CHAPTER EIGHT
Gracewas keenly disappointed at receiving no letter from Trenton the next day. She canvassed all possible explanations of this first lapse in their correspondence. Whatever might be the cause she decided not to write until she heard from him again. She passed an unhappy morning and was relieved when Irene asked her to go to lunch. It was possible that Irene might have some news of Trenton, as he and Kemp were constantly in touch with each other.
“Tell me I look perfectly all right—just as though nothing had happened,” Irene remarked when they had given their order.
“Well, if you want to know, you’re just a trifle paler than usual; but I’d never have noticed it. What’s the trouble?”
Irene answered by holding out her left hand.
“The emerald is no more! Oh, I haven’t sent it back! I’ve just stuck it down in the bottom of a drawer with a lot of other old junk. It’s all over, my dear.”
“You and Tommy have quit!” Grace exclaimed.
“Finished, quit—whatever you like. You’ll remember I told you such things can’t last. Please don’t think I wasn’t prepared! But to a certain extent Tommy did fool me. I thought he really cared for me and I won’t deny that I thought a lot of him.”
“This is certainly a surprise,” Grace remarked, notingsigns of dejection in the usually placid Irene that had previously escaped her.
“Well, I got a line on him a few days ago. It’s a small world and things have a way of getting round.”
Irene spoke as one whose philosophy is quite equal to any demand that may be made upon it. She dilated upon the general perfidy of man as though her personal disappointment was negligible and only to be mentioned for purposes of illustration. She continued in this vein so long that Grace began to fear she was not to learn just what had happened to shatter Irene’s faith in Kemp.
“Let’s consider all the male species dead and buried! I’m dying of curiosity. Just what happened to you and Tommy?”
“He lied to me, that’s all; and I found him out.”
“That’s too bad; I’m ever so sorry,” Grace replied, not knowing whether Irene sought consolation for the loss of her lover or wanted to be congratulated on her prescience in foreseeing the inevitable end of the affair.
“Oh, it’s all right with me! But I can’t deny that when it came it was a jar. You see Tommy’s mighty good fun and awfully clever. I learned a lot from Tommy; he used to tell me everything. I’ll wager he’s sorry now he told me a lot of most intimate things, about people and business and even his family affairs; but they’re safe, I’d never betray his confidence even if he has gone back on me.”
“Of course not; you’d never do that,” Grace assented, and saw that Irene was pleased by this testimony to her high-mindedness. “Maybe there’s some mistake about it. Of course you’ll give Tommy a chance to explain.”
“Oh, I gave him the chance all right enough. Itwas over the telephone and, my dear, you should have heard him gasp when I put it up to him!”
“Go on and tell me what Tommy did or let’s stop talking about it!”
“I’m going to tell you. You and Minnie Lawton are the only people Icouldtell. I’ve been meeting Tommy at Minnie’s apartment and she has to know why I’m not going there any more. Tommy’s always told me I was the only one—that old, old story! Well, a certain person—he didn’t know I knew Tommy—was asking me about him the other day. He said he’d seen Tommy in Chicago with a very nifty girl he seemed to be chummy with. He saw them together last Saturday night. Now, Tommy had a date with me for Saturday evening but he told me Friday he was going to Chicago unexpectedly with his wife for the opera. He didn’t take his wife to Chicago—I easily found that out. Tommy went to Chi all right enough but not to hear Mary Garden. So, there’s the end of our little romance.”
“What did Tommy have to say for himself?”
“Whatcouldhe say!” Irene exclaimed disdainfully. “He wanted to see me of course; said he could explain everything, but I said good-bye very sweetly and hung up on him. I’d like to see him explain a thing like that! I suppose he thought he’d send me a box of candy and everything would be lovely. I’m a good deal of a fool, my dear, but hardly to that extent.”
“I shouldn’t just pick you out to try putting anything over on.”
“They’re all alike!” Irene resumed, ignoring Grace’s tribute to her perspicacity. “Men expect women to take everything. Poor Tommy! If he doesn’t stop drinking he’s going to die real quick one of these days.I guess he didn’t like my lecturing him so much. You know I was interested in all his plans—he’s no end ambitious and he used to invite my little hints and suggestions; not that I really know about machinery or finance, but I suppose I have got a business head.”
“You certainly have, Irene. You’ll have a big business of your own some day or a wonderful position in New York. You could easily swing our department now.”
“I suppose I might, but I’ve almost decided to get married. Oh, don’t jump! I mean when I see a good chance. Now that I’m done with Tommy the idea doesn’t seem so bad. Perhaps,” she added, “perhaps we’re not fair to marriage! There may be something in it after all.”
“There are still people who think so,” said Grace, impelled to laughter by Irene’s gravity.
