"You must spray your throat immediately," my mother-in-law said in a businesslike way, "and I suppose we ought to send for that jackanapes of a doctor."

Even through my suffering I could not help but smile at my mother-in-law's reference to Dr. Pettit, who had attended her in her illness. She had summarily dismissed him because he had forbidden her to see to the unpacking of her trunks when she was barely convalescent, and we had not seen him since.

"I'm sure I will not need a physician," I said, trying to speak distinctly, although it was an effort for me to articulate. "Wait until Dicky comes, anyway."

For distinct in my mind was a mental picture of the look I had detected in Dr. Pettit's eyes upon the day of his last visit to my mother-in-law. I remembered the way he had clasped my hand in parting. The feeling was indefinable. I scored myself as fanciful and conceited for imagining that there had been anything special in his farewell to me or in the little courtesies he had tendered me during my mother-in-law's illness. But I told myself again, as I had after closing the door upon his last visit, that it were better all around if he did not come again.

"If you wait for Richard, you'll wait a long time," his mother observed grimly. "He called up a while ago, and said he had been invited to an impromptu studio party that he couldn't get away from, and that he would be home in two or three hours. But I know Richard. If he gets interested in anything like that he won't be home until midnight."

I do not pretend either to analyze or excuse the feeling of reckless defiance that seized me upon hearing of Dicky's absence. I reflected bitterly that I had taken all the burden of seeing to the new home, and was suffering from illness contracted because of that work, while Dicky was frolicking at a studio party, with never a thought of me.

I know without being told that Grace Draper was a member of the frolic. And here I was suffering, yet refusing the services of a skilled physician because I fancied there was something in his manner the tolerance of which would savor of disloyalty to Dicky!

I turned to my mother-in-law to tell her she could summon the physician, but found that I could hardly speak. My throat felt as if I were choking.

"The spray!" I gasped.

Thoroughly alarmed, Mother Graham assisted me in spraying my throat with a strong antiseptic solution. Then I gave her the number of Dr. Pettit's office, and she called him up. I heard her tell him to make haste, and then she came back to me. I saw that she was frightened about the condition of my throat, but the choking feeling gave me no time to be frightened. I kept the spray going almost constantly until the physician came. It was the only way I could breathe.

Dr. Pettit must have made a record journey, for the door bell signalled his arrival only a few moments after Mother Graham's message.

He gave my throat one swift, shrewd glance, then turned to his small valise and drew from it a stick, some absorbent cotton and a bottle of dark liquid. With swift, sure movements he prepared a swab, and turned to me.

"Open your mouth again," he said gently, but peremptorily.

I obeyed him, and the antiseptic bathed the swollen tonsils surely and skilfully.

As I swayed, almost staggered, in the spasm of coughing and choking which followed, I felt the strong, sure support of his arm touching my shoulders, of his hand grasping mine.

"Now lie down," he commanded gently, when the paroxysm was over. He drew the covers over me himself, lifted my head and shoulders gently with one hand, while with the other he raised the pillows to the angle he wished. Then he turned to my mother-in-law.

"She has a bad case of tonsilitis, but there is no danger," he said quietly, utterly ignoring her rudeness at the time of his last visit. "I will stay until I have swabbed her throat again. She is to have these pellets," he handed her a bottle of pink tablets, "once every fifteen minutes until she has taken four, then every hour until midnight. Let her sleep all she can and keep her warm. I would like two hot water bags filled, if you please, and a glass of water. She must begin taking these tablets as soon as possible."

As my mother-in-law left the room to get the things he wished, Dr. Pettit came back to the bedside and stood looking down at me.

"Where is your husband?" he asked, a note of sternness in his voice.

I shook my head. I was just nervous and sick enough to feel the question keenly. I could not restrain the foolish tears which rolled slowly down my cheeks.

Dr. Pettit took his handkerchief and wiped them away. Then he said in almost a whisper:

"Poor little girl! How I wish I could bear the pain for you!"



XXIII

"BLUEBEARD'S CLOSET"

My recovery from the attack of tonsilitis, thanks to Dr. Pettit's remedies, was almost as rapid as the seizure had been sudden. My mother-in-law, forgetting her own invalidism, carried out the physician's directions faithfully. The choking sensation in my throat gradually lessened, until by midnight I was able to go to sleep.

I have no idea when Dicky came home from his "impromptu studio party." His mother, whose deftness, efficiency and unexpected tenderness surprised me, arranged a bed for him on the couch in the living room, and I did not hear him come in at all.

"My poor little sweetheart!" This was his greeting the next morning. "If I had only known you were ill the old blow-out could have gone plump. It was a stupid affair, anyway. Had a rotten time."

"It doesn't matter, Dicky," I said wearily, and closed my eyes, pretending to sleep. I knew Dicky was puzzled by my manner, for I could feel him silently watching me for several minutes. Then evidently satisfied that I was really sleeping he tiptoed out of the room, and a little later I heard him depart for his studio, first cautioning his mother to call him if I needed him.

I spent a most miserable day after Dicky had left, in spite of my mother-in-law's tender care and Katie's assiduous attentions. The studio party, of which I was sure Grace Draper was a member, rankled as did anything connected with this student model of Dicky's. The memory of the village gossip concerning her friendship for my husband which I had heard in Marvin troubled me, while even Dicky's solicitude for my illness seemed to my overwrought imagination to be forced, artificial.

His exclamation, "My poor little sweetheart!" did not ring true to me. I felt bitterly that there was more sincerity in Dr. Pettit's low words of the day before: "Poor little girl, I wish I could bear this pain for you!" than in Dicky's protestations.

How genuinely troubled the tall young physician had been! How resentful of Dicky's absence from my bedside! How tender and strong in my paroxysms of choking! I felt a sudden added bitterness toward my husband that the memory of my suffering should have blended with it no recollection of his care, only the tender sympathy of a stranger.

But in two days I was my usual self again, ready for the arduous tasks of moving and settling.

Mother Graham and I spent a hectic day in the furniture and drapery shops, buying things to supplement her furniture and mine, which we had arranged to have sent to the Brennan house in Marvin. I found that her judgment as to values and fabrics was unerring. But her taste as to colors and designs frequently clashed with mine. Save for the fact that she became fatigued before we had finished our shopping, there would have been no individual touch of mine in our home. As it was, I was not sorry that she found herself too indisposed to go with me the second day, so that I had a chance to put something of my own individuality into the new furnishings.

Another two days in Marvin with the aid of a workman unpacking and arranging the crated furniture and our purchases, and the new home was ready to step into.

We were a gay little party as we went together through the house inspecting all the rooms. When we came to Dicky's, he barred us out.

"Now, remember, no stealing of keys and peering into Bluebeard's closet," said Dicky gayly, as he closed and locked the door of his room.

"You flatter yourself, sir." I swept him a low bow. "I really haven't the slightest curiosity about your old room."

"Sour grapes," he mocked, and then impressively, "And no matter what packages or furniture come here for me they are not to be unwrapped. Just leave them on the porch, or in the library until I come home."

"I wouldn't touch one of them with a pair of tongs," I assured him.

"See that you don't," he returned, hanging the key up, and hastily kissing me. "Now I've got to run for it."

He hurried down the stairs and out of the front door. I stood looking after him with a smile of tender amusement.

The day after Dicky's purchases arrived he rose early.

"No studio for me today," he announced. "Can you get hold of that man who helped you clean up here? I want an able-bodied man for several hours today."

"I think so," I returned quietly, and going to the telephone, soon returned with the assurance that William-of-the-wide-grin would shortly be at the house.

"That's fine," commented Dicky. "And now I want you and mother to get out of the way after breakfast. Go for a walk or a drive or anything go you are not around. I want to surprise you this afternoon. I'll bet that room will make your eyes stick out when you see it."

I had a wonderful tramp through the woods, enjoying it so much that it was after four o'clock when I finally returned home. Dicky greeted me exuberantly.

"Come along now," he commanded, rushing me upstairs. "Come, mother!"

The elder Mrs. Graham appeared at the door of her room, curiosity and disapproval struggling with each other in her face. But curiosity triumphed. With a protesting snort she followed us to the door of the locked room. Dicky unlocked the door with a flourish and stood aside for us to enter.

I gasped as I caught my first sight of the transformed room. Dicky had not exaggerated—it was wonderful.

The paper had been taken from the walls, and they and the ceiling had been painted a soft gray with just a touch of blue in its tint. The woodwork was ivory-tinted throughout, while the floor was painted a deeper shade of the gray that covered the walls.

Almost covering the floor was a gorgeous Chinese rug with wonderful splashes of blue through it. I knew it must be an imitation of one costing a fortune, but I realized that Dicky must have paid a pretty penny even for the counterfeit, for the coloring and design were cleverly done.

The blue of the rug was reproduced in every detail of the room. The, window, draperies, of thin, Oriental fabric, had bands of Chinese embroidered silk cunningly sewed on them. These bands carried out in the azure groundwork and the golden threads the motif of the rug. The cushions, which were everywhere in evidence, were made of the same embroidered silk which banded the window draperies, while blue strips of the same material were thrown carelessly over a teakwood table and, a chest of drawers.

A chaise lounge of bamboo piled with cushions stood underneath the windows, which commanded a view of the rolling woodland and meadows I had found so beautiful. Three chairs of the same material completed the furnishings of the room, save for a wonderful Chinese screen reaching almost from the ceiling to the floor, which hid a single iron bed, painted white, of the type used in hospitals, a small bureau, also painted white, and a shaving mirror.

