MISS LULU BETT

By ZONA GALE

1921

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. APRIL

 II. MAY

III. JUNE

 IV. JULY

 V. AUGUST

 VI. SEPTEMBER

I

APRIL

The Deacons were at supper. In the middle of the table was a small, appealing tulip plant, looking as anything would look whose sun was agas jet. This gas jet was high above the table and flared, with a sound. 

"Better turn down the gas jest a little, " Mr. Deacon said, and stretchedup to do so. He made this joke almost every night. He seldom spoke as aman speaks who has something to say, but as a man who makes something tosay. 

"Well, what have we on the festive board to-night?" he questioned, eyeing it. "Festive" was his favourite adjective. "Beautiful, " too. InOctober he might be heard asking: "Where's my beautiful fall coat?"

"We have creamed salmon, " replied Mrs. Deacon gently. "On toast, " sheadded, with a scrupulous regard for the whole truth. Why she should saythis so gently no one can tell. She says everything gently. Her "Couldyou leave me another bottle of milk this morning?" would wring amilkman's heart. 

"Well, now, let us see, " said Mr. Deacon, and attacked the principaldish benignly. "_Let_ us see, " he added, as he served. 

"I don't want any, " said Monona. 

The child Monona was seated upon a book and a cushion, so that herlittle triangle of nose rose adultly above her plate. Her remarkproduced precisely the effect for which she had passionately hoped. 

"_What's_ this?" cried Mr. Deacon. "_No_ salmon?"

"No, " said Monona, inflected up, chin pertly pointed. She felt herpower, discarded her "sir. "

"Oh now, Pet!" from Mrs. Deacon, on three notes. "You liked it before. "

"I don't want any, " said Monona, in precisely her original tone. 

"Just a little? A very little?" Mr. Deacon persuaded, spoon dripping;

The child Monona made her lips thin and straight and shook her headuntil her straight hair flapped in her eyes on either side. Mr. Deacon'seyes anxiously consulted his wife's eyes. What is this? Their progenywill not eat? What can be supplied?

"Some bread and milk!" cried Mrs. Deacon brightly, exploding on "bread. "One wondered how she thought of it. 

"No, " said Monona, inflection up, chin the same. She was affectingindifference to, this scene, in which her soul delighted. She twistedher head, bit her lips unconcernedly, and turned her eyes to the remote. 

There emerged from the fringe of things, where she perpetually hovered, Mrs. Deacon's older sister, Lulu Bett, who was "making her home withus. " And that was precisely the case. _They_ were not making her ahome, goodness knows. Lulu was the family beast of burden. 

"Can't I make her a little milk toast?" she asked Mrs. Deacon. 

Mrs. Deacon hesitated, not with compunction at accepting Lulu's offer, not diplomatically to lure Monona. But she hesitated habitually, bynature, as another is by nature vivacious or brunette. 

"Yes!" shouted the child Monona. 

The tension relaxed. Mrs. Deacon assented. Lulu went to the kitchen. Mr. Deacon served on. Something of this scene was enacted every day. ForMonona the drama never lost its zest. It never occurred to the others tolet her sit without eating, once, as a cure-all. The Deacons weredevoted parents and the child Monona was delicate. She had a white, grave face, white hair, white eyebrows, white lashes. She was sullen, anaemic. They let her wear rings. She "toed in. " The poor child was thelate birth of a late marriage and the principal joy which she hadprovided them thus far was the pleased reflection that they had producedher at all. 

"Where's your mother, Ina?" Mr. Deacon inquired. "Isn't she coming toher supper?"

"Tantrim, " said Mrs. Deacon, softly. 

"Oh, ho, " said he, and said no more. 

The temper of Mrs. Bett, who also lived with them, had days of highvibration when she absented herself from the table as a kind ofself-indulgence, and no one could persuade her to food. "Tantrims, " theycalled these occasions. 

"Baked potatoes, " said Mr. Deacon. "That's good--that's good. The bakedpotato contains more nourishment than potatoes prepared in any otherway. The nourishment is next to the skin. Roasting retains it. "

"That's what I always think, " said his wife pleasantly. 

For fifteen years they had agreed about this. 

They ate, in the indecent silence of first savouring food. A delicatecrunching of crust, an odour of baked-potato shells, the slip and touchof the silver. 

"Num, num, nummy-num!" sang the child Monona loudly, and was hushed byboth parents in simultaneous exclamation which rivalled this lyricoutburst. They were alone at table. Di, daughter of a wife early lost toMr. Deacon, was not there. Di was hardly ever there. She was at thatage. That age, in Warbleton. 

A clock struck the half hour. 

"It's curious, " Mr. Deacon observed, "how that clock loses. It must befully quarter to. " He consulted his watch. "It is quarter to!" heexclaimed with satisfaction. "I'm pretty good at guessing time. "

"I've noticed that!" cried his Ina. 

"Last night, it was only twenty-three to, when the half hour struck, " hereminded her. 

"Twenty-one, I thought. " She was tentative, regarded him with archedeyebrows, mastication suspended. 

This point was never to be settled. The colloquy was interrupted by thechild Monona, whining for her toast. And the doorbell rang. 

"Dear me!" said Mr. Deacon. "What can anybody be thinking of to calljust at meal-time?"

He trod the hall, flung open the street door. Mrs. Deacon listened. Lulu, coming in with the toast, was warned to silence by an upliftedfinger. She deposited the toast, tiptoed to her chair. A withered bakedpotato and cold creamed salmon were on her plate. The child Monona atewith shocking appreciation. Nothing could be made of the voices in thehall. But Mrs. Bett's door was heard softly to unlatch. She, too, waslistening. 

A ripple of excitement was caused in the dining-room when Mr. Deacon wasdivined to usher some one to the parlour. Mr. Deacon would speak withthis visitor in a few moments, and now returned to his table. It wasnotable how slight a thing would give him a sense of self-importance. Now he felt himself a man of affairs, could not even have a quiet supperwith his family without the outside world demanding him. He waved hishand to indicate it was nothing which they would know anything about, resumed his seat, served himself to a second spoon of salmon andremarked, "More roast duck, anybody?" in a loud voice and with a slowwink at his wife. That lady at first looked blank, as she always did inthe presence of any humour couched with the least indirection, and thendrew back her chin and caught her lower lip in her gold-filled teeth. This was her conjugal rebuking. 

Swedenborg always uses "conjugial. " And really this sounds more married. It should be used with reference to the Deacons. No one was ever moremarried than they--at least than Mr. Deacon. He made little conjugaljokes in the presence of Lulu who, now completely unnerved by the habit, suspected them where they did not exist, feared lurking _entendre_ inthe most innocent comments, and became more tense every hour of herlife. 

And now the eye of the master of the house fell for the first time uponthe yellow tulip in the centre of his table. 

"Well, _well_!" he said. "What's this?"

Ina Deacon produced, fleetly, an unlooked-for dimple. 

"Have you been buying flowers?" the master inquired. 

"Ask Lulu, " said Mrs. Deacon. 

He turned his attention full upon Lulu. 

"Suitors?" he inquired, and his lips left their places to form a sort ofruff about the word. 

Lulu flushed, and her eyes and their very brows appealed. 

"It was a quarter, " she said. "There'll be five flowers. "

"You _bought_ it?"

"Yes. There'll be five--that's a nickel apiece. "

His tone was as methodical as if he had been talking about the bread. 

"Yet we give you a home on the supposition that you have no money tospend, even for the necessities. "

His voice, without resonance, cleft air, thought, spirit, and evenflesh. 

Mrs. Deacon, indeterminately feeling her guilt in having let loose thedogs of her husband upon Lulu, interposed: "Well, but, Herbert--Luluisn't strong enough to work. What's the use. .. . "

She dwindled. For years the fiction had been sustained that Lulu, thefamily beast of burden, was not strong enough to work anywhere else. 

"The justice business--" said Dwight Herbert Deacon--he was a justice ofthe peace--"and the dental profession--" he was also a dentist--"do notwarrant the purchase of spring flowers in my home. "

"Well, but, Herbert--" It was his wife again. 

"No more, " he cried briefly, with a slight bend of his head. "Lulumeant no harm, " he added, and smiled at Lulu. 

There was a moment's silence into which Monona injected a loud "Num, num, num-my-num, " as if she were the burden of an Elizabethan lyric. Sheseemed to close the incident. But the burden was cut off untimely. Therewas, her father reminded her portentously, company in the parlour. 

"When the bell rang, I was so afraid something had happened to Di, " saidIna sighing. 

"Let's see, " said Di's father. "Where is little daughter to-night?"

He must have known that she was at Jenny Plow's at a tea party, for atnoon they had talked of nothing else; but this was his way. And Inaplayed his game, always. She informed him, dutifully. 

"Oh, _ho_, " said he, absently. How could he be expected to keep his mindon these domestic trifles. 

"We told you that this noon, " said Lulu. 

He frowned, disregarded her. Lulu had no delicacy. 

"How much is salmon the can now?" he inquired abruptly--this was one ofhis forms of speech, the can, the pound, the cord. 

His partner supplied this information with admirable promptness. Largesize, small size, present price, former price--she had them all. 

"Dear me, " said Mr. Deacon. "That is very nearly salmoney, isn't it?"

"Herbert!" his Ina admonished, in gentle, gentle reproach. Mr. Deaconpunned, organically. In talk he often fell silent and then asked somequestion, schemed to permit his vice to flourish. Mrs. Deacon's returnwas always automatic: "_Her_bert!"

"Whose Bert?" he said to this. "I thought I was your Bert. "

She shook her little head. "You are a case, " she told him. He beamedupon her. It was his intention to be a case. 

Lulu ventured in upon this pleasantry, and cleared her throat. She wasnot hoarse, but she was always clearing her throat. 

"The butter is about all gone, " she observed. "Shall I wait for thebutter-woman or get some creamery?"

Mr. Deacon now felt his little jocularities lost before a wall of thematter of fact. He was not pleased. He saw himself as the light of hishome, bringer of brightness, lightener of dull hours. It was a prettyrôle. He insisted upon it. To maintain it intact, it was necessary toturn upon their sister with concentrated irritation. 

"Kindly settle these matters without bringing them to my attention atmeal-time, " he said icily. 

Lulu flushed and was silent. She was an olive woman, once handsome, nowwith flat, bluish shadows under her wistful eyes. And if only she wouldlook at her brother Herbert and say something. But she looked in herplate. 

"I want some honey, " shouted the child, Monona. 

"There isn't any, Pet, " said Lulu. 

"I want some, " said Monona, eyeing her stonily. But she found that herhair-ribbon could be pulled forward to meet her lips, and she embarkedon the biting of an end. Lulu departed for some sauce and cake. It wasapple sauce. Mr. Deacon remarked that the apples were almost as good asif he had stolen them. He was giving the impression that he was anirrepressible fellow. He was eating very slowly. It added pleasantly tohis sense of importance to feel that some one, there in the parlour, waswaiting his motion. 

At length they rose. Monona flung herself upon her father. He put heraside firmly, every inch the father. No, no. Father was occupied now. Mrs. Deacon coaxed her away. Monona encircled her mother's waist, liftedher own feet from the floor and hung upon her. "She's such an activechild, " Lulu ventured brightly. 

"Not unduly active, I think, " her brother-in-law observed. 

He turned upon Lulu his bright smile, lifted his eyebrows, dropped hislids, stood for a moment contemplating the yellow tulip, and so left theroom. 

Lulu cleared the table. Mrs. Deacon essayed to wind the clock. Well now. Did Herbert say it was twenty-three to-night when it struck the halfhour and twenty-one last night, or twenty-one to-night and last nighttwenty-three? She talked of it as they cleared the table, but Lulu didnot talk. 

"Can't you remember?" Mrs. Deacon said at last. "I should think youmight be useful. "

Lulu was lifting the yellow tulip to set it on the sill. She changed hermind. She took the plant to the wood-shed and tumbled it with force uponthe chip-pile. 

The dining-room table was laid for breakfast. The two women broughttheir work and sat there. The child Monona hung miserably about, watching the clock. Right or wrong, she was put to bed by it. She hadeight minutes more--seven--six--five--

Lulu laid down her sewing and left the room. She went to the wood-shed, groped about in the dark, found the stalk of the one tulip flower in itsheap on the chip-pile. The tulip she fastened in her gown on her flatchest. 

Outside were to be seen the early stars. It is said that if our sun wereas near to Arcturus as we are near to our sun, the great Arcturus wouldburn our sun to nothingness. 

 * * * * *

In the Deacons' parlour sat Bobby Larkin, eighteen. He was in pain allover. He was come on an errand which civilisation has contrived to makean ordeal. 

Before him on the table stood a photograph of Diana Deacon, alsoeighteen. He hated her with passion. At school she mocked him, apedhim, whispered about him, tortured him. For two years he had hated her. Nights he fell asleep planning to build a great house and engage her asits servant. 

Yet, as he waited, he could not keep his eyes from this photograph. Itwas Di at her curliest, at her fluffiest, Di conscious of her bracelet, Di smiling. Bobby gazed, his basic aversion to her hard-pressed by amost reluctant pleasure. He hoped that he would not see her, and helistened for her voice. 

Mr. Deacon descended upon him with an air carried from his supper hour, bland, dispensing. Well! Let us have it. "What did you wish to see meabout?"--with a use of the past tense as connoting something ofindirection and hence of delicacy--a nicety customary, yet unconscious. Bobby had arrived in his best clothes and with an air of such formalitythat Mr. Deacon had instinctively suspected him of wanting to join thechurch, and, to treat the time with due solemnity, had put him in theparlour until he could attend at leisure. 

Confronted thus by Di's father, the speech which Bobby had planneddeserted him. 

"I thought if you would give me a job, " he said defencelessly. 

"So that's it!" Mr. Deacon, who always awaited but a touch to be eitherirritable or facetious, inclined now to be facetious. "Filling teeth?"he would know. "Marrying folks, then?" Assistant justice or assistantdentist--which?

Bobby blushed. No, no, but in that big building of Mr. Deacon's wherehis office was, wasn't there something . .. It faded from him, soundedridiculous. Of course there was nothing. He saw it now. 

There was nothing. Mr. Deacon confirmed him. But Mr. Deacon had an idea. Hold on, he said--hold on. The grass. Would Bobby consider taking chargeof the grass? Though Mr. Deacon was of the type which cuts its owngrass and glories in its vigour and its energy, yet in the time afterthat which he called "dental hours" Mr. Deacon wished to work in hisgarden. His grass, growing in late April rains, would need attentionearly next month . .. He owned two lots--"of course property _is_ aburden. " If Bobby would care to keep the grass down and raked . .. Bobbywould care, accepted this business opportunity, figures and all, thankedMr. Deacon with earnestness. Bobby's aversion to Di, it seemed, shouldnot stand in the way of his advancement. 

"Then that is checked off, " said Mr. Deacon heartily. 

Bobby wavered toward the door, emerged on the porch, and ran almost uponDi returning from her tea-party at Jenny Plow's. 

"Oh, Bobby! You came to see me?"

She was as fluffy, as curly, as smiling as her picture. She was carryingpink, gauzy favours and a spear of flowers. Undeniably in her voicethere was pleasure. Her glance was startled but already complacent. Shepaused on the steps, a lovely figure. 

But one would say that nothing but the truth dwelt in Bobby. 

"Oh, hullo, " said he. "No. I came to see your father. "

He marched by her. His hair stuck up at the back. His coat was hunchedabout his shoulders. His insufficient nose, abundant, loose-lipped mouthand brown eyes were completely expressionless. He marched by her withouta glance. 

She flushed with vexation. Mr. Deacon, as one would expect, laughedloudly, took the situation in his elephantine grasp and pawed at it. 

"Mamma! Mamma! What do you s'pose? Di thought she had a beau----"

"Oh, papa!" said Di. "Why, I just hate Bobby Larkin and the whole_school_ knows it. "

Mr. Deacon returned to the dining-room, humming in his throat. Heentered upon a pretty scene. 

His Ina was darning. Four minutes of grace remaining to the childMonona, she was spinning on one toe with some Bacchanalian idea ofmaking the most of the present. Di dominated, her ruffles, her bluehose, her bracelet, her ring. 

"Oh, and mamma, " she said, "the sweetest party and the dearest supperand the darlingest decorations and the gorgeousest----"

"Grammar, grammar, " spoke Dwight Herbert Deacon. He was not sure what hemeant, but the good fellow felt some violence done somewhere or other. 

"Well, " said Di positively, "they _were_. Papa, see my favour. "

She showed him a sugar dove, and he clucked at it. 

Ina glanced at them fondly, her face assuming its loveliest light. Shewas often ridiculous, but always she was the happy wife and mother, andher rôle reduced her individual absurdities at least to its own. 

The door to the bedroom now opened and Mrs. Bett appeared. 

"Well, mother!" cried Herbert, the "well" curving like an arm, the"mother" descending like a brisk slap. "Hungry _now?_"

Mrs. Bett was hungry now. She had emerged intending to pass through theroom without speaking and find food in the pantry. By obscure processesher son-in-law's tone inhibited all this. 

"No, " she said. "I'm not hungry. "

Now that she was there, she seemed uncertain what to do. She looked fromone to another a bit hopelessly, somehow foiled in her dignity. Shebrushed at her skirt, the veins of her long, wrinkled hands catching anintenser blue from the dark cloth. She put her hair behind her ears. 

"We put a potato in the oven for you, " said Ina. She had never learnedquite how to treat these periodic refusals of her mother to eat, butshe never had ceased to resent them. 

"No, thank you, " said Mrs. Bett. Evidently she rather enjoyed thesituation, creating for herself a spot-light much in the manner ofMonona. 

"Mother, " said Lulu, "let me make you some toast and tea. "

Mrs. Bett turned her gentle, bloodless face toward her daughter, and hereyes warmed. 

"After a little, maybe, " she said. "I think I'll run over to see GrandmaGates now, " she added, and went toward the door. 

"Tell her, " cried Dwight, "tell her she's my best girl. "

Grandma Gates was a rheumatic cripple who lived next door, and wheneverthe Deacons or Mrs. Bett were angry or hurt or wished to escape thehouse for some reason, they stalked over to Grandma Gates--in lieu of, say, slamming a door. These visits radiated an almost daily friendlinesswhich lifted and tempered the old invalid's lot and life. 

Di flashed out at the door again, on some trivial permission. 

"A good many of mamma's stitches in that dress to keep clean, " Inacalled after. 

"Early, darling, early!" her father reminded her. A faint regurgitationof his was somehow invested with the paternal. 

"What's this?" cried Dwight Herbert Deacon abruptly. 

On the clock shelf lay a letter. 

"Oh, Dwight!" Ina was all compunction. "It came this morning. I forgot. "

"I forgot it too! And I laid it up there. " Lulu was eager for her shareof the blame. 

"Isn't it understood that my mail can't wait like this?"

Dwight's sense of importance was now being fed in gulps. 

"I know. I'm awfully sorry, " Lulu said, "but you hardly ever get aletter----"

This might have made things worse, but it provided Dwight with agreater importance. 

"Of course, pressing matter goes to my office, " he admitted it. "Still, my mail should have more careful----"

He read, frowning. He replaced the letter, and they hung upon hismotions as he tapped the envelope and regarded them. 

"Now!" said he. "What do you think I have to tell you?"

"Something nice, " Ina was sure. 

"Something surprising, " Dwight said portentously. 

"But, Dwight--is it _nice?_" from his Ina. 

"That depends. I like it. So'll Lulu. " He leered at her. "It's company. "

"Oh, Dwight, " said Ina. "Who?"

"From Oregon, " he said, toying with his suspense. 

"Your brother!" cried Ina. "Is he coming?"

"Yes. Ninian's coming, so he says. "

"Ninian!" cried Ina again. She was excited, round-eyed, her moist lipsparted. Dwight's brother Ninian. How long was it? Nineteen years. SouthAmerica, Central America, Mexico, Panama "and all. " When was he comingand what was he coming for?

"To see me, " said Dwight. "To meet you. Some day next week. He don'tknow what a charmer Lulu is, or he'd come quicker. "

Lulu flushed terribly. Not from the implication. But from the knowledgethat she was not a charmer. 

The clock struck. The child Monona uttered a cutting shriek. Herbert'seyes flew not only to the child but to his wife. What was this, wastheir progeny hurt?

"Bedtime, " his wife elucidated, and added: "Lulu, will you take her tobed? I'm pretty tired. "

Lulu rose and took Monona by the hand, the child hanging back andshaking her straight hair in an unconvincing negative. 

As they crossed the room, Dwight Herbert Deacon, strolling about andsnapping his fingers, halted and cried out sharply:

"Lulu. One moment!"

He approached her. A finger was extended, his lips were parted, on hisforehead was a frown. 

"You _picked_ the flower on the plant?" he asked incredulously. 

Lulu made no reply. But the child Monona felt herself lifted and borneto the stairway and the door was shut with violence. On the darkstairway Lulu's arms closed about her in an embrace which left herbreathless and squeaking. And yet Lulu was not really fond of the childMonona, either. This was a discharge of emotion akin, say, to slammingthe door. 

II

MAY

Lulu was dusting the parlour. The parlour was rarely used, but everymorning it was dusted. By Lulu. 

She dusted the black walnut centre table which was of Ina's choosing, and looked like Ina, shining, complacent, abundantly curved. The leatherrocker, too, looked like Ina, brown, plumply upholstered, tipping back abit. Really, the davenport looked like Ina, for its chintz patternseemed to bear a design of lifted eyebrows and arch, reproachful eyes. 

Lulu dusted the upright piano, and that was like Dwight--in a perpetualattitude of rearing back, with paws out, playful, but capable, too, ofroaring a ready bass. 

And the black fireplace--there was Mrs. Bett to the life. Colourless, fireless, and with a dust of ashes. 

In the midst of all was Lulu herself reflected in the narrow pierglass, bodiless-looking in her blue gingham gown, but somehow alive. Natural. 

This pier glass Lulu approached with expectation, not because of herselfbut because of the photograph on its low marble shelf. A largephotograph on a little shelf-easel. A photograph of a man with evidenteyes, evident lips, evident cheeks--and each of the six were rounded andconvex. You could construct the rest of him. Down there under the glassyou could imagine him extending, rounded and convex, with plump handsand curly thumbs and snug clothes. It was Ninian Deacon, Dwight'sbrother. 

Every day since his coming had been announced Lulu, dusting the parlour, had seen the photograph looking at her with its eyes somehow new. Orwere her own eyes new? She dusted this photograph with a difference, lifted, dusted, set it back, less as a process than as an experience. Asshe dusted the mirror and saw his trim semblance over against her ownbodiless reflection, she hurried away. But the eyes of the picturefollowed her, and she liked it. 

She dusted the south window-sill and saw Bobby Larkin come round thehouse and go to the wood-shed for the lawn mower. She heard the smoothblur of the cutter. Not six times had Bobby traversed the lawn when Lulusaw Di emerge from the house. Di had been caring for her canary and shecarried her bird-bath and went to the well, and Lulu divined that Di haddeliberately disregarded the handy kitchen taps. Lulu dusted the southwindow and watched, and in her watching was no quality of spying or ofcriticism. Nor did she watch wistfully. Rather, she looked out onsomething in which she had never shared, could not by any chance imagineherself sharing. 

The south windows were open. Airs of May bore the soft talking. 

"Oh, Bobby, will you pump while I hold this?" And again: "Now wait tillI rinse. " And again: "You needn't be so glum"--the village salutationsignifying kindly attention. 

Bobby now first spoke: "Who's glum?" he countered gloomily. 

The iron of those days when she had laughed at him was deep within him, and this she now divined, and said absently:

"I used to think you were pretty nice. But I don't like you any more. "

"Yes, you used to!" Bobby repeated derisively. "Is that why you made funof me all the time?"

At this Di coloured and tapped her foot on the well-curb. He seemed tohave her now, and enjoyed his triumph. But Di looked up at him shyly andlooked down. "I had to, " she admitted. "They were all teasing me aboutyou. "

"They were?" This was a new thought to him. Teasing her about him, werethey? He straightened. "Huh!" he said, in magnificent evasion. 

