began, not precisely with what an exi- 
 
 [230] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 gent society calls ease of manner, but 
 with a certain practical self-possession 
 quite as effective. 
 
 " I didn t expect the girls to remember 
 me, but I thought perhaps you might, 
 Julia." 
 
 Miss Trueman peered out from the 
 shaded five-o clock gloom so dear to 
 Carolyn s soul. 
 
 "I don t seem it s not why, Cousin 
 Lorando Bean, it s not you ? " 
 
 "That s it," he said heartily, "that s 
 just exactly it. And he s mighty glad 
 to see some of his relations again, I can 
 tell you. And these are Carrie and 
 Lizzie, I suppose. Well, well, fifteen 
 years is a long time, even to an old fellow 
 like me, and you girls were just beginning 
 to be young ladies when I left Connecticut. 
 How are you all ? " 
 
 If this simple greeting came like a 
 breath of her native air to Miss True 
 man, it cannot be said to have had a 
 similar effect on her nieces. Courtesy 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 prevented a full expression of their feel 
 ings, but they affected no undue delight 
 at the presence of their new-found rela 
 tive whom they had very sincerely for 
 gotten, along with many other details of 
 a somewhat inartistic youth and turned 
 to their other guests with a frank relief 
 when they had established him, with a 
 cup of tea, a sandwich, and Aunt Julia, 
 in the near-by dining-room. 
 
 " A third or fourth cousin, I believe, 
 who has lived a long time in the West," 
 they explained. The company, some 
 of whom doubtless possessed third or 
 fourth cousins from the West, nodded 
 comprehensively, and the interrupted 
 function flowed smoothly on again. 
 
 Cousin Lorando Bean balanced his 
 cup on his broad palm and gazed about 
 appreciatively at the casts and water-colors 
 on the dull green walls. 
 
 " Very snug little quarters, these," he 
 volunteered, " but, do you know, Cousin 
 Jule, I suppose it s all right for ladies, 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 but I don t seem to breathe extra well in 
 these little rooms, somehow ! I ve been 
 in two or three of them like this, more 
 or less, since I came to New York 
 people I used to know that I ve been 
 hunting up and, by George, I began 
 to feel as if I was getting red in the face, 
 if you see what I mean." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Cousin Lorando, I do," 
 returned Miss Trueman eagerly, " I see 
 exactly. And not having any cellar 
 you ve no idea ! Nor any attic, either. 
 And often and often we have the gas 
 lighted all through breakfast. Of course 
 there are a great many conveniences," she 
 added loyally, " and there s no doubt it 
 saves steps. But I almost think I d 
 rather take em." 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " What s become of the old place, 
 Cousin Jule ? I judge you ve been out 
 of it some time ? " 
 
 " Two years, Cousin Lorando. The 
 girls had been boarding up to then, and 
 
 [233] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 when Aunt Martha died they got up this 
 plan for me to come down and live with 
 them, for they couldn t afford it quite, 
 alone, and then I could chaperon them." 
 
 Aunt Julia delivered herself of this 
 phrase with a certain complacency. Mr. 
 Bean looked up sharply. 
 
 " That means that nobody gets a show 
 to abduct em while you re around, I 
 take it ? " he inquired. 
 
 " We-ell, not exactly," she demurred. 
 
 " But that s the idea ? I thought so. 
 Yes. How old is Lizzie now ? Thirty? " 
 
 C Oh, no, Cousin Lorando ; L Elise 
 isn t twenty-nine yet. Carolyn is about 
 thirty." 
 
 " I don t seem to recall any one chap 
 eroning you and Hattie when you were 
 thirty," he suggested thoughtfully. 
 
 She laughed involuntarily. 
 
 " Oh, Hattie was married, Cousin 
 Lorando, and the children were ten years 
 old ! And, anyway, it was different 
 then." 
 
 C 2 34] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 " The girls were just as pretty, I 
 guess," he insisted. " And there were 
 plenty of buggies, if anybody had de 
 signs." 
 
 There was a pause, and the buzz of 
 voices from the other room rose loudly. 
 
 " They Ve neither of them got their 
 mother s looks," he observed ; and then, 
 with apparent irrelevance : " When will 
 they be considered safe to go about 
 alone ? " 
 
 " I don t know exactly what you 
 mean," she began a little coldly, but his 
 laugh reassured her. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do," he contradicted, 
 " and don t you be getting cross at your 
 Cousin Lorando Bean ! You know I 
 always loved to tease you ; it made your 
 eyes snap and it does now." 
 
 " How can you ? " She looked re 
 proachfully at him. 
 
 " And I tell you this, Cousin Jule : 
 neither of those girls will ever get up a 
 color like that ! " 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 She shook her head, but she was not 
 displeased. He took out a fat choco 
 late-colored cigar and fingered it wist 
 fully. 
 
 " I suppose I mustn t smoke ? " he 
 queried. 
 
 Her quick answer surprised herself. 
 
 " I should hope you could, if that 
 woman can ! " 
 
 " Which one ? " 
 
 " That Mrs. Ranger, the one near the 
 samovar that big brass thing. Liz 
 Elise didn t introduce her to you. They 
 don t introduce people the way they do 
 at home, Cousin Lorando I hope you 
 didn t mind. They think it s awkward." 
 
 " Oh, Lord, no, I don t mind. I can 
 spare her, anyway. She s checked up 
 too high for me. But she can look you 
 through pretty thoroughly, can t she ? " 
 
 " She writes books," Miss Trueman 
 returned, the finality of her tone indicat 
 ing that she had explained any possible 
 idiosyncrasy of the lady in question. 
 
 [236] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 " Oh, I see. And the little red-haired 
 one, does she write books, too ? " 
 
 " No ; she s an artist. She smokes 
 too, though. Not cigars, like yours, 
 but cigarettes. She s supposed to be a 
 very good painter, but she doesn t make 
 what Carrie lyn makes. The girls have 
 very good positions in Miss Abrams 
 school." 
 
 " Um, what do they get, now ? " 
 
 Miss Trueman mentioned the modest 
 sum with pride. 
 
 " And then with my money and what 
 we get from the rent of the place the 
 girls and I each have a third, you know 
 we do very nicely." 
 
 " So you rented the place ? " 
 
 " Yes, Cousin Lorando, though I 
 hated to. But I wouldn t sell it, though 
 they wanted me to. I just couldn t." 
 
 " I know." 
 
 He lighted his cigar and puffed at it 
 in meditative silence for a moment, while 
 the babble from the parlor floated in 
 
 [237] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 with the odor of the Ceylon tea and 
 cigarettes. 
 
 "That s what I came about. Cousin 
 Jule the old place. You may think it s 
 queer, for I never lived there but two 
 years once, when father and your Uncle 
 Joe farmed it on shares ; but those two 
 years just made it home to me. Of 
 course Uncle Joe wasn t any real relation 
 of mine, and you-all weren t my real 
 cousins, but it was the only family I ever 
 had, so to say, and I loved every one of 
 you. Then we moved back into town ; 
 but you know I came in every week or 
 so, and Aunt Martha used to have my 
 room in the attic ready for me, just the 
 same." 
 