“Oh, I suppose we’ve got to recognize it! How’s Ward these days? Still roaming the world?”
“In New York the last I heard of him, and terribly busy.”
“Do you know, there’s something pathetic about Ward Trenton,” said Irene. “There’s something away back in his mind that he tries to hide even from himself! You know what I mean? It’s his wife, I suppose. I saw her picture in a magazine not so long ago and meant to show it to you. She’s not at all the frump you’d expect from her being an author and lecturer, but quite handsome and smartly got up. It’s certainly queer that a woman like that who has scads of money and a real man for a husband won’t stay at her own fireside, but has to trot around showing herself off. And Ward’s fascinating; those quiet self-contained men are always fascinating. And they certainly keep you guessing as to what they think.Take poor Tommy; once he’s away from business he’s got to be amused. But Ward’s different. That man does a lot of solid thinking even when he’s out to play.”
“He’s kind, he’s awfully kind,” Grace murmured.
With the Cummings’s episode and its very obvious lesson still playing through her thoughts Grace eagerly welcomed Irene’s praise of Trenton, feeling the need of just the assurances her friend was giving her as to his fine qualities, which attained a new dignity in view of Kemp’s inconstancy.
“Ward’s perfectly splendid,” Irene continued as though fearing she hadn’t done Trenton full justice. “I’ve never had any illusions about Tommy; I always knew I’d have to pass him up some day. But don’t let me shake your faith in dear old Ward. He won’t lie to you; he’d tell the truth if it ruined him.”
“You really think that?” asked Grace with a slight quaver in her voice which the watchful Irene did not miss.
“Of course I think it! But with two people as intense in your different ways as you and Ward, you’re likely to hurt each other terribly. I’ve been awfully careful what I’ve said to you, Grace, about—well—about going the limit with Ward. But I can see you’re not just throwing yourself at his head. And Ward, if I know him, is not going to expect you to.”
“Oh, he’s fine!” said Grace, averting her eyes. “No one could be finer, but——”
“Yes, my dear; there’s thatbutwe always bring up against! I won’t say a word about Tommy and me. Of course I never loved Tommy but I thought he was a good fellow and on the level; and it was exciting while it lasted. That’s what catches a lot of girls who go in for such little affairs as mine with Tommy. It’sthe excitement of doing something they know’s dead wrong and bound to end in a smash-up.”
As Grace was eating little and seemed dispirited, Irene recurred to Trenton.
“Ward would never be satisfied just to play around with a girl, knowing that whenever he got tired he’d chuck her and pick up another. I’m saying this because I know he fell for you hard that very first night you met; it was a clear case of love at first sight with you two. I’m not just kidding you; you know as well as I do you’re different from other girls. You’ve got brains and poise. Not that you weren’t always a lot of fun and a good pal,—I never knew a girl who was as much fun to play with. But you’ve always kept your self-respect and held your head high. Ward likes that in you because he’s that sort himself.”
“I wish I could believe you’re right but, Irene, sometimes I don’t feel I know myself at all! When I quit college I was full of self-conceit and thought I had a strong grip on myself. I was going to test out life—find out everything in my own way. But there are times when I get scared. I thought it would be fun to drift along for awhile, just trying myself out and I was sure I could stop whenever I pleased and settle on something. But I’m not doing it! What’s the matter with me anyhow?” she demanded mournfully.
“You’re in love! Don’t you think I haven’t been watching the awful symptoms. You’ve got a real case!”
“Do you really mean that? Would you really know?” asked Grace eagerly.
“Would I know? I could see it with my eyes shut. And I can see it’s troubling you. These are things we’ve all got to settle for ourselves, my dear. And from what I know of Ward I’ll wager he’s taking itjust as hard as you are. He’s married and he knows just what the whole thing means. I’d be disappointed in him if he didn’t give you a good chance to drop him now even though he suffered terribly. And he’s of the kind who do suffer all right.”
“It might be better,” said Grace soberly, “if I didn’t see him again!”
“You’re going to be unhappy if you do that. You’d both be unhappy. Of course, there’s his wife. He’d be likely to think of her pride and dignity,—chivalry and all that sort of stuff. And if he got a divorce and married you the whole business might be unpleasant. You’re not the sort of girl who could go through a thing like that without suffering terribly. It’s something for you to think about, my dear!”
In spite of her trouble with Kemp, Irene was eating a substantial luncheon. There were times when Grace felt an aversion for Irene. The most sacred relationships of life the girl treated with a cold cynicism that affected Grace disagreeably. She was pondering the sordidness of Irene’s liaison with Kemp. The lofty condescension with which Irene spoke of him amused Grace only mildly.
