A LATE ARRIVAL
FRANK KENT returned unexpectedly from London early in the same afternoon. He had not yet heard of Frieda's arrival, so that they at once spent an hour talking together.
Lord Kent, as most men did, treated his sister-in-law as a very pretty and charming young woman, who was not to be taken seriously. His wife had told him of Frieda's difficulty with her husband, but not of the cause. At that time she was not aware of it. Also she had instructed him not to mention the prospect of Professor Russell's appearance in England. So Frieda and Frank chatted and teased each other, as they had since she was a little girl just entering her teens, but neither referred to any unpleasant subject.
Lord Kent had seemed tired when he first came home and was disappointed to find his wife absent.
After his conversation with Frieda he relaxed and appeared more cheerful and goodnatured. This was the effect Frieda usually had upon masculine persons. She was so gentle and pretty, and her eyes were such a clear blue that one felt she could be easily influenced or persuaded. But the truth was that Frieda was no more easily controlled than a kitten. If ever one tries to train a little domestic animal, it will be discovered that a dog is far more quickly influenced than a kitten. As a matter of fact a kitten is probably the mostunchangeableof all domestic pets.
Since the early afternoon the July day had altered. A soft rain had begun falling, so that tea at Kent House was served in the library.
Olive, Frieda and Lord Kent waited half an hour later than usual, thinking that Jack and Captain MacDonnell would return. Then they drank their tea slowly, still believing that the riders would surely appear before they had finished.
At half past five, when there was still no sign of his wife and friend, Lord Kent got up and several times walked back and forth from his chair to the big French window.
For the moment Frieda had gone out of the room, so that he finally spoke to Olive.
"I suppose it is ridiculous of me, but I am always more or less uneasy when Jack and Bryan go off for rides together. Jack is the most fearless horsewoman in the world and Bryan the most all round, fearless man. He has killed big game in Africa and India and Australia, traveled in the Congo and in other equally uncivilized places. He never used to stay for any length of time in England. Now and then I have an idea of forbidding Jack to ride with him, I am so uncertain of what reckless thing they may do together."
"Oh, I don't think you need worry, Frank," Olive returned, "Jack is fearless but I don't think she has been reckless since the accident she had when a girl."
Although she could scarcely speak of it, Olive was smiling to herself over Frank's use of the word "forbid." She never recalled that any one had ever forbidden Jack to do anything she wished so long as she had known her. But probably Frank's forbidding was of the gentlest kind. Olive felt she must remember that the English attitude toward marriage was not the same as the American, although when an Englishman marries an American girl they are supposed to strike the happy medium.
Entering the room again just as Frank concluded his speech, Frieda was even more startled when she recalled that the use of this very word had been one of the reasons for the most serious quarrel she had ever had with her husband. Henry had never used the word a second time.
Another hour passed. Still Jack and Captain MacDonnell had not returned. Moreover, by this time the rain had become a steady downpour. Olive and Frieda were also uneasy.
"If you will forgive my leaving you, I believe I will go and see if I can find what has become of the wanderers," Frank suggested. Then, without further explanation or discussion, he went away.
Ten minutes later, mounted on his own horse, he was riding down the rain-washed road. He had found that the groom, who had accompanied Jack and Captain MacDonnell, had gotten separated from them and returned home half an hour before.
Frank was uncertain whether he were the more angry or uneasy. It seemed impossible to imagine what misfortune could have befallen his wife and friend, which would have made it impossible for them to haveeither telephoned or sent some message home. Yet it was equally impossible to conceive that Jack would be so careless as to forget every one else in the pursuit of her own pleasure. Even if she had been uncertain of his arrival from London, there was Olive, who had been her guest only a few days and Frieda not twenty-four hours. But as a matter of fact Jack had known he would be down sometime during the evening although she did not know the hour.
July is one of the long twilight months in England. Nevertheless, because of the rain, the evening was a kind of smoke grey with the faintest lavender tones in the sky. A heavy mist was also rising from the ground, so that with the falling rain one could not see many yards ahead.
Lord Kent's plan was to leave word with his lodgekeeper at the lodge gate to follow after him in case any word came from Lady Kent, or if she returned home before he did. But a moment or so before reaching the lodge, while yet in his own avenue, although at some distance from Kent House, Frank heard laughter and low voices. There was no doubting the laughter was Jack's.
Frank pulled up his horse abruptly andstood still. The oncoming figures were walking and leading their horses instead of riding. That instant, because he was no longer uneasy, Frank discovered that he was angrier and more hurt than he cared to show.
All at once he overheard Jack say:
"Do hurry, please, Bryan; I'm afraid everybody at home may be uneasy."