 " Yes, I know ; Aunt Martha never 
 forgot you, Cousin Lorando." 
 
 "Well, it s fifteen years since I saw 
 the old place, and a lot s happened since 
 then, I tell you. First place, I m a rich 
 man, Cousin Jule. 
 
 " Oh, I don t mean one of these multi- 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 millionaires you have about here, for I 
 haven t even seven figures opposite my 
 name ; but short of that I did very well 
 for myself out West there, and I earned 
 it all fair, too though I was pretty 
 lucky, and that counts. 
 
 " Anyhow, never mind about that. 
 Only I ve got enough to have anything 
 I want, and to give my friends some 
 thing, too. So as soon as I got back 
 East I went straight down to the farm. 
 But it was all shut up and a kind of 
 green hedge where the fence used to be, 
 and I judged it was sold, and I felt 
 pretty sore about it, so I came right 
 away." 
 
 " They only come there in June," Miss 
 Trueman explained, " and they go back 
 before Thanksgiving." 
 
 "Yes. Well, I didn t know that." 
 
 He waited again for a few seconds, and 
 Miss Trueman sat in respectful silence 
 till he should continue. 
 
 "You see, I d been East once before, 
 
 [>39] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 eight years ago, but I didn t see the farm 
 then," he said finally. 
 
 " I got married while I was West." 
 
 His audience of one started slightly. 
 
 " She s dead now/ he added abruptly. 
 
 cc Oh, Cousin Lorando " 
 
 " You needn t bother about the sym 
 pathy, my dear, for there s none needed. 
 I hadn t been with her for a good while. 
 I saw her in a concert-hall out there, and 
 she had curly hair and a kind of taking 
 way with her, and so I married her. I d 
 just made a big hit, and she wanted to 
 come to New York, and we came. We 
 went to a big hotel, and it was dress- 
 suits for me and diamonds for her, and 
 we drove in a carriage in the park in the 
 afternoon. She liked it, but I soon got 
 enough. I don t care much for that sort 
 of thing. She wanted to go to the thea 
 tre and see the girls that she d been one 
 of, you see, from the other side of the 
 curtain. And she saw a man there she 
 used to know, and well, it turned out 
 she liked him better, that s all." 
 [240] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 " Oh, Cousin Lorando, how terrible 
 for her ! " 
 
 " Urn, yes. She didn t think it was 
 specially terrible, J guess, though. She 
 just packed up and went." 
 
 "Went?" 
 
 " Yes with him, you see. Diamonds 
 and all. I got a divorce, of course. 
 And she wasn t such a bad lot, after all, 
 for he hadn t any money to speak of, 
 compared to me. It was the man she 
 wanted. Well, she got him." 
 
 " How awful ! " Miss Trueman mur 
 mured. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I felt pretty sick for a while. 
 But we hadn t been any too happy be 
 fore she saw him, you see. It was a big 
 mistake. She wasn t exactly the kind of 
 woman you d be apt to know, you see. 
 So perhaps I got off easier than I de 
 served. But I never would have mar 
 ried while she was alive. Not but what 
 I had a right to, you understand, but I 
 guess I m old-fashioned more ways than 
 one. I read about her death a year or 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 so ago. I don t believe she had any too 
 good a time herself. She had an awful 
 temper. But she certainly did have 
 pretty hair/ he concluded thoughtfully. 
 
 Miss Trueman gasped. 
 
 " So I didn t want to see New York 
 again ; I just hated the place. And this 
 time I only came because I found out 
 you and the girls were here, and you 
 were about all there was left. People 
 die so. And I wanted to find out about 
 the old place. I wanted to buy it, if I 
 could, when I thought it was sold." 
 
 " But, Cousin Lorando, I couldn t sell 
 it!" 
 
 cc Oh, no, I s pose not. Still, I might 
 buy out the girls thirds and rent yours, 
 couldn t I ? I d pay you as much and 
 more than anybody else would, I guess. 
 And you could keep your interest. And 
 keep half of the house, for that matter, 
 to use when you wanted it s big 
 enough." 
 
 "Why, yes, I don t see why I couldn t 
 
 [242] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 do that," she said thoughtfully. " That 
 would be nice." 
 
 "You see, I m willing to make any 
 arrangement, Cousin Jule. It s about 
 all there is that I m fond of now, that 
 old place. I haven t any folks of my 
 own, and not a chick nor child, and I 
 love every stick and stone of that farm. 
 I love the country, and I love Connecti 
 cut country best of all, I don t care if it 
 is rocky. You can t make farming pay 
 in New England any more. But I don t 
 need to make it pay ; I m willing to pay 
 for the pleasure of it. And I want to do 
 something for the town, too. I want 
 em to be glad I came to settle there. 
 Who s got the keys ? " 
 
 " I have, right here," she answered. 
 " The furniture is all ours, you see ; they 
 haven t brought much, only they ve 
 changed things all around. I haven t 
 renewed the lease yet for this year." 
 
 "Well, now, look here, Jule," Mr. 
 Bean cried eagerly, dropping the end of 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 his cigar into a bonbon-dish on the little 
 side-table, " why don t you run right up 
 there with me to-night, and we ll look it 
 all over and sort of plan it out ? We 
 can go up on the six-thirty, and get there 
 by half-past ten, and stop at the hotel, 
 and be there all ready to look it over 
 to-morrow. Now, how s that ? " 
 
 "Why, but, Cousin Lorando I 
 there isn t time I hadn t planned " 
 
 " Lord, neither had I, but what s the 
 difference ? If you want a thing done, 
 go and do it yourself. Wouldn t you 
 like to go? It s lovely up there; the 
 spring s coming on fast, you know. I 
 got lots of pussy-willow, and some little 
 fellows told me there were May-flowers 
 somewhere. You ll see more grass in a 
 minute there than you can hunt up here 
 in a week. Come on, Cousin Jule ! " 
 
 " I believe I will ! " said Miss True- 
 man, with conviction. 
 
 " Just pack up a bag for your aunt, 
 Carrie, while I get a cab," said Mr. 
 
 [244] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 Bean from the doorway. " We re going 
 up to the old place I m thinking of 
 buying it. I expect we ll be back to 
 morrow." 
 
 " Your cousin appears to be a person 
 of decision," Mrs. Ranger suggested to 
 the still dazed Elise, as the cab rolled 
 away. 
 
 " I don t understand Aunt Ju-ju at 
 all," Carolyn interpolated crossly. She 
 had not been in the habit of packing her 
 aunt s bag. " She usually makes such a 
 fuss about starting to go anywhere days 
 ahead, in fact. And now at fifteen min 
 utes notice! And her best gown!" 
 
 cc It makes a difference, having a man 
 to run it," said the novelist sagely. 
 