“Wouldn’t it be grand,” Irene continued, “to be made love to—I mean by some one who really knew how! Somebody who’d approach you as though you were a queen and stand in terrible awe of you! The trouble with all us women nowadays is that we’re too easy. The next time a man shows any symptoms of being interested in me I’m going to be the coy little girl, I can tell you! Oh, I’m not thinking of Tommy”—her lip curled—“I mean where the man really respects you first of all. I tell you, Grace, I’m pretty well fed up on this new woman stuff. Believe me, I’m staying home with mother these nights knitting a sweater for father, and Sunday I’m going toput on a big apron and bake a cake—honest, I am! Women do better as a domestic animal like the common or fireside cat.”
“You don’t really think that!” Grace exclaimed.
“Oh, I know Grace, you’re all for our glorious independence and fighting in the ranks shoulder to shoulder with the men. But the trouble is we can’t fightwiththem; we’re fighting against them every hour of the day! My dear, there’s a curse on us—the curse of sex! There’s absolutely no ducking it. You may talk all you like about equality and how men and women meet in business and the woman is the equal of the man. All right! She may have just as good a head as the man she’s dealing with but if she still has home-grown teeth and her face isn’t painful to look at sex is all mixed up in the figures. You can’t get away from it.”
“But, Irene——!”
“Oh, I saw you sell a woman a coat yesterday—that old girl from up in the bushes whose husband came along to keep her from blowing his bank roll, and it was the man you sold that rag to, not the woman. Sex! You’re a pretty girl, you know, and he spent twice what he’d let her blow on herself if it hadn’t been for your blandishments. And when I go down to New York on a buying jaunt the polite gentlemen in our line buy me expensive dinners and take me in swift taxies to the theatre and to supper and to snappy dance places afterwards. That’s sex! If the store sends amandown there the same birds buy him a quick lunch and that’s all. But a woman’s different! Sex, my dear, sex!”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as that!” Grace protested. “I want to be considered as a human being first and as a woman afterwards. I don’t mind saying that there have been times lately when I’ve wished I couldsee things as mother does, but I can’t. There’s no use trying to live backwards. I just couldn’t stay in a house all the time and cook and sew and darn for a husband; I’d go crazy!”
“Well, the home life listens good to me right now!” replied Irene with a sigh. “No; this is my turn to pay the check. By the way, did you notice that woman I waited on this morning—the dish-face with too much paint and pearl earrings as big as your fist—well,” she broke off abruptly—“here’s a happy surprise! If I’m not mistaken here’s the tall sycamore of Raccoon Creek!”
“What on earth are you talking about—a raccoon with pearl earrings?”
“No; a certain party just coming in the door. Looks like your old college chum who took you to the football game.”
Grace turned to find John Moore bearing down upon their table.
“Youwillexcuse me, won’t you?” he exclaimed radiantly as he shook hands. “Oh, I remember Miss Kirby; ashamed of myself if I didn’t. Well, Grace, they told me you were up here at lunch so I thought I’d take a chance. Hope you’ve got a minute. I came to town on particular business. Sold an Airedale pup and brought him up to make special delivery.”
“You have a kennel, Mr. Moore?” asked Irene. “I adore Airedales.”
“I’ll say it’s a kennel!” John answered as he drew a chair from an adjoining table and seated himself. “Grace knows the place; an old barn, one of the professors let’s me use for taking care of his furnace. I’m selling off my pups now before I move to the great city. I’ll be lonesome without a dog when I come up after Christmas. When I went West lastsummer as an honest farm hand I had to leave my dogs for a darky to look after and I certainly did miss them. But I’ve got twenty-five dollars apiece for them,” he concluded, with a frank appeal for their approval.
He gave Grace the latest news of the university, explaining his items for Irene’s enlightenment. When Grace asked him about particular girls he protested that he had never heard of their existence. Grace was just kidding him, he said.
“The fact is, Miss Kirby, since Grace left the campus I haven’t seen any girls.”
“I can well believe it,” Irene replied. “With Grace gone there’s nothing left of the picture but the frame. She’s one in a million. You’ll look a long time before you find another girl like Grace Durland.”
“You’ve said something!” John affirmed, and pretending that Grace was not present he and Irene engaged in a lively discussion of Grace’s merits. With Irene this was of course only a device for flirting with John. John understood perfectly that she was flirting with him. As this went on John and Irene were taking careful note of each other. Two natures could not have been more truly antipodal. Grace was amused to see them at such pains to please each other. She interrupted them occasionally with a question as to some virtue attributed to her, which they feigned not to hear but answered indirectly.