"Don't want any junk about my sleeping quarters," Dicky explained, as I looked behind the screen.

"Well, what do you think of it?" he demanded at last, in a hurt tone, as I finished my inspection of the walls, which were almost covered with the originals of Dicky's best magazine illustrations, framed in narrow, black strips of wood.

"It is truly wonderful, Dicky," I returned, trying to make my voice enthusiastic.

I could have raved over the room, for I did think it exquisitely beautiful, had not my woman's intuition detected that another hand than Dicky's had helped in its preparation.

Only a woman's cunning fingers could have fashioned the curtains and the cushions I saw in profusion about the room. I knew her identity before Dicky, after pointing out in detail every article of which he was so proud, said hesitatingly:

"I wish, Madge, you would telephone Miss Draper and ask her to run over tomorrow and see the room. You see, I was so anxious to surprise you that I did not want to have you do any of the work, and she kindly did all of this needlework for me. I know she is very curious to see how her work looks."

"Of course, I will telephone Miss Draper if you wish it, Dicky, but don't you think you ought to do it yourself? She is your employee, not mine, and I never have seen her but twice in my life."

I flatter myself that my voice was as calm as if I had not the slightest emotional interest in the topic I was discussing. But in reality I was furiously angry. And I felt that I had reason to be.

"Now, that's a nice, catty thing to say!" Dicky exploded wrathfully. "Hope you feel better, now you've got it off your chest. And you can just trot right along and telephone her yourself. Gee! you haven't been a martyr for months, have you?"

When Dicky takes that cutting, ironical tone, it fairly maddens me. I could not trust myself to speak, so I turned quickly and went out of the room which had become suddenly hateful to me, and found refuge in my own.

My exit was not so swift, however, but that I overheard words of my mother-in-law's, which were to remain in my mind.

"Richard," she exclaimed angrily, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You act like a silly fool over this model of yours. What business did you have asking her to do this needlework for you in the first place? You ought to have known Margaret would not like it."

I did not hear Dicky's reply, for I had reached my own room, and, closing and locking the door, I sat down by the window until I should be able to control my words and actions.

For one thing I had determined. I would not have a repetition of the scenes which Dicky's temper and my own sensitiveness had made of almost daily occurrence in the earlier months of our marriage. I could not bring myself to treat Grace Draper with the friendliness which Dicky appeared to wish from me, but at least I could keep from unseemly squabbling about her.

But my heart was heavy with misgiving concerning this friendship of Dicky's for his beautiful model, as I opened my door and went down the hall to Dicky's room. My mother-in-law's voice interrupted me.

"Come in here a minute," she said abruptly, as she trailed her flowing negligee past me into the living room.

As I followed her in, wondering, she closed the door behind her. I saw with amazement that her face was pale, her lips quivering with emotion.

"Child," she said, laying her hand with unwonted gentleness on my shoulder. "I want you to know that I entirely disapprove of this invitation which Richard has asked you to extend. Of course, you must use your own judgment in the matter, and it may be wise for you to do as he asks. But I want to be sure that you are not influenced by anything I may have said in the past about not opposing Richard in his whims.

"He is going too far in this thing," she went on. "I cannot counsel you. Each woman has to solve these problems for herself. But it may help you to know that I went through all this before you were born."

She turned swiftly and went up to her room again.

Dicky's father! She must mean her life with him! In a sudden, swift, pitying gleam of comprehension, I saw why my mother-in-law was so crabbed and disagreeable. Life had embittered her. I wondered miserably if my life with her son would leave similar marks upon my own soul.



XXIV

A SUMMER OF HAPPINESS THAT ENDS IN FEAR

I do not believe I shall ever know greater happiness than was mine in the weeks following Grace Draper's first visit to our Marvin home. Many times I looked back to that night when I had lain sobbing on my bed, fighting the demon of jealousy and gasped in amazement at my own folly.

That evening had ended in Dicky's arms on our moonlight veranda, and ever since he had been the royal lover of the honeymoon days, which had preceded our first quarrel. I wondered vaguely sometimes if he had guessed the wild grief and jealousy which had consumed me on that night, but if he had any inkling of it he made no sign.

Grace Draper had gone out of our lives temporarily.

If I had needed reassurance as to Dicky's real feeling for her, the manner in which he told me the news of her going would have given it to me.

"Blast the luck," he growled one evening, after reading a manuscript which he had been commissioned to illustrate. "Here's something I'll need Draper for, and she's 200 miles away. I ought to have known better than to let her go."

The tone and words were exactly what he would have used if the girl had been a man or boy in his employ. Even in my surprise at his news, I recognized this, and my heart leaped exultantly. I was careful, however, to keep my voice nonchalant.

"Why, has Miss Draper gone away?" I asked.

"Oh, that's so, I didn't tell you," he returned carelessly, looking up from the manuscript. "Yes, she went away two days ago. She has a grandmother, or aunt, or old party of some kind, down in Pennsylvania, who is sick and has sent for her. Guess the old girl has scads of coin tucked away somewhere, and Draper thinks she'd better be around when the aged relative passes in her checks. Bet a cooky she won't die at that, but if she's going to, I wish she'd hurry up about it. I need Draper badly, and she won't be back until the old girl either croaks or gets better."

Under other circumstances, the callousness of this speech, the coarseness of some of the expressions, the calling of Miss Draper by her surname, would have grated upon me. But I was too rejoiced both at the girl's departure and the matter of fact way in which Dicky took it to be captious about the language in which he couched the news of her going.

"Grace Draper is gone, is gone." The words set themselves to a little tune, which lilted in my brain. I felt as if the only obstacle to my enjoyment of our summer in the country had been removed.

How I did revel in the long, beautiful summer days! Dicky appeared to have a great deal of leisure, in contrast to the days crowded with work, which had been his earlier in the spring.

"Each year I work like the devil in the spring so as to have the summer, June especially, comparatively free," he exclaimed one day when I commented on the fact that he had been to his studio but twice during the week.

I had dreamed in my girlhood of vacations like the one I was enjoying, but the dream had never been fulfilled before. Dicky had fixed up a tennis court on the, grassy stretch of lawn at the left of the house, and we played every day. Two horses from the livery were brought around two mornings each week, and, after a few trials, I was able to take comparatively long rides with Dicky through the exquisite country surrounding Marvin.

Our motor boat trips were frequent also, although Dicky found that it was more convenient to rent one when he wished it than to enter into any ownership arrangement with any one else.

Automobile trips, in which his mother joined us, long rambles through the woods and meadows which we took alone, little dinners at the numberless shore resorts, all these made a whirl of enjoyment for me unlike anything I had ever known.

I was careful to cater to my mother-in-law's wishes in every way I could. Either because of my attentions or of the beautiful summer days, she was much softened in manner, so that there was no unpleasantness anywhere.

"This is the bulliest vacation I ever spent," Dicky said one evening, after a long tramp through the woods. It was one of the frequent chilly evenings of a Long Island summer, when a fire is most acceptable. Katie had built a glorious fire of dry wood in the living room fireplace, and after dinner we stretched out lazily before it, Mother Graham and I in arm chairs, Dicky on a rug with cushions bestowed comfortably around him.

"I am naturally very glad to hear that," I said, demurely, and Dicky laughed aloud.

"That's right, take all the credit to yourself," he said, teasingly. Then as he saw a shadow on my face, for I never have learned to take his banter lightly, he added in a tone meant for my ear alone:

"But you are the real reason why it's so bully, old top."

The very next day, Dicky and I went for a long walk.

We had nearly reached the harbor, when I saw Dicky start suddenly, gaze fixedly at some one across the road, and then lift his hat in a formal, unsmiling greeting. My eyes followed his, and met the cool, half-quizzical ones of Grace Draper. She was accompanied by a tall, very good-looking youth, who was bending toward her so assiduously that he did not see us at all.

"Why! I didn't know Miss Draper had returned," I said, wondering why Dicky had kept the knowledge from me.

"I didn't know it myself," Dicky answered, frowning. "Queer, she wouldn't call me up. Wonder who that jackanapes with her is, anyway."

Dicky was moody all the rest of the trip. I know that he has the most easily wounded feelings of any one in the world, and naturally he resented the fact that the beautiful model, whom he had befriended and who was his secretary and studio assistant, had returned from her trip without letting him know she was at home.

If I only could be sure that pique at an employee's failure to report to him was at the bottom of his sulkiness! But the memory of the good-looking youth who hung over the girl so assiduously was before my eyes. I feared that the reason for Dicky's moody displeasure was the presence of the unknown admirer of his beautiful model.

Of course, all pleasure in the day's outing was gone for me also, and we were a silent pair as we wandered in and out through the sandy beaches. Dicky conscientiously, but perfunctorily, pointed out to me all the things which he thought I would find interesting, and in which, under any other circumstances, I should have revelled.

In my resolution to be as chummy with Dicky as possible, I determined to put down my own feelings toward Grace Draper. But it was an effort for me to say what I wished to Dicky. We had chatted about many things, and were nearly home, when I said timidly:

"Dicky, now that Miss Draper is back, don't you think you and I ought to call on her and her sister, and have them over to dinner?"

Dicky frowned impatiently:

"For heaven's sake, don't monkey with that old cat, Mrs. Gorman. She is making trouble enough as it is."

He bit his lip the next instant, as if he wished the words unsaid, and, for a wonder, I was wise enough not to question him as to the meaning of the little speech. But into my heart crept my own particular little suspicious devil—always too ready to come, is this small familiar demon of mine—and once there he stayed, continually whispering ugly doubts and queries concerning the "trouble" that Mrs. Gorman was making over her sister's intimate studio association with my husband.