 When two days had passed and their 
 aunt had not yet appeared, her nieces 
 were not unnecessarily alarmed, for her 
 attachment to her old home was great, 
 and it required no unusual degree of 
 imagination to picture her delighted 
 lingering over the old things, her pur- 
 
 [245] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 posely prolonged transaction of business 
 details. But four days of unexplained 
 absence had its effect upon their own 
 little menage; and when a week s visit 
 had been accomplished and their be 
 seeching letters had elicited only vague 
 postal cards explaining nothing, but sug 
 gesting their presence at the farm, they 
 became convinced of the necessity for 
 action on their part, and went, more or 
 less in the presumable spirit of the 
 mountain in search of the fractious 
 Prophet. 
 
 Tired and cross after four hours* travel 
 on an incredibly hot ist of April, they 
 walked sternly up the board walk that 
 led to the old-style porch, to be greeted 
 by their cousin, who sat in snowy shirt 
 sleeves, tilted back in his chair against 
 the house, smoking his fat, dark cigar. 
 
 "Welcome home, girls glad to see 
 you ! " he called cheerily. " Here they 
 are, Jule ! Now don t be afraid, but 
 come right out and see them ! " 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 cc Why, bless your heart, Lorando, 
 I m not afraid," a familiar voice an 
 swered; and Aunt Julia appeared before 
 them, cool in blue checked gingham, 
 with an enveloping white apron and 
 familiarly floury hands. 
 
 " I m just beating up some biscuit for 
 tea," she explained, " but I guess you 
 can shake hands with me, girls " ; and as 
 she extended both arms hospitably they 
 saw upon her floured left hand an un 
 mistakable shining gold band. 
 
 " Aunt Jule ! " they gasped together. 
 "Are you is it " 
 
 " That s it exactly," said Cousin Lo 
 rando Bean. " She is. And I hope 
 you ll congratulate her, girls, though no 
 body knows better than I what a good 
 housekeeper you ve lost ! I ll tell you 
 the facts of the matter, and you can 
 judge for yourself. If ever two people 
 were made for each other, those two are 
 your Aunt Jule and me. We love the 
 country, and we love this farm, and what s 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 very important, we love the same way 
 of living." 
 
 "That s quite true, Carrie lyn," Aunt 
 Julia interposed, the tears in her eyes, 
 but a new decision in her voice. 
 
 " I like my tea at night, and so does 
 your Cousin Lorando. And I should 
 have wanted gravy on my potato if I 
 lived to be a hundred. And, Carrie, I 
 could not live without a cellar! 
 
 " And if you knew how nervous I got 
 when that old dumb-waiter in the kitchen 
 used to whistle for the things to be put 
 on it ! I used to hate it so sometimes 
 I d wake up in the night and think I 
 heard it ! Once I lost my temper at it, 
 and I answered it back: C I haven t any 
 thing to go down, and I wouldn t give it 
 to you if I had! " 
 
 ".Why, Aunt Jule ! " they cried. 
 
 "And I tell you, Carrie, when you 
 have cleaned house regularly, spring and 
 fall, for forty years, ever since you were 
 born, it makes an awful break to give it 
 
 [248] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 up ! And I do love a good crayon 
 portrait." 
 
 They looked at each other in silence. 
 
 " And when you have a set of furni 
 ture, it makes me nervous not to have it 
 set together," Aunt Julia went on de 
 terminedly. 
 
 " And I will not have a woman smoking 
 in my house ! 
 
 " And oh, Carrie, if you knew how I 
 suffered with that dirty darky girl ! " 
 
 " But but, Aunt Jule, why didn t 
 you" 
 
 " You see, Carrie and Lizzie, it was 
 this way," said Mr. Bean soothingly. 
 
 " Your aunt and I got talking old 
 times, and we found that we both felt 
 about the same. And after we d looked 
 the old house over together a day or two, 
 she couldn t seem to leave it, somehow, 
 and she couldn t live in it alone, and I 
 always wanted it. 
 
 " So I said, c If you ll just step over to 
 the parson s, across the street, with me, 
 
 [249] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 we ll fix this all right in about ten 
 minutes. You ve known me ever since 
 I was a boy, and I ve known you, and it s 
 nobody s business but ours if we want to 
 finish up together. I may have said a 
 few other things, too, but that s neither 
 here nor there. And when she said 
 what would the girls do, I told her that 
 what with the full price of their interest 
 in the farm, and her third that she could 
 add to it for a sort of wedding-present, 
 you see I didn t see but what you could 
 well afford to take a trip to Europe and 
 stay about as long as you liked she said 
 you wanted to do that more than any 
 thing; though why I don t know 
 Connecticut ought to be good enough 
 for anybody ! " 
 
 They sank upon the porch steps, 
 sincerely overcome. 
 
 " I knew you d like it whe.n you came 
 to know it all," said Aunt Julia placidly. 
 " He s the kindest man " 
 
 And to their excited eyes the very 
 [250] 
 
JULIA THE APOSTATE 
 
 tidies on the geometrically arranged 
 chairs, the bright rag rugs on the floor, 
 the biscuits and preserves consecrated to 
 their New England tea, yes, even the 
 insistent shirt-sleeves of Cousin Lorando 
 Bean, were lighted by a halo of content. 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 THEY were having tea on the ter 
 race. As Varian strolled up to the 
 group he wished that Hunter could 
 see the picture they made Hunter, who 
 had not been in America for thirty years, 
 and who had been so honestly surprised 
 when Varian had spoken of Mrs. Dud s 
 pretty maids she always had pretty ones, 
 even to the cook s third assistant. 
 
 "Maids? Maids? It used to be 
 c help, " he had protested. " You don t 
 mean to say they have waitresses in 
 Binghamville now ? " 
 
 Varian had despaired of giving him 
 any idea. 
 
 " Come over and see Mrs. Dud," he 
 
 [>55] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 had urged, " and do her portrait. We ve 
 moved on since you left us, you know. 
 She s a wonder she really is. When 
 you remember how she used to carry her 
 father s dinner to the store Saturday 
 afternoons " 
 
 cc And now I suppose she sports real 
 Mechlin on her cap," assented Hunter, 
 anxious to show how perfectly he caught 
 the situation. 
 
 Varian had roared helplessly. " Cap ? 
 Cap ! " he had moaned finally. " Oh, my 
 sainted granny ! Cap ! My poor fellow, 
 your view of Binghamville must be like 
 the old maps of Africa in the green geog 
 raphy, that said c desert and interior 
 and c savage tribes from time to time. 
 
 I should like awfully to see Mrs. Dud in 
 
 
 a cap. 
 
 Hunter had looked puzzled. 
 
 " But, dear me ! she might very well 
 wear one, I should think," he had mur 
 mured defensively. " I don t wish to be 
 invidious, but surely Lizzie must be 
 
 [256] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 let s see ; eighty, ninety why, she must 
 be between forty-five and fifty now." 
 