"I had to make them stop, so I teased you. I--I never wanted to. " Againthe upward look. 

"Well!" Bobby stared at her. "I never thought it was anything likethat. "

"Of course you didn't. " She tossed back her bright hair, met his eyesfull. "And you never came where I could tell you. I wanted to tell you. "

She ran into the house. 

Lulu lowered her eyes. It was as if she had witnessed the exercise ofsome secret gift, had seen a cocoon open or an egg hatch. She wasthinking:

"How easy she done it. Got him right over. But _how_ did she do that?"

Dusting the Dwight-like piano, Lulu looked over-shoulder, with a mannerof speculation, at the photograph of Ninian. 

Bobby mowed and pondered. The magnificent conceit of the male in hisunderstanding of the female character was sufficiently developed tocause him to welcome the improvisation which he had just heard. Perhapsthat was the way it had been. Of course that was the way it had been. What a fool he had been not to understand. He cast his eyes repeatedlytoward the house. He managed to make the job last over so that he couldreturn in the afternoon. He was not conscious of planning this, but itwas in some manner contrived for him by forces of his own with which heseemed to be coöperating without his conscious will. Continually heglanced toward the house. 

These glances Lulu saw. She was a woman of thirty-four and Di and Bobbywere eighteen, but Lulu felt for them no adult indulgence. She felt thatsweetness of attention which we bestow upon May robins. She felt more. 

She cut a fresh cake, filled a plate, called to Di, saying: "Take someout to that Bobby Larkin, why don't you?"

It was Lulu's way of participating. It was her vicarious thrill. 

After supper Dwight and Ina took their books and departed to theChautauqua Circle. To these meetings Lulu never went. The reason seemedto be that she never went anywhere. 

When they were gone Lulu felt an instant liberation. She turnedaimlessly to the garden and dug round things with her finger. And shethought about the brightness of that Chautauqua scene to which Ina andDwight had gone. Lulu thought about such gatherings in somewhat the waythat a futurist receives the subjects of his art--forms not vague, butheightened to intolerable definiteness, acute colour, and alwaysmotion--motion as an integral part of the desirable. But a factor of allwas that Lulu herself was the participant, not the onlooker. Theperfection of her dream was not impaired by any longing. She had herdream as a saint her sense of heaven. 

"Lulie!" her mother called. "You come out of that damp. "

She obeyed, as she had obeyed that voice all her life. But she took onelast look down the dim street. She had not known it, but superimposed onher Chautauqua thoughts had been her faint hope that it would beto-night, while she was in the garden alone, that Ninian Deacon wouldarrive. And she had on her wool chally, her coral beads, her cameopin. .. . 

She went into the lighted dining-room. Monona was in bed. Di was notthere. Mrs. Bett was in Dwight Herbert's leather chair and she lolled ather ease. It was strange to see this woman, usually so erect and tense, now actually lolling, as if lolling were the positive, the vital, andher ordinary rigidity a negation of her. In some corresponding orgy ofleisure and liberation, Lulu sat down with no needle. 

"Inie ought to make over her delaine, " Mrs. Bett comfortably began. Theytalked of this, devised a mode, recalled other delaines. "Dear, dear, "said Mrs. Bett, "I had on a delaine when I met your father. " Shedescribed it. Both women talked freely, with animation. They wereindividuals and alive. To the two pallid beings accessory to theDeacons' presence, Mrs. Bett and her daughter Lulu now bore norelationship. They emerged, had opinions, contradicted, their eyes werebright. 

Toward nine o'clock Mrs. Bett announced that she thought she should havea lunch. This was debauchery. She brought in bread-and-butter, and adish of cold canned peas. She was committing all the excesses that sheknew--offering opinions, laughing, eating. It was to be seen that thiswoman had an immense store of vitality, perpetually submerged. 

When she had eaten she grew sleepy--rather cross at the last andinclined to hold up her sister's excellencies to Lulu; and, at Lulu'sdefence, lifted an ancient weapon. 

"What's the use of finding fault with Inie? Where'd you been if shehadn't married?"

Lulu said nothing. 

"What say?" Mrs. Bett demanded shrilly. She was enjoying it. 

Lulu said no more. After a long time:

"You always was jealous of Inie, " said Mrs. Bett, and went to her bed. 

As soon as her mother's door had closed, Lulu took the lamp from itsbracket, stretching up her long body and her long arms until her skirtlifted to show her really slim and pretty feet. Lulu's feet gave news ofsome other Lulu, but slightly incarnate. Perhaps, so far, incarnate onlyin her feet and her long hair. 

She took the lamp to the parlour and stood before the photograph ofNinian Deacon, and looked her fill. She did not admire the photograph, but she wanted to look at it. The house was still, there was nopossibility of interruption. The occasion became sensation, which shemade no effort to quench. She held a rendezvous with she knew not what. 

In the early hours of the next afternoon with the sun shining acrossthe threshold, Lulu was paring something at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bettwas asleep. ("I don't blame you a bit, mother, " Lulu had said, as hermother named the intention. ) Ina was asleep. (But Ina always took offthe curse by calling it her "si-esta, " long _i_. ) Monona was playingwith a neighbour's child--you heard their shrill yet lovely laughter asthey obeyed the adult law that motion is pleasure. Di was not there. 

A man came round the house and stood tying a puppy to the porch post. Along shadow fell through the west doorway, the puppy whined. 

"Oh, " said this man. "I didn't mean to arrive at the back door, butsince I'm here--"

He lifted a suitcase to the porch, entered, and filled the kitchen. 

"It's Ina, isn't it?" he said. 

"I'm her sister, " said Lulu, and understood that he was here at last. 

"Well, I'm Bert's brother, " said Ninian. "So I can come in, can't I?"

He did so, turned round like a dog before his chair and sat downheavily, forcing his fingers through heavy, upspringing brown hair. 

"Oh, yes, " said Lulu. "I'll call Ina. She's asleep. "

"Don't call her, then, " said Ninian. "Let's you and I get acquainted. "

He said it absently, hardly looking at her. 

"I'll get the pup a drink if you can spare me a basin, " he added. 

Lulu brought the basin, and while he went to the dog she ran tiptoeingto the dining-room china closet and brought a cut-glass tumbler, asheavy, as ungainly as a stone crock. This she filled with milk. 

"I thought maybe . .. " said she, and offered it. 

"Thank _you_!" said Ninian, and drained it. "Making pies, as I live, " heobserved, and brought his chair nearer to the table. "I didn't know Inahad a sister, " he went on. "I remember now Bert said he had two of herrelatives----"

Lulu flushed and glanced at him pitifully. 

"He has, " she said. "It's my mother and me. But we do quite a good dealof the work. "

"I'll bet you do, " said Ninian, and did not perceive that anything hadbeen violated. "What's your name?" he bethought. 

She was in an immense and obscure excitement. Her manner was serene, herhands as they went on with the peeling did not tremble; her replies weregiven with sufficient quiet. But she told him her name as one tellssomething of another and more remote creature. She felt as one may feelin catastrophe--no sharp understanding but merely the sense that thething cannot possibly be happening. 

"You folks expect me?" he went on. 

"Oh, yes, " she cried, almost with vehemence. "Why, we've looked for youevery day. "

"'See, " he said, "how long have they been married?"

Lulu flushed as she answered: "Fifteen years. "

"And a year before that the first one died--and two years they weremarried, " he computed. "I never met that one. Then it's close to twentyyears since Bert and I have seen each other. "

"How awful, " Lulu said, and flushed again. 

"Why?"

"To be that long away from your folks. "

Suddenly she found herself facing this honestly, as if the immensity ofher present experience were clarifying her understanding: Would it be soawful to be away from Bert and Monona and Di--yes, and Ina, for twentyyears?

"You think that?" he laughed. "A man don't know what he's like till he'sroamed around on his own. " He liked the sound of it. "Roamed around onhis own, " he repeated, and laughed again. "Course a woman don't knowthat. "

"Why don't she?" asked Lulu. She balanced a pie on her hand and carvedthe crust. She was stupefied to hear her own question. "Why don't she?"

"Maybe she does. Do you?"

"Yes, " said Lulu. 

"Good enough!" He applauded noiselessly, with fat hands. His diamondring sparkled, his even white teeth flashed. "I've had twenty years ofgalloping about, " he informed her, unable, after all, to transfer hisinterests from himself to her. 

"Where?" she asked, although she knew. 

"South America. Central America. Mexico. Panama. " He searched hismemory. "Colombo, " he superadded. 

"My!" said Lulu. She had probably never in her life had the least desireto see any of these places. She did not want to see them now. But shewanted passionately to meet her companion's mind. 

"It's the life, " he informed her. 

"Must be, " Lulu breathed. "I----" she tried, and gave it up. 

"Where you been mostly?" he asked at last. 

By this unprecedented interest in her doings she was thrown into apassion of excitement. 

"Here, " she said. "I've always been here. Fifteen years with Ina. Beforethat we lived in the country. "

He listened sympathetically now, his head well on one side. He watchedher veined hands pinch at the pies. "Poor old girl, " he was thinking. 

"Is it Miss Lulu Bett?" he abruptly inquired. "Or Mrs. ?"

Lulu flushed in anguish. 

"Miss, " she said low, as one who confesses the extremity of failure. Then from unplumbed depths another Lulu abruptly spoke up. "Fromchoice, " she said. 

He shouted with laughter. 

"You bet! Oh, you bet!" he cried. "Never doubted it. " He made his palmstaut and drummed on the table. "Say!" he said. 

Lulu glowed, quickened, smiled. Her face was another face. 

"Which kind of a Mr. Are you?" she heard herself ask, and his shoutingsredoubled. Well! Who would have thought it of her?

"Never give myself away, " he assured her. "Say, by George, I neverthought of that before! There's no telling whether a man's married ornot, by his name!"

"It don't matter, " said Lulu. 

"Why not?"

"Not so many people want to know. "

Again he laughed. This laughter was intoxicating to Lulu. No one everlaughed at what she said save Herbert, who laughed at _her_. "Go it, oldgirl!" Ninian was thinking, but this did not appear. 

The child Monona now arrived, banging the front gate and hurling herselfround the house on the board walk, catching the toe of one foot in theheel of the other and blundering forward, head down, her short, straighthair flapping over her face. She landed flat-footed on the porch. Shebegan to speak, using a ridiculous perversion of words, scarcelyarticulate, then in vogue in her group. And, "Whose dog?" she shrieked. 

Ninian looked over his shoulder, held out his hand, finished somethingthat he was saying to Lulu. Monona came to him readily enough, staring, loose-lipped. 

"I'll bet I'm your uncle, " said Ninian. 

Relationship being her highest known form of romance, Monona wasthrilled by this intelligence. 

"Give us a kiss, " said Ninian, finding in the plural some vaguemitigation for some vague offence. 

Monona, looking silly, complied. And her uncle said my stars, such agreat big tall girl--they would have to put a board on her head. 

"What's that?" inquired Monona. She had spied his great diamond ring. 

"This, " said her uncle, "was brought to me by Santa Claus, who keeps ajewellery shop in heaven. "

The precision and speed of his improvisation revealed him. He had twentyother diamonds like this one. He kept them for those Sundays when thesun comes up in the west. Of course--often! Some day he was going tomelt a diamond and eat it. Then you sparkled all over in the dark, everafter. Another diamond he was going to plant. They say----He did it allgravely, absorbedly. About it he was as conscienceless as a savage. Thiswas no fancy spun to pleasure a child. This was like lying, for its ownsake. 

He went on talking with Lulu, and now again he was the tease, thebraggart, the unbridled, unmodified male. 

Monona stood in the circle of his arm. The little being was attentive, softened, subdued. Some pretty, faint light visited her. In herlistening look, she showed herself a charming child. 

"It strikes me, " said Ninian to Lulu, "that you're going to do somethingmighty interesting before you die. "

It was the clear conversational impulse, born of the need to keepsomething going, but Lulu was all faith. 

She closed the oven door on her pies and stood brushing flour from herfingers. He was looking away from her, and she looked at him. He wascompletely like his picture. She felt as if she were looking at hispicture and she was abashed and turned away. 

"Well, I hope so, " she said, which had certainly never been true, forher old formless dreams were no intention--nothing but a mush ofdiscontent. "I hope I can do something that's nice before I quit, " shesaid. Nor was this hope now independently true, but only this surprisinglonging to appear interesting in his eyes. To dance before him. "Whatwould the folks think of me, going on so?" she suddenly said. Her mildsense of disloyalty was delicious. So was his understanding glance. 

"You're the stuff, " he remarked absently. 

She laughed happily. 

The door opened. Ina appeared. 

"Well!" said Ina. It was her remotest tone. She took this man to be apedlar, beheld her child in his clasp, made a quick, forward step, chinlifted. She had time for a very javelin of a look at Lulu. 

"Hello!" said Ninian. He had the one formula. "I believe I'm yourhusband's brother. Ain't this Ina?"

It had not crossed the mind of Lulu to present him. 

Beautiful it was to see Ina relax, soften, warm, transform, humanise. Itgave one hope for the whole species. 

"Ninian!" she cried. She lent a faint impression of the double _e_ tothe initial vowel. She slurred the rest, until the _y_ sound squintedin. Not Neenyun, but nearly Neenyun. 

He kissed her. 

"Since Dwight isn't here!" she cried, and shook her finger at him. Ina'sconception of hostess-ship was definite: A volley of questions--was histrain on time? He had found the house all right? Of course! Any onecould direct him, she should hope. And he hadn't seen Dwight? She musttelephone him. But then she arrested herself with a sharp, curved flingof her starched skirts. No! They would surprise him at tea--she stoodtaut, lips compressed. Oh, the Plows were coming to tea. Howunfortunate, she thought. How fortunate, she said. 

The child Monona made her knees and elbows stiff and danced up and down. She must, she must participate. 

"Aunt Lulu made three pies!" she screamed, and shook her straight hair. 

"Gracious sakes, " said Ninian. "I brought her a pup, and if I didn'tforget to give it to her. "

They adjourned to the porch--Ninian, Ina, Monona. The puppy waspresented, and yawned. The party kept on about "the place. " Inadelightedly exhibited the tomatoes, the two apple trees, the new shed, the bird bath. Ninian said the un-spellable "m--m, " rising inflection, and the "I see, " prolonging the verb as was expected of him. Ina saidthat they meant to build a summer-house, only, dear me, when you have afamily--but there, he didn't know anything about that. Ina was using hereyes, she was arch, she was coquettish, she was flirtatious, and shebelieved herself to be merely matronly, sisterly, womanly . .. 

She screamed. Dwight was at the gate. Now the meeting, exclamation, banality, guffaw . .. Good will. 

And Lulu, peeping through the blind. 

When "tea" had been experienced that evening, it was found that a lightrain was falling and the Deacons and their guests, the Plows, wereconstrained to remain in the parlour. The Plows were gentle, faintlylustrous folk, sketched into life rather lightly, as if they were, say, looking in from some other level. 

"The only thing, " said Dwight Herbert, "that reconciles me to rain isthat I'm let off croquet. " He rolled his r's, a favourite device of histo induce humour. He called it "croquette. " He had never been moreirrepressible. The advent of his brother was partly accountable, theneed to show himself a fine family man and host in a prosperous littlehome--simple and pathetic desire. 

"Tell you what we'll do!" said Dwight. "Nin and I'll reminisce alittle. "

"Do!" cried Mr. Plow. This gentle fellow was always excited by life, sofaintly excited by him, and enjoyed its presentation in any real form. 

Ninian had unerringly selected a dwarf rocker, and he was overflowing itand rocking. 

"Take this chair, do!" Ina begged. "A big chair for a big man. " Shespoke as if he were about the age of Monona. 

Ninian refused, insisted on his refusal. A few years more, and humanrelationships would have spread sanity even to Ina's estate and shewould have told him why he should exchange chairs. As it was sheforbore, and kept glancing anxiously at the over-burdened little beastbeneath him. 

The child Monona entered the room. She had been driven down by Di andJenny Plow, who had vanished upstairs and, through the ventilator, mightbe heard in a lift and fall of giggling. Monona had also been drivenfrom the kitchen where Lulu was, for some reason, hurrying through thedishes. Monona now ran to Mrs. Bett, stood beside her and stared aboutresentfully. Mrs. Bett was in best black and ruches, and she seized uponMonona and patted her, as her own form of social expression; and Mononawriggled like a puppy, as hers. 

"Quiet, pettie, " said Ina, eyebrows up. She caught her lower lip in herteeth. 

"Well, sir, " said Dwight, "you wouldn't think it to look at us, butmother had her hands pretty full, bringing us up. "

Into Dwight's face came another look. It was always so, when he spoke ofthis foster-mother who had taken these two boys and seen them throughthe graded schools. This woman Dwight adored, and when he spoke of herhe became his inner self. 

"We must run up-state and see her while you're here, Nin, " he said. 

To this Ninian gave a casual assent, lacking his brother's really tenderardour. 

"Little, " Dwight pursued, "little did she think I'd settle down into anice, quiet, married dentist and magistrate in my town. And Nininto--say, Nin, what are you, anyway?"

They laughed. 

"That's the question, " said Ninian. 

They laughed. 

"Maybe, " Ina ventured, "maybe Ninian will tell us something about histravels. He is quite a traveller, you know, " she said to the Plows. "Aregular Gulliver. "

They laughed respectfully. 

"How we should love it, Mr. Deacon, " Mrs. Plow said. "You know we'venever seen _very_ much. "

Goaded on, Ninian launched upon his foreign countries as he had seenthem: Population, exports, imports, soil, irrigation, business. For thepopulations Ninian had no respect. Crops could not touch ours. Soilmighty poor pickings. And the business--say! Those fellows don'tknow--and, say, the hotels! Don't say foreign hotel to Ninian. 

He regarded all the alien earth as barbarian, and he stoned it. He wasequipped for absolutely no intensive observation. His contacts werenegligible. Mrs. Plow was more excited by the Deacons' party than Ninianhad been wrought upon by all his voyaging. 

"Tell you, " said Dwight. "When we ran away that time and went to thestate fair, little did we think--" He told about running away to thestate fair. "I thought, " he wound up, irrelevantly, "Ina and I might getover to the other side this year, but I guess not. I guess not. "

The words give no conception of their effect, spoken thus. For there inWarbleton these words are not commonplace. In Warbleton, Europe is neverso casually spoken. "Take a trip abroad" is the phrase, or "Go toEurope" at the very least, and both with empressement. Dwight hadsomewhere noted and deliberately picked up that "other side" effect, andhis Ina knew this, and was proud. Her covert glance about pensivelycovered her soft triumph. 

Mrs. Bett, her arm still circling the child Monona, now made her firstobservation. 

"Pity not to have went while the going was good, " she said, and said nomore. 

Nobody knew quite what she meant, and everybody hoped for the best. ButIna frowned. Mamma did these things occasionally when there wascompany, and she dared. She never sauced Dwight in private. 

And it wasn't fair, it wasn't _fair_--

Abruptly Ninian rose and left the room. 

 * * * * *

The dishes were washed. Lulu had washed them at break-neck speed--shecould not, or would not, have told why. But no sooner were they finishedand set away than Lulu had been attacked by an unconquerable inhibition. And instead of going to the parlour, she sat down by the kitchen window. She was in her chally gown, with her cameo pin and her string of coral. 

Laughter from the parlour mingled with the laughter of Di and Jennyupstairs. Lulu was now rather shy of Di. A night or two before, cominghome with "extra" cream, she had gone round to the side-door and hadcome full upon Di and Bobby, seated on the steps. And Di was saying:

"Well, if I marry you, you've simply got to be a great man. I couldnever marry just anybody. I'd _smother_. "

Lulu had heard, stricken. She passed them by, responding only faintly totheir greeting. Di was far less taken aback than Lulu. 

Later Di had said to Lulu: "I s'pose you heard what we were saying. "

Lulu, much shaken, had withdrawn from the whole matter by a flat "no. ""Because, " she said to herself, "I couldn't have heard right. "

But since then she had looked at Di as if Di were some one else. Had notLulu taught her to make buttonholes and to hem--oh, no I Lulu could nothave heard properly. 

"Everybody's got somebody to be nice to them, " she thought now, sittingby the kitchen window, adult yet Cinderella. 

She thought that some one would come for her. Her mother or even Ina. Perhaps they would send Monona. She waited at first hopefully, thenresentfully. The grey rain wrapped the air. 

"Nobody cares what becomes of me after they're fed, " she thought, andderived an obscure satisfaction from her phrasing, and thought it again. 

Ninian Deacon came into the kitchen. 

Her first impression was that he had come to see whether the dog hadbeen fed. 

"I fed him, " she said, and wished that she had been busy when Ninianentered. 

"Who, me?" he asked. "You did that all right. Say, why in time don't youcome in the other room?"

"Oh, I don't know. "

"Well, neither do I. I've kept thinking, 'Why don't she come along. 'Then I remembered the dishes. " He glanced about. "I come to help wipedishes. "

"Oh!" she laughed so delicately, so delightfully, one wondered where shegot it. "They're washed----" she caught herself at "long ago. "

"Well then, what are you doing here?"

"Resting. "

"Rest in there. " He bowed, crooked his arm. "Señora, " he said, --hisSpanish matched his other assimilations of travel--

"Señora. Allow me. "

Lulu rose. On his arm she entered the parlour. Dwight was narrating anddid not observe that entrance. To the Plows it was sufficiently normal. But Ina looked up and said:

"Well!"--in two notes, descending, curving. 

Lulu did not look at her. Lulu sat in a low rocker. Her starched whiteskirt, throwing her chally in ugly lines, revealed a peeping rim ofwhite embroidery. Her lace front wrinkled when she sat, and perpetuallyshe adjusted it. She curled her feet sidewise beneath her chair, herlong wrists and veined hands lay along her lap in no relation to her. She was tense. She rocked. 

When Dwight had finished his narration, there was a pause, broken atlast by Mrs. Bett:

"You tell that better than you used to when you started in telling it, "she observed. "You got in some things I guess you used to clean forgetabout. Monona, get off my rocker. "

Monona made a little whimpering sound, in pretence to tears. Ina said"Darling--quiet!"--chin a little lifted, lower lip revealing lowerteeth for the word's completion; and she held it. 

The Plows were asking something about Mexico. Dwight was wondering if itwould let up raining _at all_. Di and Jenny came whispering into theroom. But all these distractions Ninian Deacon swept aside. 

"Miss Lulu, " he said, "I wanted you to hear about my trip up the Amazon, because I knew how interested you are in travels. "

He talked, according to his lights, about the Amazon. But the person whomost enjoyed the recital could not afterward have told two words thathe said. Lulu kept the position which she had taken at first, and shedare not change. She saw the blood in the veins of her hands and wantedto hide them. She wondered if she might fold her arms, or have one handto support her chin, gave it all up and sat motionless, save for therocking. 

Then she forgot everything. For the first time in years some one wastalking and looking not only at Ina and Dwight and their guests, but ather. 

III

JUNE

On a June morning Dwight Herbert Deacon looked at the sky, and said withhis manner of originating it: "How about a picnic this afternoon?"

Ina, with her blank, upward look, exclaimed: "To-_day?_"

"First class day, it looks like to me. "

Come to think of it, Ina didn't know that there was anything to prevent, but mercy, Herbert was so sudden. Lulu began to recite the resources ofthe house for a lunch. Meanwhile, since the first mention of picnic, thechild Monona had been dancing stiffly about the room, knees stiff, elbows stiff, shoulders immovable, her straight hair flapping about herface. The sad dance of the child who cannot dance because she never hasdanced. Di gave a conservative assent--she was at that age--and thentook advantage of the family softness incident to a guest and demandedthat Bobby go too. Ina hesitated, partly because she always hesitated, partly because she was tribal in the extreme. "Just our little familyand Uncle Ninian would have been so nice, " she sighed, with her consent. 