My constant brooding affected my spirits. I found myself growing irritable. The next day after Dicky and I had seen Miss Draper and her attendant cavalier on the road to Marvin harbor, Dicky made a casual reference at the table to the fact that she had returned to the studio and her work as his secretary and model.

"She said she called up the studio when she got in, and again yesterday morning, but I was not in," he said. I realized that the girl had cleverly soothed his resentment at her failure to notify him that she had returned from her trip.

Whether it was the result of my own irritability or not I do not know, but Dicky seemed to grow more indifferent and absent-minded each day. He was not irritable with me, he simply had the air of a man absorbed in some pursuit and indifferent to everything else.

Grace Draper's attitude toward me puzzled me also. She preserved always the cool but courteous manner one would use to the most casual acquaintance, yet she did not hesitate to avail herself of every possible opportunity to come to the house. Then, two or three times during the latter part of the summer, I found that she had managed to join outings of ours. Whether this state of affairs was due to Dicky's wishes or her own subtle planning I could not determine.

I struggled hard with myself to treat the girl with friendliness, but found it impossible. My manner toward her held as much reserve as was compatible with formal courtesy. Of course, this did not please Dicky.

Dicky was also developing an unusual sense of punctuality. I always had thought him quite irresponsible concerning the keeping of his appointments, and he never had any set time for arriving at his studio. But he suddenly announced one morning that he must catch the 8:21 train every morning without fail.

"The next one gets in too late," he said, "and I have a tremendous amount of work on hand."

The explanation was plausible enough, but there was something about it that did not ring true. However, the solution of his sudden solicitude for punctuality did not come to me until Mrs. Hoch, one of my neighbors, called with her daughter, Celie, and enlightened me.

"We just heard something we thought you ought to know," Celie began primly, "so Ma and I hurried right over, so as to put you on your guard."

"Yes," sighed Mrs. Hoch, rocking vigorously as she spoke, "everybody knows I'm no gossip. I believe if you can't say nothing good about nobody, you should keep your mouth shut, but I says to Celie as soon as I heard this, 'Celie,' says I, 'it's our duty to tell that poor thing what we know.'"

I started to speak, to stop whatever revelation she wished to make, but I might as well have attempted to stem a torrent with a leaf bridge.

"We've heard things for a long time," Mrs. Hoch went on, "but we didn't want to say nothin', 'specially as you seemed such friends, her runnin' here and all. But we noticed she hain't been comin' lately, and then our Willie, he hears things a lot over at the station, and he says it's common talk over there that your husband and that Draper girl are planning to elope. They take the same train every morning together, come home on the same one at night, and they are as friendly as anything."

"Mrs. Hoch," I snapped out, "if I had known what you were going to say, I would not have allowed you to speak. Your words are an insult to my husband and myself. You will please to remember never to say anything like this to me again."

Mrs. Hoch rose to her feet, her face an unbecoming brick red. Her daughter's black eyes snapped with anger.

"Come, Celie," the elder woman said, "I don't stay nowhere to be insulted, when all I've tried to do is give a little friendly warning to a neighbor."

Mother and daughter hurried down the path, chattering to each other, like two angry squirrels.

"Horrid, stuck-up thing," I heard Celie say spitefully, as they went through the fence. "I hope Grace Draper does take him away from her. She's got a nerve, I must say, talkin' to us like that. I don't believe she cares anything about her husband, anyway."

She might have changed her mind had she seen me fly to my room as soon as she was safely out of sight, lock the door, and bury my face in the pillows, that neither my mother-in-law nor Katie should hear the sobs I could not repress.

"Dicky! Dicky! Dicky!" I moaned. "Have I really lost you?"

Of course I knew better than to believe the statement of the elopement. I had seen and heard enough of village life to realize how the slightest circumstance was magnified by the community loafers. That Dicky and the girl took the same train, going and coming from the city, was a fact borne out by my own observations. I had remarked Dicky's regularity in catching the 8:21 in the mornings, something so opposed to his usual unpunctual habits, and wondered why. Now I had the solution.

I told myself, dully, that I was not surprised; that I had really known all along something like this was coming. My thoughts went back to the night, a few weeks before, when I had suffered a similar paroxysm of grief over Dicky's evident interest in the girl. Then all my doubts and fears had been swept away in Dicky's arms on the moonlit veranda. I caught my breath as I realized in all its miserable certainty the impossibility of any such tender scene now. Dicky and I seemed as far apart emotionally as the poles.

But the determination I had reached that other night, before Dicky's voice and caresses dispelled my doubts, I made my own again. There was nothing for me to do but to wait quietly, with dignity, until I was absolutely certain that Dicky no longer loved me. Then I would go out of his life without scenes or recriminations. I would not lift a finger to hold him.

By the time I had gained control of myself once more, Dicky came home.

"Letter for you," he said, "from the office of your old principal."

He tossed it into my lap, eyeing it and me curiously. I knew that his desire to know what was in it had made him remember to give it to me. His mother, who had opened her door at his step, came forward eagerly. I opened the letter, to find an offer of my old school position. My principal wrote that the woman who was appointed to the position had been suddenly taken ill and could not possibly fill it. He asked me to write him my decision at once, as it was within a few days of the opening of the school.

Mechanically, I read it aloud. My brain was whirling. I wondered if, perhaps, this was the way out for me. If Dicky really did not love me any longer, I ought to accept this position, even if by taking it I broke my agreement with the Lotus Study Club.

I did not like the thought of leaving the women who had thus honored me, but, on the other hand, if Dicky and I were to come to the parting of the ways, I could not refuse this rare chance to get back into the work I had left for his sake.

I decided to be guided by his attitude. If he were opposed to my course, I would know that my actions had ceased to be resentful to him, and I would accept the position. But if he showed willingness at the proposition—

I did not have long to wait. As I lifted my eyes to his face, when I had finished reading the letter I saw the old familiar black frown on his face. I never had thought that my heart would leap with joy at the sight of Dicky's frown, but it did. Before either of us could say anything, his mother spoke:

"Isn't it splendid? You are a most fortunate woman, Margaret, to be able to step back into a position like that. If it had come earlier, when my health was so poor, you could not have taken it. Now you can accept it, for I am perfectly able to run the house. You, of course, will write your acceptance at once."

She paused. I knew she expected me to reply. But I closed my lips firmly. Dicky should be the one to decide this. He did it with thoroughness.

"I thought we settled all this rot last spring," he said. "Mother, I don't want to be disrespectful, but this is my business and Madge's, not yours. You will refuse, of course, Madge."

He turned to me in the old imperious manner. Months before I should have resented it. Now I revelled in it. Dicky cared enough about me, whether from pride or love, to resent my going back to my work.

"If you wish it, Dicky," I said quietly. He turned a grateful look at me. Then his mother's voice sounded imperiously in our ears.

"I think you have said quite enough, Richard," she said, with icy dignity. "Will you kindly telegraph Elizabeth that I shall start for home tomorrow? I certainly shall not stay in a house where I am flouted as I have been this morning."



XXV

PLAYING THE GAME

The big house seemed very lonely to me after my mother-in-law's abrupt departure. I had not dreamed that I could possibly miss the older woman's companionship, especially after her hateful behavior concerning my refusal of the school position.

But when she had left, in dignified dudgeon, for a visit with her daughter, Elizabeth, I realized that I had come to like her, to depend upon her companionship more than I had thought possible. If the country had not been so beautiful I would have proposed going back to the city. But the tall hedges inclosing the old place were so fresh and green, the rolling woodland view from my chamber window so restful, my beds of dahlias, cosmos, marigolds and nasturtiums so brilliant that I could not bring myself to leave it.

If I had not had the vague uneasiness concerning Dicky I could have been perfectly happy in spite of the loneliness. But my uneasiness concerning Dicky's friendship with Grace Draper was deepening to real alarm and anger. I had nothing more tangible than the neighborhood gossip, which I had so thoroughly repulsed when it was offered me by Mrs. Hoch and her daughter. But Dicky was becoming more and more distrait, and when he would allow nothing to keep him from taking the morning train on which Miss Draper traveled to the studio, I remembered that when we had first come to Marvin he had taken any forenoon train he happened to choose.

The second morning after his mother's departure, Dicky almost missed kissing me good-by in his mad haste to catch his train. He rushed out of the door after a most perfunctory peck at my cheek, and I saw him almost running down the little lane bordered with wild flowers that led "across lots" to the railroad station.

"I cannot bear this any longer," I muttered to myself, clenching my hands, as I saw the Hochs, mother and daughter, watching him from their screened porch, and imagined their satirical comments on his eagerness to make the train.

I sat listlessly on the veranda for an hour. Then the ringing of the telephone roused me. As I took down the receiver I heard the droning of the long distance operator: "Is this Marvin, 971?" and at my affirmative answer the husky voice of Lillian Underwood.

"Hello, my dear." Her voice had the comforting warmth which it had held for me ever since the memorable day when by her library fire we had resurrected the secret which her past life and Dicky's shared. We had buried it again, smoothed out all our misunderstandings in the process and been sworn friends ever since.

"Oh, Mrs. Underwood!" My voice was almost a peal of joy. "I am so glad to hear your voice."

"Are you very busy? Is there anything you cannot leave for the day?" She was direct as usual.

"Only the dog and cat and Katie," I answered.

"Good. Then what train can you get into town, and where can I meet you? I want you to lunch with me. I have something important to talk over with you."