He was already preparing for his removal to the city and wore a new suit and hat and carried a pair of tan gloves which obviously had not been worn. He struck his hat with them occasionally as he talked. John had always been quick to note little tricks of manner and speech and when they pleased him hefrankly adopted them. His manner of playing with his gloves was imitated from a young instructor at the university who carried gloves with him everywhere, even into the class room, where he played with them as he heard recitations. John in his new raiment looked less like a countryman than Grace had thought possible. She recalled what a cynical senior had once said of him—that above the collar he looked like a signer of the Declaration of Independence but that the rest of him was strongly suggestive of the barnyard. His eyes missed nothing; he was too eager to get ahead in the world not to study his own imperfections and overcome them. Having impressed John with the idea that for the few minutes they spent together he was the only specimen of the male species in the world, Irene languidly glanced at her watch.
“Only ten minutes to get back, Grace. I’ll keep the wheels of commerce turning while you talk to Mr. Moore. Do forgive me, old things, for keeping you waiting.”
As she gathered up her purse and vanity box Moore protested that he and Grace had nothing to say to each other which she might not hear.
“Oh, don’t try that on me!” Irene replied, looking from one to the other meaningfully.
“If you leave us alone John will begin talking poetry,” said Grace. “Please wait, I don’t feel a bit like poetry today!”
“There, Miss Kirby; you see Grace doesn’t want to be alone with me! I’ll tell you what! I’m staying in town tonight and it would be fine if we could all go to a show together. There’s a picture I’ve read about—‘Mother Earth,’ they call it; said to give a fine idea of pioneer life. I guess we owe it to thefolks who drove out the Indians and cleaned up the varmints to show ’em a little respect, and they say that picture’s a humdinger. If you don’t like the notion and there’s some other show——”
His eyes were bright with expectancy as he awaited their decision.
“You see,” he added with a broad smile, “now that I’ve sold my last pup and paid my debts I feel a little like celebrating.”
“Thank you ever so much, Mr. Moore,” said Irene, “but really, I——”
“Why, of course you can go, Irene,” exclaimed Grace, who had not missed Irene’s look of consternation when John suggested spending an evening viewing a movie illustrative of the sacrifices of the pioneers. However, Irene had quickly recovered from the shock and seemed to be seriously considering John’s invitation.
“I’ll be glad to go, thank you, John; but of course we must have Irene!”
“Certainly, we want Miss Kirby,” John declared.
“But if you hadn’t seen me here, Mr. Moore, you’d never have thought of asking me. You know you wouldn’t.”
“Honestly, I thought of it before I came into the store! Ever since that day you were so nice about letting Grace off to go to the game I’ve had a feeling I’d like to show you some trifling attention. I’ll take it as another favor if you’ll go.”
“Oh, if you put it that way, Mr. Moore, of course I accept,” said Irene. “I must skip; you stay, Grace, and arrange the little details.”
“It’s mighty nice of Miss Kirby to go,” John remarked as he resumed his seat after bowing Irene from the table. “And it must make things a lot easierfor you to have a fine girl like that to work with. You can tell she knows her business. I guess nothing’s going to rattle her much!”
“What are you trying to do, John; make me jealous?” laughed Grace.
“Now Grace, you know——”
What would John think, Grace wondered—John of the high ideals and aspirations, if he knew that it was only because Irene had broken with a man whose mistress she had been and in consequence was disposed to take refuge in things wholly foreign to her nature and experience, that she had accepted an invitation to attend a picture show that celebrated the joys and sorrows of the pioneers!
It was settled that John should go home with her for supper and that they would meet Irene in the lobby of the theatre. Grace took occasion to caution John against mentioning Irene at home. Her mother and Ethel didn’t like Irene, she explained.
“I don’t see but she’s a pretty fine girl,” John replied. “And it makes a hit with me that she’s such a good friend of yours.”
“Of course I’m not going,” said Irene when Grace went back to her department. “I supposed you understood that.”
“I certainly didn’t. John wanted you or he wouldn’t have asked you. You know what you were saying about sex! Here’s a chance to prove you can forget it. Let’s assume John’s taking us to a movie merely because we’re charming and amusing persons; just as he might take a couple of young men.”
“Well I don’t care anything about going to a show right now when I’m wearing mourning for myself, but I’d just like to sit near that suitor of yours for an hour or two. He does me good.”
This was not like Irene, and Grace discounted heavily her friend’s admiration for John. It was merely that Irene was contrasting John with Kemp, in much the same spirit that she had praised Trenton at the lunch table.
“If he knew me for what I am he’d probably run like a scared rabbit,” said Irene, slipping a tape-line through her fingers. “I felt myself an awful fraud all the time I talked to him.”
“You can always rely on John to think the best of everybody and everything,” Grace replied. “He’s a mighty satisfactory sort of person. If I ever got into trouble I know John would stand by me.”
“I believe you’re right,” Irene returned. “A man with eyes like his is bound to be mighty square. But when I sat there kidding him about you I did feel awfully guilty and ashamed of myself. I was afraid those eyes might see too much!”