But instead of hurrying, they must have stopped again. For the second time Jack murmured, "I don't see how I could ever have been such a wretch, or how I'll ever confess to Frank."
Then Captain MacDonnell's inquiry:
"What are you going to say?"
And his wife's answer:
"Why, tell the truth and face the music; what else is there to do, Bryan?"
In the past few years since his marriage, undoubtedly Frank Kent had either altered or simply developed. Sometimes it is difficult to determine which one of these two things a human being has done. Frank had always been quiet and determined. If he had been otherwise he would never have tried for so many years to persuade Jacqueline Ralston to marry him. But now that he had grown older, he certainly appeared sterner. Heseemed to have certain fixed ideas of right and wrong, and they were not broad ideas, to which he expected at least the members of his own household to conform.
The two wayfarers were now in sight and Frank dismounted.
"I am sorry to have been compelled to play eavesdropper," he said curtly, when they also caught sight of him.
Jack was soaked with rain and her boots and riding habit were splashed with mud. A little river of water filled and overflowed the brim of her hat. But her cheeks were a deep rose color and her grey eyes dear and shining.
Frank would never have confessed that he felt a slight pang of jealousy at the good time his wife and friend must have been having, while he had been making himself miserable with the thought that a disaster had befallen them.
Jack's hand was resting on the nose of her horse, while Captain MacDonnell held the bridles of both.
"You have come out to search for us, haven't you, Frank?" Jack began penitently. "I am sorry; I did not know you could have arrived from London so soon." She was now close beside her husband. "The truthis, Frank, I have had rather a horrid tumble. For a person who thinks she knows how to ride, I seem to do the stupidest possible things."
"You don't seem to have hurt yourself seriously, Jack," Frank answered grimly. For in spite of her penitence, which did not seem very profound, Jack looked extraordinarily happy and glowing.
"No, I wasn't hurt in the least. I managed to get clear as we went down. But my horse's knee was sprained—not so badly as Bryan and I at first thought. Still I did not like to ride him, so we have been walking along through the rain for a few miles."
"How did the accident occur? I am rather surprised, Jack," Frank answered, now plainly more sympathetic because a little uneasy at what could have happened to his wife.
Jack turned aside and even in the dusk one could see she was embarrassed.
"Oh, I was disobeying orders," she said with a pretence of lightness. "I went over a rather high fence, which I had never taken before, without waiting until Bryan could get up to me. I made the jump without trouble, but the ground on the other side was so soft that my horse's forefeet went downinto it. He stumbled and fell. That is why I am such a spectacle," she concluded, touching her mud-stained habit with her whip.
Whatever he may have felt, Frank would naturally not discuss a difference between himself and his wife before another person. He therefore made no comment, but instead suggested:
"Suppose you get on my horse, Jack, and ride up to the house. Frieda and Olive are uneasy. Bryan and I will come along together."
According to the English custom, Lord and Lady Kent occupied separate bedrooms, which opened into each other.
A half hour later Jack was dressing for dinner when she heard Frank enter his room. But he did not come into her apartment or call out to her, although they were usually in the habit of discussing various questions through their open door, while they changed their clothes.
Jack, of course, recognized that her husband was angry with her. Also she knew that he had a measure of right on his side. She had promised him not to attempt dangerous jumping in her cross-country riding. Her accident a number of years before had madehim and all the members of her family more nervous about her than they would ordinarily have been, knowing that she had spent a large part of her life on horseback. Moreover, Frank had very rigid ideas about keeping one's word, not agreeing that one could swerve by a hair's breadth.
In a good deal of haste, since dinner was to be announced at any moment, Jack put on a white satin dinner dress. It was an old one, but chanced to be particularly becoming. The gown was simply made, with a square neck and a fold of tulle about the throat and a long, severely plain skirt. Only a woman with a figure as perfect as Jack's could have looked well in it. Her hair was arranged with equal simplicity, being coiled closely about her head and held in place with a carved ivory comb.
Half a dozen guests had been invited to dinner, nevertheless before going downstairs Jack went first into her husband's room.
Jack had always had a lovely nature. In the old days at Rainbow Lodge in any difficulty with one of the Ranch girls, although having a high temper, she had been quick to confess herself in the wrong. Since her marriage she had been more than ever inclinedto do likewise with her husband. So it was but natural that Frank should be under the impression that she would at all times eventually come around to his point of view. He did not realize that under some circumstances Jack might be as inflexible as he was.