I hastily consulted my watch. "If I hurry I can catch the 10:21. Where can I see you? The train reaches the Pennsylvania at 11 o'clock."

"I'll be in the woman's waiting room at the Pennsylvania, not the Long Island; the main waiting room. Look for me there. Good-by."

As soon as I caught sight of Lillian I knew that something was the matter, or she would not look at me in that way. Impulsively I laid my hand on hers.

"Tell me, Mrs. Underwood, is anything the matter?"

She imprisoned my hand in both of hers and patted it.

"Nothing that cannot be helped, my dear," she said determinedly. "Now I am going to forbid asking another question until we have had our luncheon. I decline to discuss the affairs of the nation or my own on an empty stomach, and my breakfast this morning consisted of the juice of two lemons and a small cup of coffee."

"Why?" I asked mechanically, although I knew the answer.

"The awful penalty of trying to keep one's figure," she returned lightly. "But I certainly am going to break training this noon. I am simply starved."

Her tone and words were reassuring, although I still felt there was something behind her light manner which intimately concerned me. But I had learned to count on her downright honesty, and her words, "Nothing that cannot be helped, my dear," steadied me, gave me hope that no matter what trouble she had to tell me, she had also a panacea for it.

We discussed our luncheon leisurely. Under the influence of the bracing air, the beautiful view, the delicious viands, I gradually forgot my worries, or at least pushed them back into a corner of my brain.

As we lingered over the ices, Lillian leaned over the table to me.

"Will you do me a favor?" she asked abruptly.

"Try me," I smiled back at her.

"Ask me to your home for a week's stay. I have an idea you need my fine Italian hand at work about now."

I looked at her wonderingly, then I began to tremble.

"Don't look like that," she commanded sharply. "Nothing dreadful is the matter, but that Dicky bird of yours needs his wings clipped a bit, and I think I am the person to apply the shears."

So there was something wrong with Dicky after all!

"Of course, it's that Draper cat," said Lillian Underwood, and the indignation in her voice was a salve to my wounded pride.

"Then you know," I faltered.

"Of course, I know, you poor child; know, too, how distressed you have been, although Dicky doesn't dream that I gathered that from his ingenuous plea for the lady."

My brain whirled. Dicky making an ingenuous plea to Lillian Underwood for his protege, Grace Draper! I could not understand it.

"If Dicky has spoken of my feeling toward Miss Draper, even to you," I began stormily, feeling every instinct outraged.

"Don't, dear child." Mrs. Underwood reached her firm, cool hand across the table, and put it over my hot, trembling fingers. "You can't fight this thing by getting angry, or by jumping at conclusions. Now, listen to me."

There was a peremptory note in her voice that I was glad to obey. I resolved not to interrupt her again.

"Don't misunderstand me," she went on, "and please don't be angry when I say you are about as able to cope with the situation as a new born baby would be. That's the reason why I want you to let me come down and be a big sister to you. Will you?"

"Of course. You know I will," I returned. "But won't Dicky resent—"

"Dicky won't dream what I'm doing," she retorted tartly, "and when he does wake up I'll take care of him."

Always the note of domination of Dicky! Always the calm assumption, which I knew was justified, that no matter what she did he would not, remain angry at her! It spoke much for the real liking I felt for Lillian Underwood that the old resentment I felt for this condition of things was gone forever. I knew that she was my friend even more than Dicky's, and her history had revealed to me to what lengths she would go in loyalty to a friend.

"You see," she went on, "If the Draper woman were the ordinary type of model there would be no problem at all. Dicky has always been a sort of Sir Galahad of the studios and he had been too proud to engage in even a slight flirtation with any girl in his employ. He is very sincerely in love with you, too, and that safeguards him from any influence that is not quite out of the ordinary.

"But I tell you this Draper girl is a person to be reckoned with. She is hard as nails, beautiful as the devil, and I believe her to be perfectly unscrupulous. She is as interested in Dicky as she can be in any one outside herself, and I think she would like to smash things generally just to gratify her own egotism."

"You mean—" I forced the words through stiff lips.

"I mean she is trying her best to make Dicky fall in love with her, but she isn't going to succeed."

"But I am afraid she has succeeded!" The wail broke from me almost without my own volition.

"Why?" The monosyllable was sharp with anxiety.

I knew better than to keep my part of the story from her. I told her of Dicky's growing coldness to me, his anxiety to get the train upon which Miss Draper traveled, the neighborhood gossip, his determination not to have me meet her sister. I also laid bare the coldness with which I had treated the girl, and my determination never to say a word which would lead Dicky to believe I was jealous of her.

When I had finished Lillian leaned back in her chair and laughed lightly.

"Is that all?" she demanded. "I thought you had something really serious to tell me. If you'll do exactly as I tell you we'll beat this game hands down."

"I'll do just as you say," I responded, although it humiliated me to be put in the position of trying to beat any game, the stake of which was my husband's affections.

"Well, then, that is settled," she said, rising. "Now, for the first gun of the campaign. Call Dicky up, tell him you just lunched with me, and you are ready to go home any time he is."

"Oh, I can't do that," I said. "I couldn't bear to feel that he might prefer to take the train with her."

Lillian came to my side, gripped my shoulder hard, and looked into my eyes grimly.

"See here," she said, "are you going to be a baby or a woman in this thing?"

I swallowed hard. I knew she was right.

"I'll do whatever you wish," I responded meekly.

So I called Dicky on the telephone, and after explaining my unexpected presence in town, arranged to meet him at the station and go home with him.

"Sounds as if we were going to dine with Friend Husband," said Lillian, as I hung up the receiver.

"Yes, we are going home by trolley from Jamaica. It ought to be a beautiful trip. Dicky must have been thinking of such a trip before, for he told me there was a train to Jamaica at five minutes of four which connects with the trolley, and he usually gets mixed on the schedule of the trains from Marvin."

"What's that?" Lillian stopped short, then turned the subject. "How would you like to go down to the station on top of a bus?" she asked, "or would you prefer a taxi?"

"The bus by all means," I returned.

"I see we are kindred souls," she said. "I dote on a bus ride myself."

We were within a few blocks of the railroad station when she said:

"I hope I am mistaken, but I think Miss Draper will be a member of your trolley trip home, and I want you to be prepared to act as if it were the thing you most desired."

"If you are right, I will not go," I said, a cold fury at my heart. "I will take the next train home."

"You will do no such thing." Lillian's voice was imperative. "You promised you would let me be your big sister in this thing, and you've got to let me run it my way!"

"See here, my dear," her tones were caressing now. "You must use the weapons of a woman of the world in this situation, not those of an unsophisticated girl. The primitive woman from the East Side would waltz in and destroy the beauty of any lady she found philandering, however innocently, with her spouse. The proud, sensitive, inexperienced woman would have done just what you have contemplated, go home alone and ignore the wanderers. But, my dear, you must do neither of those things. You cannot afford to play in Draper's hand like that."

"Tell me what I must do," I said wearily.

"In a minute. First let me put you right on one question. Dicky is not in love with this girl yet. If he were, he would not wish any meeting between you and her. He is interested and attracted, of course, as any impressionable man with an eye for beauty would be if thrown in constant companionship with her. And, forgive me, but I am sure you have taken the wrong tack about it.

"You must dissemble, act a part, meet her feminine wiles with sharper weapons. Now you have been cold to her, avoided seeing her when possible, and while not quarreling with Dicky about her, yet evidencing your disapproval of her in many little ways."

"It is quite true," I answered miserably.

"Then turn over a new leaf right now. You may be sure at this minute that Dicky is worrying more over your attitude toward this trip than he is over Miss Draper's dimples. He expects you to have a grouch. Give him a surprise. Greet the lady smilingly, express your pleasure at having her companionship on your trip, but manage to register delicately your surprise at her being one of the party. No, better leave that part to me. You do the pleasant greeting, I'll put over the catty stuff. But on your honor, until I see you again, will you put down your feelings and cultivate Grace Draper, letting your attitude change slowly, so Dicky will suspect nothing?"

"I'll try," I said faintly.

"You'll do it," she returned bluntly. "I want her to be almost a member of the family by the time I get there."

* * * * *

The trip by trolley with my husband and Grace Draper through the beautiful country lying between Jamaica and Hempstead will always remain in my memory as a turning point in my ideas of matrimony and its problems.

Lillian Underwood's talk with me had destroyed all my previous conceptions of dignified wifely behavior in the face of a problem like mine.

So all during the journey home through the fragrant September air, I paid as much attention to my role of calm friendliness as any actress would to a first night appearance. Remembering Lillian's advice to make the transition gradual from the frigid courtesy of my former meetings with Grace Draper to the friendly warmth we had planned for our campaign, I adopted the manner one would use to a casual but interesting acquaintance.

I kept the conversational ball rolling on almost every topic under the sun. But I found that the burden of the talk fell on my shoulders. The girl was plainly uneasy and puzzled at my manner. Dicky's thoughts I could not fathom, I caught his eyes fixed on me once or twice with admiration and a touch of bewilderment in them, but he said very little.

It was a wonderful night; warm, with the languor of September, fragrant with the heavy odors of ripening fruit and the late autumn blossoms. There was no moon, but the long summer twilight had not yielded entirely to the darkness and the stars were especially bright.

A night for lovers, for vows given and returned, it was this, if ever a night was. What a wonderful journey this would have been for me if only this other woman was not on the other side of my husband! Then with savage resentment I realized that she might also be thinking what possibilities the evening would have held for her if I had not been a third on the little journey.