“Come out of the dark!” exclaimed Grace. “We’d better go to work. John’s going home to supper with me and we’ll meet you in the Pendennis lobby at a quarter before eight.”
The afternoon passed and still no letter from Trenton. Grace was glad that she had not told Irene how far Trenton had gone in declaring himself. Not even Irene should know how much she cared for Trenton. She indulged in the luxury of self-pity, picturing herself going through life with the remembrance of him like a wound in her heart that would never heal. And after summoning her courage to meet such a situation she was swept with a great tenderness as she thoughtof him, remembering the touch of his hand, his kiss on her lips.
When she called up her mother to say that she was bringing John home Mrs. Durland reminded her that this was the night Ethel had asked Mr. Haley to supper. Grace had been fully informed as to Mr. Haley’s acceptance of Ethel’s invitation but in her confused state of mind she had forgotten it. Haley was Ethel’s discovery and Grace had several times encountered him in the Durland parlor. Recently Ethel had been referring to the young man a little self-consciously by his first name. Osgood Haley was twenty-seven, a well appearing young man, who was a city salesman for a wholesale grocery firm. Mrs. Durland had satisfied herself by inquiries of an acquaintance in the town in which Haley had originated that he was of good family and he was thereupon made to feel at home in the Durland household.
Ethel had met him in her Sunday school where within a few weeks after taking a class of boys he had doubled its membership. It was his personality, Ethel said; and beyond question Haley had a great deal of personality. Among other items of Haley’s biography Ethel had acquainted the family with the fact that his interest in religion was due to the influence of a girl to whom he had been engaged but who died only a short time before the day appointed for their wedding. Ethel made a great deal of this. Haley’s devotion to the memory of the girl he had loved was very beautiful as Ethel described it, and Mrs. Durland said that such devotion was rare in these times.
Haley had brought to perfection a manner that not only had proved its efficacy in selling groceries but was equally impressive in the parlor. When he shook a hand he clung to it while he smiled into the face ofits owner and uttered one of a number of cheerful remarks from a list with which he was fortified. These were applied with good judgment and went far toward convincing the person greeted that Mr. Haley was the possessor of some secret of happiness which he benevolently desired to communicate to all mankind.
Ethel having gone home early to prepare some special dishes for her guest, came in flushed from the kitchen just as Haley arrived with Grace and John, who had met him on the street-car. Mr. Durland had meekly submitted to investiture in a white shirt in honor of the occasion. He had confused Haley with a young man from Rangerton who sometimes visited the family. When he had been set straight on this point they went to the table where the talk opened promisingly.
Haley needed no encouragement to talk; he was a born talker. He was abundantly supplied with anecdotes, drawn from his experience as a salesman, which proved that a cheery and optimistic spirit will overcome all obstacles. John provoked him to renewed efforts by insisting that theoretically the position of the pessimist is sound. Haley would have none of this. He had found, he declared, that hope is infectious and he derived the liveliest satisfaction from his success in overcoming the prejudice and reluctance of difficult customers.
“You two boys make a splendid team,” remarked Mrs. Durland. “I suppose you don’t know many people here, John.”
“Only frat brothers and boys who’ve graduated from the University since I’ve been there. There’s quite a bunch of them, too, for I’ve been plugging around the sacred groves of academe a long time.”
“I suppose you’ll be so busy when you move to town you’ll have to limit your social life,” said Ethel. “But we all need outside interests. Osgood has been here a year but it was some time before he found just what he needed.”
Haley rose to this promptly by saying that being received in a home like the Durland’s was the pleasantest thing that had ever happened to him.
“Of course, John,” Ethel continued, “you will find a church connection helpful. I hope you will hear Dr. Ridgley before handing in your letter anywhere else.”
“By all means,” said Haley. “I tried several churches before I finally settled on Dr. Ridgley’s. He’s helped me over a lot of hard places just by a word or two. It just occurs to me, Ethel, that John,” (Haley was already calling Moore by his first name) “would enjoy Mr. Forman’s bible class. They’re all business and professional men and Mr. Forman is a thorough Bible student. If I didn’t enjoy my boys so much I’d certainly never miss a Sunday morning with Mr. Forman.”
“You see, John, we’re trying to fix everything up for you,” said Mrs. Durland, turning a sympathetic glance upon Moore.
Grace was unable to recall that she had ever heard John speak of churches, though in their walks about Bloomington he had discussed religion in general terms. She doubted whether, with his many engrossing employments, he had been a diligent church-goer.
“Don’t let them crowd you, John,” she said, seeing that he hesitated to commit himself.