However, she waited a moment now with perfect good temper, while Frank pretended that he had not heard her enter his room. When he finally did look toward her, she went up to him and put her arms about him. Then, as he continued to frown, Jack smiled. She knew that her husband took small matters too seriously, having made this discovery soon after her marriage, just as all girls make similar discoveries. But Jack was wise enough to realize that she must try as wisely as she could to discount this uncomfortable characteristic.
"Don't be grouchy, please, Frank," she murmured. "I told you I was sorry, and you know that every now and then I have to get rid of some of my surplus American energy. After a hard ride with Bryan I can be a conventional English Lady for weeks."
In spite of her good intention, Jack's remark was not wise. No matter how devoted a man and woman may be to eachother, there is obliged to be some difference of opinion in every international marriage.
Frank was extremely sensitive over the idea that Jack was not as happy in the English life he offered her, as she had been in the old days on her own ranch.
"That is unfortunate, Jack," he returned, "for I have made up my mind that it will be wiser for you not to ride with Bryan again. I am afraid you are both too fond of adventure to be trusted."
Then, as Frank had delivered his edict, his own good temper was restored. As he was already dressed, putting his arm across Jack's shoulder, he started for the door. He was really immensely proud of Jack and thought she looked unusually lovely tonight. In spite of the number of years he had been married he never introduced her to his friends, or saw her at the head of his table, without a feeling of pride. Also, Frank counted on Jack's sweetness of temper. It did not occur to him that she would disagree with his request, or rather with his command, since without intending it, he had expressed his wish in such a fashion.
Nevertheless Jack hesitated. She knew that Frank was not in an agreeable moodfor a discussion then. Also, that they could not keep their guests waiting while one took place.
"I think that is rather arbitrary of you, Frank, since neither Bryan nor I are children and he is one of the friends I most enjoy. But perhaps we had better talk of this at another time."
Frank nodded, Jack's manner affording no idea that she would not ultimately give in to him, nor was she sure herself. It may be that Jack had become too much of a domestic pacifist—a woman who wishes for peace at any price.
On the landing of the steps, just before they went down to dinner, Frank remarked hastily:
"Oh Jack, I had a marconigram from Professor Russell. He must have heard of Frieda's sudden departure from New York. In any case his ship is due tomorrow, for he left the day after she sailed."
"Gracious, have you told Frieda?" Jack returned nervously, forgetting for the instant her ownpersonalquandary. "Frieda announced that she never would agree to see Professor Russell again. In any case I had hoped we might have a few weeks of grace, to allow things to quiet down or perhaps topersuade Frieda to change her mind. The only thing now is not to allow Professor Russell to come to Kent House until Frieda gives her consent."
"Nonsense, Jack," Frank answered reassuringly, "Frieda cannot behave in any such fashion. You have not told me the trouble, but I suspect that Frieda has simply been a spoiled child. Besides, in any case, she has no right to refuse at least to see her husband and talk the situation over. Don't worry; I'll discuss the matter with Frieda myself in the morning and bring her around. You see, I telegraphed Russell at the dock to come directly to us, as I shall spend tomorrow at home."
"All right," Jack conceded, a good deal worried, but also slightly amused. If her husband wished to undertake to persuade Frieda to change her mind, she was glad that the task was his and not hers. Of course Frank thought it would be a simple matter, since he had yet really to know his sister-in-law. It was only natural that he should suppose Frieda would be easier to guide than his wife, judging by Frieda's manner and appearance! Men are not always wise in their judgment of feminine character.
AN APPARITION
THE next morning Frieda received a message from her brother-in-law asking her to give him half an hour of her time, whenever it was convenient to her.
In a way she had anticipated this request, although it had come sooner than she expected. Frieda knew that Frank was fond of her and regarded himself as her brother. She had no other. Also, she held a wise idea inside her blonde head, believing that men were apt to stand together in many difficulties of the kind in which she and her husband were now involved.
However, Frieda did not, of course, anticipate the news of her husband's having immediately followed her to Europe. She had not written to him or to any friend in Chicago since her sudden departure. But she had made up her mind that the last interview between herself and Henry was their final one. There could be no reason for their ever meeting again.She supposed, of course, that there were certain matters that would have to be arranged in the future, but Frieda was not given to troubling herself over details. Someone else had always attended to such things for her, in order that she might have her way. Later, Jim Colter, or Frank, or a lawyer—Frieda was entirely vague as to the method to be employed—would have to see that she was released from the cause of her unhappiness.
For since arriving at Jack's house not thirty-six hours before, Frieda had been happier than she had for several months. Therefore, during the night she had decided for thehundredthtime, that her husband must be the sole cause of all the upsetting emotions which had been recently troubling her. So soon as she could learn to forget Henry and put the recollection of him entirely out of her mind, she would again become the perfectly care free and irresponsible Frieda of the old days at the Rainbow Ranch.