 Varian had waved his hand dramati 
 cally. " Nobody considers Mrs. Dud and 
 time in the same breath. If you could 
 see her in her golf rig ! Or on a horse ! 
 She even sheds a lustre on the rest of 
 us. I forget my rheumatism ! " 
 
 But Hunter, retreating behind his de 
 termination to avoid a second seasick 
 ness itmight have been sincere ; nobody 
 ever knew had stayed in Florence, and 
 Varian had been obliged to come without 
 him to the house-party. 
 
 On a straw cushion, a cup in her strong 
 white hand, a bunch of adoring young 
 girls at her feet, sat Mrs. Dud. Rosy and 
 firm-cheeked, crisp in stiff white duck, 
 deliciously contrasted with her fluffy Pa 
 risian parasol, she scorned the softening 
 ruffles of her presumable contempora 
 ries ; her delicately squared chin, for the 
 most part held high, showed a straight 
 white collar under a throat only a little 
 
 [257] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 fuller than the girlish ones all around 
 her. 
 
 Old Dudley himself strolled about the 
 group, gossiping here and there with 
 some pretty woman, sending the grave 
 servants from one to another with some 
 particularly desirable sandwich, " rub 
 bing it in," as he said to the men who 
 had failed to touch his score on the links, 
 tantalizingly uncertain as to which one 
 of the young women he would invite to 
 lead the cotillon with him at the club 
 dance that week : none of the young men 
 could take his place at that, as they them 
 selves enviously admitted. 
 
 What a well-matched couple it was ! 
 What a lot they got out of life ! Varian 
 walked quietly by the group, to enjoy 
 better the pretty, modish picture they 
 made. Their quick chatter, their bursts 
 of laughter, the sweet faint odor of the 
 tea, the gay dresses and light flannels, 
 with the quiet, sombrely attired servants 
 to add tone, all gave him, fresh from 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 Hunter s quick sense of the effective, an 
 appreciation that gained force from his 
 separateness ; he walked farther away to 
 get a different point of view. 
 
 He was out of any path now, and sud 
 denly, hardly beyond reach of their 
 voices, he found himself in a part of 
 the grounds he had never approached be 
 fore. A thick high hedge shut in a kind 
 of court at the side and back of the great 
 house, and a solid wooden door, carefully 
 matched to its green, left open by acci 
 dent, showed a picture so out of line with 
 the succession of vivid scenes that daz 
 zled the visitor at Wilton Bluffs that 
 he stopped involuntarily. The rectangle 
 was carpeted with the characteristic 
 emerald turf of the place, divided by in 
 tersecting red brick paths into four regu 
 lar squares. In the farther corner of each 
 of these a trim green clothes-tree was 
 planted, all abloom with snowy fringed 
 napkins that shone dazzling white against 
 the hedge. One of the squares was a 
 
 l>59] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 neat little kitchen-garden ; parsley was 
 there in plenty, and other vaguely famil 
 iar green things, curly-leaved and spear- 
 pointed. A warm gust of wind brought 
 mint to his nostrils. A second plot held 
 a small crab-apple tree covered with pink 
 and orange globes. A great tortoise-shell 
 cat with two kittens ornamented the 
 third, and in the middle of the fourth, be 
 side a small wooden table, a woman sat 
 with her back toward the intruder. On 
 the table were one or two tin boxes and 
 a yellow earthen dish ; in her left hand, 
 raised to the shoulder-level, was a tall 
 thin bottle, from which an amber fluid 
 dripped in an almost imperceptibly thin 
 stream; her right arm stirred vigorously. 
 She was a middle-aged woman with 
 lightly grayed hair a kind of premoni 
 tory powdering. Over her full skirt of 
 lavender-striped cotton stuff fell a broad, 
 competent white apron. Except for the 
 thudding of the spoon against the bowl, 
 and a faint, homely echo of clashing 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 china and tin, mingled with occasionally 
 raised voices and laughter from some 
 farther kitchen region, all was utterly, 
 placidly still. 
 
 Varian stood chained to the open gate. 
 Something in the calm sun-bathed pict 
 ure tugged strongly at his heart. He 
 thought suddenly of his mother and his 
 Aunt Delia he had been very fond of 
 Aunt Delia. And what cookies she used 
 to make ! Molasses cookies, brown, 
 moist, and crumbly, they had sweetened 
 his boyhood. 
 
 What was it, that delighted sense of 
 congruity that filled him, every passing 
 second, with keener familiarity, so 
 strangely tinged with sorrow and regret ? 
 Ah, he had it ! He bit his lip as it came 
 clear to him. His little namesake neph 
 ew, dead at eight years old, and dear 
 as only a dearly loved child can be, had 
 delighted greatly in the Kate Greenaway 
 pictures that came in " painting-books," 
 with colored prints on alternate pages 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 and corresponding outlines on the others. 
 Dozens of those books the boy had clev 
 erly filled in with his little japanned 
 paint-box and mussy, quill-handled 
 brushes ; and the scene before him, the 
 rich tints of the hedge, the symmetrical 
 little tree brilliant with hundreds of tiny 
 globes, the big white apron, the lazy yel 
 low cats, and everywhere the prim rec 
 tangular lines so amusingly conventional 
 to accentuate the likeness, almost choked 
 him with the suddenness of the recog 
 nition. They must have colored that 
 very picture a dozen times, Tommy 
 and he. 
 
 Half unconsciously he rested his arms 
 on the top of the gate and drifted into 
 revery. He forgot that he was at Wilton 
 Bluffs, one of the greatest of the country 
 palaces, and lived for a while in a min 
 gled vision of his boyhood on the old 
 farm and in the land of the Greenaway 
 painting-books. 
 
 Suddenly a door opened into the green. 
 
 [262] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 A housemaid advanced to the table, bear 
 ing in both red hands a long tray covered 
 with a napkin. On the napkin lay, heaped 
 in rich confusion, a great pile of spicy, 
 smoking brown cookies. 
 
 " They re just out o the oven," she 
 began, but Varian could contain himself 
 no longer. He could not be deceived: 
 he would have known those cookies in 
 the Desert of Sahara. He crossed the 
 little plot in three long steps, and faced 
 the astonished maid. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said firmly, 
 " but it is very necessary that I should 
 have one of those cookies ! I hope you 
 can spare one ? " 
 
 She giggled convulsively. 
 
 cc I I guess you can, sir," she mur 
 mured, laying down the tray and re 
 treating toward the house door. 
 
 Varian faced the older woman, and, 
 with hat still in hand, instinctively bowed 
 lower ; for this was no housekeeper 
 he was sure of that. Even as she met his 
 
 [263] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 eyes a great flood of pink rushed to her 
 smooth forehead, and she dropped her 
 lids as she bowed slightly. He reflected 
 irrelevantly that he had never seen Mrs. 
 Dudley blush in his life. 
 