“I’m not a church member,” he said diffidently. “I suppose I’m hardly what you’d call a believer; at least I don’t believe all you’re supposed to believe if yousubscribe to a creed. I hope I’m not shocking you folks but it always seems to me there’s something stifling about a church. When I was a boy on the home farm and all the neighbors met at the country church every Sunday, I always hated to go in; it seemed a lot cheerfuller outside. I suppose if I got right down to it I’d say I believe in a great power that I haven’t any name for, that moves the world. It’s bigger than any church, and it works in all of us whether we go to church or not. I suppose if you got down to bed rock you’d call me an agnostic. But I’m strong for whatever any church does to help people live right. When it comes to believing a lot of things I can’t square with reason I just can’t do it.”
“That’s about my own idea,” ventured Mr. Durland, who had been bending over his plate with his usual stolid silence.
“We’re not so far apart, John,” said Mrs. Durland, anxious to avert the deliverance which she saw from the tense look in Ethel’s face was imminent. “We all see things differently these days and I think it better not to discuss the subject. It’s far too personal.”
“I don’t see how you can say such a thing, mother,” said Ethel, with painstaking enunciation. “I think it our solemn duty to discuss matters that affect our souls. If there ever comes a time when I can’t believe in God I want to die! I don’t see how any one can live without the hope of a better world than this. Without that nothing would be worth while.”
“Please don’t think I want to destroy any one’s faith,” John replied. “But for myself I try to keep tight hold of the idea that it’s a part of our job to make that better world right here. And if we do that and there is a better place after death I don’t believe anybody’sgoing to be kept out of it for not believing what he can’t.”
“John,” began Haley with a deprecatory smile, “that’s exactly where I used to stand! You don’t need to feel discouraged about your doubts. If we just will to believe we can overcome everything. That’s the truth, isn’t it, Ethel?”
Ethel promptly affirmed his statement, and Mrs. Durland softened the affirmation out of deference for John’s feelings.
“I think I agree with John,” said Grace; “I’d like to believe a lot of things the church teaches but I can’t; I’m always stumbling over some doubt.”
“I didn’t knowyoucalled yourself an agnostic,” said Ethel severely.
“I don’t know that it’s necessary to classify myself,” Grace replied coldly.
Haley volunteered to lend John certain books which he had found helpful in overcoming his own doubts. John listened attentively as Haley named them and replied that he had read them and when Mr. Durland asked John if he had read “The Age of Reason,” Mrs. Durland thwarted Ethel’s attempt to denounce that work by remarking that she thought they could all agree that every effort to promote peace and happiness in the world was worthy of encouragement.
“You’ve said something there, Mrs. Durland,” said John soberly. “I’m strong for that.”
“I guess that leaves us nothing to quarrel about after all,” said Haley, beaming with tolerance.
Ethel resented her mother’s interference with the religious discussion just when she was ready to sweep away all agnostic literature with a quotation. And she was displeased to find John again exchanging stories with Haley. She had counted much on thebeneficent exercise of John’s influence on Grace after he settled in Indianapolis. Her father was hopeless where religion was concerned and she had no sympathy with her mother’s oft-reiterated opinion that there was something good in all churches. Her indignation increased as good cheer again prevailed at the table. She waited till a lull in the story-telling gave her an opportunity to ask John, with an air of the utmost guilelessness, the proportion of women to men in the University. John answered and called upon Grace to verify his figures. Grace, familiar with Ethel’s mental processes, groped for the motive behind the question. Her curiosity as to what her sister was driving at was quickly satisfied.
“I was just wondering, that’s all,” remarked Ethel carelessly. “I suppose I might have got the figures from the catalogue. Oh, by the way, John, Grace has spoken of so many of her friends in college I feel that I almost know them. Just the other day she was speaking of a Miss Conwell—Mabel, wasn’t it, Grace?—who must be a very interesting girl. She had her uncle look Grace up when he was here recently.”
“Conwell?” repeated John, looking inquiringly at Grace, who sat directly opposite him. “Do I know a Miss Conwell?” he asked and catching a hint from Grace’s eyes that something was amiss he added, “There’s such a lot of girls down there I get ’em all mixed up.”
“She’s from Jeffersonville, you said, didn’t you, Grace?” asked Ethel.
“Jeffersonville or New Albany,” Grace answered, “I’m always confusing those towns.”
John was now aware that Grace was telegraphing for help.
“Oh, yes;” he exclaimed, “I remember Miss Conwell.I’d got the name wrong; I thought it was Conway. I run into her occasionally at the library.”
“She doesn’t seem to be in the catalogue,” Ethel persisted, “but that may be because they don’t know where she comes from.”
Haley laughed boisterously at this. John, detecting a tinge of spite in Ethel’s pursuit of a matter that apparently was of no importance, answered that he thought Miss Conwell hadn’t taken up her work till after the fall term opened, which probably accounted for the absence of her name from the catalogue.