Whatever Dicky was thinking I dared not guess. Whatever it was, I was sure that his thoughts were not dangerously charged with emotion as were mine and Grace Draper's. I was fiercely glad of his irresponsibility for the first time.

"Come on, girls. Here's Crest Haven. I've got a brilliant idea. We'll get one of these open flivvers they have at the station and motor to Marvin luxuriously. Beats waiting for the train all hollow."

I opened my lips to protest against the extravagance, then closed them without speaking, flushing hotly at the danger I had escaped. Nothing would have so embarrassed Dicky and delighted Miss Draper as any display of financial prudence on my part.

"Oh, Mr. Graham, how wonderful!" Miss Draper gave the impression of finding her voice mislaid somewhere about her, and deciding suddenly to use it. "This is just the night for a motor ride."

Her voice matched the night, cooing, languorous, seductive. I knew if she had voiced her real thoughts she would have willed that I be dropped anywhere by the roadside, so that she might have the enchanting solitude of the ride with Dicky.

A daring thought flashed into my brain as we stepped into the taxi. Why not pretend to play into her hand? It would prove to both Dicky and her that I was indifferent to their close friendship. And I was secretly anxious to see what way Dicky would reply to my proposition.

"Dear," I said with emotion, I fancy just the right note of conjugal tenderness in my voice. "Won't you drop me at the house first before you take Miss Draper home? I'm afraid I am getting a headache. I've had a rather strenuous day with Lillian, you know, and I really am very tired. You will excuse me, I am sure, Miss Draper. I'll try never to quit like this again. But my headaches are not to be trifled with."

"I am so sorry." Her voice was conventional, but I caught the under note of joy. "Of course I will excuse you."

"Are you sure the ride over there wouldn't do your head good, Madge?"

"Oh, no, Dicky, I feel that I must get home quickly. But that does not need to affect your plans. Katie is at home. I do not need you in the least. Go right along and enjoy your ride. I only wish I felt like doing it, too."

I fairly held my breath the rest of the ride. Dicky had not replied to my suggestion. What would he do when we reached the house?

The taxi sped along over the smooth roads, turned up the driveway at the side of the house and halted before the steps of the veranda. Dicky sprang out, gave his hand to me, and then turned to the driver.

"Take this lady to Marvin," he said. "She will tell you the street. How much do I owe you?"

"One dollar and a half."

I knew the charge was excessive, but I also knew enough to hold my tongue about it. Dicky paid the man and spoke to the girl inside.

"Good night, Miss Draper. You see you will have to enjoy the ride for both of us."

"Oh, Dicky!" I protested, but with a fierce little thrill of triumph at my heart. "This is a shame. Honestly, I do not need you. Go on over with Miss Draper."

"Of course he will do no such thing." The girl spoke with finality. I could imagine the storm of jealous rage that was swaying her. "There is nothing else for Mr. Graham to do but to stay with you." Her tone added, "You have compelled him to do so against his will."

She leaned from the cab. Her face looked ethereally beautiful in the faint light. I knew she meant to make Dicky regret that he could not accompany her.

"Good night," she said sweetly. "I am so sorry you do not feel well. I sincerely hope you will be better in the morning."

But as the taxi rolled away, my heart beating a triumphant accompaniment to the roll of its wheels, I knew she was wishing me every malevolent thing possible.

I was glad she could not guess the bitter taste in my cup of victory. Long after Dicky was asleep, I lay on my porch bed looking out at the stars and debating over and over the question:

"Did Dicky refuse to accompany Grace Draper to her home because of consideration for me, or because he was afraid to trust himself alone with her?"



XXVI

A VOICE THAT CARRIED FAR

"Ah! Mrs. Graham, this is an unexpected pleasure."

Dr. Pettit's eyes looked down into my own with an expression that emphasized the words he had just uttered. His outstretched hand clasped mine warmly, his impressive greeting embarrassed me a bit, and I turned instinctively toward Dicky to see if he had noticed the young physician's extraordinarily cordial greeting.

But this I had no opportunity to discover, for as I turned, a taxi drew up to the curb where the Underwoods—who had come down to spend the promised week with us—Dicky and I were waiting for the little Crest Haven Beach trolley and Dicky sprang to meet Grace Draper and the Durkees—Alfred Durkee and his mother, who completed our party for the motor boat trip.

"I am very glad to see you, Dr. Pettit," I murmured conventionally, then hurriedly: "Pardon me a moment, I must greet these guests. I will be back."

When I turned again to him after welcoming Grace Draper with forced friendliness, and the Durkees with the real warmth of liking I felt for them, I found him talking to Lillian.

Dr. Pettit, it appeared, was waiting for the same car we wished to take, and no one looking at our friendly chatting group would have known that he did not belong to the party.

It was when we were all seated comfortably in the trolley, bowling merrily along over the grass-strewn track, that Lillian voiced a suggestion which had sprung into my own mind, but to which I did not quite know how to give utterance.

"Look here," she said brusquely, "I'm not the hostess of this party, but I'm practically one of the family, so I feel free to issue an invitation if I wish. Dr. Pettit, what's the matter with you joining our party for the day? Dicky here has been howling for another man to help lug the grub all morning. Unless you are set on a solitary day that man 'might as well be you'"—she punctuated the parody with a mocking little moue.

I had a sneaking little notion that Dicky would have been glad of the opportunity to box Lillian's ears for her suggestion. I do not think he enjoyed the idea of adding Dr. Pettit to the party, but, of course, in view of what she had said there was nothing for him to do but to pretend a cordial acquiescence in her suggestion.

"That's the very thing," he said, with a heartiness which only I, and possibly Lillian, could dream was assumed. "Lil, you do occasionally have a gleam of human intelligence, don't you?

"I do hope that you have no plan that will interfere with coming with us," he said to the physician. "We have a big boat chartered down here at the beach, and we're going to loaf along out to one of the 'desert islands' and camp for the day."

"That sounds like a most interesting program," said the young physician. His voice held a note of hesitation, and he looked swiftly, inquiringly, at me and back again. It was so carelessly done that I do not think any one noticed it, but I realized that he was waiting for me to join my voice to the invitation.

"Well, Dr. Pettit," Dicky came up at this juncture, "out for the day?"

His tone was cordial enough, but I, who knew every inflection of Dicky's voice, realized that he did not relish the appearance of Dr. Pettit upon the scene.

"Yes, I'm going down to the shore for a dip," the young physician returned. And then without the stiff dignity which I had seen in his professional manner, he acknowledged the introductions which I gave him to Grace Draper and the Durkees.

"I trust you will think it interesting enough to make it worth your while to join us," I said demurely, lifting my eyes to his and catching a swift flash of something which might be either relief or triumph in his steely gray ones.

"Indeed, I shall be very glad to accompany you," he said, smiling.

Our boat, a large, comfortable one, built on lines of usefulness, rather than beauty, slipped over the dancing blue waters of the bay like an enchanted thing. A neat striped awning was stretched over the rear of the boat beneath which we lounged at ease.

The boat sped on as lazily as our idle conversation, and finally we came in sight of a gleaming beach of sand, with seaweed so luxuriantly tangled that it looked like small clumps of bushes, with the calm, still water of the bay on one side, and the lazily rolling surf on the other.

"Behold our desert island!" Dicky exclaimed dramatically, springing to his feet.

Jim ran the boat skilfully up on the beach and grounded her. Harry Underwood stepped forward to assist me ashore, but Dr. Pettit, with unobtrusive quickness, was before him.

As I laid my hand in that of the young physician, Harry Underwood gave a hoarse stage laugh. "I told you so," he croaked maliciously; "I knew I had a rival on my hands."

As Harry Underwood uttered his jibing little speech, Dicky raised his head and looked fixedly at me. It was an amazed, questioning look, one that had in it something of the bewilderment of a child. In another instant he had turned away to answer a question of Grace Draper's.

I felt my heart beating madly. Was Dicky really taking notice of the attentions which Harry Underwood and Dr. Pettit were bestowing upon me? I had not time to ponder long, however, for Lillian Underwood seized my arm almost as soon as we stepped on shore and walked me away until we were out of earshot of the others.

"Did you see Dicky's face," she demanded breathlessly, "when Harry and that lovely doctor of yours were doing the rival gallant act? It was perfectly lovely to see his lordship so puzzled. That doctor friend of yours was certainly sent by Providence just at this time. Just keep up a judicious little flirtation with him and I'll wager that before the week's out Dicky will have forgotten such a girl as Grace Draper exists."

If it had not been for the memory of Lillian's advice ringing in my ears, I think I should have much astonished Dr. Pettit and Harry Underwood when they started into the surf with me.

The whole situation was most annoying to me. And, besides, it was so unutterably silly! I might have been any foolish school girl of seventeen, with a couple of immature youths vying for my smiles, for any reserve or dignity there was in the situation.

My fingers itched to astonish each of the smirking men with a sound box on the ear. But my fiercest anger was against Dicky. If he had been properly attentive to me, Mr. Underwood and Dr. Pettit would have had no opportunity, indeed would not have dared, to pay me the idiotic compliments, or to offer the silly attentions they had given me.

But Dicky and Grace Draper were romping in the surf, like two children, splashing water over each other, and running hand in hand toward the place far out on the sand—for it was low tide—where they could swim.

They might have been alone on the beach for anything their appearance showed to the contrary. And yet as I gazed I saw Dicky look past the girl in my direction, with a quick, furtive, watching glance.

As they went farther into the surf, he sent another glance over his shoulder toward me.