When, at six o'clock, Ina and Dwight and Ninian assembled on the porchand Lulu came out with the basket, it was seen that she was in ablue-cotton house-gown. 

"Look here, " said Ninian, "aren't you going?"

"Me?" said Lulu. "Oh, no. "

"Why not?"

"Oh, I haven't been to a picnic since I can remember. "

"But why not?"

"Oh, I never think of such a thing. "

Ninian waited for the family to speak. They did speak. Dwight said:

"Lulu's a regular home body. "

And Ina advanced kindly with: "Come with us, Lulu, if you like. "

"No, " said Lulu, and flushed. "Thank you, " she added, formally. 

Mrs. Bett's voice shrilled from within the house, startlinglyclose--just beyond the blind, in fact:

"Go on, Lulie. It'll do you good. You mind me and go on. "

"Well, " said Ninian, "that's what I say. You hustle for your hat and youcome along. "

For the first time this course presented itself to Lulu as apossibility. She stared up at Ninian. 

"You can slip on my linen duster, over, " Ina said graciously. 

"Your new one?" Dwight incredulously wished to know. 

"Oh, no!" Ina laughed at the idea. "The old one. "

They were having to wait for Di in any case--they always had to wait forDi--and at last, hardly believing in her own motions, Lulu was runningto make ready. Mrs. Bett hurried to help her, but she took down thewrong things and they were both irritated. Lulu reappeared in the linenduster and a wide hat. There had been no time to "tighten up" her hair;she was flushed at the adventure; she had never looked so well. 

They started. Lulu, falling in with Monona, heard for the first time inher life, the step of the pursuing male, choosing to walk beside her andthe little girl. Oh, would Ina like that? And what did Lulu care whatIna liked? Monona, making a silly, semi-articulate observation, wasenchanted to have Lulu burst into laughter and squeeze her hand. 

Di contributed her bright presence, and Bobby Larkin appeared fromnowhere, running, with a gigantic bag of fruit. 

"Bullylujah!" he shouted, and Lulu could have shouted with him. 

She sought for some utterance. She wanted to talk with Ninian. 

"I do hope we've brought sandwiches enough, " was all that she could getto say. 

They chose a spot, that is to say Dwight Herbert chose a spot, acrossthe river and up the shore where there was at that season a strip ofwarm beach. Dwight Herbert declared himself the builder of incomparablefires, and made a bad smudge. Ninian, who was a camper neither by birthnor by adoption, kept offering brightly to help, could think of nothingto do, and presently, bethinking himself of skipping stones, went andtried to skip them on the flowing river. Ina cut her hand opening thecondensed milk and was obliged to sit under a tree and nurse the wound. Monona spilled all the salt and sought diligently to recover it. So Luludid all the work. As for Di and Bobby, they had taken the pail and gonefor water, discouraging Monona from accompanying them, discouraging herto the point of tears. But the two were gone for so long that on theirreturn Dwight was hungry and cross and majestic. 

"Those who disregard the comfort of other people, " he enunciated, "cannot expect consideration for themselves in the future. "

He did not say on what ethical tenet this dictum was based, but hedelivered it with extreme authority. Ina caught her lower lip with herteeth, dipped her head, and looked at Di. And Monona laughed like alittle demon. 

As soon as Lulu had all in readiness, and cold corned beef and salad hadbegun their orderly progression, Dwight became the immemorial dweller ingreen fastnesses. He began:

"This is ideal. I tell you, people don't half know life if they don'tget out and eat in the open. It's better than any tonic at a dollar thebottle. Nature's tonic--eh? Free as the air. Look at that sky. See thatwater. Could anything be more pleasant?"

He smiled at his wife. This man's face was glowing with simple pleasure. He loved the out-of-doors with a love which could not explain itself. But he now lost a definite climax when his wife's comment was heard tobe:

"Monona! Now it's all over both ruffles. And mamma does try so hard. .. . "

After supper some boys arrived with a boat which they beached, andDwight, with enthusiasm, gave the boys ten cents for a half hour's useof that boat and invited to the waters his wife, his brother and hisyounger daughter. Ina was timid----not because she was afraid but becauseshe was congenitally timid--with her this was not a belief or anemotion, it was a disease. 

"Dwight darling, are you sure there's no danger?"

Why, none. None in the world. Whoever heard of drowning in a river. 

"But you're not so very used----"

Oh, wasn't he? Who was it that had lived in a boat throughout youth ifnot he?

Ninian refused out-of-hand, lighted a cigar, and sat on a log in apermanent fashion. Ina's plump figure was fitted in the stern, thechild Monona affixed, and the boat put off, bow well out of water. Onthis pleasure ride the face of the wife was as the face of the damned. It was true that she revered her husband's opinions above those of allother men. In politics, in science, in religion, in dentistry she lookedup to his dicta as to revelation. And was he not a magistrate? But lethim take oars in hand, or shake lines or a whip above the back of anyhorse, and this woman would trust any other woman's husband bypreference. It was a phenomenon. 

Lulu was making the work last, so that she should be out of everybody'sway. When the boat put off without Ninian, she felt a kind of terror andwished that he had gone. He had sat down near her, and she pretended notto see. At last Lulu understood that Ninian was deliberately choosing toremain with her. The languor of his bulk after the evening meal made noexplanation for Lulu. She asked for no explanation. He had stayed. 

And they were alone. For Di, on a pretext of examining the flocks andherds, was leading Bobby away to the pastures, a little at a time. 

The sun, now fallen, had left an even, waxen sky. Leaves and fernsappeared drenched with the light just withdrawn. The hush, the warmth, the colour, were charged with some influence. The air of the timecommunicated itself to Lulu as intense and quiet happiness. She had notyet felt quiet with Ninian. For the first time her blind excitement inhis presence ceased, and she felt curiously accustomed to him. To himthe air of the time imparted itself in a deepening of his facilesympathy. 

"Do you know something?" he began. "I think you have it pretty hardaround here. "

"I?" Lulu was genuinely astonished. 

"Yes, sir. Do you have to work like this all the time? I guess youwon't mind my asking. "

"Well, I ought to work. I have a home with them. Mother too. "

"Yes, but glory. You ought to have some kind of a life of your own. Youwant it, too. You told me you did--that first day. "

She was silent. Again he was investing her with a longing which she hadnever really had, until he had planted that longing. She had wanted sheknew not what. Now she accepted the dim, the romantic interest of thisrôle. 

"I guess you don't see how it seems, " he said, "to me, coming along--astranger so. I don't like it. "

He frowned, regarded the river, flicked away ashes, his diamondobediently shining. Lulu's look, her head drooping, had the liquid airof the look of a young girl. For the first time in her life she wasfeeling her helplessness. It intoxicated her. 

"They're very good to me, " she said. 

He turned. "Do you know why you think that? Because you've never hadanybody really good to you. That's why. "

"But they treat me good. "

"They make a slave of you. Regular slave. " He puffed, frowning. "Damnedshame, _I_ call it, " he said. 

Her loyalty stirred Lulu. "We have our whole living----"

"And you earn it. I been watching you since I been here. Don't you evergo anywheres?"

She said: "This is the first place in--in years. "

"Lord. Don't you want to? Of course you do!"

"Not so much places like this----"

"I see. What you want is to get away--like you'd ought to. " He regardedher. "You've been a blamed fine-looking woman, " he said. 

She did not flush, but that faint, unsuspected Lulu spoke for her:

"You must have been a good-looking man once yourself. "

His laugh went ringing across the water. "You're pretty good, " he said. He regarded her approvingly. "I don't see how you do it, " he mused, "blamed if I do. "

"How I do what?"

"Why come back, quick like that, with what you say. "

Lulu's heart was beating painfully. The effort to hold her own in talklike this was terrifying. She had never talked in this fashion to anyone. It was as if some matter of life or death hung on her ability tospeak an alien tongue. And yet, when she was most at loss, that otherLulu, whom she had never known anything about, seemed suddenly to speakfor her. As now:

"It's my grand education, " she said. 

She sat humped on the log, her beautiful hair shining in the light ofthe warm sky. She had thrown off her hat and the linen duster, and wasin her blue gingham gown against the sky and leaves. But she satstiffly, her feet carefully covered, her hands ill at ease, her eyesrather piteous in their hope somehow to hold her vague own. Yet from hercame these sufficient, insouciant replies. 

"Education, " he said laughing heartily. "That's mine, too. " He spoke acreed. "I ain't never had it and I ain't never missed it. "

"Most folks are happy without an education, " said Lulu. 

"You're not very happy, though. "

"Oh, no, " she said. 

"Well, sir, " said Ninian, "I'll tell you what we'll do. While I'm hereI'm going to take you and Ina and Dwight up to the city. "

"To the city?"

"To a show. Dinner and a show. I'll give you _one_ good time. "

"Oh!" Lulu leaned forward. "Ina and Dwight go sometimes. I never been. "

"Well, just you come with me. I'll look up what's good. You tell mejust what you like to eat, and we'll get it----"

She said: "I haven't had anything to eat in years that I haven't cookedmyself. "

He planned for that time to come, and Lulu listened as one intenselyexperiencing every word that he uttered. Yet it was not in that futuremerry-making that she found her joy, but in the consciousness thathe--some one--any one--was planning like this for her. 

Meanwhile Di and Bobby had rounded the corner by an old hop-house andkept on down the levee. Now that the presence of the others waswithdrawn, the two looked about them differently and began themselves togive off an influence instead of being pressed upon by overpoweringpersonalities. Frogs were chorusing in the near swamp, and Bobby wantedone. He was off after it. But Di eventually drew him back, reluctant, frogless. He entered upon an exhaustive account of the use of frogs forbait, and as he talked he constantly flung stones. Di grew restless. There was, she had found, a certain amount of this to be gone throughbefore Bobby would focus on the personal. At length she was obliged tosay, "Like me to-day?" And then he entered upon personal talk with thesame zest with which he had discussed bait. 

"Bobby, " said Di, "sometimes I think we might be married, and not waitfor any old money. "

They had now come that far. It was partly an authentic attraction, grownfrom out the old repulsion, and partly it was that they both--andespecially Di--so much wanted the experiences of attraction that theyassumed its ways. And then each cared enough to assume the pretty rôlerequired by the other, and by the occasion, and by the air of the time. 

"Would you?" asked Bobby--but in the subjunctive. 

She said: "Yes. I will. "

"It would mean running away, wouldn't it?" said Bobby, stillsubjunctive. 

"I suppose so. Mamma and papa are so unreasonable. "

"Di, " said Bobby, "I don't believe you could ever be happy with me. "

"The idea! I can too. You're going to be a great man--you know you are. "

Bobby was silent. Of course he knew it--but he passed it over. 

"Wouldn't it be fun to elope and surprise the whole school?" said Di, sparkling. 

Bobby grinned appreciatively. He was good to look at, with his bigframe, his head of rough dark hair, the sky warm upon his clear skin andfull mouth. Di suddenly announced that she would be willing to elope_now_. 

"I've planned eloping lots of times, " she said ambiguously. 

It flashed across the mind of Bobby that in these plans of hers he maynot always have been the principal, and he could not be sure . .. Butshe talked in nothings, and he answered her so. 

Soft cries sounded in the centre of the stream. The boat, well out ofthe strong current, was seen to have its oars shipped; and there satDwight Herbert gently rocking the boat. Dwight Herbert would. 

"Bertie, Bertie--please!" you heard his Ina say. 

Monona began to cry, and her father was irritated, felt that it would beignominious to desist, and did not know that he felt this. But he knewthat he was annoyed, and he took refuge in this, and picked up the oarswith: "Some folks never can enjoy anything without spoiling it. "

"That's what I was thinking, " said Ina, with a flash of anger. 

They glided toward the shore in a huff. Monona found that she enjoyedcrying across the water and kept it up. It was almost as good as anecho. Ina, stepping safe to the sands, cried ungratefully that this wasthe last time that she would ever, ever go with her husband anywhere. Ever. Dwight Herbert, recovering, gauged the moment to require of himhumour, and observed that his wedded wife was as skittish as a colt. Inakept silence, head poised so that her full little chin showed double. Monona, who had previously hidden a cooky in her frock, now rememberedit and crunched sidewise, the eyes ruminant. 

Moving toward them, with Di, Bobby was suddenly overtaken by the senseof disliking them all. He never had liked Dwight Herbert, his employer. Mrs. Deacon seemed to him so overwhelmingly mature that he had no ideahow to treat her. And the child Monona he would like to roll in theriver. Even Di . .. He fell silent, was silent on the walk home which wasthe signal for Di to tease him steadily. The little being was afraid ofsilence. It was too vast for her. She was like a butterfly in a dome. 

But against that background of ruined occasion, Lulu walked homewardbeside Ninian. And all that night, beside her mother who groaned in hersleep, Lulu lay tense and awake. He had walked home with her. He hadtold Ina and Herbert about going to the city. What did it mean?Suppose . .. Oh no; oh no!

"Either lay still or get up and set up, " Mrs. Bett directed her atlength. 

IV

JULY

When, on a warm evening a fortnight later, Lulu descended the stairsdressed for her incredible trip to the city, she wore the white waistwhich she had often thought they would "use" for her if she died. Andreally, the waist looked as if it had been planned for the purpose, andits wide, upstanding plaited lace at throat and wrist made her neck lookthinner, her forearm sharp and veined. Her hair she had "crimped" andparted in the middle, puffed high--it was so that hair had been worn inLulu's girlhood. 

"_Well_!" said Ina, when she saw this coiffure, and frankly examined it, head well back, tongue meditatively teasing at her lower lip. 

For travel Lulu was again wearing Ina's linen duster--the old one. 

Ninian appeared, in a sack coat--and his diamond. His distinctly convexface, its thick, rosy flesh, thick mouth and cleft chin gave Lulu oncemore that bold sense of looking--not at him, for then she was shy andaverted her eyes--but at his photograph at which she could gaze as muchas she would. She looked up at him openly, fell in step beside him. Washe not taking her to the city? Ina and Dwight themselves were goingbecause she, Lulu, had brought about this party. 

"Act as good as you look, Lulie, " Mrs. Bett called after them. She gaveno instructions to Ina who was married and able to shine in her conduct, it seemed. 

Dwight was cross. On the way to the station he might have been heard totake it up again, whatever it was, and his Ina unmistakably said: "Well, now don't keep it going all the way there"; and turned back to theothers with some elaborate comment about the dust, thus cutting off herso-called lord from his legitimate retort. A mean advantage. 

The city was two hours' distant, and they were to spend the night. Onthe train, in the double seat, Ninian beside her among the bags, Lulusat in the simple consciousness that the people all knew that she toohad been chosen. A man and a woman were opposite, with their little boybetween them. Lulu felt this woman's superiority of experience over herown, and smiled at her from a world of fellowship. But the woman liftedher eyebrows and stared and turned away, with slow and insolent winking. 

Ninian had a boyish pride in his knowledge of places to eat in manycities--as if he were leading certain of the tribe to a deer-run in astrange wood. Ninian took his party to a downtown café, then popularamong business and newspaper men. The place was below the sidewalk, wasreached by a dozen marble steps, and the odour of its griddle-cakes tookthe air of the street. Ninian made a great show of selecting a table, changed once, called the waiter "my man" and rubbed soft hands on "Whatdo you say? Shall it be lobster?" He ordered the dinner, instructing thewaiter with painstaking gruffness. 

"Not that they can touch _your_ cooking here, Miss Lulu, " he said, settling himself to wait, and crumbling a crust. 

Dwight, expanding a bit in the aura of the food, observed that Lulu wasa regular chef, that was what Lulu was. He still would not look at hiswife, who now remarked:

"Sheff, Dwightie. Not cheff. "

This was a mean advantage, which he pretended not to hear--another meanadvantage. 

"Ina, " said Lulu, "your hat's just a little mite--no, over the otherway. "

"Was there anything to prevent your speaking of that before?" Inainquired acidly. 

"I started to and then somebody always said something, " said Luluhumbly. 

Nothing could so much as cloud Lulu's hour. She was proof against anyshadow. 

"Say, but you look tremendous to-night, " Dwight observed to her. 

Understanding perfectly that this was said to tease his wife, Lulu yetflushed with pleasure. She saw two women watching, and she thought:"They're feeling sorry for Ina--nobody talking to her. " She laughed ateverything that the men said. She passionately wanted to talk herself. "How many folks keep going past, " she said, many times. 

At length, having noted the details of all the clothes in range, Ina'sisolation palled upon her and she set herself to take Ninian'sattention. She therefore talked with him about himself. 

"Curious you've never married, Nin, " she said. 

"Don't say it like that, " he begged. "I might yet. "

Ina laughed enjoyably. "Yes, you might!" she met this. 

"She wants everybody to get married, but she wishes I hadn't, " Dwightthrew in with exceeding rancour. 

They developed this theme exhaustively, Dwight usually speaking in thethird person and always with his shoulder turned a bit from his wife. Itwas inconceivable, the gusto with which they proceeded. Ina had assumedfor the purpose an air distrait, casual, attentive to the scene aboutthem. But gradually her cheeks began to burn. 

"She'll cry, " Lulu thought in alarm, and said at random: "Ina, that hatis so pretty--ever so much prettier than the old one. " But Ina saidfrostily that she never saw anything the matter with the old one. 

"Let us talk, " said Ninian low, to Lulu. "Then they'll simmer down. "

He went on, in an undertone, about nothing in particular. Lulu hardlyheard what he said, it was so pleasant to have him talking to her inthis confidential fashion; and she was pleasantly aware that his mannerwas open to misinterpretation. 

In the nick of time, the lobster was served. 

 * * * * *

Dinner and the play--the show, as Ninian called it. This show was "PeterPan, " chosen by Ninian because the seats cost the most of those at anytheatre. It was almost indecent to see how Dwight Herbert, the immortalsoul, had warmed and melted at these contacts. By the time that all wasover, and they were at the hotel for supper, such was his pleasurableexcitation that he was once more playful, teasing, once more theirrepressible. But now his Ina was to be won back, made it evident thatshe was not one lightly to overlook, and a fine firmness sat upon thelittle doubling chin. 

They discussed the play. Not one of them had understood the story. Thedog-kennel part--wasn't that the queerest thing? Nothing to do with therest of the play. 

"I was for the pirates. The one with the hook--he was my style, " saidDwight. 

"Well, there it is again, " Ina cried. "They didn't belong to the realplay, either. "

"Oh, well, " Ninian said, "they have to put in parts, I suppose, to catcheverybody. Instead of a song and dance, they do that. "

"And I didn't understand, " said Ina, "why they all clapped when theprincipal character ran down front and said something to the audiencethat time. But they all did. "

Ninian thought this might have been out of compliment. Ina wished thatMonona might have seen, confessed that the last part was so pretty thatshe herself would not look; and into Ina's eyes came their loveliestlight. 

Lulu sat there, hearing the talk about the play. "Why couldn't I havesaid that?" she thought as the others spoke. All that they said seemedto her apropos, but she could think of nothing to add. The evening hadbeen to her a light from heaven--how could she find anything to say? Shesat in a daze of happiness, her mind hardly operative, her look movingfrom one to another. At last Ninian looked at her. 

"Sure you liked it, Miss Lulu?"

"Oh, yes! I think they all took their parts real well. "

It was not enough. She looked at them appealingly, knowing that she hadnot said enough. 

"You could hear everything they said, " she added. "It was--" shedwindled to silence. 

Dwight Herbert savoured his rarebit with a great show of long wrinkleddimples. 

"Excellent sauces they make here--excellent, " he said, with the frown ofan epicure. "A tiny wee bit more Athabasca, " he added, and they alllaughed and told him that Athabasca was a lake, of course. Of course hemeant tobasco, Ina said. Their entertainment and their talk was of thissort, for an hour. 

"Well, now, " said Dwight Herbert when it was finished, "somebody danceon the table. "

"Dwightie!"

"Got to amuse ourselves somehow. Come, liven up. They'll begin to readthe funeral service over us. "

"Why not say the wedding service?" asked Ninian. 

In the mention of wedlock there was always something stimulating toDwight, something of overwhelming humour. He shouted a derisiveendorsement of this proposal. 

"I shouldn't object, " said Ninian. "Should you, Miss Lulu?"

Lulu now burned the slow red of her torture. They were all looking ather. She made an anguished effort to defend herself. 

"I don't know it, " she said, "so I can't say it. "

Ninian leaned toward her. 

"I, Ninian, take thee, Lulu, to be my wedded wife, " he pronounced. "That's the way it goes!"

"Lulu daren't say it!" cried Dwight. He laughed so loudly that those atthe near tables turned. And, from the fastness of her wifehood andmotherhood, Ina laughed. Really, it was ridiculous to think of Lulu thatway. .. . 

Ninian laughed too. "Course she don't dare say it, " he challenged. 

From within Lulu, that strange Lulu, that other Lulu who sometimesfought her battles, suddenly spoke out:

"I, Lulu, take thee, Ninian, to be my wedded husband. "

"You will?" Ninian cried. 

"I will, " she said, laughing tremulously, to prove that she too couldjoin in, could be as merry as the rest. 

"And I will. There, by Jove, now have we entertained you, or haven'twe?" Ninian laughed and pounded his soft fist on the table. 

"Oh, say, honestly!" Ina was shocked. "I don't think you ought to--holythings----what's the _matter_, Dwightie?"

Dwight Herbert Deacon's eyes were staring and his face was scarlet. 

"Say, by George, " he said, "a civil wedding is binding in this state. "

"A civil wedding? Oh, well--" Ninian dismissed it. 

"But I, " said Dwight, "happen to be a magistrate. "

They looked at one another foolishly. Dwight sprang up with theindeterminate idea of inquiring something of some one, circled about andreturned. Ina had taken his chair and sat clasping Lulu's hand. Niniancontinued to laugh. 

"I never saw one done so offhand, " said Dwight. "But what you've said isall you have to say according to law. And there don't have to bewitnesses . .. Say!" he said, and sat down again. 

Above that shroud-like plaited lace, the veins of Lulu's throat showeddark as she Swallowed, cleared her throat, swallowed again. 

"Don't you let Dwight scare you, " she besought Ninian. 

"Scare me!" cried Ninian. "Why, I think it's a good job done, if you askme. "

Lulu's eyes flew to his face. As he laughed, he was looking at her, andnow he nodded and shut and opened his eyes several times very fast. Their points of light flickered. With a pang of wonder which pierced herand left her shaken, Lulu looked. His eyes continued to meet her own. Itwas exactly like looking at his photograph. 

Dwight had recovered his authentic air. 

"Oh, well, " he said, "we can inquire at our leisure. If it is necessary, I should say we can have it set aside quietly up here in the city--noone'll be the wiser. "

"Set aside nothing!" said Ninian. "I'd like to see it stand. "

"Are you serious, Nin?"

"Sure I'm serious. "

Ina jerked gently at her sister's arm. 

"Lulu! You hear him? What you going to say to that?"

Lulu shook her head. "He isn't in earnest, " she said. 

"I am in earnest--hope to die, " Ninian declared. He was on two legs ofhis chair and was slightly tilting, so that the effect of hisearnestness was impaired. But he was obviously in earnest. 

They were looking at Lulu again. And now she looked at Ninian, and therewas something terrible in that look which tried to ask him, alone, aboutthis thing. 

Dwight exploded. "There was a fellow I know there in the theatre, " hecried. "I'll get him on the line. He could tell me if there's any way--"and was off. 

Ina inexplicably began touching away tears. "Oh, " she said, "what willmamma say?"

Lulu hardly heard her. Mrs. Bett was incalculably distant. 

"You sure?" Lulu said low to Ninian. 

For the first time, something in her exceeding isolation really touchedhim. 

"Say, " he said, "you come on with me. We'll have it done over againsomewhere, if you say so. "

"Oh, " said Lulu, "if I thought--"

He leaned and patted her hand. 

"Good girl, " he said. 

They sat silent, Ninian padding on the cloth with the flat of his plumphands. 

Dwight returned. "It's a go all right, " he said. He sat down, laughedweakly, rubbed at his face. "You two are tied as tight as the churchcould tie you. "

"Good enough, " said Ninian. "Eh, Lulu?"