 " You are very welcome to all you 
 wish, I am sure," she said graciously. 
 "I I didn t know any one liked them 
 but me. I always have them made for 
 me I taught her the rule. I always 
 call them" she laughed nervously, and 
 it dawned on him that this woman was 
 really shy and " talking against time," 
 as they said "I always call them c Aunt 
 Delia s cookies. They " 
 
 "Aunt Delia s cookies!" he inter 
 rupted. " What Aunt Delia ? " 
 
 "Aunt Delia Parmentre," she re 
 turned, a little surprised, evidently, at 
 this stranger, who, with a straw sailor-hat 
 in one hand and a warm molasses cooky 
 in the other, stared so intently at her. 
 "She wasn t really my aunt, of course " 
 
 " But she was mine ! " he burst out, 
 
 [264] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 " and these are her cookies, and no mis 
 take. Who are you ? " 
 
 Again she flushed, but more lightly. 
 
 " I am Miss Redding," she said with 
 a gentle dignity, " Mrs. Wilton s sister." 
 
 He stared at her vaguely. 
 
 "Mrs. Wilton oh! you re her sis 
 ter? I didn t know " He stopped 
 abruptly. As his confusion grew, her 
 own faded away. 
 
 "You didn t know she had one?" she 
 asked, almost mischievously. 
 
 " I didn t know you were here," he 
 recovered himself. "You ve never been 
 with Mrs. Dud before, have you ? " 
 
 " No, not here when there was com 
 pany," she said. 
 
 He hardly noticed the words ; his 
 mind was groping among past histories. 
 
 "Her sister her sister," he mut 
 tered. " Why, then," with an illumi 
 nating smile, " I used to go to school with 
 you ! I m Tom Varian ! " 
 
 She smiled and held out her hand. 
 
 [265] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 "I m very glad to see you," she said 
 cordially. " Won t you " She looked 
 about for a chair, but he dropped on the 
 grass at her feet. 
 
 "You ve changed since we met last," 
 he remarked, biting into his cooky. She 
 looked at his bronzed face and thick sil 
 vered hair and nodded thoughtfully. 
 
 " I was six years old then," she said ; 
 " and you were one of the ( big boys 
 you were fourteen." 
 
 " That s a long while," he suggested 
 laughingly. 
 
 " It is thirty-six years," she replied 
 simply. 
 
 He winced. His associates were not 
 accustomed to be so scrupulously accu 
 rate. It seemed indecently long ago. 
 And yet there was a certain charm, now 
 one faced it, a quaint halo of interest. 
 
 " You used to hand me water in a tin 
 dipper," he said. 
 
 She nodded. " Yes, that was for a 
 reward, when I was good," she said 
 [266] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 seriously. " I could hand the water to 
 the big boys. I was very proud of it. 
 You drank a great deal." 
 
 He chuckled. " I was born thirsty," 
 he acknowledged. "By George, how 
 it comes back ! I can see it now, that 
 school-house! Funny little red thing 
 remember how it looked ? Big shelf 
 around the sides for a desk, and another 
 under that for the books ? Bench all 
 round the room to sit on, and we just 
 whopped our legs over and faced round 
 to recite? And carved Lord! I don t 
 believe there was an inch of the wood, 
 all told, that was clear ! I nearly cut 
 my thumb off there, one day." 
 
 " One of the big girls fainted away," 
 she added, " and they laid her on the 
 floor and told me to bring a dipper of 
 water ; but my hand shook so I spilled it 
 all over my apron, and she came to be 
 fore we got more. I was very timid." 
 
 He began on another cooky. 
 
 " Did you have two pigtails ? And 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 striped stockings?" he inquired, his eyes 
 fixed reminiscently on the hedge. 
 
 She nodded softly. 
 
 " And played some game with stones? 
 I can t just remember " 
 
 " It was houses," she reminded him. 
 " We little girls used to make little 
 houses just marked out with stones 
 in squares on the ground ; and if you 
 boys felt like it, you d bring us big flat 
 stones to eat our dinner on." 
 
 "Ah, yes ! " It all came back to him. 
 "And then you d race off to get flag-root 
 or something, and " 
 
 "And gobble our dinner as we ran. It 
 was fun, all the same," she added. 
 
 " But what a mite you were, to be in 
 school ! " he said wonderingly. " What 
 under heaven did you study?" 
 
 " I don t remember at all," she con 
 fessed. " But I suppose I spelled. Do 
 you remember the spelling-matches ? 
 And how you big ones wanted to ( leave 
 off head ?" 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 He chuckled. " I should say I did ! 
 And sometimes the greatest idiot would 
 c leave off head because there wasn t any 
 more time. It was maddening ! " 
 
 He munched in silence for a while, and 
 she did not dream of interrupting. 
 
 "In the winter, though George! but 
 it was cold ! We used to positively swim 
 through the drifts. I tell you, there 
 aren t any such snows now ! How did 
 you get there ? " 
 
 " I only went in the summer," she 
 said ; " and I used to come in all stained 
 with the berries I ate along the way. It 
 was dreadful " she grew stern, as if ad 
 dressing the little girl in striped stock 
 ings and pigtails "the way I ate berries ! 
 I used to eat the bushes clean on the way 
 to school ! " 
 
 She had got over her first shyness, and 
 had gained time to realize her big apron, 
 which she hastily untied. He caught the 
 motion and protested. 
 
 " No, no ! Keep it on ! I haven t 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 seen a woman a lady in an apron for 
 years ! Please keep it on ! And do go 
 on with the the mess in the dish ! " 
 
 "The mess" she bent her brows re 
 provingly "it s mayonnaise sauce. But 
 I don t think" 
 
 He jumped up to put the bowl in her 
 lap. A sudden twinge in his knee wrung 
 an involuntary groan from him. He 
 walked a little stiffly toward her. 
 
 " You have rheumatism ! And you 
 sat all the time on that damp grass ! " 
 she cried reproachfully. " I thought at 
 first it was the craziest thing to do, but 
 I didn t dare say so." 
 
 He ignored the charge but smiled at 
 the confession. 
 
 "And now you re not afraid?" 
 
 She blushed again. It was very be 
 coming. 
 
 "It seems it seems foolish to act like 
 strangers when it s been so long we re 
 member so well " She sighed a little. 
 He studied her face so like her sister s 
 [270] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 and so utterly different. The same gray 
 eyes, but calm and drooped ; the same 
 clear white skin, but a fuller, yes, a more 
 matronly face, a riper, sweeter, more rest 
 ful curve. The soft dark shadows that 
 accentuated Mrs. Dudley s eyes were 
 lacking ; a group of tiny wrinkles at the 
 corners gave her instead a pleasant, hu 
 morous regard that her sister s literal 
 directness missed utterly. 
 
 Nervous under his scrutiny, she rose 
 hastily, and before he could prevent her 
 she had brought him a roomy arm-chair 
 from the house. 
 