As she was not fond of getting up in the mornings and usually did pretty much what she liked in her sister's house, Frieda had not gone down to breakfast. However, she sent word to her brother-in-law that shewould be glad to see him in her own sitting room between eleven and twelve o'clock.
Whether it was done intentionally or not, Frieda put on a frock in which she looked particularly young. It was a simple white muslin, with sprays of blue flowers and folded kerchief fashion across Frieda's white throat. Nothing could really make Frieda appear demure; her lips were too full and crimson; her nose was too retrousée and her hair held too much pure sunlight. But she could look very innocent and much abused, and this was the impression she subconsciously wished to make. One must not believe that Frieda actually thought out matters of this kind, but she was one of the women who acted on what is supposed to be feminine instinct.
Frank thought Frieda looked about sixteen instead of twenty-two when he arrived to talk matters over with her. So at once it struck him as absurd that he was forced to discuss so serious a question as leaving her husband with a mere child like Frieda. Instead of argument Frank began with persuasion. First he invited Frieda to tell her side of the story, which he had heard in part from Jack. Although he had said at the time of his wife's confidence, that Frieda had not made muchof a case for herself, on hearing her story from Frieda's own lips he offered no such criticism.
When Frieda ended she was crying, so that Frank sympathetically took her hand to console her as any other man would. Then, while holding her hand, he attempted a mild argument in favor of the Professor, finally concluding:
"Frieda, your husband is coming to Kent House some time this afternoon. Since it is really your duty to see him and talk over the misunderstanding between you, I feel sure you will."
Nevertheless, Frieda gently but obstinately shook her head.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Frank, and Jack too, if she really feels as you do, but I never mean to see Henry again."
However, until lunch time Frank remained in the blue sitting room discussing the foolishness of her position with Frieda; afterwards he felt that he had never presented any subject so skillfully in his career as a member of Parliament, as he argued her own case with his sister-in-law. Frieda never questioned him, never contradicted him, only she continued to shake her head and to repeat gently, "I'm sorry, Frank, but I can't."
Several times Lord Kent attempted severity because his severity usually influenced most people. It influenced Frieda, but only to such an outburst of tears, that he was forced to spend the next five minutes in apologizing in order to comfort her.
At one o'clock Jack, appearing at the door, immediately recognized the situation. Both Frank and Frieda appeared exhausted. Frieda announced that she would not come to lunch, but would prefer to lie down all the afternoon. As a matter of fact the possibility that her husband might make his appearance at Kent House was the real reason which kept Frieda in her own room, although offering the excuse of a headache.
Therefore, about four o'clock, when Professor Henry Tilford Russell finally did arrive, he was able to see only Lord and Lady Kent, his brother-in-law and sister-in-law.
Personally, Jack was uncertain how she should greet him. Of what actual unkindness he was guilty of to Frieda she was not yet certain. Nevertheless, the fact remaining that he had not made her little sister happy filled Lady Kent with resentment and dislike. Certainly, Professor Russell should have realized how much older he was thanFrieda and not expected her to conform to his dullness and routine.
As a matter of fact Jack also would have preferred not to have to come in contact with her sister's husband until she understood the situation between them more thoroughly. Yet, when Professor Russell was announced, it was she who was forced to go first into the drawing room.
There must have been a delay of about five minutes since she had waited that length of time for her husband, who chanced to have gone out to the stables to give an order. Then, fearing to appear intentionally rude, Jack approached their visitor alone.
He could not have heard her as she entered, for he was sitting in a large chair with his head resting in his hand and looked so exhausted, possibly from his trip, that Lady Kent forgot for the moment to be angry. When he aroused himself and later held out his hand, she took it at once, although a moment before she had not been sure whether she ought, because of her own loyalty to Frieda.
"Is Frieda well? If you only realized the relief to find she is safe here with you! At first I did not know where the child had gone,"Professor Russell began so simply, that any human being would have been disarmed.
It will be remembered, that in the last volume of the "Ranch Girls At Home Again," Professor Russell is introduced to the Ranch girls by Ralph Merritt, who told them of the Professor's intense dislike for girls. At first he appeared to regard Frieda only as a child and therefore made an exception of her. Then, later, after his accident at Rainbow Mine when his leg was broken and Frieda undertook to keep him amused, an amazing friendship developed between them which finally resulted in their marriage.
In replying to his question Jack found herself answering as reassuringly as if Frieda really had been a runaway child, since this seemed to be the spirit in which her husband thought of her.
"She will see me?" he asked eagerly. But when Jack shook her head he did not appear surprised, being evidently accustomed to Frieda's vagaries.