“She is a special, isn’t she, Grace?” he asked.
“Yes; in English,” Grace answered, with a defiant look at her sister.
“That’s the girl who’s related to Mr. Trenton?” asked Durland, vaguely conscious that Grace was under fire. “I thought that was the name. Trenton,” he explained to Moore, “is a famous engineer. I guess there’s nobody stands higher in his line.”
“He’s the husband of that Mary Graham Trenton who writes horrible books,” announced Ethel.
“That’s got nothing to do with Trenton’s standing as an engineer,” Durland replied doggedly.
“I guess no man has to stand for his wife’s opinions these days,” said John conciliatingly.
“Of course I don’t know what Mr. Trenton’s views are on the subjects his wife writes about,” said Ethel. “But Grace probably knows.”
“You couldn’t expect me to violate Mr. Trenton’s confidence,” Grace replied.
Fortunately the meal was concluded and Mrs. Durland rose from the table.
“I’m awfully sorry, John,” said Grace, when they reached the street. “There’s no reason why Ethel should show her spite at me when we have company.She thought with you there it would be easy to catch me in a lie. It was a nasty trick; but it was splendid of you to help me out.”
“You don’t need to thank me for that,” said John. “Ethel was sore at me for being a heathen and she thought she’d pot us both with one shot. And I guess she did,” he ended with a chuckle. “It would be easy for her to prove that there’s no Mabel Conwell at the University. But why make so much fuss about it?”
“It’s just her way of nosing into other people’s affairs. If she hadn’t been so nasty about Mr. Trenton in the first place I wouldn’t have had to lie.”
“It’s too bad Ethel’s got that spirit. It must be hard living with such a person.”
Irene was waiting for them when they reached the Pendennis. Grace noted that her friend wore her simplest gown and hat, perhaps as an outward sign of the chastened mood in which Kemp’s passing had left her. John sat between them and their enjoyment of the picture was enhanced by his droll comments.
“It’s me for the simple life,” said Irene at the end. “I’ll dream of myself as that girl in the sunbonnet going down the lane with the jug of buttermilk for the harvest hands.”
“The dream’s as near as you’ll ever come to it!” said Grace. “I can see you on a farm!”
“I’d be an ideal farmer’s wife, wouldn’t I, Mr. Moore? I’ve certainly got enough sense to feed the chickens.”
“When you weren’t doing that you could feed the mortgage,” John replied. “Let’s see, which one of you girls am I going to take home first?”
They went into a confectioner’s for a hot chocolate and to discuss this momentous question. Irene lived in the East End, much farther from the theatre thanGrace. Grace insisted that if he took her home first she would think it because he wanted to spend more time with Irene.
“That would be perfectly satisfactory to me!” said Irene demurely.
“I don’t know that I’d hate it so much myself,” John replied.
“Do you ever use a taxi, Mr. Moore?” Irene asked.
“Not on the price of one Airedale!”
When he suggested seriously that the whole matter would be greatly simplified by taking a taxi Irene would not hear of it. She hadn’t meant to hint; she was just joking. They continued their teasing until they reached a corner where Grace settled the matter.
“Irene wins!” she cried and before they knew what she was about she boarded her car and was waving to them derisively from the platform.
During the preparation of breakfast the next morning Ethel apologized for her conduct at the supper table.
“I didn’t mean to speak of that matter at all, Grace. It’s none of my business how you met Mr. Trenton. I don’t want there to be any hard feeling between us. I realize that we look at things differently and I want you to know that before Osgood left last night I made it all right with him. I told him it was just a joke between you and me about Miss Conwell. I wouldn’t want him to think we spend our time quarreling.”
“I hope he thought it was funny,” Grace returned. “I don’t mind telling you that there’s no such person as Miss Conwell. John backed me up just because he resented the way you were ragging me. He knewperfectly well there’s no Mabel Conwell at the University.”
Mrs. Durland entered the kitchen in time to catch this last remark.
“I hope you know, Grace, that neither Ethel nor I have any wish to question you about your friends. I scolded Ethel for asking you about Miss Conwell before company. I’m sure she’s sorry.”
“I’ve apologized to Grace, mother,” said Ethel meekly.
“We assume, Grace,” said Mrs. Durland, “that you mean to hold fast to the ideals we’ve tried to teach you at home. We trust you, dear; you know that. You know all the dangers that a young girl’s exposed to and I believe you mean to make something fine and beautiful of your life. I expect that of both you girls.”
“I don’t like being pecked at and quizzed,” Grace replied. “I’ll attend to the bacon, Ethel; you needn’t bother about it.”
“I hope you and John had a pleasant evening,” said Mrs. Durland.