As I caught it, guessing that in all his apparent interest in Grace Draper he was yet watching me and my behavior, something seemed to snap in my brain.

I would give him something to watch!

With a swift movement I slipped a little bit away from the two men by my side, and, filling my hands with water, splashed it full into the face of Harry Underwood.

"Dare you to play blind man's buff," I said gayly, sending another handful into Dr. Pettit's face, and then slipping adroitly to one side I laughed with, I fancy, as much mischief as any hoyden of sixteen could have put into her voice, at the picture the men made trying to get the salt water out of their eyes.

I had no compunctions on the score of their discomfort, for I felt that I had a score to settle with each of them. The way in which each took my rudeness, however, was characteristic of the men.

Harry Underwood's face grew black for a minute, then it cleared and he laughed boisterously.

"You little devil," he said, "I'll pay you for that. Ever get kissed under water? Well, that's what will happen to you before this day is over."

Dr. Pettit's face did not change, but into his gray eyes came a little steely glint. He said nothing, only smiled at me. But there was something about both smile and eyes that made me more uncomfortable than Harry Underwood's bizarre threat.

I was so unskilled in this game of banter and flirtation that I was at a loss what to say. Recklessly I grasped at the first thing which came into my mind.

"You'll have to catch me first," I said, daringly, and turning, ran swiftly out toward the open sea. I am only a fair swimmer, but the sea was unusually calm, so that I went much farther than I otherwise would have dared.

When I found the water getting too deep for walking I started swimming. As I swam I looked over my shoulder. The two men were following me, both swimming easily. Dr. Pettit was in the lead, but Harry Underwood, with powerful strokes, was not far behind him. I concluded that Dr. Pettit had been the swifter runner, but that the other man was the better swimmer.

As I saw them coming toward me, I realized that I had given them a challenge which each in his own way would probably take up. I was dismayed. I felt that I could not bear the touch of either man's hand.

In another moment my punishment had come.

Dr. Pettit overtook me, stretched out his hand, just touched me with a caressing, protecting little gesture, and said in a low tone, "Don't be afraid, little girl: If you will accord me the privilege, I will see that your friend does not get a chance of fulfilling his threat."

I knew that he intended his words for my ear alone, but he had not counted on Harry Underwood's quick ear. That gentleman swam lazily toward us, saying as he passed us, with a malicious little grin:

"Better go slow upon that protecting-heroine-from-villain stunt. I see Friend Husband is getting a bit restless."

He forged on into the surf, with long, powerful strokes that yet had the curious appearance of indolence which invests every action of his.

Startled at his words, I looked toward the place where I had last seen Dicky romping in the waves with Grace Draper.

The girl was swimming by herself. Dicky, with rapid strokes, was coming toward us.

"For the love of heaven, Madge!" he said, angrily, as he came up to us. "Haven't you any more sense than to come away out here? This sea is calm, but it is treacherous, and you are farther out than you have ever gone before. Come back with me this minute."

The sight of Grace Draper swimming by herself gave me an inspiration. The game which Lillian had advised me to play was certainly succeeding. I would keep it up.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" I demanded, assuming an indignation I did not feel. "Dr. Pettit was saying nothing to me that could possibly interest you." I felt a little twinge of conscience at the fib, but I had too much at stake to hesitate over a quibble. "As for casting sheep's eyes, as you so elegantly express it, you've been doing so much of it yourself that I suppose it is natural for you to accuse other people of it."

"Now what do you mean by that?" Dicky demanded, staring at me with such an innocent air that I could have laughed if I had not been thoroughly angry at his silly attempt to misunderstand me.

"Don't be silly, Dicky," I said, pettishly; "I can swim perfectly well out here and even if anything should happen, Dr. Pettit and Mr. Underwood are surely good swimmers enough to take care of me." I could not resist putting that last little barbed arrow into my quiver, for Dicky, while a good swimmer, even I could see, was not as skillful as either Mr. Underwood or Dr. Pettit.

Dicky waited a long moment before answering, then he spoke tensely, sternly:

"Madge, answer me, are you coming back with me now, or are you not?"

The tone in which he put the question was one which I could not brook, even at the risk of seriously offending Dicky. An angry refusal was upon my lips when Harry Underwood's voice saved me the necessity of a reply.

"There, there, Dicky-bird, keep your bathing suit on," he admonished, roughly; "of course, she'll go back, we'll all go back, a regular triumphal procession with beautiful heroine escorted by watchful husband, treacherous villain and faithful friend." He grinned at Dr. Pettit, and we all swam back to shallower water, Dr. Pettit and Mr. Underwood gradually edging off some distance away from Dicky and me.

I could not help smiling at the ludicrous aspect we must have presented. Dicky must have been watching me narrowly, for he suddenly growled:

"To the devil with Grace Draper!" Dicky cried, and his voice was louder, carried farther than he realized. "I'm not bothering about her. She's getting on my nerves anyway; but you happen to be my wife, and what you do is my concern, don't you forget that, my lady."



XXVII

"HOW NEARLY I LOST YOU!"

Dicky and I had been so engrossed in our quarrel that we had not noticed our proximity to Grace Draper. Whether she had purposely approached us or not, I could not tell. At any rate, when, after Dicky's outburst of jealous anger against Dr. Pettit and my retort concerning his model, he had cried out loudly, "To the devil with Grace Draper! I'm not bothering about her. She's getting on my nerves anyway," I heard a choking little gasp from behind me, and, turning swiftly, saw the girl standing quite near to us.

Except when excited, Grace Draper never has any color, but the usual clear pallor of her face had changed to a grayish whiteness. I had reason enough to hate the girl, I had schemed with Lillian to save Dicky from her influence, but in that moment, as I gazed at her, I felt nothing but deep pity for her.

For all the poise and pretence of the girl was stripped from her. She was a ghastly, pitiable sight, as she stood there, her big eyes fixed on Dicky, her breath coming unevenly in shuddering gasps.

Then she glanced at me and her eyes held mine for a moment, fascinated; then, with a little shrug of her shoulders, she turned away, and I knew that the danger of Dicky's realizing her agitation was passed.

"What are you looking at so earnestly?" Dicky demanded.

Without waiting for an answer, he turned swiftly, following my gaze, and catching sight of the retreating back of Grace Draper.

"Good Lord!" he gasped in consternation. "Do you suppose she heard what I said?"

"Oh, I'm sure she didn't," I replied mendaciously.

Dicky looked at me curiously. Whether he believed me or not I do not know. At any rate, he did not press the question.

Neither did he again refer to Dr. Pettit, to my sincere relief.

We made a merry picnic of our impromptu luncheon, and after it, when we were dried by the sun, we spent a comfortable lazy two hours lounging on the beach.

If I had not seen Grace Draper's blanched face and the terrible look in her eyes when she had heard Dicky's exclamation of indifference toward her, I would not have dreamed that her heart held any other emotion except that of happy enjoyment of the day. She laughed and chatted as if she had not a care in the world, directing much of her conversation to me. It crossed my mind that for some reason of her own she was trying to make it appear to every one that we were on especially friendly terms.

It was after one of Dicky's periodical trips to Jim's fire, which Harry Underwood did not allow him to forget, and his report that the dinner would be shortly forthcoming, that Grace Draper rose and said carelessly: "Suppose we all have another dip before dinner; there won't be time before we leave for a swim afterward, and the water is too fine to miss going in once more. What do you say, Mrs. Graham? Will you race me?"

I saw Lillian's quick little gesture of dissuasion, and through me there crept an indefinable shrinking from going with the girl, but the men were already chasing each other through the shallow water, and I did not wish to humiliate my guest by refusing to go with her.

"It can hardly be called a race," I answered quietly, "for you swim so much better than I, but I will do my best."

I followed her into the water with every appearance of enjoyment, and exerted every ounce of my strength to try to keep up with her rush through the waves.

I knew she was not exerting her full strength, for she is a magnificent swimmer, but I found that I had all I could do to keep pace with her. She seemed to be bent on showing off her skill to me, or else she was, trying to test my nerves by teasing me.

I knew that she was able to swim under the water when she chose, but that did not accustom me to the frequent sudden disappearances which she made, or to her equally sudden reappearances above the surface of the water.

She would dash on ahead of me a few yards, then her head would disappear beneath the waves. The next thing I knew she would bob up almost at my side. There was a fascination about this skill of hers which gripped me. I was so engrossed in watching her that I did not realize how far out we had gone until at one of her quick turns, I, following her, caught a glimpse of the beach.

To my overwrought imagination it seemed miles away. I suddenly felt an overwhelming terror of the cloudless sky, the rolling waves, even of the girl who had brought me out so far.

I looked wildly around for her, but could not see her anywhere. Evidently she was indulging in one of her underwater tricks. I turned blindly toward the shore. As I did so I felt a sudden jerk, a quick clutch at my foot, a clutch that dragged me down relentlessly.

I remembered gasping, struggling, fighting for life, with an awful sensation of being sunk in a gulf of blackness. I fancied I heard Lillian Underwood's voice in a piercing scream. Then I knew nothing more.

The next thing I remember was a voice. "There, she's coming out of it. Let me have that brandy," and then I felt a spoon inserted between my teeth and something fiery trickled gently drop by drop in my throat. The voice was that of Dr. Pettit.

With a gasp as the pungent liquid almost strangled me, I opened my eyes to find that the physician's arm was supporting my shoulder and his hand holding the spoon to my lips.

"Oh, thank God, thank God," some one groaned brokenly on the other side of me, and I turned my eyes to meet Dicky's face bent close to mine and working with emotion.