Moreover, Lord Kent then came into the room.
Afterwards, Professor Russell related his side of the difficulty between himself and his wife. His story did not after all differ somuch from Frieda's account, for he put the blame upon himself, as she had done.
"I was too old for her; we ought never to have married. The fault was all mine," he ended so despondently, that Jack felt as if she could not accept the very conclusion she had reached the day before.
Professor Russell could not be persuaded to remain long—not even for tea. It was agreed, however, that he would spend the next few weeks in London and that later they might reach some decision. In the meantime Jack promised to do her best to persuade her sister to have at least one interview with her husband.
Lord Kent followed his brother-in-law to the door.
"Frieda is a spoiled baby; you have simply been too good to her. Some day she will wake up and find this out for herself," he declared.
But Professor Russell only shook his head sadly and departed.
Even after learning of her husband's departure Frieda still refused to join her family. What she was thinking about alone in her own apartment no one knew, since she asked that no one disturb her.
However, at half past five, realizing that her husband then must be safely on his way back to London, Frieda decided that she could endure her own rooms no longer. Without a word to anyone, she put on a long, light weight blue coat and a small, close fitting, blue turban and passing down through the long halls and through a side entrance vanished into the outdoors.
It was Frieda's plan merely to walk about in the gardens until she could persuade herself into a calmer frame of mind. She was sure, of course, that she cared nothing for her husband and yet all afternoon she had found herself wondering if he were not worn out by his journey. Ordinarily he was not a good traveler and he must also have suffered through being compelled to desert his summer classes at the University in order to seek her.
Frieda discovered one of the gardeners at work in the flower beds and, as he persisted in talking with her, she started down one of the shaded avenues along the edge of the park in order to be alone. She did not often walk for any distance, since she had never been so fond of exercise as the other girls.
But Frieda felt unexplainably restless and out of sorts. This was foolish because, havingmade up her mind that she wanted her freedom and being determined to gain it, there was no point in worrying.
Frieda kept walking hurriedly on. It was a beautiful, soft afternoon, with the first hint of twilight in the sky and in the atmosphere.
Kent Park covered several acres and Frieda wandered further from the house than she knew. After a time the road which she had taken curved into a path leading into the woods. There was a fairly heavy forest near by, which was a part of the Kent estate and she strolled into this.
Later, Frieda sat down for a few minutes. She was in no hurry to return home, except in time for dinner which was at a late hour, according to the English custom. Not that she meant to appear at dinner, but that Jack or Olive would be sure to seek her at that time.
Frieda made rather a charming picture amid the scene she had unconsciously chosen for herself. She was sitting on the trunk of a tree which had fallen from the weight of years and infirmities. There was a little clearing behind her and, as she had taken off her hat, the sun shone on her bowed head and shoulders. She wished very much thatshe could stop thinking about a number of things, for Frieda was one of the people who resent having to grow up and there are more of them in this world than we realize.
Then, suddenly, Frieda heard an odd noise, which at least startled her sufficiently to bring the result she had been wishing for, since it made her stop thinking of unpleasant things. The noise was not loud and it would have been difficult to have explained exactly what the sound was. Only Frieda for the first time realized that she had been unwise in having come so far away from the house without mentioning to anyone where she was going.
The woods in which she was resting was a portion of the game preserves belonging to the Kent Estate, or a portion of land set apart for hunting at certain times of the year on English estates. But no one is supposed to hunt on this land except the owner of the estate and the friends whom he may care to invite.
Frieda, of course, had stayed long enough in England on other visits to understand that poachers are more or less frequent. She thought perhaps the noise she had heard was a man in hiding, who had been huntingand feared she might report him. The fact that it was summer time, when hunting was infrequent, made no impression upon her.
In a Few Moments She was in a PanicIn a Few Moments She was in a Panic
At first, however, she was not seriously frightened, although she concluded to hurry back to Kent House as quickly as possible.
But when she started back through the woods, whoever it was in hiding evidently attempted to follow her. The faster she walked, the faster the footsteps came on behind.
However, Frieda did not turn her head to discover her pursuer. She had been nervous and worried all day, or she might not have become so alarmed. Instead of looking back she continued hurrying on faster and faster until, in a few moments, she was in a panic. Then she started to run and to her horror realized that a man was also running with long, easy strides behind her.
Frieda was totally unaccustomed to looking after herself in any emergency, and had never been compelled to do so—even in small adversities. Now she had a sudden impulse to call out for someone, but had only sufficient breath to increase her speed. If she could get a little nearer the house, one of the servants could be sure to come to her assistance.