 "At our age there s no use in running 
 risks," she said simply, " you ought 
 not to sit on the grass ; leave that for 
 the young folks." 
 
 Again he winced, but dropped with 
 relief into the chair. 
 
 " Oh, one must keep up with the pro 
 cession, you know ! " he said lightly. 
 
 She made no reply ; and as she lifted 
 the bottle and began to beat the yellow 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 mass again, it occurred to him that the 
 remark was exceptionally silly. 
 
 " Does it have to go in slowly like 
 that the whole bottleful?" he inquired 
 lazily. 
 
 She nodded. " Or it curdles," she 
 explained. " The cook sprained his 
 wrist yesterday. He never allows any 
 body to make the mayonnaise he can t 
 trust them and I was glad to do it for 
 him. He says mine is as good as his. 
 Did you ever see him ? " 
 
 " Well, no/ Varian returned. " But 
 he doesn t need to be seen to be appre 
 ciated." 
 
 A strange suspicion crept over him. 
 
 " Do you often Do you do much 
 How is it that you " He could not 
 say it properly. Was it possible that 
 Mrs. Dud It was unworthy of her! 
 
 She caught his meaning, and her cool 
 gray eyes met his with their uncompro 
 mising directness. He seemed convicted 
 of unnecessary shuffling. 
 [272] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 " Oh, Lizzie asked me not to do any 
 thing," she said quietly. " She wanted 
 me to enjoy myself with her friends. But 
 I m not used to so much society, and I 
 don t want to be any hinderance. I m 
 not so young as I used to be. I d have 
 liked the gayety well enough when I was 
 a girl, but I guess it tires me a little now. 
 There seems to be so much going on all 
 the time. Lizzie says she s resting, but 
 it wouldn t rest me. Do you find it so?" 
 
 He recalled his yesterday s programme : 
 driving a pulling team all the morning ; 
 carrying Mrs. Dud s heavy bag over the 
 links all the afternoon she preferred 
 her friends to caddies ; prompting for 
 the dramatics rehearsal, with a poor light, 
 all the evening, while the actors gossiped 
 and squabbled and flirted contentedly. 
 
 " It is not always restful," he ad 
 mitted. 
 
 " It makes my head ache," she re 
 marked placidly. " I like to see the 
 girls enjoy themselves. I m glad they re 
 
 [273] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 happy some of those visiting Lizzie 
 are so pretty ! but I m glad I haven t 
 got to run about so much. I m very 
 fond of driving myself, if I have a good 
 quiet horse that won t shy and doesn t go 
 fast, and Lizzie has one for me a white 
 one that s gentle and I drive about in 
 the phaeton a great deal. The doctor 
 that came that night were you here ? 
 when Mrs. Page fainted and they couldn t 
 bring her to (it seems she was in the habit 
 of taking some medicine to make her 
 sleep, and it weakened her heart) asked 
 me if I wouldn t like to take out some 
 patients of his, and so I called for a very 
 nice lady a Mrs. Williams ; you prob 
 ably don t know her ? and after that a 
 young girl with spinal trouble, and and 
 several others. They seemed to enjoy 
 it, and I m sure I did. Once I took a 
 young girl that s staying here she had 
 a bad headache. She was a sweet girl, 
 and I liked her. She said the drive 
 helped her a great deal. It s astonish- 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 ing " her eyes met his wonderingly 
 " how much trouble you can have, with 
 all the money you want ! I I was 
 sorry for her," she added, half to her 
 self. 
 
 Before he thought he leaned forward, 
 took her hand with the silver tablespoon 
 in it, and kissed it gently. He admired 
 her as he would admire some charming 
 soft pastel hung in a cool white room. 
 
 " How sweet and good you are !" he 
 said warmly ; and then, to cover her deep 
 embarrassment and his own sudden emo 
 tion, he continued quickly, "Are you 
 very busy in the morning, always ? " 
 
 " There are different things," she mur 
 mured, still looking at her spoon. cc I 
 have letters to write I keep up with a 
 good many old friends in Binghamville 
 and Albany, where I lived with my mar 
 ried niece ten years, till they moved 
 West. I loved her children ; I half 
 brought them up. One died ; I can t 
 seem to get over it " Her eyes filled, 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 and she made no effort to cover two tears 
 that slipped over. 
 
 Varian took her hand again. " I know 
 about that I know ! " he said softly. 
 
 " Then there are my flowers ; I do so 
 enjoy the beds and the greenhouses here," 
 she went on more cheerfully. cc The 
 gardeners are very kind to me I think 
 they like to have me come in. Mr. 
 McFadden gives me a good many slips 
 and cuttings. I love flowers dearly. 
 Then I read a good deal, and there is 
 always some little thing to do for the 
 young girls here. They the ones I 
 know come in for a moment while I 
 mend something, or pin their things in 
 the back, and it s surprising how much 
 there is to do ! They fly about so they 
 can t stop to take care of their things. 
 They talk to me while I set them straight, 
 and it s very interesting. I tell Lizzie I 
 go out a great deal, just hearing about 
 their adventures, when she drops in to 
 see me. She never forgets me ; she brings 
 
 [276] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 somebody to my sitting-room every day 
 or so that she thinks I d enjoy meeting 
 and I always do. She never makes a 
 mistake." 
 
 " Oh, she s wonderful/ Varian agreed 
 easily. " There s nobody like Mrs. Dud, 
 of course." 
 
 She stopped her work a moment and 
 looked curiously at him. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " she 
 asked. "You all say it in just that 
 way ; but I don t think I quite see what 
 you mean. Why is she wonderful ? 
 Because she looks so young ? " 
 
 " That, in the first place," Varian re 
 turned, with a smile, " but not only 
 that." 
 
 " Of course that is very strange," she 
 mused. "Now Lizzie is three years 
 older than I. You would never think it, 
 would you ? " 
 
 "No," he agreed, still smiling; "but 
 then, Mrs. Dud looks younger than every 
 body. It is her specialty. I think what 
 
 [277] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 we mean," he continued, " is her amazing 
 capacity ; she does so much, so ridicu 
 lously much, and so much better than 
 other people. We try to keep up with 
 things your sister is a little bit ahead. 
 She seems to have always been doing the 
 very latest thing, you see. And all her 
 responsibilities, her various affairs it 
 makes one s head swim ! The women 
 have set themselves a tremendous field 
 to cover nowadays, and when one suc 
 ceeds so admirably " He paused. 
 
 She shook her head thoughtfully. 
 
 " But everything is done for her ! " she 
 protested. " Why, I have never yet seen 
 all the servants in this house ! And you 
 know there is a housekeeper? Lizzie 
 sees her a little while in the morning, 
 that s all. And she never sews a stitch 
 there s a seamstress here all the time, you 
 know, and that has nothing to do with 
 the clothes that come home in boxes. 
 And little Dudley has his tutor, and his 
 old nurse that looks after his clothes. 
 