"It's--it's all right, I guess, " Lulu said. 

"Well, I'll be dished, " said Dwight. 

"Sister!" said Ina. 

Ninian meditated, his lips set tight and high. It is impossible to tracethe processes of this man. Perhaps they were all compact of thedevil-may-care attitude engendered in any persistent traveller. Perhapsthe incomparable cookery of Lulu played its part. 

"I was going to make a trip south this month, " he said, "on my way homefrom here. Suppose we get married again by somebody or other, and startright off. You'd like that, wouldn't you--going South?"

"Yes, " said Lulu only. 

"It's July, " said Ina, with her sense of fitness, but no one heard. 

It was arranged that their trunks should follow them--Ina would see tothat, though she was scandalised that they were not first to return toWarbleton for the blessing of Mrs. Bett. 

"Mamma won't mind, " said Lulu. "Mamma can't stand a fuss any more. "

They left the table. The men and women still sitting at the other tablessaw nothing unusual about these four, indifferently dressed, indifferently conditioned. The hotel orchestra, playing ragtime indeafening concord, made Lulu's wedding march. 

 * * * * *

It was still early next day--a hot Sunday--when Ina and Dwight reachedhome. Mrs. Bett was standing on the porch. 

"Where's Lulie?" asked Mrs. Bett. 

They told. 

Mrs. Bett took it in, a bit at a time. Her pale eyes searched theirfaces, she shook her head, heard it again, grasped it. Her firstquestion was:

"Who's going to do your work?"

Ina had thought of that, and this was manifest. 

"Oh, " she said, "you and I'll have to manage. "

Mrs. Bett meditated, frowning. 

"I left the bacon for her to cook for your breakfasts, " she said. "Ican't cook bacon fit to eat. Neither can you. "

"We've had our breakfasts, " Ina escaped from this dilemma. 

"Had it up in the city, on expense?"

"Well, we didn't have much. "

In Mrs. Bett's eyes tears gathered, but they were not for Lulu. 

"I should think, " she said, "I should think Lulie might have had alittle more gratitude to her than this. "

On their way to church Ina and Dwight encountered Di, who had left thehouse some time earlier, stepping sedately to church in company withBobby Larkin. Di was in white, and her face was the face of an angel, soyoung, so questioning, so utterly devoid of her sophistication. 

"That child, " said Ina, "_must_ not see so much of that Larkin boy. She's just a little, little girl. "

"Of course she mustn't, " said Dwight sharply, "and if _I_ was hermother--"

"Oh stop that!" said Ina, sotto voce, at the church steps. 

To every one with whom they spoke in the aisle after church, Inaannounced their news: Had they heard? Lulu married Dwight's brotherNinian in the city yesterday. Oh, sudden, yes! And ro_man_tic . .. Spokenwith that upward inflection to which Ina was a prey. 

V

AUGUST

Mrs. Bett had been having a "tantrim, " brought on by nothing definable. Abruptly as she and Ina were getting supper, Mrs. Bett had fallensilent, had in fact refused to reply when addressed. When all was readyand Dwight was entering, hair wetly brushed, she had withdrawn from theroom and closed her bedroom door until it echoed. 

"She's got one again, " said Ina, grieving; "Dwight, you go. "

He went, showing no sign of annoyance, and stood outside hismother-in-law's door and knocked. 

No answer. 

"Mother, come and have some supper. "

No answer. 

"Looks to me like your muffins was just about the best ever. "

No answer. 

"Come on--I had something funny to tell you and Ina. "

He retreated, knowing nothing of the admirable control exercised by thiswoman for her own passionate satisfaction in sliding him awayunsatisfied. He showed nothing but anxious concern, touched with regret, at his failure. Ina, too, returned from that door discomfited. Dwightmade a gallant effort to retrieve the fallen fortunes of their eveningmeal, and turned upon Di, who had just entered, and with exceedingfacetiousness inquired how Bobby was. 

Di looked hunted. She could never tell whether her parents were going totease her about Bobby, or rebuke her for being seen with him. Itdepended on mood, and this mood Di had not the experience to gauge. Shenow groped for some neutral fact, and mentioned that he was going totake her and Jenny for ice cream that night. 

Ina's irritation found just expression in office of motherhood. 

"I won't have you downtown in the evening, " she said. 

"But you let me go last night. "

"All the better reason why you should not go to-night. "

"I tell you, " cried Dwight. "Why not all walk down? Why not all have icecream. .. . " He was all gentleness and propitiation, the reconcilingelement in his home. 

"Me too?" Monona's ardent hope, her terrible fear were in her eyebrows, her parted lips. 

"You too, certainly. " Dwight could not do enough for every one. 

Monona clapped her hands. "Goody! goody! Last time you wouldn't let mego. "

"That's why papa's going to take you this time, " Ina said. 

These ethical balances having been nicely struck, Ina proposed another:

"But, " she said, "but, you must eat more supper or you can _not_ go. "

"I don't want any more. " Monona's look was honest and piteous. 

"Makes no difference. You must eat or you'll get sick. "

"No!"

"Very well, then. No ice cream soda for such a little girl. "

Monona began to cry quietly. But she passed her plate. She ate, chewinghigh, and slowly. 

"See? She can eat if she will eat, " Ina said to Dwight. "The onlytrouble is, she will _not_ take the time. "

"She don't put her mind on her meals, " Dwight Herbert diagnosed it. "Oh, bigger bites than that!" he encouraged his little daughter. 

Di's mind had been proceeding along its own paths. 

"Are you going to take Jenny and Bobby too?" she inquired. 

"Certainly. The whole party. "

"Bobby'll want to pay for Jenny and I. "

"Me, darling, " said Ina patiently, punctiliously--and less punctiliouslyadded: "Nonsense. This is going to be papa's little party. "

"But we had the engagement with Bobby. It was an engagement. "

"Well, " said Ina, "I think we'll just set that aside--that importantengagement. I think we just will. "

"Papa! Bobby'll want to be the one to pay for Jenny and I--"

"Di!" Ina's voice dominated all. "Will you be more careful of yourgrammar or shall I speak to you again?"

"Well, I'd rather use bad grammar than--than--than--" she lookedresentfully at her mother, her father. Their moral defection was evidentto her, but it was indefinable. They told her that she ought to beashamed when papa wanted to give them all a treat. She sat silent, frowning, put-upon. 

"Look, mamma!" cried Monona, swallowing a third of an egg at oneimpulse. Ina saw only the empty plate. 

"Mamma's nice little girl!" cried she, shining upon her child. 

The rules of the ordinary sports of the playground, scrupulouslyapplied, would have clarified the ethical atmosphere of this littlefamily. But there was no one to apply them. 

 * * * * *

When Di and Monona had been excused, Dwight asked:

"Nothing new from the bride and groom?"

"No. And, Dwight, it's been a week since the last. "

"See--where were they then?"

He knew perfectly well that they were in Savannah, Georgia, but Inaplayed his game, told him, and retold bits that the letter had said. 

"I don't understand, " she added, "why they should go straight to Oregonwithout coming here first. "

Dwight hazarded that Nin probably had to get back, and shone pleasantlyin the reflected importance of a brother filled with affairs. 

"I don't know what to make of Lulu's letters, " Ina proceeded. "They'reso--so--"

"You haven't had but two, have you?"

"That's all--well, of course it's only been a month. But both lettershave been so--"

Ina was never really articulate. Whatever corner of her brain had theblood in it at the moment seemed to be operative, and she let the mattergo at that. 

"I don't think it's fair to mamma--going off that way. Leaving her ownmother. Why, she may never see mamma again--" Ina's breath caught. Intoher face came something of the lovely tenderness with which shesometimes looked at Monona and Di. She sprang up. She had forgotten toput some supper to warm for mamma. The lovely light was still in herface as she bustled about against the time of mamma's recovery from hertantrim. Dwight's face was like this when he spoke of his foster-mother. In both these beings there was something which functioned as pure love. 

Mamma had recovered and was eating cold scrambled eggs on the corner ofthe kitchen table when the ice cream soda party was ready to set out. Dwight threw her a casual "Better come, too, Mother Bett, " but she shookher head. She wished to go, wished it with violence, but she contrivedto give to her arbitrary refusal a quality of contempt. When Jennyarrived with Bobby, she had brought a sheaf of gladioli for Mrs. Bett, and took them to her in the kitchen, and as she laid the flowers besideher, the young girl stopped and kissed her. "You little darling!" criedMrs. Bett, and clung to her, her lifted eyes lit by something intenseand living. But when the ice cream party had set off at last, Mrs. Bettleft her supper, gathered up the flowers, and crossed the lawn to theold cripple, Grandma Gates. 

"Inie sha'n't have 'em, " the old woman thought. 

And then it was quite beautiful to watch her with Grandma Gates, whomshe tended and petted, to whose complainings she listened, and to whomshe tried to tell the small events of her day. When her neighbour hadgone, Grandma Gates said that it was as good as a dose of medicine tohave her come in. 

Mrs. Bett sat on the porch restored and pleasant when the familyreturned. Di and Bobby had walked home with Jenny. 

"Look here, " said Dwight Herbert, "who is it sits home and has _ice_cream put in her lap, like a queen?"

"Vanilly or chocolate?" Mrs. Bett demanded. 

"Chocolate, mammal" Ina cried, with the breeze in her voice. 

"Vanilly sets better, " Mrs. Bett said. 

They sat with her on the porch while she ate. Ina rocked on a creakingboard. Dwight swung a leg over the railing. Monona sat pulling her skirtover her feet, and humming all on one note. There was no moon, but thewarm dusk had a quality of transparency as if it were lit in all itsparticles. 

The gate opened, and some one came up the walk. They looked, and it wasLulu. 

 * * * * *

"Well, if it ain't Miss Lulu Bett!" Dwight cried involuntarily, and Inacried out something. 

"How did you know?" Lulu asked. 

"Know! Know what?"

"That it ain't Lulu Deacon. Hello, mamma. "

She passed the others, and kissed her mother. 

"Say, " said Mrs. Bett placidly. "And I just ate up the last spoonful o'cream. "

"Ain't Lulu Deacon!" Ina's voice rose and swelled richly. "What youtalking?"

"Didn't he write to you?" Lulu asked. 

"Not a word. " Dwight answered this. "All we've had we had from you--thelast from Savannah, Georgia. "

"Savannah, Georgia, " said Lulu, and laughed. 

They could see that she was dressed well, in dark red cloth, with alittle tilting hat and a drooping veil. She did not seem in any wiseupset, nor, save for that nervous laughter, did she show her excitement. 

"Well, but he's here with you, isn't he?" Dwight demanded. "Isn't hehere? Where is he?"

"Must be 'most to Oregon by this time, " Lulu said. 

"Oregon!"

"You see, " said Lulu, "he had another wife. "

"Why, he had not!" exclaimed Dwight absurdly. 

"Yes. He hasn't seen her for fifteen years and he thinks she's dead. But he isn't sure. "

"Nonsense, " said Dwight. "Why, of course she's dead if he thinks so. "

"I had to be sure, " said Lulu. 

At first dumb before this, Ina now cried out: "Monona! Go upstairs tobed at once. "

"It's only quarter to, " said Monona, with assurance. 

"Do as mamma tells you. "

"But--"

"Monona!"

She went, kissing them all good-night and taking her time about it. Everything was suspended while she kissed them and departed, walkingslowly backward. 

"Married?" said Mrs. Bett with tardy apprehension. "Lulie, was yourhusband married?"

"Yes, " Lulu said, "my husband was married, mother. "

"Mercy, " said Ina. "Think of anything like that in our family. "

"Well, go on--go on!" Dwight cried. "Tell us about it. "

Lulu spoke in a monotone, with her old manner of hesitation:

"We were going to Oregon. First down to New Orleans and then out toCalifornia and up the coast. " On this she paused and sighed. "Well, thenat Savannah, Georgia, he said he thought I better know, first. So hetold me. "

"Yes--well, what did he _say_?" Dwight demanded irritably. 

"Cora Waters, " said Lulu. "Cora Waters. She married him down in SanDiego, eighteen years ago. She went to South America with him. "

"Well, he never let us know of it, if she did, " said Dwight. 

"No. She married him just before he went. Then in South America, aftertwo years, she ran away again. That's all he knows. "

"That's a pretty story, " said Dwight contemptuously. 

"He says if she'd been alive, she'd been after him for a divorce. Andshe never has been, so he thinks she must be dead. The trouble is, " Lulusaid again, "he wasn't sure. And I had to be sure. "

"Well, but mercy, " said Ina, "couldn't he find out now?"

"It might take a long time, " said Lulu simply, "and I didn't want tostay and not know. "

"Well, then, why didn't he say so here?" Ina's indignation mounted. 

"He would have. But you know how sudden everything was. He said hethought about telling us right there in the restaurant, but of coursethat'd been hard--wouldn't it? And then he felt so sure she was dead. "

"Why did he tell you at all, then?" demanded Ina, whose processes weresimple. 

"Yes. Well! Why indeed?" Dwight Herbert brought out these words with acurious emphasis. 

"I thought that, just at first, " Lulu said, "but only just at first. Ofcourse that wouldn't have been right. And then, you see, he gave me mychoice. "

"Gave you your choice?" Dwight echoed. 

"Yes. About going on and taking the chances. He gave me my choice whenhe told me, there in Savannah, Georgia. "

"What made him conclude, by then, that you ought to be told?" Dwightasked. 

"Why, he'd got to thinking about it, " she answered. 

A silence fell. Lulu sat looking out toward the street. 

"The only thing, " she said, "as long as it happened, I kind of wish hehadn't told me till we got to Oregon. "

"Lulu!" said Ina. Ina began to cry. "You poor thing!" she said. 

Her tears were a signal to Mrs. Bett, who had been striving tounderstand all. Now she too wept, tossing up her hands and rocking herbody. Her saucer and spoon clattered on her knee. 

"He felt bad too, " Lulu said. 

"He!" said Dwight. "He must have. "

"It's you, " Ina sobbed. "It's you. _My_ sister!"

"Well, " said Lulu, "but I never thought of it making you both feel bad, or I wouldn't have come home. I knew, " she added, "it'd make Dwight feelbad. I mean, it was his brother--"

"Thank goodness, " Ina broke in, "nobody need know about it. "

Lulu regarded her, without change. 

"Oh, yes, " she said in her monotone. "People will have to know. "

"I do not see the necessity. " Dwight's voice was an edge. Then too hesaid "do not, " always with Dwight betokening the finalities. 

"Why, what would they think?" Lulu asked, troubled. 

"What difference does it make what they think?". 

"Why, " said Lulu slowly, "I shouldn't like--you see they might--why, Dwight, I think we'll have to tell them. "

"You do! You think the disgrace of bigamy in this family is somethingthe whole town will have to know about?"

Lulu looked at him with parted lips. 

"Say, " she said, "I never thought about it being that. "

Dwight laughed. "What did you think it was? And whose disgrace is it, pray?"

"Ninian's, " said Lulu. 

"Ninian's! Well, he's gone. But you're here. And I'm here. Folks'll feelsorry for you. But the disgrace--that'd reflect on me. See?"

"But if we don't tell, what'll they think then?"

Said Dwight: "They'll think what they always think when a wife leavesher husband. They'll think you couldn't get along. That's all. "

"I should hate that, " said Lulu. 

"Well, I should hate the other, let me tell you. "

"Dwight, Dwight, " said Ina. "Let's go in the house. I'm afraid they'llhear--"

As they rose, Mrs. Bett plucked at her returned daughter's sleeve. 

"Lulie, " she said, "was his other wife--was she _there_?"

"No, no, mother. She wasn't there. "

Mrs. Bett's lips moved, repeating the words. "Then that ain't so bad, "she said. "I was afraid maybe she turned you out. "

"No, " Lulu said, "it wasn't that bad, mother. "

Mrs. Bett brightened. In little matters, she quarrelled and resented, but the large issues left her blank. 

Through some indeterminate sense of the importance due this crisis, theDeacons entered their parlour. Dwight lighted that high, central burnerand faced about, saying:

"In fact, I simply will not have it, Lulu! You expect, I take it, tomake your home with us in the future, on the old terms. "

"Well--"

"I mean, did Ninian give you any money?"

"No. He didn't give me any money--only enough to get home on. And Ikept my suit--why!" she flung her head back, "I wouldn't have taken anymoney!"

"That means, " said Dwight, "that you will have to continue to livehere--on the old terms, and of course I'm quite willing that you should. Let me tell you, however, that this is on condition--on condition thatthis disgraceful business is kept to ourselves. "

She made no attempt to combat him now. She looked back at him, quivering, and in a great surprise, but she said nothing. 

"Truly, Lulu, " said Ina, "wouldn't that be best? They'll talk anyway. But this way they'll only talk about you, and the other way it'd beabout all of us. "

Lulu said only: "But the other way would be the truth. "

Dwight's eyes narrowed: "My dear Lulu, " he said, "are you _sure_ ofthat?"

"Sure?"

"Yes. Did he give you any proofs?"

"Proofs?"

"Letters--documents of any sort? Any sort of assurance that he wasspeaking the truth?"

"Why, no, " said Lulu. "Proofs--no. He told me. "

"He told you!"

"Why, that was hard enough to have to do. It was terrible for him tohave to do. What proofs--" She stopped, puzzled. 

"Didn't it occur to you, " said Dwight, "that he might have told you thatbecause he didn't want to have to go on with it?"

As she met his look, some power seemed to go from Lulu. She sat down, looked weakly at them, and within her closed lips her jaw was slightlyfallen. She said nothing. And seeing on her skirt a spot of dust shebegan to rub at that. 

"Why, Dwight!" Ina cried, and moved to her sister's side. 

"I may as well tell you, " he said, "that I myself have no idea thatNinian told you the truth. He was always imagining things--you sawthat. I know him pretty well--have been more or less in touch with himthe whole time. In short, I haven't the least idea he was ever marriedbefore. "

Lulu continued to rub at her skirt. 

"I never thought of that, " she said. 

"Look here, " Dwight went on persuasively, "hadn't you and he had somelittle tiff when he told you?"

"No--no! Why, not once. Why, we weren't a bit like you and Ina. "

She spoke simply and from her heart and without guile. 

"Evidently not, " Dwight said drily. 

Lulu went on: "He was very good to me. This dress--and my shoes--and myhat. And another dress, too. " She found the pins and took off her hat. "He liked the red wing, " she said. "I wanted black--oh, Dwight! He didtell me the truth!" It was as if the red wing had abruptly borne mutewitness. 

Dwight's tone now mounted. His manner, it mounted too. 

"Even if it is true, " said he, "I desire that you should keep silentand protect my family from this scandal. I merely mention my doubts toyou for your own profit. "

"My own profit!"

She said no more, but rose and moved to the door. 

"Lulu--you see! With Di and all!" Ina begged. "We just couldn't havethis known--even if it was so. "

"You have it in your hands, " said Dwight, "to repay me, Lulu, foranything that you feel I may have done for you in the past. You alsohave it in your hands to decide whether your home here continues. Thatis not a pleasant position for me to find myself in. It is distinctlyunpleasant, I may say. But you see for yourself. "

Lulu went on, into the passage. 

"Wasn't she married when she thought she was?" Mrs. Bett cried shrilly. 

"Mamma, " said Ina. "Do, please, remember Monona. Yes--Dwight thinksshe's married all right now--and that it's all right, all the time. "

"Well, I hope so, for pity sakes, " said Mrs. Bett, and left the roomwith her daughter. 

Hearing the stir, Monona upstairs lifted her voice:

"Mamma! Come on and hear my prayers, why don't you?"

 * * * * *

When they came downstairs next morning, Lulu had breakfast ready. 

"Well!" cried Ina in her curving tone, "if this isn't like old times. "

Lulu said yes, that it was like old times, and brought the bacon to thetable. 

"Lulu's the only one in _this_ house can cook the bacon so's it'llchew, " Mrs. Bett volunteered. She was wholly affable, and heldcontentedly to Ina's last word that Dwight thought now it was all right. 

"Ho!" said Dwight. "The happy family, once more about the festivetoaster. " He gauged the moment to call for good cheer. Ina, too, becamebreezy, blithe. Monona caught their spirit and laughed, head thrown wellback and gently shaken. 

Di came in. She had been told that Auntie Lulu was at home, and thatshe, Di, wasn't to say anything to her about anything, nor anything toanybody else about Auntie Lulu being back. Under these prohibitions, which loosed a thousand speculations, Di was very nearly paralysed. Shestared at her Aunt Lulu incessantly. 

Not one of them had even a talent for the casual, save Lulu herself. Lulu was amazingly herself. She took her old place, assumed her oldoffices. When Monona declared against bacon, it was Lulu who suggestedmilk toast and went to make it. 

"Mamma, " Di whispered then, like escaping steam, "isn't Uncle Niniancoming too?"

"Hush. No. Now don't ask any more questions. "

"Well, can't I tell Bobby and Jenny she's here?"

"_No_. Don't say anything at all about her. "

"But, mamma. What has she done?"

"Di! Do as mamma tells you. Don't you think mamma knows best?"

Di of course did not think so, had not thought so for a long time. Butnow Dwight said:

"Daughter! Are you a little girl or are you our grown-up young lady?"

"I don't know, " said Di reasonably, "but I think you're treating me likea little girl now. "

"Shame, Di, " said Ina, unabashed by the accident of reason being on theside of Di. 

"I'm eighteen, " Di reminded them forlornly, "and through high school. "

"Then act so, " boomed her father. 

Baffled, thwarted, bewildered, Di went over to Jenny Plow's and thereimparted understanding by the simple process of letting Jenny guess, toquestions skilfully shaped. 

When Dwight said, "Look at my beautiful handkerchief, " displayed ahole, sent his Ina for a better, Lulu, with a manner of haste, addressedhim:

"Dwight. It's a funny thing, but I haven't Ninian's Oregon address. "

"Well?"

"Well, I wish you'd give it to me. "

Dwight tightened and lifted his lips. "It would seem, " he said, "thatyou have no real use for that particular address, Lulu. "

"Yes, I have. I want it. You have it, haven't you, Dwight?"

"Certainly I have it. "

"Won't you please write it down for me?" She had ready a bit of paperand a pencil stump. 

"My dear Lulu, now why revive anything? Why not he sensible and leavethis alone? No good can come by--"

"But why shouldn't I have his address?"

"If everything is over between you, why should you?"

"But you say he's still my husband. "

Dwight flushed. "If my brother has shown his inclination as plainly asI judge that he has, it is certainly not my place to put you in touchwith him again. "

"You won't give it to me?"

"My dear Lulu, in all kindness--no. "

His Ina came running back, bearing handkerchiefs with different colouredborders for him to choose from. He chose the initial that she hadembroidered, and had not the good taste not to kiss her. 

 * * * * *

They were all on the porch that evening, when Lulu came downstairs. 

"_Where_ are you going?" Ina demanded, sisterly. And on hearing thatLulu had an errand, added still more sisterly; "Well, but mercy, whatyou so dressed up for?"

Lulu was in a thin black and white gown which they had never seen, andwore the tilting hat with the red wing. 

"Ninian bought me this, " said Lulu only. 

"But, Lulu, don't you think it might be better to keep, well--out ofsight for a few days?" Ina's lifted look besought her. 

"Why?" Lulu asked. 

"Why set people wondering till we have to?"

"They don't have to wonder, far as I'm concerned, " said Lulu, and wentdown the walk. 

Ina looked at Dwight. "She never spoke to me like that in her lifebefore, " she said. 

She watched her sister's black and white figure going erectly down thestreet. 

"That gives me the funniest feeling, " said Ina, "as if Lulu had onclothes bought for her by some one that wasn't--that was--"

"By her husband who has left her, " said Dwight sadly. 

"Is that what it is, papa?" Di asked alertly. For a wonder, she wasthere; had been there the greater part of the day--most of the timestaring, fascinated, at her Aunt Lulu. 

"That's what it is, my little girl, " said Dwight, and shook his head. 