But Frieda had run only a few yards when, as a perfectly natural result of her panic, she tripped over some roots hidden in the underbrush and fell forward with her face amid the leaves and twigs and with one leg crumpled under her.
She must have struck her chin for she felt a dull pain and a queer numbness in her side. However, when she tried to disentangle herself and jump up quickly the pain became more acute. Nevertheless, for one instant Frieda struggled and then lay still, for her pursuer had already reached her and was bending over her, for what purpose Frieda did not know.
Then she heard a slow, inexpressibly familiar voice say:
"I am afraid I have frightened you, my dear. I do trust you have not injured yourself." Then a pair of strong, gentle hands attempted to lift her.
Naturally, Frieda's first sensation was one of amazement; the second, relief; and the third, anger.
She managed, however, with assistance to sit in an upright position. Then she began brushing off the twigs and dirt which she felt had been ground into her face. Finally sherecovered sufficient breath and self control to be able to speak.
"Henry Russell!" she exclaimed, trying to reveal both dignity and disdain, in spite of her ridiculous position, "will you please tell me why you are hiding in Frank's woods like a thief, and why, when I refused to see you, you terrified the life out of me by chasing me until I nearly killed myself. I think, at least, I have broken my leg," she ended petulantly.
Professor Henry Tilford Russell flushed all over his fair, scholarly face. Taking off his soft grey hat, he ran his hand over the top of his head, where the hair was already beginning to grow thin.
"My dear Frieda, you do me an injustice," he began, "although I know my actions do appear as you have just stated them. The truth is I found myself unable to go away at once from Kent House. I am not fond of London. I dreaded the loneliness there; also I longed for a sight of you to know for myself that you were well. So I wandered about through the grounds at some distance from the house and finally entered these woods. When you came into them alone and so unexpectedly, it seemed as if I must speak toyou. I started toward you and you ran. I did not think my pursuit would alarm you. It was one of the many things, Frieda, I should have understood and did not."
In spite of the fact that the fault of the present situation was undoubtedly Professor Russell's, there was an unconscious dignity andgraciousnessabout him as he made his apology, which Frieda recognized was undoubtedly lacking both in her appearance and emotions. She felt extremely cross and her leg hurt. She could not go up to the house assisted by a husband whom she had just scornfully refused to see, and yet she did not believe she could walk alone.
"Very well, Henry; now that you have accomplished your purpose, I hope you will be good enough to leave me," Frieda demanded, believing that she would rather suffer anything than a continuance of her present humiliation.
But Professor Russell did not stir.
"I prefer to see you safely through the woods. When we are nearer the house I may be able to find someone to take my place."
Professor Russell then leaned over and lifted Frieda to her feet. As a result she found that her leg was not broken or sprained,but only bruised, and that walking was possible if she moved slowly.
However, Frieda suffered considerable pain and she was not accustomed to bodily discomfort. At first she tried not to rest her weight upon the Professor's arm, for he had put his arm under hers and was attempting to support her almost entirely. But, by and by, as the pain grew worse, she found herself growing more dependent and, as a matter of fact, her dependence seemed perfectly natural. Once it occurred to her that, during her first acquaintance with Professor Russell, he had been hurt and in more ways than one had leaned upon her. No one ever had asked any kind of care from her before, and in those days she had at least thought that she had fallen in love with the Professor. At least she had insisted upon marrying him, when her entire family had opposed the union.
There was no conversation between the husband and wife, except that several times Professor Russell, without waiting to be asked, stopped for Frieda to rest.
Then, by and by, when they had reached the edge of the woods, he saw one of the men servants at a little distance off and signalled to him.
"There are many things I would like to talk over with you, Frieda, but this is not the time. Neither do I want you to think I meant to take an unfair advantage of you by forcing myself upon you without your knowledge. I think I scarcely realized myself just what I was doing. I am sorry you felt compelled to run away from home because we sometimes quarreled. I do not know just how much I was in the wrong at those times, but I fear you were not happy with me or you would not have let the fact that we differed about a good many things have made you wish to leave me. Please remember, Frieda, if there is ever a time when you wish to talk matters over with me, I shall be glad to come to you. I will not come again unless you summon me."
Then, as the man servant had by this time reached them, Professor Russell gave Frieda into the man's charge.
The next instant, bowing to her as if he had been a stranger, he turned and started in the opposite direction.
Frieda did not remember whether she even said good-bye. She did think, however, that she would have liked to have reminded Henry to hold his shoulders straighter. Really hewas not so old—only something over thirty. He seemed to have been one of the persons born old, caring always more for books than people—more for study than an active life. Frieda actually felt a little sorry for him. Always she must have been a disturbing influence in his life. Perhaps in his way he had been good to her, or at least had intended to be. She wished that she had told him to go back home because she could write to him there, or in case she ever wished to see him, she could also go home. She intended to go to the Rainbow ranch in the autumn.