"She is all right now," the physician said, reassuringly. "She will suffer far more from the shock than from any real damage by her immersion. Get her into the tent." He turned to Mrs. Underwood and said: "Rub her down hard, and if there are any extra wraps in the party put them around her. Give her a stiff little dose of this." He handed Lillian the brandy flask. "Then bring her out into the sunshine again. She'll be all right in a little while."

Dicky picked me up in his arms as the physician spoke, as if I had been a child, and strode with me toward the improvised tent Dr. Pettit had indicated.

"Sweetheart, sweetheart, suppose I had lost you," he said brokenly, and then, manlike, reproachfully even in the intensity of his emotion: "What possessed you to go out so far? If it hadn't been for Grace Draper being on hand when you went down, you would never have come back. Harry and I were too far away when Lil screamed to be of any use. But by the time we got there Miss Draper had you by the hair and was towing you in."

My brain was too dazed to comprehend much of what Dicky was saying, but one remark smote on my brain like a sledge hammer.

Grace Draper had saved my life! Why, if I had any memory left at all, Grace Draper had—

Lillian came forward swiftly and placed a restraining finger on my lips.

"You mustn't talk yet," she admonished; then to Dicky, "Run away now, Dicky-bird, and give Mrs. Durkee and me a chance to take care of her." Little Mrs. Durkee's sweet, anxious face was close to Lillian's. "Yes, Dicky," she echoed, "hurry out now."

Dicky waited long enough to kiss me, a long, lingering, tender kiss that did more to revive me than the brandy, and then went obediently away while Mrs. Durkee and Lillian ministered to me as only tender and efficient women can.

When I was nearly dressed again, Lillian turned to Mrs. Durkee: "Would you mind getting a cup of coffee for this girl?" she asked. "I know Jim and Katie have some in preparation out there."

"Of course," Mrs. Durkee returned, and fluttered away.

She had no sooner gone than Lillian gathered me in her arms with a protecting, maternal gesture, as if I had been her own daughter restored to her.

"Quick," she demanded fiercely, "tell me just what happened out there when you went under. Did you get a cramp or what?"

I waited a moment before answering. The suspicion that had come to my brain was so horrible that I did not wish to utter it even to Lillian.

"I think it must have been the undertow," I said feebly. "I felt something like a clutch at my feet dragging me down."

Lillian's face hardened. Into her eyes came a revengeful gleam.

"Undertow!" she ejaculated, "you poor baby! Your undertow was that Draper devil's calculating hand!"

I stared at Lillian, horrified.

"But Lillian," I protested, faintly, "how is it that they all say she saved my life? If she really tried to drown me why didn't she let me go?"

"Got cold feet," returned Lillian, laconically. "You see she isn't naturally evil enough deliberately to plan to kill you. I give her credit for that with all her devilishness, but something happened today between her and Dicky. I don't know what it was that drove her nearly frantic. I saw her look at you two or three times in a way that chilled my blood. I didn't like the idea of your going out there with her, but I didn't see any way of stopping you.

"Now, there's one thing I want you to promise me," she went on, hurriedly. "Although I know you well enough to know it's something you would do anyway without a promise. I don't want you to hint to anyone, even Dicky, what you know of the Draper's attempt to put you out of commission. It's the chance I've been looking for, the winning card I needed so badly. I won't need to stay a week with you, my dear, as I thought when I first planned my little campaign to get Dicky out of the Draper's clutches. I can go home tonight if I wish to, with my mission accomplished."

"Why, what do you mean?" I asked.

"Just this," retorted Lillian, "that I'm going to spring the nicest little case of polite blackmail on Grace Draper before the day is over that you ever saw.

"I shall need you when I do it, so be prepared, although you won't need to say anything.

"But here comes Mrs. Durkee with the coffee. Do you think, after you drink it, you'll feel strong enough to have me tackle Grace Draper?"

I shivered inwardly, but bent my head in assent. Lillian had proved too good a friend of mine for me to go against her wishes in anything.

After I had drunk the steaming coffee, with Mrs. Durkee looking on in smiling approval, Lillian made another request of the cheery little woman.

"Would you mind asking Miss Draper to come here a moment?" she said quietly. "Mrs. Graham wants to thank her, and then do hunt up that husband of mine and tell him to rig up some sort of couch for Mrs. Graham, so she can lie down while we have our dinner. We can all take turns feeding her."

As Mrs. Durkee hurried out, eager to help in any way possible, Lillian turned to me grimly.

"That will keep her out of the way while we have our seance with the Draper. Now brace up, my dear; just nod or shake your head when I give you the cue."

It seemed hours, although in reality it was only a moment or two before Grace Draper parted the improvised sail curtains and stood before us. I think she knew something of what we wished, for her face held the grayish whiteness that had been there when she heard Dicky's impatient words concerning her. But her head was held high, her eyes were unflinching as she faced us.

"Miss Draper," Lillian began, her voice low and controlled, but deadly in its icy grimness, "we won't detain you but a moment, for we are going to get right down to brass tacks.

"I know exactly what happened out there in the surf a little while ago. I was watching from the shore, and saw enough to make me suspicious, and what I have learned from Mrs. Graham has confirmed my suspicions." She glanced toward me.

"You felt a hand clutch your foot and then drag you down, did you not, Madge?"

I nodded weakly, conscious only of the terrible burning eyes of Miss Draper fixed upon me.

"It is a lie," Miss Draper began, fiercely, but Lillian held up her hand in a gesture that appeared to cow the girl.

"Don't trouble either to deny or affirm it," she said icily. "There is but one thing I wish to hear from your lips; it is the answer to this question: Will you take the offer Mr. Underwood made you, to get you that theatrical engagement, and, having done this, will you keep out of Dicky Graham's way for every day of your life hereafter? I don't mind telling you that if you do this I shall keep my mouth closed about this thing; if you do not, I shall call the rest of the party here now and tell them what I know."

"Mr. Graham will not believe you," the girl said through stiff lips. Her attitude was like the final turning of an animal at bay.

"Don't fool yourself," Lillian retorted caustically. "I am Mr. Graham's oldest friend. He would believe me almost more quickly than he would his wife, for he might think that his wife was prejudiced against you.

"I am not a patient woman, Miss Draper. Don't try me too far. Take this offer, or take the consequences."

The girl stood with bent head for a long minute, as Lillian flared out her ultimatum, then she lifted it and looked steadily into Mrs. Underwood's eyes.

"Remember, I admit nothing," she said defiantly, "but, of course, I accept your offer. There is nothing else for me to do in the face of the very ingenious story which you two have concocted between you."

She turned and walked steadily out of the tent.

Her words, the blaze in her eyes, the very motion of her body, was magnificently insolent.

"She's a wonder!" Lillian admitted, drawing a deep breath, as the girl vanished. "I didn't think she had bravado enough to bluff it out like that."

"And now my dear," Lillian spoke briskly, "just lean your head against my shoulder, shut your eyes, and try to rest for a little; I know that sand with a rain coat covering doesn't make the most comfortable couch in the world, but I think I can hold you so that you may be able to take a tiny nap."

What Dicky surmised concerning the events of the afternoon, I do not know. He must have known that the girl was madly in love with him. Something had happened to put an end to the infatuation into which he had been slipping so rapidly.

Had he become tired of the girl's open pursuit of him? Had he guessed to what lengths her desperation had driven her? Had the shock of my narrow escape from drowning startled him into a fresh realization of his love for me?

I felt too weak even to guess the solution of the riddle. All I wanted to do was to nestle close to Dicky's side, to be taken care of and petted like a baby.

The ride home through the sunset was a quiet one. To me it was one of the happiest hours of my life.

Dicky, fussing over me as if I were a fragile piece of china, sat in the most sheltered corner of the boat, and held me securely against him, protecting me with his arm from any sudden lurch or jolt the boat might give.

Seemingly by a tacit agreement, the others of the party left us to ourselves. They talked in subdued tones, apparently unwilling to spoil the wonderful beauty of the twilight ride home with much conversation.

When the boat landed, Harry Underwood, at Dicky's suggestion, telephoned for taxis to meet the little trolley, upon which we journeyed from the beach to Crest Haven. One of these bore the Durkees and Grace Draper to their homes; the other was to carry Harry and Lillian, with Dicky and me, to the old Brennan house.

Dr. Pettit, who was to take a train back to the city, came up to us after we were seated in the taxi:

"I would advise that you go directly to bed, Mrs. Graham," he said, with his most professional air. "You have had an unusual shock, and rest is the one imperative thing."

I felt that common courtesy demanded that I extend an invitation to the physician to call at our home when next he came to Marvin, but fear of Dicky's possible displeasure tied my tongue. I could not do anything to jeopardize the happiness so newly restored to me.

To my great surprise, however, Dicky impulsively extended his hand and smiled upon the young physician:

"Thanks ever so much, old man," he said cordially, "for the way you pulled the little lady through this afternoon. Don't forget to come to see us when next you're in Marvin."

I was tucked safely into Dicky's bed, which he insisted on my sharing, saying that he could take care of me better there than in my own room, when he gave me the explanation of his cordiality.

"I'm not particularly stuck on that doctor chap," he said, tucking the coverlet about me with awkward tenderness, "but I'm so thankful tonight I just can't be sour on anybody."

"Sweetheart, sweetheart!" He put his cheek to mine. "To think how nearly I lost you!" And my heart echoed the exclamation could not speak aloud:

"Ah! Dicky, to think how nearly I lost YOU."