"Well, I think it's a shame, " said Di stoutly. "And I think Uncle Ninianis a slunge. "

"Di!"

"I do. And I'd be ashamed to think anything else. I'd like to telleverybody. "

"There is, " said Dwight, "no need for secrecy--now. "

"Dwight!" said Ina--Ina's eyes always remained expressionless, but itmust have been her lashes that looked so startled. 

"No need whatever for secrecy, " he repeated with firmness. "The truthis, Lulu's husband has tired of her and sent her home. We must face it. "

"But, Dwight--how awful for Lulu. .. . "

"Lulu, " said Dwight, "has us to stand by her. "

Lulu, walking down the main street, thought:

"Now Mis' Chambers is seeing me. Now Mis' Curtis. There's somebodybehind the vines at Mis' Martin's. Here comes Mis' Grove and I've gotto speak to her. .. . "

One and another and another met her, and every one cried out at her someversion of:

"Lulu Bett!" Or, "W-well, it _isn't_ Lulu Bett any more, is it? Well, what are you doing here? I thought. .. . "

"I'm back to stay, " she said. 

"The idea! Well, where you hiding that handsome husband of yours? Say, but we were surprised! You're the sly one--"

"My--Mr. Deacon isn't here. "

"Oh. "

"No. He's West. "

"Oh, I see. "

Having no arts, she must needs let the conversation die like this, couldinvent nothing concealing or gracious on which to move away. 

She went to the post-office. It was early, there were few at thepost-office--with only one or two there had she to go through herexamination. Then she went to the general delivery window, tense for anew ordeal. 

To her relief, the face which was shown there was one strange to her, aslim youth, reading a letter of his own, and smiling. 

"Excuse me, " said Lulu faintly. 

The youth looked up, with eyes warmed by the words on the pink paperwhich he held. 

"Could you give me the address of Mr. Ninian Deacon?"

"Let's see--you mean Dwight Deacon, I guess?"

"No. It's his brother. He's been here. From Oregon. I thought he mighthave given you his address--" she dwindled away. 

"Wait a minute, " said the youth. "Nope. No address here. Say, why don'tyou send it to his brother? He'd know. Dwight Deacon, the dentist. "

"I'll do that, " Lulu said absurdly, and turned away. 

She went back up the street, walking fast now to get away from themall. Once or twice she pretended not to see a familiar face. But whenshe passed the mirror in an insurance office window, she saw herreflection and at its appearance she felt surprise and pleasure. 

"Well!" she thought, almost in Ina's own manner. 

Abruptly her confidence rose. 

Something of this confidence was still upon her when she returned. Theywere in the dining-room now, all save Di, who was on the porch withBobby, and Monona, who was in bed and might be heard extravagantlysinging. 

Lulu sat down with her hat on. When Dwight inquired playfully, "Don't welook like company?" she did not reply. He looked at her speculatively. Where had she gone, with whom had she talked, what had she told? Inalooked at her rather fearfully. But Mrs. Bett rocked contentedly and atecardamom seeds. 

"Whom did you see?" Ina asked. 

Lulu named them. 

"See them to talk to?" from Dwight. 

Oh, yes. They had all stopped. 

"What did they say?" Ina burst out. 

They had inquired for Ninian, Lulu said; and said no more. 

Dwight mulled this. Lulu might have told every one of these women thatcock-and-bull story with which she had come home. It might be all overtown. Of course, in that case he could turn Lulu out--should do so, infact. Still the story would be all over town. 

"Dwight, " said Lulu, "I want Ninian's address. "

"Going to write to him!" Ina cried incredulously. 

"I want to ask him for the proofs that Dwight wanted. "

"My dear Lulu, " Dwight said impatiently, "you are not the one to write. Have you no delicacy?"

Lulu smiled--a strange smile, originating and dying in one corner ofher mouth. 

"Yes, " she said. "So much delicacy that I want to be sure whether I'mmarried or not. "

Dwight cleared his throat with a movement which seemed to use hisshoulders for the purpose. 

"I myself will take this up with my brother, " he said. "I will write tohim about it. "

Lulu sprang to her feet. "Write to him _now_!" she cried. 

"Really, " said Dwight, lifting his brows. 

"Now--now!" Lulu said. She moved about, collecting writing materialsfrom their casual lodgments on shelf and table. She set all before himand stood by him. "Write to him now, " she said again. 

"My dear Lulu, don't be absurd. "

She said: "Ina. Help me. If it was Dwight--and they didn't know whetherhe had another wife, or not, and you wanted to ask him--oh, don't yousee? Help me. "

Ina was not yet the woman to cry for justice for its own sake, nor evento stand by another woman. She was primitive, and her instinct was tolook to her own male merely. 

"Well, " she said, "of course. But why not let Dwight do it in his ownway? Wouldn't that be better?"

She put it to her sister fairly: Now, no matter what Dwight's way was, wouldn't that be better?

"Mother!" said Lulu. She looked irresolutely toward her mother. But Mrs. Bett was eating cardamom seeds with exceeding gusto, and Lulu lookedaway. Caught by the gesture, Mrs. Bett voiced her grievance. 

"Lulie, " she said, "Set down. Take off your hat, why don't you?"

Lulu turned upon Dwight a quiet face which he had never seen before. 

"You write that letter to Ninian, " she said, "and you make him tell youso you'll understand. _I_ know he spoke the truth. But I want you toknow. "

"M--m, " said Dwight. "And then I suppose you're going to tell it allover town--as soon as you have the proofs. "

"I'm going to tell it all over town, " said Lulu, "just as it is--unlessyou write to him now. "

"Lulu!" cried Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't. "

"I would, " said Lulu. "I will. "

Dwight was sobered. This unimagined Lulu looked capable of it. But thenhe sneered. 

"And get turned out of this house, as you would be?"

"Dwight!" cried his Ina. "Oh, you wouldn't!"

"I would, " said Dwight. "I will. Lulu knows it. "

"I shall tell what I know and then leave your house anyway, " said Lulu, "unless you get Ninian's word. And I want you should write him now. "

"Leave your mother? And Ina?" he asked. 

"Leave everything, " said Lulu. 

"Oh, Dwight, " said Ina, "we can't get along without Lulu. " She did notsay in what particulars, but Dwight knew. 

Dwight looked at Lulu, an upward, sidewise look, with a manner ofpeering out to see if she meant it. And he saw. 

He shrugged, pursed his lips crookedly, rolled his head to signify theinexpressible. "Isn't that like a woman?" he demanded. He rose. "Ratherthan let you in for a show of temper, " he said grandly, "I'd doanything. "

He wrote the letter, addressed it, his hand elaborately curved insecrecy about the envelope, pocketed it. 

"Ina and I'll walk down with you to mail it, " said Lulu. 

Dwight hesitated, frowned. His Ina watched him with consulting brows. 

"I was going, " said Dwight, "to propose a little stroll before bedtime. "He roved about the room. "Where's my beautiful straw hat? There'snothing like a brisk walk to induce sound, restful sleep, " he told them. He hummed a bar. 

"You'll be all right, mother?" Lulu asked. 

Mrs. Bett did not look up. "These cardamon hev got a little mite toodry, " she said. 

 * * * * *

In their room, Ina and Dwight discussed the incredible actions of Lulu. 

"I saw, " said Dwight, "I saw she wasn't herself. I'd do anything toavoid having a scene--you know that. " His glance swept a littleanxiously his Ina. "You know that, don't you?" he sharply inquired. 

"But I really think you ought to have written to Ninian about it, " shenow dared to say. "It's--it's not a nice position for Lulu. "

"Nice? Well, but whom has she got to blame for it?"

"Why, Ninian, " said Ina. 

Dwight threw out his hands. "Herself, " he said. "To tell you the truth, I was perfectly amazed at the way she snapped him up there in thatrestaurant. "

"Why, but, Dwight--"

"Brazen, " he said. "Oh, it was brazen. "

"It was just fun, in the first place. "

"But no really nice woman--" he shook his head. 

"Dwight! Lulu _is_ nice. The idea!"

He regarded her. "Would you have done that?" he would know. 

Under his fond look, she softened, took his homage, accepted everything, was silent. 

"Certainly not, " he said. "Lulu's tastes are not fine like yours. Ishould never think of you as sisters. "

"She's awfully good, " Ina said feebly. Fifteen years of married lifebehind her--but this was sweet and she could not resist. 

"She has excellent qualities. " He admitted it. "But look at the positionshe's in--married to a man who tells her he has another wife in orderto get free. Now, no really nice woman--"

"No really nice man--" Ina did say that much. 

"Ah, " said Dwight, "but _you_ could never be in such a position. No, no. Lulu is sadly lacking somewhere. "

Ina sighed, threw back her head, caught her lower lip with her upper, asmight be in a hem. "What if it was Di?" she supposed. 

"Di!" Dwight's look rebuked his wife. "Di, " he said, "was born withladylike feelings. "

It was not yet ten o'clock. Bobby Larkin was permitted to stay untilten. From the veranda came the indistinguishable murmur of those youngvoices. 

"Bobby, " Di was saying within that murmur, "Bobby, you don't kiss me asif you really wanted to kiss me, to-night. "

VI

SEPTEMBER

The office of Dwight Herbert Deacon, Dentist, Gold Work a Speciality(sic) in black lettering, and Justice of the Peace in gold, was above astore which had been occupied by one unlucky tenant after another, andhad suffered long periods of vacancy when ladies' aid societies servedlunches there, under great white signs, badly lettered. Some months ofdisuse were now broken by the news that the store had been let to amusic man. A music man, what on earth was that, Warbleton inquired. 

The music man arrived, installed three pianos, and filled his windowwith sheet music, as sung by many ladies who swung in hammocks or kissedtheir hands on the music covers. While he was still moving in, DwightHerbert Deacon wandered downstairs and stood informally in the door ofthe new store. The music man, a pleasant-faced chap of thirty-odd, wasrubbing at the face of a piano. 

"Hello, there!" he said. "Can I sell you an upright?"

"If I can take it out in pulling your teeth, you can, " Dwight replied. "Or, " said he, "I might marry you free, either one. "

On this their friendship began. Thenceforth, when business was dull, theidle hours of both men were beguiled with idle gossip. 

"How the dickens did you think of pianos for a line?" Dwight asked himonce. "Now, my father was a dentist, so I came by it natural--neverentered my head to be anything else. But _pianos_--"

The music man--his name was Neil Cornish--threw up his chin in a boyishfashion, and said he'd be jiggered if he knew. All up and down theWarbleton main street, the chances are that the answer would sound thesame. "I'm studying law when I get the chance, " said Cornish, as one whomakes a bid to be thought of more highly. 

"I see, " said Dwight, respectfully dwelling on the verb. 

Later on Cornish confided more to Dwight: He was to come by a littleinheritance some day--not much, but something. Yes, it made a man feel acertain confidence. .. . 

"_Don't_ it?" said Dwight heartily, as if he knew. 

Every one liked Cornish. He told funny stories, and he never comparedWarbleton save to its advantage. So at last Dwight said tentatively atlunch:

"What if I brought that Neil Cornish up for supper, one of thesenights?"

"Oh, Dwightie, do, " said Ina. "If there's a man in town, let's know it. "

"What if I brought him up to-night?"

Up went Ina's eyebrows. _To-night_?

"'Scalloped potatoes and meat loaf and sauce and bread and butter, "Lulu contributed. 

Cornish came to supper. He was what is known in Warbleton as dapper. This Ina saw as she emerged on the veranda in response to Dwight'sinformal halloo on his way upstairs. She herself was in white muslin, now much too snug, and a blue ribbon. To her greeting their guestreplied in that engaging shyness which is not awkwardness. He moved insome pleasant web of gentleness and friendliness. 

They asked him the usual questions, and he replied, rocking all the timewith a faint undulating motion of head and shoulders: Warbleton was oneof the prettiest little towns that he had ever seen. He liked thepeople--they seemed different. He was sure to like the place, alreadyliked it. Lulu came to the door in Ninian's thin black-and-white gown. She shook hands with the stranger, not looking at him, and said, "Cometo supper, all. " Monona was already in her place, singing under-breath. Mrs. Bett, after hovering in the kitchen door, entered; but they forgotto introduce her. 

"Where's Di?" asked Ina. "I declare that daughter of mine is neveranywhere. "

A brief silence ensued as they were seated. There being a guest, gracewas to come, and Dwight said unintelligibly and like lightning a genericappeal to bless this food, forgive all our sins and finally save us. Andthere was something tremendous, in this ancient form whereby all stagesof men bow in some now unrecognized recognition of the ceremonial oftaking food to nourish life--and more. 

At "Amen" Di flashed in, her offices at the mirror fresh uponher--perfect hair, silk dress turned up at the hem. She met Cornish, crimsoned, fluttered to her seat, joggled the table and, "Oh, dear, " shesaid audibly to her mother, "I forgot my ring. "

The talk was saved alive by a frank effort. Dwight served, making jestsabout everybody coming back for more. They went on with Warbletonhappenings, improvements and openings; and the runaway. Cornish triedhard to make himself agreeable, not ingratiatingly but good-naturedly. He wished profoundly that before coming he had looked up some morestories in the back of the Musical Gazettes. Lulu surreptitiouslypinched off an ant that was running at large upon the cloth andthereafter kept her eyes steadfastly on the sugar-bowl to see if itcould be from _that_. Dwight pretended that those whom he was helping asecond time were getting more than their share and facetiously landed onDi about eating so much that she would grow up and be married, firstthing she knew. At the word "married" Di turned scarlet, laughedheartily and lifted her glass of water. 

"And what instruments do you play?" Ina asked Cornish, in an unrelatedeffort to lift the talk to musical levels. 

"Well, do you know, " said the music man, "I can't play a thing. Don'tknow a black note from a white one. "

"You don't? Why, Di plays very prettily, " said Di's mother. "But thenhow can you tell what songs to order?" Ina cried. 

"Oh, by the music houses. You go by the sales. " For the first time itoccurred to Cornish that this was ridiculous. "You know, I'm reallystudying law, " he said, shyly and proudly. Law! How very interesting, from Ina. Oh, but won't he bring up some songs some evening, for them totry over? Her and Di? At this Di laughed and said that she was out ofpractice and lifted her glass of water. In the presence of adults Dimade one weep, she was so slender, so young, so without defences, sointolerably sensitive to every contact, so in agony lest she be foundwanting. It was amazing how unlike was this Di to the Di who hadensnared Bobby Larkin. What was one to think?

Cornish paid very little attention to her. To Lulu he said kindly, "Don't you play, Miss--?" He had not caught her name--no stranger everdid catch it. But Dwight now supplied it: "Miss Lulu Bett, " he explainedwith loud emphasis, and Lulu burned her slow red. This question Lulu hadusually answered by telling how a felon had interrupted her lessons andshe had stopped "taking"--a participle sacred to music, in Warbleton. This vignette had been a kind of epitome of Lulu's biography. But nowLulu was heard to say serenely:

"No, but I'm quite fond of it. I went to a lovely concert--two weeksago. "

They all listened. Strange indeed to think of Lulu as having hadexperiences of which they did not know. 

"Yes, " she said. "It was in Savannah, Georgia. " She flushed, and liftedher eyes in a manner of faint defiance. "Of course, " she said, "I don'tknow the names of all the different instruments they played, but therewere a good many. " She laughed pleasantly as a part of her sentence. "They had some lovely tunes, " she said. She knew that the subject wasnot exhausted and she hurried on. "The hall was real large, " shesuperadded, "and there were quite a good many people there. And it wastoo warm. "

"I see, " said Cornish, and said what he had been waiting to say: That hetoo had been in Savannah, Georgia. 

Lulu lit with pleasure. "Well!" she said. And her mind worked and shecaught at the moment before it had escaped. "Isn't it a pretty city?"she asked. And Cornish assented with the intense heartiness of theprovincial. He, too, it seemed, had a conversational appearance tomaintain by its own effort. He said that he had enjoyed being in thattown and that he was there for two hours. 

"I was there for a week. " Lulu's superiority was really pretty. 

"Have good weather?" Cornish selected next. 

Oh, yes. And they saw all the different buildings--but at her "we" sheflushed and was silenced. She was colouring and breathing quickly. Thiswas the first bit of conversation of this sort of Lulu's life. 

After supper Ina inevitably proposed croquet, Dwight pretended to try toescape and, with his irrepressible mien, talked about Ina, elaborate inhis insistence on the third person--"She loves it, we have to humourher, you know how it is. Or no! You don't know! But you will"--and moreof the same sort, everybody laughing heartily, save Lulu, who lookeduncomfortable and wished that Dwight wouldn't, and Mrs. Bett, who paidno attention to anybody that night, not because she had not beenintroduced, an omission, which she had not even noticed, but merely asanother form of "tantrim. " A self-indulgence. 

They emerged for croquet. And there on the porch sat Jenny Plow andBobby, waiting for Di to keep an old engagement, which Di pretended tohave forgotten, and to be frightfully annoyed to have to keep. She metthe objections of her parents with all the batteries of her coquetry, set for both Bobby and Cornish and, bold in the presence of "company, "at last went laughing away. And in the minute areas of her consciousnessshe said to herself that Bobby would be more in love with her than everbecause she had risked all to go with him; and that Cornish ought to bedistinctly attracted to her because she had not stayed. She was asprimitive as pollen. 

Ina was vexed. She said so, pouting in a fashion which she should haveoutgrown with white muslin and blue ribbons, and she had outgrown noneof these things. 

"That just spoils croquet, " she said. "I'm vexed. Now we can't have areal game. "

From the side-door, where she must have been lingering among thewaterproofs, Lulu stepped forth. 

"I'll play a game, " she said. 

 * * * * *

When Cornish actually proposed to bring some music to the Deacons', Inaturned toward Dwight Herbert all the facets of her responsibility. AndIna's sense of responsibility toward Di was enormous, oppressive, primitive, amounting, in fact, toward this daughter of Dwight Herbert'slate wife, to an ability to compress the offices of stepmotherhood intothe functions of the lecture platform. Ina was a fountain of admonition. Her idea of a daughter, step or not, was that of a manufactured product, strictly, which you constantly pinched and moulded. She thought that amoral preceptor had the right to secrete precepts. Di got them all. Butof course the crest of Ina's responsibility was to marry Di. This verbshould be transitive only when lovers are speaking of each other, or theminister or magistrate is speaking of lovers. It should never betransitive when predicated of parents or any other third party. But itis. Ina was quite agitated by its transitiveness as she took to herhusband her incredible responsibility. 

"You know, Herbert, " said Ina, "if this Mr. Cornish comes here _very_much, what we may expect. "

"What may we expect?" demanded Dwight Herbert, crisply. 

Ina always played his games, answered what he expected her to answer, pretended to be intuitive when she was not so, said "I know" when shedidn't know at all. Dwight Herbert, on the other hand, did not even playher games when he knew perfectly what she meant, but pretended not tounderstand, made her repeat, made her explain. It was as if Ina _had_ toplease him for, say, a living; but as for that dentist, he had to pleasenobody. In the conversations of Dwight and Ina you saw the historicalhome forming in clots in the fluid wash of the community. 

"He'll fall in love with Di, " said Ina. 

"And what of that? Little daughter will have many a man fall in lovewith her, _I_ should say. "

"Yes, but, Dwight, what do you think of him?"

"What do I think of him? My dear Ina, I have other things to think of. "

"But we don't know anything about him, Dwight--a stranger so. "

"On the other hand, " said Dwight with dignity, "I know a good deal abouthim. "

With a great air of having done the fatherly and found out about thisstranger before bringing him into the home, Dwight now related a numberof stray circumstances dropped by Cornish in their chance talks. 

"He has a little inheritance coming to him--shortly, " Dwight wound up. 

"An inheritance--really? How much, Dwight?"

"Now isn't that like a woman. Isn't it?"

"I _thought_ he was from a good family, " said Ina. 

"My mercenary little pussy!"

"Well, " she said with a sigh, "I shouldn't be surprised if Di did reallyaccept him. A young girl is awfully flattered when a good-looking olderman pays her attention. Haven't you noticed that?"

Dwight informed her, with an air of immense abstraction, that he leftall such matters to her. Being married to Dwight was like a perpetualrehearsal, with Dwight's self-importance for audience. 

A few evenings later, Cornish brought up the music. There was somethingoverpowering in this brown-haired chap against the background of hisnegligible little shop, his whole capital in his few pianos. For helooked hopefully ahead, woke with plans, regarded the children in thestreet as if, conceivably, children might come within the confines ofhis life as he imagined it. A preposterous little man. And apreposterous store, empty, echoing, bare of wall, the three pianos nearthe front, the remainder of the floor stretching away like the corridorsof the lost. He was going to get a dark curtain, he explained, andfurnish the back part of the store as his own room. What dignity inphrasing, but how mean that little room would look--cot bed, washbowland pitcher, and little mirror--almost certainly a mirror with a wavysurface, almost certainly that. 

"And then, you know, " he always added, "I'm reading law. "

The Plows had been asked in that evening. Bobby was there. They were, Dwight Herbert said, going to have a sing. 

Di was to play. And Di was now embarked on the most difficult feat ofher emotional life, the feat of remaining to Bobby Larkin the lure, thebeloved lure, the while to Cornish she instinctively played the rôle ofwomanly little girl. 

"Up by the festive lamp, everybody!" Dwight Herbert cried. 

As they gathered about the upright piano, that startled, Dwightishinstrument, standing in its attitude of unrest, Lulu came in withanother lamp. 

"Do you need this?" she asked. 

They did not need it, there was, in fact, no place to set it, and thisLulu must have known. But Dwight found a place. He swept Ninian'sphotograph from the marble shelf of the mirror, and when Lulu had placedthe lamp there, Dwight thrust the photograph into her hands. 

"You take care of that, " he said, with a droop of lid discernible onlyto those who--presumably--loved him. His old attitude toward Lulu hadshown a terrible sharpening in these ten days since her return. 

She stood uncertainly, in the thin black and white gown which Ninian hadbought for her, and held Ninian's photograph and looked helplesslyabout. She was moving toward the door when Cornish called:

"See here! Aren't _you_ going to sing?"

"What?" Dwight used the falsetto. "Lulu sing? _Lulu_?"

She stood awkwardly. She had a piteous recrudescence of her old agony atbeing spoken to in the presence of others. But Di had opened the "Albumof Old Favourites, " which Cornish had elected to bring, and now shestruck the opening chords of "Bonny Eloise. " Lulu stood still, lookingrather piteously at Cornish. Dwight offered his arm, absurdly crooked. The Plows and Ina and Di began to sing. Lulu moved forward, and stood alittle away from them, and sang, too. She was still holding Ninian'spicture. Dwight did not sing. He lifted his shoulders and his eyebrowsand watched Lulu. 

When they had finished, "Lulu the mocking bird!" Dwight cried. He said"ba-ird. "

"Fine!" cried Cornish. "Why, Miss Lulu, you have a good voice!"

"Miss Lulu Bett, the mocking ba-ird!" Dwight insisted. 

Lulu was excited, and in some accession of faint power. She turned tohim now, quietly, and with a look of appraisal. 

"Lulu the dove, " she then surprisingly said, "to put up with you. "

It was her first bit of conscious repartee to her brother-in-law. 

Cornish was bending over Di. 

"What next do you say?" he asked. 

She lifted her eyes, met his own, held them. "There's such a lovely, lovely sacred song here, " she suggested, and looked down. 

"You like sacred music?"

She turned to him her pure profile, her eyelids fluttering up, and said:"I love it. "

"That's it. So do I. Nothing like a nice sacred piece, " Cornishdeclared. 

Bobby Larkin, at the end of the piano, looked directly into Di's face. 

"Give _me_ ragtime, " he said now, with the effect of bursting out ofsomewhere. "Don't you like ragtime?" he put it to her directly. 

Di's eyes danced into his, they sparkled for him, her smile was a smilefor him alone, all their store of common memories was in their look. 

"Let's try 'My Rock, My Refuge, '" Cornish suggested. "That's got up realattractive. "

Di's profile again, and her pleased voice saying that this was the veryone she had been hoping to hear him sing. 

They gathered for "My Rock, My Refuge. "

"Oh, " cried Ina, at the conclusion of this number, "I'm having such aperfectly beautiful time. Isn't everybody?" everybody's hostess put it. 

"Lulu is, " said Dwight, and added softly to Lulu: "She don't have tohear herself sing. "

It was incredible. He was like a bad boy with a frog. About thatphotograph of Ninian he found a dozen ways to torture her, calledattention to it, showed it to Cornish, set it on the piano facing themall. Everybody must have understood--excepting the Plows. These twogentle souls sang placidly through the Album of Old Favourites, and atthe melodies smiled happily upon each other with an air from anotherworld. Always it was as if the Plows walked some fair, inter-penetratingplane, from which they looked out as do other things not quite ofearth, say, flowers and fire and music. 

Strolling home that night, the Plows were overtaken by some one who ranbadly, and as if she were unaccustomed to running. 

"Mis' Plow, Mis' Plow!" this one called, and Lulu stood beside them. 

"Say!" she said. "Do you know of any job that I could get me? I meanthat I'd know how to do? A job for money. .. . I mean a job. .. . "

She burst into passionate crying. They drew her home with them. 

 * * * * *

Lying awake sometime after midnight, Lulu heard the telephone ring. Sheheard Dwight's concerned "Is that so?" And his cheerful "Be rightthere. "

Grandma Gates was sick, she heard him tell Ina. In a few moments he randown the stairs. Next day they told how Dwight had sat for hours thatnight, holding Grandma Gates so that her back would rest easily and shecould fight for her faint breath. The kind fellow had only about twohours of sleep the whole night long. 

Next day there came a message from that woman who had brought upDwight--"made him what he was, " he often complacently accused her. Itwas a note on a postal card--she had often written a few lines on apostal card to say that she had sent the maple sugar, or could Ina gether some samples. Now she wrote a few lines on a postal card to say thatshe was going to die with cancer. Could Dwight and Ina come to her whileshe was still able to visit? If he was not too busy. .. . 

Nobody saw the pity and the terror of that postal card. They stuck it upby the kitchen clock to read over from time to time, and before theyleft, Dwight lifted the griddle of the cooking-stove and burned thepostal card. 

And before they left Lulu said: "Dwight--you can't tell how long you'llbe gone?"

"Of course not. How should I tell?"

"No. And that letter might come while you're away. "

"Conceivably. Letters do come while a man's away!"

"Dwight--I thought if you wouldn't mind if I opened it--"

"Opened it?"

"Yes. You see, it'll be about me mostly--"

"I should have said that it'll be about my brother mostly. "

"But you know what I mean. You wouldn't mind if I did open it?"

"But you say you know what'll be in it. "

"So I did know--till you--I've got to see that letter, Dwight. "

"And so you shall. But not till I show it to you. My dear Lulu, you knowhow I hate having my mail interfered with. "

She might have said: "Small souls always make a point of that. " She saidnothing. She watched them set off, and kept her mind on Ina's thousandinjunctions. 

"Don't let Di see much of Bobby Larkin. And, Lulu--if it occurs to herto have Mr. Cornish come up to sing, of course you ask him. You mightask him to supper. And don't let mother overdo. And, Lulu, now do watchMonona's handkerchief--the child will never take a clean one if I'm nothere to tell her. .. . "

She breathed injunctions to the very step of the 'bus. 

In the 'bus Dwight leaned forward:

"See that you play post-office squarely, Lulu!" he called, and threwback his head and lifted his eyebrows. 

In the train he turned tragic eyes to his wife. 

"Ina, " he said. "It's _ma_. And she's going to die. It can't be. .. . "

Ina said: "But you're going to help her, Dwight, just being there withher. "

It was true that the mere presence of the man would bring a kind offresh life to that worn frame. Tact and wisdom and love would speakthrough him and minister. 

Toward the end of their week's absence the letter from Ninian came. 

Lulu took it from the post-office when she went for the mail thatevening, dressed in her dark red gown. There was no other letter, andshe carried that one letter in her hand all through the streets. Shepassed those who were surmising what her story might be, who weretelling one another what they had heard. But she knew hardly more thanthey. She passed Cornish in the doorway of his little music shop, andspoke with him; and there was the letter. It was so that Dwight's fostermother's postal card might have looked on its way to be mailed. 

Cornish stepped down and overtook her. 

"Oh, Miss Lulu. I've got a new song or two--"

She said abstractedly: "Do. Any night. To-morrow night--could you--" Itwas as if Lulu were too preoccupied to remember to be ill at ease. 

Cornish flushed with pleasure, said that he could indeed. 

"Come for supper, " Lulu said. 

Oh, could he? Wouldn't that be. .. . Well, say! Such was his acceptance. 

He came for supper. And Di was not at home. She had gone off in thecountry with Jenny and Bobby, and they merely did not return. 

Mrs. Bett and Lulu and Cornish and Monona supped alone. All were atease, now that they were alone. Especially Mrs. Bett was at ease. Itbecame one of her young nights, her alive and lucid nights. She was_there_. She sat in Dwight's chair and Lulu sat in Ina's chair. Lulu hadpicked flowers for the table--a task coveted by her but usuallyperformed by Ina. Lulu had now picked Sweet William and had filled avase of silver gilt taken from the parlour. Also, Lulu had madeice-cream. 

"I don't see what Di can be thinking of, " Lulu said. "It seems likeasking you under false--" She was afraid of "pretences" and endedwithout it. 

Cornish savoured his steaming beef pie, with sage. "Oh, well!" he saidcontentedly. 

"Kind of a relief, _I_ think, to have her gone, " said Mrs. Bett, fromthe fulness of something or other. 

"Mother!" Lulu said, twisting her smile. 

"Why, my land, I love her, " Mrs. Bett explained, "but she wiggles andchitters. "

Cornish never made the slightest effort, at any time, to keep a straightface. The honest fellow now laughed loudly. 

"Well!" Lulu thought. "He can't be so _very_ much in love. " And againshe thought: "He doesn't know anything about the letter. He thinksNinian got tired of me. " Deep in her heart there abode her certaintythat this was not so. 

By some etiquette of consent, Mrs. Bett cleared the table and Lulu andCornish went into the parlour. There lay the letter on the drop-leafside-table, among the shells. Lulu had carried it there, where she neednot see it at her work. The letter looked no more than the advertisementof dental office furniture beneath it. Monona stood indifferentlyfingering both. 

"Monona, " Lulu said sharply, "leave them be!"

Cornish was displaying his music. "Got up quite attractive, " he said--itwas his formula of praise for his music. 

"But we can't try it over, " Lulu said, "if Di doesn't come. "

"Well, say, " said Cornish shyly, "you know I left that Album of OldFavourites here. Some of them we know by heart. "

Lulu looked. "I'll tell you something, " she said, "there's some of theseI can play with one hand--by ear. Maybe--"

"Why sure!" said Cornish. 

Lulu sat at the piano. She had on the wool chally, long sacred to thenights when she must combine her servant's estate with the quality ofbeing Ina's sister. She wore her coral beads and her cameo cross. Inher absence she had caught the trick of dressing her hair so that itlooked even more abundant--but she had not dared to try it so untilto-night, when Dwight was gone. Her long wrist was curved high, her thinhand pressed and fingered awkwardly, and at her mistakes her head dippedand strove to make all right. Her foot continuously touched the loudpedal--the blurred sound seemed to accomplish more. So she played "HowCan I Leave Thee, " and they managed to sing it. So she played "Long, Long Ago, " and "Little Nell of Narragansett Bay. " Beyond open doors, Mrs. Bett listened, sang, it may be, with them; for when the singersceased, her voice might be heard still humming a loud closing bar. 

"Well!" Cornish cried to Lulu; and then, in the formal village phrase:"You're quite a musician. "

"Oh, no!" Lulu disclaimed it. She looked up, flushed, smiling. "I'venever done this in front of anybody, " she owned. "I don't know whatDwight and Ina'd say. .. . " She drooped. 

They rested, and, miraculously, the air of the place had stirred andquickened, as if the crippled, halting melody had some power of its own, and poured this forth, even thus trampled. 

"I guess you could do 'most anything you set your hand to, " saidCornish. 

"Oh, no, " Lulu said again. 

"Sing and play and cook--"

"But I can't earn anything. I'd like to earn something. " But this shehad not meant to say. She stopped, rather frightened. 

"You would! Why, you have it fine here, I thought. "

"Oh, fine, yes. Dwight gives me what I have. And I do their work. "

"I see, " said Cornish. "I never thought of that, " he added. She caughthis speculative look--he had heard a tale or two concerning her return, as who in Warbleton had not heard?

"You're wondering why I didn't stay with him!" Lulu said recklessly. This was no less than wrung from her, but its utterance occasioned inher an unspeakable relief. 

"Oh, no, " Cornish disclaimed, and coloured and rocked. 

"Yes, you are, " she swept on. "The whole town's wondering. Well, I'dlike 'em to know, but Dwight won't let me tell. "

Cornish frowned, trying to understand. 

"'Won't let you!'" he repeated. "I should say that was your own affair. "

"No. Not when Dwight gives me all I have. "

"Oh, that--" said Cornish. "That's not right. "

"No. But there it is. It puts me--you see what it does to me. Theythink--they all think my--husband left me. "

It was curious to hear her bring out that word--tentatively, deprecatingly, like some one daring a foreign phrase without warrant. 

Cornish said feebly: "Oh, well. .. . "

Before she willed it, she was telling him:

"He didn't. He didn't leave me, " she cried with passion. "He had anotherwife. " Incredibly it was as if she were defending both him and herself. 

"Lord sakes!" said Cornish. 

She poured it out, in her passion to tell some one, to share her news ofher state where there would be neither hardness nor censure. 

"We were in Savannah, Georgia, " she said. "We were going to leave forOregon--going to go through California. We were in the hotel, and he wasgoing out to get the tickets. He started to go. Then he came back. I wassitting the same as there. He opened the door again--the same as here. Isaw he looked different--and he said quick: 'There's something you'dought to know before we go. ' And of course I said, 'What?' And he saidit right out--how he was married eighteen years ago and in two years sheran away and she must be dead but he wasn't sure. He hadn't the proofs. So of course I came home. But it wasn't him left me. "

"No, no. Of course he didn't, " Cornish said earnestly. "But Lordsakes--" he said again. He rose to walk about, found it impracticableand sat down. 

"That's what Dwight don't want me to tell--he thinks it isn't true. Hethinks--he didn't have any other wife. He thinks he wanted--" Lululooked up at him. 

"You see, " she said, "Dwight thinks he didn't want me. "

"But why don't you make your--husband--I mean, why doesn't he write toMr. Deacon here, and tell him the truth--" Cornish burst out. 

Under this implied belief, she relaxed and into her face came its raresweetness. 

"He has written, " she said. "The letter's there. "

He followed her look, scowled at the two letters. 

"What'd he say?"

"Dwight don't like me to touch his mail. I'll have to wait till hecomes back. "

"Lord sakes!" said Cornish. 

This time he did rise and walk about. He wanted to say something, wantedit with passion. He paused beside Lulu and stammered: "You--you--you'retoo nice a girl to get a deal like this. Darned if you aren't. "

To her own complete surprise Lulu's eyes filled with tears, and shecould not speak. She was by no means above self-sympathy. 

"And there ain't, " said Cornish sorrowfully, "there ain't a thing I cando. "

And yet he was doing much. He was gentle, he was listening, and on hisface a frown of concern. His face continually surprised her, it was sofine and alive and near, by comparison with Ninian's loose-lipped, ruddy, impersonal look and Dwight's thin, high-boned hardness. All thetime Cornish gave her something, instead of drawing upon her. Above all, he was there, and she could talk to him. 

"It's--it's funny, " Lulu said. "I'd be awful glad if I just _could_know for sure that the other woman was alive--if I couldn't know she'sdead. "

This surprising admission Cornish seemed to understand. 

"Sure you would, " he said briefly. 

"Cora Waters, " Lulu said. "Cora Waters, of San Diego, California. Andshe never heard of me. "

"No, " Cornish admitted. They stared at each other as across some abyss. 

In the doorway Mrs. Bett appeared. 

"I scraped up everything, " she remarked, "and left the dishes set. "

"That's right, mamma, " Lulu said. "Come and sit down. "

Mrs. Bett entered with a leisurely air of doing the thing next expectedof her. 

"I don't hear any more playin' and singin', " she remarked. "It soundedreal nice. "

"We--we sung all I knew how to play, I guess, mamma. "

"I use' to play on the melodeon, " Mrs. Bett volunteered, and spread andexamined her right hand. 

"Well!" said Cornish. 

She now told them about her log-house in a New England clearing, whenshe was a bride. All her store of drama and life came from her. Sherehearsed it with far eyes. She laughed at old delights, drooped at oldfears. She told about her little daughter who had died at sixteen--atragedy such as once would have been renewed in a vital ballad. At theend she yawned frankly as if, in some terrible sophistication, she hadbeen telling the story of some one else. 

"Give us one more piece, " she said. 

"Can we?" Cornish asked. 

"I can play 'I Think When I Read That Sweet Story of Old, '" Lulu said. 

"That's the ticket!" cried Cornish. 

They sang it, to Lulu's right hand. 

"That's the one you picked out when you was a little girl, Lulie, "cried, Mrs. Bett. 

Lulu had played it now as she must have played it then. 

Half after nine and Di had not returned. But nobody thought of Di. Cornish rose to go. 

"What's them?" Mrs. Bett demanded. 

"Dwight's letters, mamma. You mustn't touch them!" Lulu's voice wassharp. 

"Say!" Cornish, at the door, dropped his voice. "If there was anything Icould do at any time, you'd let me know, wouldn't you?"

That past tense, those subjunctives, unconsciously called upon her tofeel no intrusion. 

"Oh, thank you, " she said. "You don't know how good it is to feel--"

"Of course it is, " said Cornish heartily. 

They stood for a moment on the porch. The night was one of low clamourfrom the grass, tiny voices, insisting. 

"Of course, " said Lulu, "of course you won't--you wouldn't--"

"Say anything?" he divined. "Not for dollars. Not, " he repeated, "fordollars. "

"But I knew you wouldn't, " she told him. 

He took her hand. "Good-night, " he said. "I've had an awful nice timesinging and listening to you talk--well, of course--I mean, " he cried, "the supper was just fine. And so was the music. "

"Oh, no, " she said. 

Mrs. Bett came into the hall. 

"Lulie, " she said, "I guess you didn't notice--this one's from Ninian. "

"Mother--"

"I opened it--why, of course I did. It's from Ninian. "

Mrs. Bett held out the opened envelope, the unfolded letter, and ayellowed newspaper clipping. 

"See, " said the old woman, "says, 'Corie Waters, music hallsinger--married last night to Ninian Deacon--' Say, Lulie, that must beher. .. . "

Lulu threw out her hands. 

"There!" she cried triumphantly. "He _was_ married to her, just like hesaid!"

 * * * * *

The Plows were at breakfast next morning when Lulu came in casually atthe side-door. Yes, she said, she had had breakfast. She merely wantedto see them about something. Then she said nothing, but sat looking witha troubled frown at Jenny. Jenny's hair was about her neck, like thehair of a little girl, a south window poured light upon her, the fruitand honey upon the table seemed her only possible food. 

"You look troubled, Lulu, " Mrs. Plow said. "Is it about getting work?"

"No, " said Lulu, "no. I've been places to ask--quite a lot of places. Iguess the bakery is going to let me make cake. "

"I knew it would come to you, " Mrs. Plow said, and Lulu thought thatthis was a strange way to speak, when she herself had gone after thecakes. But she kept on looking about the room. It was so bright andquiet. As she came in, Mr. Plow had been reading from a book. Dwightnever read from a book at table. 

"I wish----" said Lulu, as she looked at them. But she did not know whatshe wished. Certainly it was for no moral excellence, for she perceivednone. 

"What is it, Lulu?" Mr. Plow asked, and he was bright and quiet too, Lulu thought. 

"Well, " said Lulu, "it's not much. But I wanted Jenny to tell me aboutlast night. "

"Last night?"

"Yes. Would you----" Hesitation was her only way of apology. "Where didyou go?" She turned to Jenny. 

Jenny looked up in her clear and ardent fashion: "We went across theriver and carried supper and then we came home. "

"What time did you get home?"

"Oh, it was still light. Long before eight, it was. "

Lulu hesitated and flushed, asked how long Di and Bobby had stayed thereat Jenny's; whereupon she heard that Di had to be home early on accountof Mr. Cornish, so that she and Bobby had not stayed at all. To whichLulu said an "of course, " but first she stared at Jenny and so impairedthe strength of her assent. Almost at once she rose to go. 

"Nothing else?" said Mrs. Plow, catching that look of hers. 

Lulu wanted to say: "My husband _was_ married before, just as he said hewas. " But she said nothing more, and went home. There she put it to Di, and with her terrible bluntness reviewed to Di the testimony. 

"You were not with Jenny after eight o'clock. Where were you?" Luluspoke formally and her rehearsals were evident. 

Di said: "When mamma comes home, I'll tell her. "

With this Lulu had no idea how to deal, and merely looked at herhelplessly. Mrs. Bett, who was lacing her shoes, now said casually:

"No need to wait till then. Her and Bobby were out in the side yardsitting in the hammock till all hours. "

Di had no answer save her furious flush, and Mrs. Bett went on:

"Didn't I tell you? I knew it before the company left, but I didn't saya word. Thinks I, 'She's wiggles and chitters. ' So I left her stay whereshe was. "

"But, mother!" Lulu cried. "You didn't even tell me after he'd gone. "

"I forgot it, " Mrs. Bett said, "finding Ninian's letter and all--" Shetalked of Ninian's letter. 

Di was bright and alert and firm of flesh and erect before Lulu'ssoftness and laxness. 

"I don't know what your mother'll say, " said Lulu, "and I don't knowwhat people'll think. "

"They won't think Bobby and I are tired of each other, anyway, " said Di, and left the room. 

Through the day Lulu tried to think what she must do. About Di she wasanxious and felt without power. She thought of the indignation of Dwightand Ina that Di had not been more scrupulously guarded. She thought ofDi's girlish folly, her irritating independence--"and there, " Luluthought, "just the other day I was teaching her to sew. " Her mind dwelttoo on Dwight's furious anger at the opening of Ninian's letter. Butwhen all this had spent itself, what was she herself to do? She mustleave his house before he ordered her to do so, when she told him thatshe had confided in Cornish, as tell she must. But what was she to _do_?The bakery cake-making would not give her a roof. 

Stepping about the kitchen in her blue cotton gown, her hair tight andflat as seemed proper when one was not dressed, she thought about thesethings. And it was strange: Lulu bore no physical appearance of one indistress or any anxiety. Her head was erect, her movements were strongand swift, her eyes were interested. She was no drooping Lulu withdragging step. She was more intent, she was somehow more operative thanshe had ever been. 

Mrs. Bett was working contentedly beside her, and now and then hummingan air of that music of the night before. The sun surged through thekitchen door and east window, a returned oriole swung and fluted on theelm above the gable. Wagons clattered by over the rattling wooden blockpavement. 

"Ain't it nice with nobody home?" Mrs. Bett remarked at intervals, likethe burden of a comic song. 

"Hush, mother, " Lulu said, troubled, her ethical refinements conflictingwith her honesty. 

"Speak the truth and shame the devil, " Mrs. Bett contended. 

When dinner was ready at noon, Di did not appear. A little earlier Luluhad heard her moving about her room, and she served her in expectationthat she would join them. 

"Di must be having the 'tantrim' this time, " she thought, and for a timesaid nothing. But at length she did say: "Why doesn't Di come? I'dbetter put her plate in the oven. "

Rising to do so, she was arrested by her mother. Mrs. Bett was eating abaked potato, holding her fork close to the tines, and presenting aprofile of passionate absorption. 

"Why, Di went off, " she said. 

"Went off!"

"Down the walk. Down the sidewalk. "

"She must have gone to Jenny's, " said Lulu. "I wish she wouldn't do thatwithout telling me. "

Monona laughed out and shook her straight hair. "She'll catch it!" shecried in sisterly enjoyment. 

It was when Lulu had come back from the kitchen and was seated at thetable that Mrs. Bett observed:

"I didn't think Inie'd want her to take her nice new satchel. "

"Her satchel?"

"Yes. Inie wouldn't take it north herself, but Di had it. "

"Mother, " said Lulu, "when Di went away just now, was she carrying asatchel?"

"Didn't I just tell you?" Mrs. Bett demanded, aggrieved. "I said Ididn't think Inie--"

"Mother! Which way did she go?"

Monona pointed with her spoon. "She went that way, " she said. "I seenher. "

Lulu looked at the clock. For Monona had pointed toward the railwaystation. The twelve-thirty train, which every one took to the city forshopping, would be just about leaving. 

"Monona, " said Lulu, "don't you go out of the yard while I'm gone. Mother, you keep her--"

Lulu ran from the house and up the street. She was in her blue cottondress, her old shoes, she was hatless and without money. When she wasstill two or three blocks from the station, she heard the twelve-thirty"pulling out. "

She ran badly, her ankles in their low, loose shoes continually turning, her arms held taut at her sides. So she came down the platform, and tothe ticket window. The contained ticket man, wonted to lost trains andperturbed faces, yet actually ceased counting when he saw her:

"Lenny! Did Di Deacon take that train?"

"Sure she did, " said Lenny. 

"And Bobby Larkin?" Lulu cared nothing for appearances now. 

"He went in on the Local, " said Lenny, and his eyes widened. 

"Where?"

"See. " Lenny thought it through. "Millton, " he said. "Yes, sure. Millton. Both of 'em. "

"How long till another train?"

"Well, sir, " said the ticket man, "you're in luck, if you was goin' too. Seventeen was late this morning--she'll be along, jerk of a lamb'stail. "

"Then, " said Lulu, "you got to give me a ticket to Millton, without mepaying till after--and you got to lend me two dollars. "

"Sure thing, " said Lenny, with a manner of laying the entire railwaysystem at her feet. 

"Seventeen" would rather not have stopped at Warbleton, but Lenny'ssignal was law on the time card, and the magnificent yellow expressslowed down for Lulu. Hatless and in her blue cotton gown, she climbedaboard. 

Then her old inefficiency seized upon her. What was she going to do?Millton! She had been there but once, years ago--how could she everfind anybody? Why had she not stayed in Warbleton and asked the sheriffor somebody--no, not the sheriff. Cornish, perhaps. Oh, and Dwight andIna were going to be angry now! And Di--little Di. As Lulu thought ofher she began to cry. She said to herself that she had taught Di tosew. 

In sight of Millton, Lulu was seized with trembling and physical nausea. She had never been alone in any unfamiliar town. She put her hands toher hair and for the first time realized her rolled-up sleeves. She waspulling down these sleeves when the conductor came through the train. 

"Could you tell me, " she said timidly, "the name of the principal hotelin Millton?"

Ninian had asked this as they neared Savannah, Georgia. 

The conductor looked curiously at her. 

"Why, the Hess House, " he said. "Wasn't you expecting anybody to meetyou?" he asked, kindly. 

"No, " said Lulu, "but I'm going to find my folks--" Her voice trailedaway. 

"Beats all, " thought the conductor, using his utility formula for theuniverse. 

In Millton Lulu's inquiry for the Hess House produced no consternation. Nobody paid any attention to her. She was almost certainly taken to be anew servant there. 

"You stop feeling so!" she said to herself angrily at the lobbyentrance. "Ain't you been to that big hotel in Savannah, Georgia?"

The Hess House, Millton, had a tradition of its own to maintain, itseemed, and they sent her to the rear basement door. She obeyed meekly, but she lost a good deal of time before she found herself at the end ofthe office desk. It was still longer before any one attended her. 

"Please, sir!" she burst out. "See if Di Deacon has put her name on yourbook. "

Her appeal was tremendous, compelling. The young clerk listened to her, showed her where to look in the register. When only strange names andstrange writing presented themselves there, he said:

"Tried the parlour?"

And directed her kindly and with his thumb, and in the other hand a pendivorced from his ear for the express purpose. 

In crossing the lobby in the hotel at Savannah, Georgia, Lulu's mostpressing problem had been to know where to look. But now the idlers inthe Hess House lobby did not exist. In time she found the door of theintensely rose-coloured reception room. There, in a fat, rose-colouredchair, beside a cataract of lace curtain, sat Di, alone. 

Lulu entered. She had no idea what to say. When Di looked up, startedup, frowned, Lulu felt as if she herself were the culprit. She said thefirst thing that occurred to her:

"I don't believe mamma'll like your taking her nice satchel. "

"Well!" said Di, exactly as if she had been at home. And superadded: "Mygoodness!" And then cried rudely: "What are you here for?"

"For you, " said Lulu. "You--you--you'd ought not to be here, Di. "

"What's that to you?" Di cried. 

"Why, Di, you're just a little girl----"

Lulu saw that this was all wrong, and stopped miserably. How was she togo on? "Di, " she said, "if you and Bobby want to get married, why notlet us get you up a nice wedding at home?" And she saw that this soundedas if she were talking about a tea-party. 

"Who said we wanted to be married?"

"Well, he's here. "

"Who said he's here?"

"Isn't he?"

Di sprang up. "Aunt Lulu, " she said, "you're a funny person to betelling _me_ what to do. "

Lulu said, flushing: "I love you just the same as if I was marriedhappy, in a home. "

"Well, you aren't!" cried Di cruelly, "and I'm going to do just as Ithink best. "

Lulu thought this over, her look grave and sad. She tried to findsomething to say. "What do people say to people, " she wondered, "whenit's like this?"

"Getting married is for your whole life, " was all that came to her. 

"Yours wasn't, " Di flashed at her. 

Lulu's colour deepened, but there seemed to be no resentment in her. Shemust deal with this right--that was what her manner seemed to say. Andhow should she deal?

"Di, " she cried, "come back with me--and wait till mamma and papa gethome. "

"That's likely. They say I'm not to be married till I'm twenty-one. "

"Well, but how young that is!"

"It is to you. "

"Di! This is wrong--it _is_ wrong. "

"There's nothing wrong about getting married--if you stay married. "

"Well, then it can't be wrong to let them know. "

"It isn't. But they'd treat me wrong. They'd make me stay at home. And Iwon't stay at home--I won't stay there. They act as if I was ten yearsold. "

Abruptly in Lulu's face there came a light of understanding. 

"Why, Di, " she said, "do you feel that way too?"

Di missed this. She went on:

"I'm grown up. I feel just as grown up as they do. And I'm not allowedto do a thing I feel. I want to be away--I will be away!"

"I know about that part, " Lulu said. 

She now looked at Di with attention. Was it possible that Di wassuffering in the air of that home as she herself suffered? She had notthought of that. There Di had seemed so young, so dependent, so--asquirm. Here, by herself, waiting for Bobby, in the Hess House atMillton, she was curiously adult. Would she be adult if she were letalone?

"You don't know what it's like, " Di cried, "to be hushed up and laughedat and paid no attention to, everything you say. "

"Don't I?" said Lulu. "Don't I?"

She was breathing quickly and looking at Di. If _this_ was why Di wasleaving home. .. . 

"But, Di, " she cried, "do you love Bobby Larkin?"

By this Di was embarrassed. "I've got to marry somebody, " she said, "andit might as well be him. "

"But is it him?"

"Yes, it is, " said Di. "But, " she added, "I know I could love almostanybody real nice that was nice to me. " And this she said, not in herown right, but either she had picked it up somewhere and adopted it, orelse the terrible modernity and honesty of her day somehow spoke throughher, for its own. But to Lulu it was as if something familiar turned itsface to be recognised. 

"Di!" she cried. 

"It's true. You ought to know that. " She waited for a moment. "You didit, " she added. "Mamma said so. "

At this onslaught Lulu was stupefied. For she began to perceive itstruth. 

"I know what I want to do, I guess, " Di muttered, as if to try to coverwhat she had said. 

Up to that moment, Lulu had been feeling intensely that she understoodDi, but that Di did not know this. Now Lulu felt that she and Diactually shared some unsuspected sisterhood. It was not only that theywere both badgered by Dwight. It was more than that. They were twowomen. And she must make Di know that she understood her. 

"Di, " Lulu said, breathing hard, "what you just said is true, I guess. Don't you think I don't know. And now I'm going to tell you--"

She might have poured it all out, claimed her kinship with Di by virtueof that which had happened in Savannah, Georgia. But Di said:

"Here come some ladies. And goodness, look at the way you look!"

Lulu glanced down. "I know, " she said, "but I guess you'll have to putup with me. "

The two women entered, looked about with the complaisance of those whoexamine a hotel property, find criticism incumbent, and have no errand. These two women had outdressed their occasion. In their presence Di keptsilence, turned away her head, gave them to know that she had nothing todo with this blue cotton person beside her. When they had gone on, "Whatdo you mean by my having to put up with you?" Di asked sharply. 

"I mean I'm going to stay with you. "

Di laughed scornfully--she was again the rebellious child. "I guessBobby'll have something to say about that, " she said insolently. 

"They left you in my charge. "

"But I'm not a baby--the idea, Aunt Lulu!"

"I'm going to stay right with you, " said Lulu. She wondered what sheshould do if Di suddenly marched away from her, through that brightlobby and into the street. She thought miserably that she must follow. And then her whole concern for the ethics of Di's course was lost in heragonised memory of her terrible, broken shoes. 

Di did not march away. She turned her back squarely upon Lulu, andlooked out of the window. For her life Lulu could think of nothing moreto say. She was now feeling miserably on the defensive. 

They were sitting in silence when Bobby Larkin came into the room. 

Four Bobby Larkins there were, in immediate succession. 

The Bobby who had just come down the street was distinctly perturbed, came hurrying, now and then turned to the left when he met folk, glancedsidewise here and there, was altogether anxious and ill at ease. 

The Bobby who came through the hotel was a Bobby who had on animportance assumed for the crisis of threading the lobby--a Bobby whowished it to be understood that here he was, a man among men, in theHess House at Millton. 

The Bobby who entered the little rose room was the Bobby who was no lessthan overwhelmed with the stupendous character of the adventure uponwhich he found himself. 

The Bobby who incredibly came face to face with Lulu was the real Bobbyinto whose eyes leaped instant, unmistakable relief. 

Di flew to meet him. She assumed all the pretty agitations of her rôle, ignored Lulu. 

"Bobby! Is it all right?"

Bobby looked over her head. 

"Miss Lulu, " he said fatuously. "If it ain't Miss Lulu. "

He looked from her to Di, and did not take in Di's resigned shrug. 

"Bobby, " said Di, "she's come to stop us getting married, but shecan't. I've told her so. "

"She don't have to stop us, " quoth Bobby gloomily, "we're stopped. "

"What do you mean?" Di laid one hand flatly along her cheek, instinctivein her melodrama. 

Bobby drew down his brows, set his hand on his leg, elbow out. 

"We're minors, " said he. 

"Well, gracious, you didn't have to tell them that. "

"No. They knew _I_ was. "

"But, Silly! Why didn't you tell them you're not?"

"But I am. "

Di stared. "For pity sakes, " she said, "don't you know how to doanything?"

"What would you have me do?" he inquired indignantly, with his head heldvery stiff, and with a boyish, admirable lift of chin. 

"Why, tell them we're both twenty-one. We look it. We know we'reresponsible--that's all they care for. Well, you are a funny. .. . "

"You wanted me to lie?" he said. 

"Oh, don't make out you never told a fib. "

"Well, but this--" he stared at her. 

"I never heard of such a thing, " Di cried accusingly. 

"Anyhow, " he said, "there's nothing to do now. The cat's out. I've toldour ages. We've got to have our folks in on it. "

"Is that all you can think of?" she demanded. 

"What else?"

"Why, come on to Bainbridge or Holt, and tell them we're of age, and bemarried there. "

"Di, " said Bobby, "why, that'd be a rotten go. "

Di said, oh very well, if he didn't want to marry her. He repliedstonily that of course he wanted to marry her. Di stuck out her littlehand. She was at a disadvantage. She could use no arts, with Lulusitting there, looking on. "Well, then, come on to Bainbridge, " Dicried, and rose. 

Lulu was thinking: "What shall I say? I don't know what to say. I don'tknow what I can say. " Now she also rose, and laughed awkwardly. "I'vetold Di, " she said to Bobby, "that wherever you two go, I'm going too. Di's folks left her in my care, you know. So you'll have to take mealong, I guess. " She spoke in a manner of distinct apology. 

At this Bobby had no idea what to reply. He looked down miserably at thecarpet. His whole manner was a mute testimony to his participation inthe eternal query: How did I get into it?

"Bobby, " said Di, "are you going to let her lead you home?"

This of course nettled him, but not in the manner on which Di hadcounted. He said loudly:

"I'm not going to Bainbridge or Holt or any town and lie, to get you orany other girl. "

Di's head lifted, tossed, turned from him. "You're about as much like aman in a story, " she said, "as--as papa is. "

The two idly inspecting women again entered the rose room, this time tostay. They inspected Lulu too. And Lulu rose and stood between thelovers. 

"Hadn't we all better get the four-thirty to Warbleton?" she said, andswallowed. 

"Oh, if Bobby wants to back out--" said Di. 

"I don't want to back out, " Bobby contended furiously, "b-b-but Iwon't--"

"Come on, Aunt Lulu, " said Di grandly. 

Bobby led the way through the lobby, Di followed, and Lulu brought upthe rear. She walked awkwardly, eyes down, her hands stiffly held. Headsturned to look at her. They passed into the street. 

"You two go ahead, " said Lulu, "so they won't think--"

They did so, and she followed, and did not know where to look, andthought of her broken shoes. 

At the station, Bobby put them on the train and stepped back. He had, hesaid, something to see to there in Millton. Di did not look at him. AndLulu's good-bye spoke her genuine regret for all. 

"Aunt Lulu, " said Di, "you needn't think I'm going to sit with you. Youlook as if you were crazy. I'll sit back here. "

"All right, Di, " said Lulu humbly. 

 * * * * *

It was nearly six o'clock when they arrived at the Deacons'. Mrs. Bettstood on the porch, her hands rolled in her apron. 

"Surprise for you!" she called brightly. 

Before they had reached the door, Ina bounded from the hall. 

"Darling!"

She seized upon Di, kissed her loudly, drew back from her, saw thetravelling bag. 

"My new bag!" she cried. "Di! What have you got that for?"

In any embarrassment Di's instinctive defence was hearty laughter. Shenow laughed heartily, kissed her mother again, and ran up the stairs. 

Lulu slipped by her sister, and into the kitchen. 

"Well, where have _you_, been?" cried Ina. "I declare, I never saw sucha family. Mamma don't know anything and neither of you will tellanything. "

"Mamma knows a-plenty, " snapped Mrs. Bett. 

Monona, who was eating a sticky gift, jumped stiffly up and down. 

"You'll catch it--you'll catch it!" she sent out her shrill generalwarning. 

Mrs. Bett followed Lulu to the kitchen; "I didn't tell Inie about herbag and now she says I don't know nothing, " she complained. "There Iknew about the bag the hull time, but I wasn't going to tell her andspoil her gettin' home. " She banged the stove-griddle. "I've a goodnotion not to eat a mouthful o' supper, " she announced. 

"Mother, please!" said Lulu passionately. "Stay here. Help me. I've gotenough to get through to-night. "

Dwight had come home. Lulu could hear Ina pouring out to him themysterious circumstance of the hag, could hear the exaggerated air ofthe casual with which he always received the excitement of another, andespecially of his Ina. Then she heard Ina's feet padding up the stairs, and after that Di's shrill, nervous laughter. Lulu felt a pang of pityfor Di, as if she herself were about to face them. 

There was not time both to prepare supper and to change the blue cottondress. In that dress Lulu was pouring water when Dwight entered thedining-room. 

"Ah!" said he. "Our festive ball-gown. "

She gave him her hand, with her peculiar sweetness of expression--almostas if she were sorry for him or were bidding him good-bye. 

"_That_ shows who you dress for!" he cried. "You dress for me; Ina, aren't you jealous? Lulu dresses for me!"

Ina had come in with Di, and both were excited, and Ina's head wasmoving stiffly, as in all her indignations. Mrs. Bett had thought betterof it and had given her presence. Already Monona was singing. 

"Lulu, " said Dwight, "really? Can't you run up and slip on anotherdress?"

Lulu sat down in her place. "No, " she said. "I'm too tired. I'm sorry, Dwight. "

"It seems to me--" he began. 

"I don't want any, " said Monona. 

But no one noticed Monona, and Ina did not defer even to Dwight. She, who measured delicate, troy occasions by avoirdupois, said brightly:

"Now, Di. You must tell us all about it. Where had you and Aunt Lulubeen with mamma's new bag?"

"Aunt Lulu!" cried Dwight. "A-ha! So Aunt Lulu was along. Well now, thatalters it. "

"How does it?" asked his Ina crossly. 

"Why, when Aunt Lulu goes on a jaunt, " said Dwight Herbert, "eventsbegin to event. "

"Come, Di, let's hear, " said Ina. 

"Ina, " said Lulu, "first can't we hear something about your visit? Howis----"

Her eyes consulted Dwight. His features dropped, the lines of his facedropped, its muscles seemed to sag. A look of suffering was in his eyes. 

"She'll never be any better, " he said. "I know we've said good-bye toher for the last time. "

"Oh, Dwight!" said Lulu. 

"She knew it too, " he said. "It--it put me out of business, I can tellyou. She gave me my start--she took all the care of me--taught me toread--she's the only mother I ever knew----" He stopped, and opened hiseyes wide on account of their dimness. 

"They said she was like another person while Dwight was there, " saidIna, and entered upon a length of particulars, and details of thejourney. These details Dwight interrupted: Couldn't Lulu remember thathe liked sage on the chops? He could hardly taste it. He had, he said, told her this thirty-seven times. And when she said that she was sorry, "Perhaps you think I'm sage enough, " said the witty fellow. 

"Dwightie!" said Ina. "Mercy. " She shook her head at him. "Now, Di, " shewent on, keeping the thread all this time. "Tell us your story. Aboutthe bag. "

"Oh, mamma, " said Di, "let me eat my supper. "

"And so you shall, darling. Tell it in your own way. Tell us first whatyou've done since we've been away. Did Mr. Cornish come to see you?"

"Yes, " said Di, and flashed a look at Lulu. 

But eventually they were back again before that new black bag. And Diwould say nothing. She laughed, squirmed, grew irritable, laughed again. 

"Lulu!" Ina demanded. "You were with her--where in the world had youbeen? Why, but you couldn't have been with her--in that dress. And yetI saw you come in the gate together. "

"What!" cried Dwight Herbert, drawing down his brows. "You certainly didnot so far forget us, Lulu, as to go on the street in that dress?"

"It's a good dress, " Mrs. Bett now said positively. "Of course it's agood dress. Lulie wore it on the street--of course she did. She was gonea long time. I made me a cup o' tea, and _then_ she hadn't come. "

"Well, " said Ina, "I never heard anything like this before. Where wereyou both?"

One would say that Ina had entered into the family and been born again, identified with each one. Nothing escaped her. Dwight, too, his intimacywas incredible. 

"Put an end to this, Lulu, " he commanded. "Where were you two--since youmake such a mystery?"

Di's look at Lulu was piteous, terrified. Di's fear of her father wasnow clear to Lulu. And Lulu feared him too. Abruptly she heard herselftemporising, for the moment making common cause with Di. 

"Oh, " she said, "we have a little secret. Can't we have a secret if wewant one?"

"Upon my word, " Dwight commented, "she has a beautiful secret. I don'tknow about your secrets, Lulu. "

Every time that he did this, that fleet, lifted look of Lulu's seemed tobleed. 

"I'm glad for my dinner, " remarked Monona at last. "Please excuse me. "On that they all rose. Lulu stayed in the kitchen and did her best tomake her tasks indefinitely last. She had nearly finished when Di burstin. 

"Aunt Lulu, Aunt Lulu!" she cried. "Come in there--come. I can't standit. What am I going to do?"

"Di, dear, " said Lulu. "Tell your mother--you must tell her. "

"She'll cry, " Di sobbed. "Then she'll tell papa--and he'll never stoptalking about it. I know him--every day he'll keep it going. After hescolds me it'll be a joke for months. I'll die--I'll die, Aunt Lulu. "

Ina's voice sounded in the kitchen. "What are you two whispering about?I declare, mamma's hurt, Di, at the way you're acting. .. . "

"Let's go out on the porch, " said Lulu, and when Di would have escaped, Ina drew her with them, and handled the situation in the only way thatshe knew how to handle it, by complaining: Well, but what in thisworld. .. . 

Lulu threw a white shawl about her blue cotton dress. 

"A bridal robe, " said Dwight. "How's that, Lulu--what are _you_ wearinga bridal robe for--eh?"

She smiled dutifully. There was no need to make him angry, shereflected, before she must. He had not yet gone into the parlour--hadnot yet asked for his mail. 

It was a warm dusk, moonless, windless. The sounds of the villagestreet came in--laughter, a touch at a piano, a chiming clock. Bightsstarred and quickened in the blurred houses. Footsteps echoed on theboard walks. The gate opened. The gloom yielded up Cornish. 

Lulu was inordinately glad to see him. To have the strain of the timebroken by him was like hearing, on a lonely whiter wakening, the clockstrike reassuring dawn. 

"Lulu, " said Dwight low, "your dress. Do go!"

Lulu laughed. "The bridal shawl takes off the curse, " she said. 

Cornish, in his gentle way, asked about the journey, about the sickwoman--and Dwight talked of her again, and this time his voice broke. Diwas curiously silent. When Cornish addressed her, she replied simply anddirectly--the rarest of Di's manners, hi fact not Di's manner at all. Lulu spoke not at all--it was enough to have this respite. 

After a little the gate opened again. It was Bobby. In the besettingfear that he was leaving Di to face something alone, Bobby had arrived. 

And now Di's spirits rose. To her his presence meant repentance, recapitulation. Her laugh rang out, her replies came archly. But Bobbywas plainly not playing up. Bobby was, in fact, hardly less than glum. It was Dwight, the irrepressible fellow, who kept the talk going. And itwas no less than deft, his continuously displayed ability playfully topierce Lulu. Some one had "married at the drop of the hat. You know thekind of girl?" And some one "made up a likely story to soothe her ownpride--you know how they do that?"

"Well, " said Ina, "my part, I think _the_ most awful thing is to havesomebody one loves keep secrets from one. No wonder folks get crabbedand spiteful with such treatment. "

"Mamma!" Monona shouted from her room. "Come and hear me say myprayers!"

Monona entered this request with precision on Ina's nastiest moments, but she always rose, unabashed, and went, motherly and dutiful, to heardevotions, as if that function and the process of living ran their twodivided channels. 

She had dispatched this errand and was returning when Mrs. Bett crossedthe lawn from Grandma Gates's, where the old lady had taken comfort inMrs. Bett's ministrations for an hour. 

"Don't you help me, " Mrs. Bett warned them away sharply. "I guess I canhelp myself yet awhile. "

She gained her chair. And still in her momentary rule of attention, shesaid clearly:

"I got a joke. Grandma Gates says it's all over town Di and Bobby Larkineloped off together to-day. _He_!" The last was a single note oflaughter, high and brief. 

The silence fell. 

"What nonsense!" Dwight Herbert said angrily. 

But Ina said tensely: "_Is_ it nonsense? Haven't I been trying andtrying to find out where the black satchel went? Di!"

Di's laughter rose, but it sounded thin and false. 

"Listen to that, Bobby, " she said. "Listen!"

"That won't do, Di, " said Ina. "You can't deceive mamma and don't youtry!" Her voice trembled, she was frantic with loving and authenticanxiety, but she was without power, she overshadowed the real gravity ofthe moment by her indignation. 

"Mrs. Deacon----" began Bobby, and stood up, very straight and manlybefore them all. 

But Dwight intervened, Dwight, the father, the master of his house. Herewas something requiring him to act. So the father set his face like amask and brought down his hand on the rail of the porch. It was as ifthe sound shattered a thousand filaments--where?

"Diana!" his voice was terrible, demanded a response, ravened amongthem. 

"Yes, papa, " said Di, very small. 

"Answer your mother. Answer _me_. Is there anything to this absurdtale?"

"No, papa, " said Di, trembling. 

"Nothing whatever?"

"Nothing whatever. "

"Can you imagine how such a ridiculous report started?"

"No, papa. "

"Very well. Now we know where we are. If anyone hears this reportrepeated, send them to _me_. "

"Well, but that satchel--" said Ina, to whom an idea manifested less asa function than as a leech. 

"One moment, " said Dwight. "Lulu will of course verify what the childhas said. "

There had never been an adult moment until that day when Lulu had notinstinctively taken the part of the parents, of all parents. Now she sawDwight's cruelty to her as his cruelty to Di; she saw Ina, herself achild in maternity, as ignorant of how to deal with the moment as wasDwight. She saw Di's falseness partly parented by these parents. Sheburned at the enormity of Dwight's appeal to her for verification. Shethrew up her head and no one had ever seen Lulu look like this. 

"If you cannot settle this with Di, " said Lulu, "you cannot settle itwith me. "

"A shifty answer, " said Dwight. "You have a genius at misrepresentingfacts, you know, Lulu. "

"Bobby wanted to say something, " said Ina, still troubled. 

"No, Mrs. Deacon, " said Bobby, low. "I have nothing--more to say. "

In a little while, when Bobby went away, Di walked with him to the gate. It was as if, the worst having happened to her, she dared everythingnow. 

"Bobby, " she said, "you hate a lie. But what else could I do?"

He could not see her, could see only the little moon of her face, blurring. 

"And anyhow, " said Di, "it wasn't a lie. We _didn't_ elope, did we?"

"What do you think I came for to-night?" asked Bobby. 

The day had aged him; he spoke like a man. His very voice came gruffly. But she saw nothing, softened to him, yielded, was ready to take hisregret that they had not gone on. 

"Well, I came for one thing, " said Bobby, "to tell you that I couldn'tstand for your wanting me to lie to-day. Why, Di--I hate a lie. And nowto-night--" He spoke his code almost beautifully. "I'd rather, " he said, "they had never let us see each other again than to lose you the wayI've lost you now. "

"Bobby!"

"It's true. We mustn't talk about it. "

"Bobby! I'll go back and tell them all. "

"You can't go back, " said Bobby. "Not out of a thing like that. "

She stood staring after him. She heard some one coming and she turnedtoward the house, and met Cornish leaving. 

"Miss Di, " he cried, "if you're going to elope with anybody, rememberit's with me!"

Her defence was ready--her laughter rang out so that the departing Bobbymight hear. 

She came back to the steps and mounted slowly in the lamplight, a littlewhite thing with whom birth had taken exquisite pains. 

"If, " she said, "if you have any fear that I may ever elope with BobbyLarkin, let it rest. I shall never marry him if he asks me fifty times aday. "

"Really, darling?" cried Ina. 

"Really and truly, " said Di, "and he knows it, too. "

Lulu listened and read all. 

"I wondered, " said Ina pensively, "I wondered if you wouldn't see thatBobby isn't much beside that nice Mr. Cornish!"

When Di had gone upstairs, Ina said to Lulu in a manner of cajolingconfidence:

"Sister----" she rarely called her that, "_why_ did you and Di have theblack bag?"

So that after all it was a relief to Lulu to hear Dwight ask casually:"By the way, Lulu, haven't I got some mail somewhere about?"

"There are two letters on the parlour table, " Lulu answered. To Ina sheadded: "Let's go in the parlour. "

As they passed through the hall, Mrs. Bett was going up the stairs tobed--when she mounted stairs she stooped her shoulders, bunched herextremities, and bent her head. Lulu looked after her, as if she werehalf minded to claim the protection so long lost. 

Dwight lighted the gas. "Better turn down the gas jest a little, " saidhe, tirelessly. 

Lulu handed him the two letters. He saw Ninian's writing and looked up, said "A-ha!" and held it while he leisurely read the advertisement ofdental furniture, his Ina reading over his shoulder. "A-ha!" he saidagain, and with designed deliberation turned to Ninian's letter. "Anepistle from my dear brother Ninian. " The words failed, as he saw theunsealed flap. 

"You opened the letter?" he inquired incredulously. Fortunately he hadno climaxes of furious calm for high occasions. All had been used onsmall occasions. "You opened the letter" came in a tone of no deeperhorror than "You picked the flower"--once put to Lulu. 

She said nothing. As it is impossible to continue looking indignantly atsome one who is not looking at you, Dwight turned to Ina, who was horrorand sympathy, a nice half and half. 

"Your sister has been opening my mail, " he said. 

"But, Dwight, if it's from Ninian--"

"It is _my_ mail, " he reminded her. "She had asked me if she might openit. Of course I told her no. "

"Well, " said Ina practically, "what does he say?"

"I shall open the letter in my own time. My present concern is thisdisregard of my wishes. " His self-control was perfect, ridiculous, devilish. He was self-controlled because thus he could be moreeffectively cruel than in temper. "What excuse have you to offer?"

Lulu was not looking at him. "None, " she said--not defiantly, oringratiatingly, or fearfully. Merely, "None. "

"Why did you do it?"

She smiled faintly and shook her head. 

"Dwight, " said Ina, reasonably, "she knows what's in it and we don't. Hurry up. "

"She is, " said Dwight, after a pause, "an ungrateful woman. "

He opened the letter, saw the clipping, the avowal, with its facts. 

"A-ha!" said he. "So after having been absent with my brother for amonth, you find that you were _not_ married to him. "

Lulu spoke her exceeding triumph. 

"You see, Dwight, " she said, "he told the truth. He had another wife. Hedidn't just leave me. "

Dwight instantly cried: "But this seems to me to make you considerablyworse off than if he had. "

"Oh, no, " Lulu said serenely. "No. Why, " she said, "you know how it allcame about. He--he was used to thinking of his wife as dead. If hehadn't--hadn't liked me, he wouldn't have told me. You see that, don'tyou?"

Dwight laughed. "That your apology?" he asked. 

She said nothing. 

"Look here, Lulu, " he went on, "this is a bad business. The less you sayabout it the better, for all our sakes--_you_ see that, don't you?"

"See that? Why, no. I wanted you to write to him so I could tell thetruth. You said I mustn't tell the truth till I had the proofs . .. "

"Tell who?"

"Tell everybody. I want them to know. "

"Then you care nothing for our feelings in this matter?"

She looked at him now. "Your feeling?"

"It's nothing to you that we have a brother who's a bigamist?"

"But it's me--it's me. "

"You! You're completely out of it. Just let it rest as it is and it'lldrop. "

"I want the people to know the truth, " Lulu said. 

"But it's nobody's business but our business! I take it you don't intendto sue Ninian?"

"Sue him? Oh no!"

"Then, for all our sakes, let's drop the matter. "

Lulu had fallen in one of her old attitudes, tense, awkward, her handsawkwardly placed, her feet twisted. She kept putting a lock back of herear, she kept swallowing. 

"Tell you, Lulu, " said Dwight. "Here are three of us. Our interests arethe same in this thing--only Ninian is our relative and he's nothing toyou now. Is he?"

"Why, no, " said Lulu in surprise. 

"Very well. Let's have a vote. Your snap judgment is to tell thisdisgraceful fact broadcast. Mine is, least said, soonest mended. What doyou say, Ina--considering Di and all?"

"Oh, goodness, " said Ina, "if we get mixed up with bigamy, we'll neverget away from it. Why, I wouldn't have it told for worlds. "

Still in that twisted position, Lulu looked up at her. Her strayinghair, her parted lips, her lifted eyes were singularly pathetic. 

"My poor, poor sister!" Ina said. She struck together her little plumphands. "Oh, Dwight--when I think of it: What have I done--what have _we_done that I should have a good, kind, loving husband--be so protected, so loved, when other women. .. . Darling!" she sobbed, and drew near toLulu. "You _know_ how sorry I am--we all are. .. . "

Lulu stood up. The white shawl slipped to the floor. Her hands werestiffly joined. 

"Then, " she said, "give me the only thing I've got--that's my pride. Mypride--that he didn't want to get rid of me. "

They stared at her. "What about _my_ pride?" Dwight called to her, asacross great distances. "Do you think I want everybody to know mybrother did a thing like that?"

"You can't help that, " said Lulu. 

"But I want you to help it. I want you to promise me that you won'tshame us like this before all our friends. "

"You want me to promise what?"

"I want you--I ask you, " Dwight said with an effort, "to promise me thatyou will keep this, with us--a family secret. "

"No!" Lulu cried. "No. I won't do it! I won't do it! I won't do it!"

It was like some crude chant, knowing only two tones. She threw out herhands, her wrists long and dark on her blue skirt. "Can't youunderstand anything?" she asked. "I've lived here all my life--on yourmoney. I've not been strong enough to work, they say--well, but I'vebeen strong enough to be a hired girl in your house--and I've been gladto pay for my keep. .. . But there wasn't anything about it I liked. Nothing about being here that I liked. .. . Well, then I got a littlesomething, same as other folks. I thought I was married and I went offon the train and he bought me things and I saw the different towns. Andthen it was all a mistake. I didn't have any of it. I came back here andwent into your kitchen again--I don't know why I came back. I s'posebecause I'm most thirty-four and new things ain't so easy any more--butwhat have I got or what'll I ever have? And now you want to put on to mehaving folks look at me and think he run off and left me, and having 'emall wonder. .. . I can't stand it. I can't stand it. I can't. .. . "

"You'd rather they'd know he fooled you, when he had another wife?"Dwight sneered. 

"Yes! Because he wanted me. How do I know--maybe he wanted me only justbecause he was lonesome, the way I was. I don't care why! And I won'thave folks think he went and left me. "

"That, " said Dwight, "is a wicked vanity. "

"That's the truth. Well, why can't they know the truth?"

"And bring disgrace on us all. "

"It's me--it's me----" Lulu's individualism strove against that terribletribal sense, was shattered by it. 

"It's all of us!" Dwight boomed. "It's Di. "

"_Di?_" He had Lulu's eyes now. 

"Why, it's chiefly on Di's account that I'm talking, " said Dwight. 

"How would it hurt Di?"

"To have a thing like that in the family? Well, can't you see how it'dhurt her?"

"Would it, Ina? Would it hurt Di?"

"Why, it would shame her--embarrass her--make people wonder what kind ofstock she came from--oh, " Ina sobbed, "my pure little girl!"

"Hurt her prospects, of course, " said Dwight. "Anybody could see that. "

"I s'pose it would, " said Lulu. 

She clasped her arms tightly, awkwardly, and stepped about the floor, her broken shoes showing beneath her cotton skirt. 

"When a family once gets talked about for any reason----" said Ina andshuddered. 

"I'm talked about now!"

"But nothing that you could help. If he got tired of you, you couldn'thelp that. " This misstep was Dwight's. 

"No, " Lulu said, "I couldn't help that. And I couldn't help his otherwife, either. "

"Bigamy, " said Dwight, "that's a crime. "

"I've done no crime, " said Lulu. 

"Bigamy, " said Dwight, "disgraces everybody it touches. "

"Even Di, " Lulu said. 

"Lulu, " said Dwight, "on Di's account will you promise us to let thisthing rest with us three?"

"I s'pose so, " said Lulu quietly. 

"You will?"

"I s'pose so. "

Ina sobbed: "Thank you, thank you, Lulu. This makes up for everything. "

Lulu was thinking: "Di has a hard enough time as it is. " Aloud she said:"I told Mr. Cornish, but he won't tell. "

"I'll see to that, " Dwight graciously offered. 

"Goodness, " Ina said, "so he knows. Well, that settles----" She said nomore. 

"You'll be happy to think you've done this for us, Lulu, " said Dwight. 

"I s'pose so, " said Lulu. 

Ina, pink from her little gust of sobbing, went to her, kissed her, hertrim tan tailor suit against Lulu's blue cotton. 

"My sweet, self-sacrificing sister, " she murmured. 

"Oh stop that!" Lulu said. 

Dwight took her hand, lying limply in his. "I can now, " he said, "overlook the matter of the letter. "

Lulu drew back. She put her hair behind her ears, swallowed, and criedout. 

"Don't you go around pitying me! I'll have you know I'm glad the wholething happened!"

 * * * * *

Cornish had ordered six new copies of a popular song. He knew that itwas popular because it was called so in a Chicago paper. When the sixcopies arrived with a danseuse on the covers he read the "words, " lookedwistfully at the symbols which shut him out, and felt well pleased. 

"Got up quite attractive, " he thought, and fastened the six copies inthe window of his music store. 

It was not yet nine o'clock of a vivid morning. Cornish had his floorand sidewalk sprinkled, his red and blue plush piano spreads dusted. He sat at a folding table well back in the store, and opened a law book. 

For half an hour he read. Then he found himself looking off the page, stabbed by a reflection which always stabbed him anew: Was he reallygetting anywhere with his law? And where did he really hope to get? Oflate when he awoke at night this question had stood by the cot, waiting. 

The cot had appeared there in the back of the music-store, behind a darksateen curtain with too few rings on the wire. How little else was inthere, nobody knew. But those passing in the late evening saw the blurof his kerosene lamp behind that curtain and were smitten by a realisticillusion of personal loneliness. 

It was behind that curtain that these unreasoning questions usuallyattacked him, when his giant, wavering shadow had died upon the wall andthe faint smell of the extinguished lamp went with him to his bed; orwhen he waked before any sign of dawn. In the mornings all was cheerfuland wonted--the question had not before attacked him among his red andblue plush spreads, his golden oak and ebony cases, of a sunshinymorning. 

A step at his door set him flying. He wanted passionately to sell apiano. 

"Well!" he cried, when he saw his visitor. 

It was Lulu, in her dark red suit and her tilted hat. 

"Well!" she also said, and seemed to have no idea of saying anythingelse. Her excitement was so obscure that he did not discern it. 

"You're out early, " said he, participating in the village chorus of thisbright challenge at this hour. 

"Oh, no, " said Lulu. 

He looked out the window, pretending to be caught by something passing, leaned to see it the better. 

"Oh, how'd you get along last night?" he asked, and wondered why he hadnot thought to say it before. 

"All right, thank you, " said Lulu. 

"Was he--about the letter, you know?"

"Yes, " she said, "but that didn't matter. You'll be sure, " she added, "not to say anything about what was in the letter?"

"Why, not till you tell me I can, " said Cornish, "but won't everybodyknow now?"

"No, " Lulu said. 

At this he had no more to say, and feeling his speculation in his eyes, dropped them to a piano scarf from which he began flicking invisiblespecks. 

"I came to tell you good-bye, " Lulu said. 

"_Good-bye!_"

"Yes. I'm going off--for a while. My satchel's in the bakery--I had mybreakfast in the bakery. "

"Say!" Cornish cried warmly, "then everything _wasn't_ all right lastnight?"

"As right as it can ever be with me, " she told him. "Oh, yes. Dwightforgave me. "

"Forgave you!"

She smiled, and trembled. 

"Look here, " said Cornish, "you come here and sit down and tell me aboutthis. "

He led her to the folding table, as the only social spot in that vastarea of his, seated her in the one chair, and for himself brought up apiano stool. But after all she told him nothing. She merely took thecomfort of his kindly indignation. 

"It came out all right, " she said only. "But I won't stay there anymore. I can't do that. "

"Then what are you going to do?"

"In Millton yesterday, " she said, "I saw an advertisement in thehotel--they wanted a chambermaid. "

"Oh, Miss Bett!" he cried. At that name she flushed. "Why, " saidCornish, "you must have been coming from Millton yesterday when I sawyou. I noticed Miss Di had her bag--" He stopped, stared. 

"You brought her back!" he deduced everything. 

"Oh!" said Lulu. "Oh, no--I mean--"

"I heard about the eloping again this morning, " he said. "That's justwhat you did--you brought her back. "

"You mustn't tell that! You won't? You won't!"

"No. 'Course not. " He mulled it. "You tell me this: Do they know? I meanabout your going after her?"

"No. "

"You never told!"

"They don't know she went. "

"That's a funny thing, " he blurted out, "for you not to tell herfolks--I mean, right off. Before last night. .. . "

"You don't know them. Dwight'd never let up on that--he'd _joke_ herabout it after a while. "

"But it seems--"

"Ina'd talk about disgracing _her_. They wouldn't know what to do. There's no sense in telling them. They aren't a mother and father, " Lulusaid. 

Cornish was not accustomed to deal with so much reality. But Lulu'sreality he could grasp. 

"You're a trump anyhow, " he affirmed. 

"Oh, no, " said Lulu modestly. 

Yes, she was. He insisted upon it. 

"By George, " he exclaimed, "you don't find very many _married_ womenwith as good sense as you've got. "

At this, just as he was agonising because he had seemed to refer to thetruth that she was, after all, not married, at this Lulu laughed in someamusement, and said nothing. 

"You've been a jewel in their home all right, " said Cornish. "I betthey'll miss you if you do go. "

"They'll miss my cooking, " Lulu said without bitterness. 

"They'll miss more than that, I know. I've often watched you there--"

"You have?" It was not so much pleasure as passionate gratitude whichlighted her eyes. 

"You made the whole place, " said Cornish. 

"You don't mean just the cooking?"

"No, no. I mean--well, that first night when you played croquet. I feltat home when you came out. "

That look of hers, rarely seen, which was no less than a look ofloveliness, came now to Lulu's face. After a pause she said: "I neverhad but one compliment before that wasn't for my cooking. " She seemed tofeel that she must confess to that one. "He told me I done my hair upnice. " She added conscientiously: "That was after I took notice how theladies in Savannah, Georgia, done up theirs. "

"Well, well, " said Cornish only. 

"Well, " said Lulu, "I must be going now. I wanted to say good-bye toyou--and there's one or two other places. .. . "

"I hate to have you go, " said Cornish, and tried to add something. "Ihate to have you go, " was all that he could find to add. 

Lulu rose. "Oh, well, " was all that she could find. 

They shook hands, Lulu laughing a little. Cornish followed her to thedoor. He had begun on "Look here, I wish . .. " when Lulu said"good-bye, " and paused, wishing intensely to know what he would havesaid. But all that he said was: "Good-bye. I wish you weren't going. "

"So do I, " said Lulu, and went, still laughing. 

Cornish saw her red dress vanish from his door, flash by his window, herhead averted. And there settled upon him a depression out of allproportion to the slow depression of his days. This was more--itassailed him, absorbed him. 

He stood staring out the window. Some one passed with a greeting ofwhich he was conscious too late to return. He wandered back down thestore and his pianos looked back at him like strangers. Down there wasthe green curtain which screened his home life. He suddenly hated thatgreen curtain. He hated this whole place. For the first time itoccurred to him that he hated Warbleton. 

He came back to his table, and sat down before his lawbook. But he sat, chin on chest, regarding it. No . .. No escape that way. .. . 

A step at the door and he sprang up. It was Lulu, coming toward him, herface unsmiling but somehow quite lighted. In her hand was a letter. 

"See, " she said. "At the office was this. .. . "

She thrust in his hand the single sheet. He read:

" . .. Just wanted you to know you're actually rid of me. I've heard fromher, in Brazil. She ran out of money and thought of me, and her lawyerwrote to me. .. . I've never been any good--Dwight would tell you that ifhis pride would let him tell the truth once in a while. But there ain'tanything in my life makes me feel as bad as this. .. . I s'pose youcouldn't understand and I don't myself. .. . Only the sixteen yearskeeping still made me think she was gone sure . .. But you were sodownright good, that's what was the worst . .. Do you see what I want tosay . .. "

Cornish read it all and looked at Lulu. She was grave and in her eyesthere was a look of dignity such as he had never seen them wear. Incredible dignity. 

"He didn't lie to get rid of me--and she was alive, just as he thoughtshe might be, " she said. 

"I'm glad, " said Cornish. 

"Yes, " said Lulu. "He isn't quite so bad as Dwight tried to make himout. "

It was not of this that Cornish had been thinking. 

"Now you're free, " he said. 

"Oh, that . .. " said Lulu. 

She replaced her letter in its envelope. 

"Now I'm really going, " she said. "Good-bye for sure this time. .. . "

Her words trailed away. Cornish had laid his hand on her arm. 

"Don't say good-bye, " he said. 

"It's late, " she said, "I--"

"Don't you go, " said Cornish. 

She looked at him mutely. 

"Do you think you could possibly stay here with me?"

"Oh!" said Lulu, like no word. 

He went on, not looking at her. "I haven't got anything. I guess maybeyou've heard something about a little something I'm supposed to inherit. Well, it's only five hundred dollars. "

His look searched her face, but she hardly heard what he was saying. 

"That little Warden house--it don't cost much--you'd be surprised. Rent, I mean. I can get it now. I went and looked at it the other day, butthen I didn't think--" he caught himself on that. "It don't cost nearas much as this store. We could furnish up the parlour with pianos--"

He was startled by that "we, " and began again:

"That is, if you could ever think of such a thing as marrying me. "

"But, " said Lulu. "You _know_! Why, don't the disgrace--"

"What disgrace?" asked Cornish. 

"Oh, " she said, "you--you----"

"There's only this about that, " said he. "Of course, if you loved himvery much, then I'd ought not to be talking this way to you. But Ididn't think--"

"You didn't think what?"

"That you did care so very much--about him. I don't know why. "

She said: "I wanted somebody of my own. That's the reason I done what Idone. I know that now. "

"I figured that way, " said Cornish. 

They dismissed it. But now he brought to bear something which he sawthat she should know. 

"Look here, " he said, "I'd ought to tell you. I'm--I'm awful lonesomemyself. This is no place to live. And I guess living so is one reasonwhy I want to get married. I want some kind of a home. "

He said it as a confession. She accepted it as a reason. 

"Of course, " she said. 

"I ain't never lived what you might say private, " said Cornish. 

"I've lived too private, " Lulu said. 

"Then there's another thing. " This was harder to tell her. "I--I don'tbelieve I'm ever going to be able to do a thing with law. "

"I don't see, " said Lulu, "how anybody does. "

"I'm not much good in a business way, " he owned, with a faint laugh. "Sometimes I think, " he drew down his brows, "that I may never be ableto make any money. "

She said: "Lots of men don't. "

"Could you risk it with me?" Cornish asked her. "There's nobody I'veseen, " he went on gently, "that I like as much as I do you. I--I wasengaged to a girl once, but we didn't get along. I guess if you'd bewilling to try me, we would get along. "

Lulu said: "I thought it was Di that you--"

"Miss Di? Why, " said Cornish, "she's a little kid. And, " he added, "she's a little liar. "

"But I'm going on thirty-four. "

"So am I!"

"Isn't there somebody--"

"Look here. Do you like me?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Well enough--"

"It's you I was thinking of, " said Lulu. "I'd be all right. "

"Then!" Cornish cried, and he kissed her. 

 * * * * *

"And now, " said Dwight, "nobody must mind if I hurry a little wee bit. I've got something on. "

He and Ina and Monona were at dinner. Mrs. Bett was in her room. Di wasnot there. 

"Anything about Lulu?" Ina asked. 

"Lulu?" Dwight stared. "Why should I have anything to do about Lulu?"

"Well, but, Dwight--we've got to do something. "

"As I told you this morning, " he observed, "we shall do nothing. Yoursister is of age--I don't know about the sound mind, but she iscertainly of age. If she chooses to go away, she is free to go where shewill. "

"Yes, but, Dwight, where has she gone? Where could she go? Where--"

"You are a question-box, " said Dwight playfully. "A question-box. "

Ina had burned her plump wrist on the oven. She lifted her arm andnursed it. 

"I'm certainly going to miss her if she stays away very long, " sheremarked. 

"You should be sufficient unto your little self, " said Dwight. 

"That's all right, " said Ina, "except when you're getting dinner. "

"I want some crust coffee, " announced Monona firmly. 

"You'll have nothing of the sort, " said Ina. "Drink your milk. "

"As I remarked, " Dwight went on, "I'm in a tiny wee bit of a hurry. "

"Well, why don't you say what for?" his Ina asked. 

She knew that he wanted to be asked, and she was sufficiently willing toplay his games, and besides she wanted to know. But she _was_ hot. 

"I am going, " said Dwight, "to take Grandma Gates out in a wheel-chair, for an hour. "

"Where did you get a wheel-chair, for mercy sakes?"

"Borrowed it from the railroad company, " said Dwight, with the triumphpeculiar to the resourceful man. "Why I never did it before, I can'timagine. There that chair's been in the depot ever since I canremember--saw it every time I took the train--and yet I never oncethought of grandma. "

"My, Dwight, " said Ina, "how good you are!"

"Nonsense!" said he. 

"Well, you are. Why don't I send her over a baked apple? Monona, youtake Grandma Gates a baked apple--no. You shan't go till you drink yourmilk. "

"I don't want it. "

"Drink it or mamma won't let you go. "

Monona drank it, made a piteous face, took the baked apple, ran. 

"The apple isn't very good, " said Ina, "but it shows my good will. "

"Also, " said Dwight, "it teaches Monona a life of thoughtfulness forothers. "

"That's what I always think, " his Ina said. 

"Can't you get mother to come out?" Dwight inquired. 

"I had so much to do getting dinner onto the table, I didn't try, " Inaconfessed. 

"You didn't have to try, " Mrs. Bett's voice sounded. "I was coming whenI got rested up. "

She entered, looking vaguely about. "I want Lulie, " she said, and thecorners of her mouth drew down. She ate her dinner cold, appeased invague areas by such martyrdom. They were still at table when the frontdoor opened. 

"Monona hadn't ought to use the front door so common, " Mrs. Bettcomplained. 

But it was not Monona. It was Lulu and Cornish. 

"Well!" said Dwight, tone curving downward. 

"Well!" said Ina, in replica. 

"Lulie!" said Mrs. Bett, and left her dinner, and went to her daughterand put her hands upon her. 

"We wanted to tell you first, " Cornish said. "We've just got married. "

"For _ever_ more!" said Ina. 

"What's this?" Dwight sprang to his feet. "You're joking!" he cried withhope. 

"No, " Cornish said soberly. "We're married--just now. Methodistparsonage. We've had our dinner, " he added hastily. 

"Where'd you have it?" Ina demanded, for no known reason. 

"The bakery, " Cornish replied, and flushed. 

"In the dining-room part, " Lulu added. 

Dwight's sole emotion was his indignation. 

"What on earth did you do it for?" he put it to them. "Married in abakery--"

No, no. They explained it again. Neither of them, they said, wanted thefuss of a wedding. 

Dwight recovered himself in a measure. "I'm not surprised, after all, "he said. "Lulu usually marries in this way. "

Mrs. Bett patted her daughter's arm. "Lulie, " she said, "why, Lulie. Youain't been and got married twice, have you? After waitin' so long?"

"Don't be disturbed, Mother Bett, " Dwight cried. "She wasn't marriedthat first time, if you remember. No marriage about it!"

Ina's little shriek sounded. 

"Dwight!" she cried. "Now everybody'll have to know that. You'll have totell about Ninian now--and his other wife!"

Standing between her mother and Cornish, an arm of each about her, Lululooked across at Ina and Dwight, and they all saw in her face ahorrified realisation. 

"Ina!" she said. "Dwight! You _will_ have to tell now, won't you? Why Inever thought of that. "

At this Dwight sneered, was sneering still as he went to give GrandmaGates her ride in the wheel-chair and as he stooped with patientkindness to tuck her in. 

The street door was closed. If Mrs. Bett was peeping through the blind, no one saw her. In the pleasant mid-day light under the maples, Mr. AndMrs. Neil Cornish were hurrying toward the railway station.