THE CLOUD
THE next weeks in July were extraordinarily beautiful ones in England. The summer was warmer than usual and the sun shone with greater radiance. The English country was hauntingly lovely and serene.
In spite of Frieda's trouble, the three Ranch girls enjoyed one another, as they had had no opportunity of doing since Jack's marriage and coming abroad to live.
There were long walks and rides and exchanges of visits with their country neighbors. Now and then Lady Kent and Olive went up to London for a few days of the theatre and the last part of the social season. They were Lord Kent's guests in the Ladies' Gallery in the House of Parliament and drank tea on the wonderful old balcony that overlooks the Thames river. But Frieda preferred not to accompany them.
London was never more filled with tourists,the greater number Americans intending to leave later for the continent.
But so far as Professor Russell was concerned, no word had been heard from him since his unceremonious meeting with his wife. However, he had sent his banker's address to Lord Kent, saying that all mail would be forwarded to him from there. Then he appeared to have dropped completely out of sight for, in spite of his brother-in-law's effort toward friendliness, he had not called upon him a second time.
In discussing the matter between themselves, Jack and Frank decided that this was possibly the best arrangement for the present. Frieda had never mentioned her unexpected discovery of her husband; nor did she ever voluntarily refer to her married life. Therefore, whatever was going on inside her mind, no one had any knowledge of it. As is often the case with women and girls of Frieda's temperament, she was better able to keep her own counsel than the women who are supposed to be strong minded and who are more apt to be frank.
So far as Jack was concerned she had never reopened with Frank the question of her rides with Captain MacDonnell, because the latterhad been away and he had not asked her to ride since his return.
However, neither of these facts were so important as the feeling Jack had, that no propitious moment had arrived for a second discussion of the subject with her husband. She did not intend to defy him, but to make him see that he had no right to be so arbitrary and—more than that—so domineering. This had been Jack's usual method in any difference of opinion between herself and Frank, or in any unlikeness between the American and English point of view concerning marriage. As a matter of fact, more than half the time Jack had been successful.
But, during the past few weeks she had seen that Frank was worried and unlike himself—that his attention was engaged on matters which were not personal. For if the weather and the climate appeared serene in these particular July weeks in England the state of English politics was not. For the country was being harassed by the questions of Home Rule for Ireland and by the Militant Suffrage movement.
The Suffrage question was one which Lord and Lady Kent had agreed not to discuss with each other. To Jack, who had been broughtup in Wyoming—the first of the Suffrage states in the United States—and who had seen the success of it there, the fact that the English nation held the idea of women voting in such abhorrence and with such narrow mindedness, was more a matter of surprise than anything else. The fact that her husband, who had also lived for a short time in Wyoming, should also oppose woman's suffrage was beyond her comprehension, except that Frank had the Englishman's love for the established order and disliked any change. Jack would not confess to herself that he also had the Englishman's idea that a woman should be subservient to her husband and that he should be master of his own house. To give women the freedom, which the ballot would bring, might be to allow them an independence in which the larger majority of the men of the British Isles did not then believe. Neither did they realize—nor did the suffragists themselves—how near their women were to being able to prove their fitness.
One Saturday afternoon at the close of July, Captain MacDonnell invited Jack and Olive and Frieda and a number of his other neighbors and friends to tea at his place. He had no near relatives, and when he was inKent county lived alone, except for his housekeeper and servants, in an odd little house, perhaps a century old, which had been left him by his guardian.
The girls drove over together in a pony carriage, usually devoted to Jack's children. But at the gate they gave it into the charge of a boy in order that they might walk up to the house, which was of a kind found only in England.
The house was built of rough plaster which the years had toned to a soft grey. Captain MacDonnell had the good taste to allow the roof with its deep overhanging eaves to remain thatched as it had been in early days. The building was small and one walked up to the front door through two long rows of hollyhocks. On either side of the hollyhock sentinels the earth was a thick carpet of flowers, and the little house seemed to rise out of its own flower beds.
There were no steps leading to the front door except a single one, so the visitor entered directly into the hall which divided the downstairs. On the left side was a long room with a raftered ceiling and high narrow windows, and on the right Captain MacDonnell's den—a small room littered with a young soldier'sbelongings. Beyond were the dining room and kitchen and upstairs four bedrooms. As the house was so small Captain MacDonnell had turned his great, old-fashioned barn into extra quarters for guests. Between the house and the flower beds and the barn was an open space of green lawn with an occasional tree, and beyond was a tennis court. The place was tiny and simple compared to Kent House and yet had great charm.