“Yes; it’s a very good picture. We all enjoyed it. Irene went with us.”
“Irene Kirby went with you and John to the picture show!” exclaimed Mrs. Durland. “I don’t believe you said Irene was going.”
“Grace naturally wouldn’t mention it,” said Ethel, lifting the lid of the coffee pot and closing it with a spiteful snap.
“Now, dear, let’s think the best we can of every one,” said Mrs. Durland. She had with difficulty persuaded Ethel to apologize to Grace for questioning her about the imaginary Miss Conwell and it seemed for an instant that her efforts to promote harmony were to fail, now that Grace had mentioned Irene.
“Oh, it happened by accident!” Grace explained. “Irene and I were lunching together at the store and John strolled in looking for me. And he was polite enough to include Irene in his invitation.”
“I’d hardly expect her to do anything as tame as going to a picture show,” said Ethel.
“Well, as I’ve said before, Irene isn’t as bad as you paint her. You probably wouldn’t think she’d waste time on John, but they get on famously.”
“John isn’t quite what I thought he was,” said Ethel, ignoring her mother’s signal for silence.
“That’s because he wouldn’t let you choose a church for him,” said Grace, gingerly drawing a pan of corn muffins from the oven. “John lives his religion, which is a lot better than parading it all the time.”
“Now, Grace, Ethel didn’t mean to reflect on John,” Mrs. Durland hastened to explain.
“It may give you a better impression of John to know he’s been very kind to Roy,” said Grace.
“How’s that, Grace?” asked Mrs. Durland quickly. “I didn’t get a chance to ask John about Roy.”
“John wouldn’t have told you he’d been helping Roy even if you’d asked him. John doesn’t advertise his good works. But I had a letter from one of the girls the other day and she was teasing me about John. She said he must be seriously interested in me for he’d been coaching Roy in his law work. I call it perfectly splendid of John when he has so much to do.”
“It’s certainly kind of John,” said her mother, “I wish you’d told me so I could have thanked him. But I didn’t suppose Roy needed coaching. He’s working very hard; he’s sent just scraps of letters all winter and gives as his excuse that he’s too busy to write.”
“We’ve all got to begin thinking about what Roy will do after he’s graduated,” said Ethel. “I’ve talkedto some of the lawyers who come into our office and they all say he’d better go into an office as clerk until he gets started. A young man can’t just hang out his shingle and expect business to come to him.”
“It’s too bad your father isn’t in a position to help Roy,” sighed Mrs. Durland.
“Why not let Roy make some suggestions himself about what he wants to do,” said Grace. “He’s got to learn self-reliance sometime. John Moore hadn’t anybody to boost him and he’s already found a place in one of the best offices in town.”
“But Roy’s case is very different,” replied Mrs. Durland, instantly on the defensive. “John’s older for one thing and the hard work he’s done to get his education naturally arouses sympathy. I want us all to make Roy feel our confidence in him. I’m getting anxious to have him home. He’s going to be a great comfort to me and it will be fine for you girls to have your brother back. You can both of you do a lot for him. And, Grace, he can help you solve many of your problems,—socially I mean.”
“I shall want Roy to know all my friends,” said Ethel. “Since I’ve been with Gregg and Burley I’ve made a good many acquaintances among men who are in a position to help Roy.”
“Roy’s fine social side is bound to be a help to him in his profession,” said Mrs. Durland. “He’s always been a friendly boy.”
“Yes, mother,” Grace replied. “Roy certainly has a way of making friends.”
She refrained from saying that these friends were not always wisely chosen. She dreaded the time when he would finish at the University and begin his efforts to establish a law practice. A good many young men of the best type of ambitious student had confided inher as to their plans for the future and she thought she knew pretty well the qualities essential to success. Roy was blessed with neither initiative nor industry, and she knew as her mother and Ethel did not, the happy-go-lucky fashion in which he had played through his college course, and his rebellion against undertaking the law. It was quite like him to lean upon John Moore. He must be doing badly or John would not have volunteered to aid him.
As they ate breakfast, with Mr. Durland dividing attention between his food and his newspaper, Mrs. Durland’s usual attempt to create an atmosphere of cheer for the day struck Grace as pathetic in its futility. Hearing her father’s voice she roused herself to find that her mother had asked him to look in the market reports for the quotations on turkeys. Christmas was approaching and Roy would be home; and Mrs. Durland was speculating as to whether a turkey for the Christmas dinner would be too serious a strain on the family budget. Durland shifted uneasily in his chair as his wife recalled that they had never been without a Christmas turkey since they were married. Grace noting the fleeting pain in her father’s patient eyes, hastened to say that beyond question the turkey would be forthcoming. It was a relief to be out of the house, walking to the car with her father who was laden as usual with his notebooks and drawings.