 [478] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 What is it that she does to make it so 
 wonderful ? " 
 
 He only smiled at her perplexity, and 
 she added confidentially : 
 
 " Lizzie wanted me to go to her dress 
 maker, but I didn t like the idea of a 
 man, to begin with, and then I knew Miss 
 Simms would feel so hurt. She lives in 
 Albany, and she s made my dresses for so 
 long that I thought, though she may not 
 be so stylish, I d better keep up with her ; 
 wouldn t you ? " 
 
 A perfectly unreasonable tenderness 
 surged through his heart. How sweet she 
 was ! 
 
 "If she made that dress, I certainly 
 should ! " he declared. 
 
 She smoothed the crisp lavender folds 
 deprecatingly. 
 
 " Oh, this is only a cotton dress," she 
 said. " But she made my gray silk, too, 
 and Lizzie herself said it fitted beautifully. 
 
 She took up the bottle again : it was 
 nearly empty. 
 
 [ 2 79] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 " Now my mother," she began, " she 
 was wonderful, if you like. Do you 
 know what my mother used to do ? We 
 lived on the farm, you know, like yours, 
 and most of the work of that farm mother 
 did. She did the cooking for all the 
 hired hands, too ; she made the butter, 
 and took care of the hens ; she made the 
 candles and the soap ; she made the car 
 pets and all our clothes my brothers , 
 too ; and she put up preserves and jellies 
 and cordials, and did the most beautiful 
 embroidery ; I have some of mother s 
 embroidered collars, and I can t do any 
 thing like them." 
 
 "It was tremendous," he said. " My 
 Aunt Delia did that, too." 
 
 "We were old-fashioned, even for 
 then," she said. " Everybody didn t do 
 so much, of course, as we did. Lizzie 
 says we were just on the edge of the new 
 age. It certainly is different. And of 
 course I wouldn t go back to it for any 
 thing. After we came back from board- 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 ing-school it was all changed. We 
 moved, then, nearer the town. But, do 
 you know, my mother went to singing- 
 school, and Lizzie was looking that up 
 in a book, the other day, to see what they 
 did she wanted it for a party! " 
 
 He laughed. " That is delicious ! " 
 he said. 
 
 " See what I found to-day ! " she added, 
 drawing a small object from her pocket. 
 " I hunted it up to show Miss Porter to 
 night. She was so interested when I told 
 her about it." 
 
 She showed him, with a tender amuse 
 ment, a little slender white silk mitten. 
 Around the wrist was embroidered in 
 dark blue a legend in Old English script. 
 He puzzled it out : A Whig or no Hus 
 band! 
 
 " That was mother s," she said, cc the 
 girls wore them then. She was quite a 
 belle, mother was ! And when people 
 ask me how Lizzie does so much, I say 
 that she inherits it. But at her age 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 mother was broken down and old. She 
 had to be. There were nine of us, and 
 here there s only little Dudley, and it was 
 so long before he came." 
 
 They sat quietly. The setting sun 
 flamed through the crab-apples and 
 burnished the fur of the tortoise-shell 
 cat. The mint smelled strong. The 
 sweet, mellow summer evening was re 
 flected in her handsome face, with its 
 delicate lines, that only added a restful 
 charm to forehead and cheek. He had 
 no need to talk ; it was very, very pleas 
 ant sitting there. 
 
 A maid came out to get the mayon 
 naise, and the spell was broken. He took 
 out his watch. 
 
 " Just time to dress," he sighed. " Will 
 you be here again ? We must talk old 
 times once more." 
 
 She smiled and seemed to assent, but 
 her eyes were not on him ; she was still 
 in a revery. He walked softly away. 
 She seemed hardly to notice him, and 
 
 [282] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 his last backward glance found the quiet 
 of the picture unbroken ; again it was a 
 page from the Greenaway book. 
 
 He reached the terrace ; laughter and 
 applause from the piazza caught his ear. 
 Fresh from the atmosphere he had left, 
 he stared in amazement at the scene be 
 fore him. 
 
 Swift figures were scudding from one 
 to another of the four great elms that 
 marked out a natural rectangle on the 
 smooth side lawn. 
 
 " Puss ! puss ! Here, puss ! " a high 
 voice called, and a tall slender girl in a 
 swish of lace and pink draperies rushed 
 across one side of the square. A portly 
 trousered figure essayed to gain the tree 
 she had left, but a romping girl in white 
 caught him easily, while Mrs. Dud, the 
 tail of her gown thrown over her arm, 
 skimmed triumphantly across to her 
 partner s tree. 
 
 " One more, one more, colonel. You 
 can t give up, now you re caught ! One 
 
 [283] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 more before we go in ! " called the pink 
 girl. 
 
 "Here s Mr. Varian. Come and help 
 us out the colonel s beaten!" added 
 Mrs. Dud. 
 
 " Here, puss ! here, puss ! " With 
 excited little shrieks and laughs they 
 dashed by, the colonel making ineffec 
 tual grabs at their elusive skirts. Varian 
 shook his head good-naturedly. 
 
 " Too late, too late ! " he called back, 
 and taking pity on the puffing, purple 
 colonel, he bore him off. 
 
 "Thank God! I m just about winded! 
 I d have dropped in my tracks," com 
 plained the rescued man, breathing hard 
 as they rounded the shrubbery. In the 
 corner two figures, half seen in the dark, 
 leaned toward each other an impercep 
 tible moment. The colonel laughed 
 contentedly. 
 
 " When I see that sort of thing, I 
 think we ve made a mistake eh, 
 Varian ? " he said, half serious. " It s 
 
 [284] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 a poor job, getting old alone. Live at 
 the club, visit here and there, make 
 yourself agreeable to get asked again, 
 nobody to care if you re sick, always 
 play the other fellow s game little 
 monotonous after a while, eh ? " 
 
 Varian nodded. " Right enough," he 
 said, 
 
 " Different ending to their route ! " 
 suggested the colonel, jerking his elbow 
 back toward the two in the shrubbery. 
 
 " That s it ! " The answer was laconic, 
 but the pictures that swept through his 
 brain took on a precision and color that 
 half frightened him. 
 
 He had no idea how frequently he 
 dropped in at the little court behind the 
 hedge after that. Sometimes he sat and 
 mused alone there; more than once he 
 took a surreptitious afternoon nap. He 
 developed a dormant fancy for garden 
 ing, and walked with his new-old friend 
 contentedly among the deserted garden 
 paths. He studied her hair especially, 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 wondering why it was that the little 
 tender flecks of white attracted him so. 
 At dinner he secretly tried to rouse in 
 himself the same desire to stroke the 
 gleaming silver fleece, high-dressed, 
 puffed, and ornamented with jet, of the 
 woman opposite him, whose hair, some 
 what prematurely turned snowy, had won 
 her a great vogue among her friends. 
 But he never succeeded. She was abso 
 lutely too effective. She turned the 
 simplest gathering to a fancy-dress ball, 
 he decided. 
 