XXVIII

A DARK NIGHT AND A TROUBLED DAWN

"How many more trains are there tonight?"

Lillian Underwood's voice was sharp with anxiety. My voice reflected worry, as I answered her query.

"Two, one at 12:30, and the last, until morning, 2 o'clock."

"Well, I suppose we might as well lie down and get some sleep. They probably will be out on the last train."

"You don't suppose," I began, then stopped.

"That they've slipped off the water wagon?" Lillian returned grimly. "That's just what I'm afraid of. We will know in a little while, anyway. Harry will begin to telephone me, and keep it up until he gets too lazy to remember the number. Come on, let's get off these clothes and get into comfortable negligees. We probably shall have a long night of worry before us."

I obeyed her suggestion, but I was wild with an anxiety which Lillian did not suspect. My question, which she had finished for me, had not meant what she had thought at all. In fact, until she spoke of it, that possibility had not occurred to me.

It was a far different fear that was gripping me. I was afraid that Grace Draper had failed to keep the bargain she had made with Lillian to keep out of Dicky's way, in return for Lillian's silence concerning the Draper girl's mad attempt to drown me during our "desert island picnic."

Whether or not my narrow escape from death had brought Dicky to a realization of what we meant to each other, I could not tell. At any rate, he never had been more my royal lover than in the five days since my accident. Indeed, since that day he had made but one trip to the city beside this with Harry Underwood, the return from which we were so anxiously awaiting. When the men left in the morning they had told us not to plan dinner at home, but to be ready to accompany them to a nearby resort for a "shore dinner," as they were coming out on the 5 o'clock train. No wonder that at 10:30 Lillian and I were both anxious and irritated.

Dicky's behavior toward me, since death so nearly gripped me, certainly had given me no reason to doubt that his infatuation for Grace Draper was at an end. But no one except myself knew how apparently strong her hold had been on Dicky through the weeks of the late summer, nor how ruthless her own mad passion for him was. Had she reconsidered her bargain? Was she making one last attempt to regain her hold upon Dicky?

The telephone suddenly rang out its insistent summons. I ran to it, but Lillian brushed past me and took the receiver from my trembling hand.

I sank down on the stairs and clutched the stair rail tightly with both hands to keep from falling.

"Yes, yes, this is Lil, Harry. What's the matter?

"Seriously?

"Where are you?

"Yes, we were coming, anyway. Yes, we'll bring Miss Draper's sister. Don't bother to meet us. We'll take a taxi straight from the station."

Staggering with terror, I caught her hand, and prevented her putting the receiver back on its hook.

"Is Dicky dead?" I demanded.

"No, no, child," she said soothingly.

"I don't believe it," I cried, maddened at my own fear. "Call him to the 'phone. Let me hear his voice myself, then I'll believe you."

She took the receiver out of my grip, put it back upon the hook, and grasped my hands firmly, holding them as she would those of a hysterical child.

"See here, Madge," she said sternly, "Dicky is very much alive, but he is hurt slightly and needs you. We have barely time to get Mrs. Gorman and that train. Hurry and get ready."

* * * * *

Dicky's eager eyes looked up from his white face into mine. His voice, weak, but thrilling with the old love note, repeated my name over and over, as if he could not say it enough.

I sank on my knees beside the bed in which Dicky lay. I realized in a hazy sort of fashion that the room must be Harry Underwood's own bed chamber, but I spent no time in conjecture. All my being was fused in the one joyous certainty that Dicky was alive and in my arms, and that I had been assured he would get well. I laid my face against his cheek, shifted my arms so that no weight should rest against his bandaged left shoulder, which, at my first glimpse of it, had caused me to shudder involuntarily.

"If you only knew how awful I felt about this," Dicky murmured, contritely, and, as I raised my eyes to look at him, his own contracted as with pain.

"It's a fine mess I've brought you into by my carelessness this summer, but I swear I didn't dream—"

I laid my hand on his lips.

"Don't, sweetheart," I pleaded. "It is enough for me to know that you are safe in my arms. Nothing else in the world matters. Just rest and get well for me."

He kissed the hand against his lips, then reached up the unbandaged arm, and with gentle fingers pulled mine away.

"But there is one thing I must talk about," he said solemnly, "something you must do for me, Madge, for I cannot get up from here to see to it. It's a hard thing to ask you to do, but you are so brave and true, I know you will understand. Tell me, is that poor girl going to die?"

"I—I don't know, Dicky," I faltered, salving my conscience with the thought that he must not be excited with the knowledge of Grace Draper's true condition.

"Poor girl," he sighed. "I never dreamed she looked at things in the light she did, but I feel guilty anyhow, responsible. She must have the best of care, Madge, best physicians, best nurses, everything. I must meet all expenses, even to the ones which will be necessary if she should die."

He brought out the last words fearfully. Little drops of moisture stood on his forehead. I saw that the shock of the girl's terrible act had unnerved him.

Nerving myself to be as practical and matter-of-fact as possible, I wiped the moisture from his brow with my handkerchief and patted his cheek soothingly.

"I will attend to everything," I promised, "just as if you were able to see to it. But you must do something for me in return; you must promise not to talk any more and try and go to sleep."

"My own precious girl," he sighed, happily, and then drowsily—

"Kiss me!"

I pressed my lips to his. His eyes closed, and with his hand clinging tightly to mine, he slept.

How long I knelt there I do not know. No one came near the room, but through the closed door I could hear the hushed hurry and movement which marks a desperate fight between life and death.

I felt numbed, bewildered. I tried to visualize what was happening outside the room, but I could not. I felt as if Dicky and I had come through some terrible shipwreck together and had been cast up on this friendly piece of shore.

I knew that later I would have to face my own soul in a rigid inquisition as to how far I had been to blame for this tragedy. I had been married less than a year, and yet my husband was involved in a horrible complication like this.

But my brain was too exhausted to follow that line of thought. I was content to rest quietly on my knees by the side of Dicky's bed, with his hand in mine and my eyes fixed on his white face with the long lashes shadowing it.

At first I was perfectly comfortable, then after a while little tingling pains began to run through my back and limbs.

I dared not change my position for fear of disturbing Dicky, so I set my teeth and endured the discomfort. The sharpness of the pain gradually wore away as the minutes went by, and was succeeded by a distressing feeling of numbness extending all over my body.

Just as I was beginning to feel that the numbness must soon extend to my brain, the door opened and some one came quietly in.

My back was to the door, and so careful were the footsteps crossing the room that I could not tell who the newcomer was until I felt a firm hand gently unclasping my nervous fingers from Dicky's. Then I looked up into the solicitous face of Dr. Pettit.

"How is it that you have been left alone here so long?" he inquired indignantly, yet keeping his voice to the professional low pitch of a sick room. He put his strong, firm hands under my elbows, raised me to my feet and supported me to a chair, for my feet were like pieces of wood. I could hardly lift them.

"How long have you been kneeling there?" he demanded. "You would have fainted away if you had stayed there much longer."

"I do not know," I replied faintly, "but it doesn't matter. Tell me, is my husband all right, and how badly is he hurt?"

"He is not hurt seriously at all," the physician replied. "The bullet went through the fleshy part of his left arm. It was a clean wound, and he will be around again in no time."

He walked to Dicky's bed, bent over him, listened to his breathing, straightened, and came back to me.

"He is doing splendidly," he said, "but you are not. You are on the point of collapse from what you have undergone tonight. You must lie down at once. If there is no one else to take care of you, I must do it."

I felt as if I could not bear to answer him, even to raise my eyes to meet his. I do not know how long the intense silence would have continued. Just as I felt that I could not bear the situation any longer, Lillian Underwood came into the room, bringing with her, as she always does, an atmosphere of cheerful sanity.

"What is the matter?" she asked. Her tone was low and guarded, but in it there was a note of alarm, and the same anxiety shown from her eyes as she came swiftly toward me.

"Mrs. Graham is in danger of a nervous collapse if she does not have rest and quiet soon," Dr. Pettit returned gravely. "Will you see that she is put to bed at once? Mr. Graham will do very well for a while alone, although when you have made Mrs. Graham comfortable, I wish you would come back and sit with him."

Lillian put her strong arms around me and led me through the door into the outer hall.

"But who is with Miss Draper?" I protested faintly, as we started down the stairs toward the first floor.

"Her sister and one of the best trained nurses in the city," Lillian responded. "Besides, Dr. Pettit will go immediately back to her room."

"But Dicky, there is no one with Dicky," I said, struggling feebly in an attempt to go back up the stairs again.

"Don't be childish, Madge." The words, the tone, were impatient, the first I had ever heard from Lillian toward me. But I mentally acknowledged their justice and braced myself to be more sensible, as she guided me to her room, and helped me into bed.

I found her sitting by my bedside when I opened my eyes. Through the lowered curtains I caught a ray of sunlight, and knew that it was broad day.

"Dicky?" I asked wildly, staring up from my pillows.

Lillian put me back again with a firm hand.

"Lie still," she said gently. "Dicky is fine, and when you have eaten the breakfast Betty has prepared and which Katie is bringing you, you may go upstairs and take care of him all day."

"But it is daylight," I protested. "I must have slept all night. And you? Have you slept at all?"

"Don't bother about me," she returned lightly. "I shall have a good long nap as soon as you are ready to take care of Dicky."

"But I meant to sleep only two or three hours. I don't see how I ever could have slept straight through the night."

I really felt near to tears with chagrin that I should have left Dicky to the care of any one else while I soundly slept the night through.