Jack and Olive and Frieda arrived before the other guests. They soon discovered that Mrs. Naxie—Captain MacDonnell's housekeeper—had arranged to serve tea in his living room.
It was through Jack's suggestion that the arrangement was altered.
"Please don't tell Mrs. Naxie, Bryan, that I spoke of it," she volunteered as soon as she beheld the preparations, "but don't you think the summer in England too short for people to spend an hour indoors when they can avoid it?"
And Captain MacDonnell good naturedly agreed.
As a matter of fact, Jack always poured tea for him when he had guests and she was able to be present, so she felt sufficiently at home to make her request.
Captain MacDonnell's mother was an Irishwoman and his father a Scotchman. But they had both died when he was a little boy and he had spent the greater part of his boyhood with an old bachelor friend of his father's, who was his own guardian and had lived in the very house of which he was now the master.
As neighbors he and Frank Kent had played together when they were small boys and had later gone to the same public school. Then Frank's illness sent him to the United States, where he was introduced into the lives of the Ranch girls, at about the same time his friend Bryan MacDonnell entered Cambridge and afterwards the army. But whenever he and Frank were together the old intimacy had continued, and Jack's coming had only seemed to turn their friendship into a three-cornered one.
"Frank told me to tell you that he was sorry not to be able to come over with us this afternoon, Bryan," Jack announced a few moments later, when the four of them had gone out to select a place where tea could be served, "But for some reason or other he telephoned that he could not come down from London today. I don't know what is wrongwith Frank lately. He has never been so absorbed in political matters. I am afraid Frieda and Olive will think he neglects his family disgracefully. Please tell them, Bryan, that he is sometimes an attentive husband."
But as Captain MacDonnell did not answer at once, Olive remarked in a more serious tone than Lady Kent had used:
"I think I am rather glad Frank takes his work as a member of Parliament as the most important thing he has to do. After all, helping to make the laws of one's country is a pretty serious occupation. Which do you think more serious—Captain MacDonnell, being a soldier and fighting when it is necessary to defend the laws, or making them in the beginning?"
Captain MacDonnell smiled, but rather seriously. It occurred to Jack, who knew him so much better than the others, that Bryan did seem uncommonly grave this afternoon, in spite of his efforts to be an agreeable host.
Then she took hold of Frieda's arm and they wandered off a short distance, leaving Olive and Captain MacDonnell to continue their conversation alone.
"Do you know, Frieda," Jack whisperedwhen they were safe from being overheard, "I would give a great deal if Bryan and Olive would learn to care for each other. Ordinarily I think it is horrid to be a matchmaker, but Bryan and Olive are both so lovely and you don't know what it would mean to me to have Olive live near me. It is heavenly these days, having you both here. You can't realize how lonely I get for you and my own country sometimes."
Frieda looked critically over at Captain MacDonnell and Olive, who were standing close beside each other talking earnestly. In spite of Captain MacDonnell's ancestry his coloring was almost as dark as Olive's.
Then Frieda turned her blue eyes on her sister.
"Captain MacDonnell and Olive look too much alike," she argued. "I prefer marriages where the man and woman are contrasts."
Then, although Lady Kent made no answer, she smiled to herself. If Frieda believed in contrasts in marriage, surely she did not mean merely in complexion and general appearance. Important contrasts in human beings went much deeper than appearances. Surely Frieda's own marriage had offered a sufficient contrast in years, taste, disposition and adozen other things. However, instead of securing happiness, it seemed to have had the opposite result.
During the remainder of the afternoon Jack thought nothing more about their early conversation, as she devoted herself entirely to Captain MacDonnell's other guests.
It was just a little after six o'clock, when they were beginning to think of returning home, that Lady Kent observed one of her servants coming toward her across the lawn carrying a telegram.
Never so long as she lived was Jack ever to forget that moment and the scene about her. There were about a dozen, beautifully costumed persons present—the women in silks and muslins, and the men in tennis flannels and other sport costumes. They were all talking in a light hearted fashion about small matters.
Without any thought that it might be of particular importance Jack opened her telegram and before reading it apologized to the persons nearest her. It happened that Captain MacDonnell was not far away.
Yet she read her telegram—not once, but several times—before it dawned upon her what her husband's words meant. Eventhen she did not really understand any more than the millions of other women in the world, who heard the same news and more within the next few days. The sky overhead was still blue; the earth was green and peaceful, and her companions were unconscious of tragedy.
Nevertheless Frank's telegram had stated that the beginning of the war cloud had appeared over Europe—the cloud which was later to spread over so large a part of the world.