 He had supposed that it was the 
 quaint privacy of their acquaintance that 
 charmed him particularly the feeling of 
 an almost double existence ; but when 
 Mrs. Dud, who, he afterwards reflected, 
 was of course omniscient, restrained her 
 self no longer, and thanked him with a 
 pretty sincerity for his delicate and ap 
 preciated courtesy, intimating charmingly 
 that she realized the personal motive, a 
 veil suddenly dropped. He gasped, 
 
 [286] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 shook himself, colored a little, and met 
 her eye. 
 
 "I m afraid I m not so kind as you 
 think," he said, a little awkwardly. 
 " I ve been an old fool, I see. Do you 
 think -is that the way she looks at it?" 
 
 "Mary?" said Mrs. Dud, wonder- 
 ingly. "Yes, I suppose so. Why?" 
 
 The naive egotism of the answer only 
 threw a softer light on the picture that 
 had grown to fill his thoughts. He 
 smiled inscrutably. 
 
 " Because in that case it is due to her 
 to undeceive her," he said. " I am glad 
 I have entertained her. I should like 
 to have the opportunity to do so in 
 definitely. Do you think there s a 
 chance for me?" 
 
 "What on earth do you mean?" asked 
 his hostess, in unassumed stupefaction. 
 
 " I mean, do you think she would 
 marry me ? " Varian brought out 
 plumply. " Is there was there ever 
 anybody else?" 
 
 [287] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 For one instant Mrs. Dud lost her 
 poise ; in her eyes he almost saw more 
 than she meant ; the sheer, flat blow of 
 it levelled her for a breath to the plane 
 of other and ordinary women. But even 
 as he thought it, it was gone. She put 
 out her hand; she smiled; she shook her 
 finger at him. 
 
 " I think, my friend, she would be a 
 fool not to marry you," she answered 
 him, clear-eyed; "and there was never," 
 her tone was too sweet, he thought, to 
 carry but one meaning pleasure for him, 
 "there was never anybody else!" 
 
 Varian walked straight to the garden. 
 She was training a fiery wall of nas 
 turtiums with firm white fingers. It 
 occurred to him that he was ready to 
 give up the tally-ho, and the Berkshires, 
 and the scramble of pretty girls for the 
 place beside him, to sit quietly and watch 
 her among her flowers. 
 
 "I m getting old old!" he said to 
 himself, but he said it with a smile. 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 For he knew that no boy s heart ever 
 beat more swiftly, no boy s tongue ever 
 sought more excitedly to find the right 
 words. But when he faced her a little 
 doubt chilled him: she was so calm and 
 complete, in her sunny, busy, balanced 
 life, that he feared to disturb that sweet 
 placidity. With an undercurrent of fear, 
 a sudden realization that he had no more 
 the blessed egotism of youth to drive 
 him on, he walked beside her, outwardly 
 content, at heart a little solitary. At 
 some light question he turned and faced 
 her. 
 
 "You could not have all the green 
 houses, but there could be plenty of 
 flowers," he said pleadingly. 
 
 "Flowers? Where?" she asked. 
 
 " Wherever we lived," he answered. 
 " And oh, Mary, I think we could be 
 happy together ! Don t say no ! " as 
 she shrank a little. " Don t, Mary, for 
 heaven s sake ! I care too much I 
 care terribly. I am too old a man to 
 
 [289] 
 
MRS. DUD S SISTER 
 
 care so much and lose. . . . There, 
 there, my dear girl, never mind. I 
 can bear it, of course. Only I didn t 
 know I d planned it all out so, and 
 But never mind. I was going to have a 
 bay-window full of " 
 
 He turned away from her for a mo 
 ment. But her hand was on his arm. 
 
 cc We can plan it out together/ she 
 said. 
 
 He knew how she would blush ; he 
 had even dared to think how directly her 
 clear gray eyes would meet his her sky- 
 ness was never hesitation but he had 
 not dreamed how soft her hair could be. 
 
 [290] 
 
BOOKS BY JOSEPHINE DASKAM 
 
 MIDDLE AGED LOVE STORIES 
 
 izmo, $1.25 
 
 r I A HESE seven stories, considered as sincere 
 i studies of her subject, have an impor 
 tance fully equal to their interest as love tales 
 of a quite unusual nature and a quality their 
 author s own. It is a book that no one at all 
 interested in Miss Daskam s growing career 
 can afford to overlook. 
 
 WHOM THE GODS DESTROYED 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 WHOM THE GODS DESTROYED 
 
 A WIND FLOWER 
 
 WHEN PIPPA PASSED 
 
 THE BACKSLIDING OF HARRIET BLAKE 
 
 A BAYARD OF BROADWAY 
 
 A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE BOOKS 
 
 THE MAID OF THE MILL 
 
 THE TWILIGHT GUESTS 
 
 " She writes like no one else. Her materials 
 are often of the slenderest, but her art makes 
 one forget that. There is atmosphere in all 
 her stories. The humor is unmistakable, but 
 subtle and lambent. Miss Daskam s art baffles 
 analysis, but there is no doubt about the rogu 
 ish quality of its femininity. In her Whom 
 the Gods Destroyed she is at her best." 
 N. T. Sun. $1.50. 
 
BOOKS BY JOSEPHINE DASKAM 
 
 THE IMP AND THE ANGEL 
 
 Illustrated by B. J. ROSENMEYER 
 " Miss Daskam has made for herself so ad 
 miring an audience through her stories of child 
 life, that she needs no introduction to readers of 
 the new and clever." The Atlantic Monthly. 
 $1.10 net, postage 10 cents. 
 
 FABLES FOR THE FAIR 
 
 "An exceedingly attractive little volume, 
 both in appearance and quality, is Fables for 
 the Fair/ by Josephine Dodge Daskam, which 
 contains 25 fables of a distinctly modern type, 
 more or less satirical in character, and all bright, 
 clever and original." Boston Journal. 
 
 $1.00 net, postage 8 cents. 
 
 SISTER S VOCATION 
 " It is bright, entertaining and wholesome. 
 Her girls are not all captivating creatures when 
 first introduced, but their redeeming qualities 
 are brought out with skill. There are nine of 
 the stories, and each one has a distinctive 
 charm . Sa ?i Francisco Argonaut. $1.25. 
 
 SMITH COLLEGE STORIES 
 
 "A highly interesting and picturesque young 
 person the Smith College girl as the author 
 presents her seems to be. She seems to be 
 just simply girl, and she could certainly be 
 nothing nicer." New York Sun. $1.50. 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS, NEW YORK 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO 5O CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 ^CT -U-M- 
 
 
 FE6 21 1934 
 
 
 SEP 14 1939 
 
 
 (TITD ? 10x11 
 
 
 rtD to 1943 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 LD 2.1-100w-7, 33 
 
YB 32165 
 
 592771 
 XS, 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY