THE NEST-BUILDER

_A NOVEL_

BY BEATRICE FORBES-ROBERTSON HALE

AUTHOR OF "WHAT WOMEN WANT"

_WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY J. HENRY_

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CONTENTS

PART I

 MATE-SONG

PART II

 MATED

PART III

 THE NESTLING

PART IV

 WINGS

PART V

 THE BUILDER

 * * * * *

PART I

MATE-SONG

I

Outbound from Liverpool, the Lusitania bucked down the Irish Sea againsta September gale. Aft in her second-class quarters each shouldering fromthe waves brought a sickening vibration as one or another of the ship'sgreat propellers raced out of water. The gong had sounded for the secondsitting, and trails of hungry and weary travelers, trooping down thecompanionway, met files of still more uneasy diners emerging from thesaloon. The grinding jar of the vessel, the heavy smell of food, and thepound of ragtime combined to produce an effect as of some sordid anddemoniac orgy--an effect derided by the smug respectability of thesaloon's furnishings. 

Stefan Byrd, taking in the scene as he balanced a precarious way to hisseat, felt every hypercritical sense rising in revolt. Even the prosaicbut admirably efficient table utensils repelled him. "They are so useful, so abominably enduring, " he thought. The mahogany trimmings of doors andcolumns seemed to announce from every overpolished surface a pompousself-sufficiency. Each table proclaimed the aesthetic level of the secondclass through the lifeless leaves of a rubber plant and two imitationcut-glass dishes of tough fruit. The stewards, casually hovering, lackedthe democracy which might have humanized the steerage as much as thecivility which would have oiled the workings of the first cabin. Byrdresented their ministrations as he did the heavy English dishes of thebill of fare. There were no Continental passengers near him. He had leftthe dear French tongue behind, and his ears, homesick already, shrankequally from the see-saw Lancashire of the stewards and the monotonousrasp of returning Americans. 

Byrd's left hand neighbor, a clergyman of uncertain denomination, hadtried vainly for several minutes to attract his attention by clearing histhroat, passing the salt, and making measured requests for water, bread, and the like. 

"I presume, sir, " he at last inquired loudly, "that you are an American, and as glad as I am to be returning to our country?"

"No, sir, " retorted Byrd, favoring his questioner with a withering stare, "I am a Bohemian, and damnably sorry that I ever have to see Americaagain. "

The man of God turned away, pale to the temples with offense--a high-bosomed matron opposite emitted a shocked "Oh!"--the faces of thesurrounding listeners assumed expressions either dismayed or deprecating. Budding conversationalists were temporarily frost-bitten, and the wateryhelpings of fish were eaten in a constrained silence. But with theinevitable roast beef a Scot of unshakeable manner, decorated with ayellow forehead-lock as erect as a striking cobra, turned to follow upwhat he apparently conceived to be an opportunity for discussion. 

"I'm not so strongly partial to the States mysel', ye ken, but I'llconfess it's a grand place to mak' money. Ye would be going there, perhaps, to improve your fortunes?"

Byrd was silent. 

"Also, " continued the Scot, quite unrebuffed, "it would be interesting toknow what exactly ye mean when ye call yoursel' a Bohemian. Would ye bereferring to your tastes, now, or to your nationality?"

His hand trembling with nervous temper, Byrd laid down his napkin, androse with an attempt at dignity somewhat marred by the viselike clutch ofthe swivel chair upon his emerging legs. 

"My mother was a Bohemian, my father an American. Neither, happily, wasScotch, " said he, almost stammering in his attempt to control his extremedistaste of his surroundings--and hurried out of the saloon, leaving atable of dropped jaws behind him. 

"The young man is nairvous, " contentedly boomed the Scot. "I'm thinkinghe'll be feeling the sea already. What kind of a place would Bohemia, be, d'ye think, to have a mother from?" turning to the clergyman. 

"A place of evil life, seemingly, " answered that worthy in his high-pitched, carrying voice. "I shall certainly ask to have my seat changed. I cannot subject myself for the voyage to the neighborhood of a man ofprofane speech. "

The table nodded approval. 

"A traitor to his country, too, " said a pursy little man opposite, snapping his jaws shut like a turtle. 

A bony New England spinster turned deprecating eyes to him. "My, " shewhispered shrilly, "he was just terrible, wasn't he? But so handsome! Ican't help but think it was more seasickness with him than an evilnature. "

Meanwhile the subject of discussion, who would have writhed far more atthe spinster's palliation of his offense than at the men's disdain, layin his tiny cabin, a prey to an attack of that nervous misery whichovertakes an artist out of his element as surely and speedily as airsuffocates a fish. 

Stefan Byrd's table companions were guilty in his eyes of the oneunforgivable sin--they were ugly. Ugly alike in feature, dress, andbearing, they had for him absolutely no excuse for existence. He felt nobond of common humanity with them. In his lexicon what was not beautifulwas not human, and he recognized no more obligation of good fellowshiptoward them than he would have done toward a company of ground-hogs. Helay back, one fine and nervous hand across his eyes, trying to obliteratethe image of the saloon and all its inmates by conjuring up a vision ofthe world he had left, the winsome young cosmopolitan Paris of the artstudent. The streets, the cafés, the studios; his few men, his manywomen, friends--Adolph Jensen, the kindly Swede who loved him; Louise, Nanette, the little Polish Yanina, who had said they loved him; theslanting-glanced Turkish students, the grave Syrians, the democraticun-British Londoners--the smell, the glamour of Paris, returned to himwith the nostalgia of despair. 

These he had left. To what did he go?

II

In his shivering, creaking little cabin, suspended, as it were, by theuncertain waters between two lives, Byrd forced himself to remember theAmerica he had known before his Paris days. He recalled his birthplace--a village in upper Michigan--and his mental eyes bored across thepictures that came with the running speed of a cinematograph to hismemory. 

The place was a village, but it called itself a city. The last he hadseen of it was the "depot, " a wooden shed surrounded by a waste of ruttedsnow, and backed by grimy coal yards. He could see the broken shades ofthe town's one hotel, which faced the tracks, drooping across their dirtywindows, and the lopsided sign which proclaimed from the porch roof infaded gilt on black the name of "C. E. Trench, Prop. " He could see theswing-doors of the bar, and hear the click of balls from the poolroomadvertising the second of the town's distractions. He could smell thecomposite odor of varnish, stale air, and boots, which made theoverheated station waiting-room hideous. Heavy farmers in ear-mitts, peaked caps, and fur collars spat upon the hissing stove round whichtheir great hide boots sprawled. They were his last memory of his fellowcitizens. 

Looking farther back Stefan saw the town in summer. There were trees inthe street where he lived, but they were all upon the sidewalk-publicproperty. In their yards (the word garden, he recalled, was never used)the neighbors kept, with unanimity, in the back, washing, and in thefront, a porch. Over these porches parched vines crept--the town'senthusiasm for horticulture went as far as that--and upon themconcentrated the feminine social life of the place. Of this intercoursethe high tones seemed to be giggles, and the bass the wooden thuds ofrockers. Street after street he could recall, from the square about the"depot" to the outskirts, and through them all the dusty heat, therockers, gigglers, the rustle of a shirt-sleeved father's newspaper, andthe shrill coo-ees of the younger children. Finally, the piano--for helooked back farther than the all-conquering phonograph. He heard "Nita, Juanita;" he heard "Sweet Genevieve. "

Beyond the village lay the open country, level, blindingly hot, half-cultivated, with the scorched foliage of young trees showing in the ruinsof what had been forest land. Across it the roads ran straight as rulers. In the winter wolves were not unknown there; in the summer there weretramps of many strange nationalities, farm hands and men bound for thecopper mines. For the most part they walked the railroad ties, or rodethe freight cars; winter or summer, the roads were never wholly safe, andchildren played only in the town. 

There, on the outskirts, was a shallow, stony river, but deep enough atone point for gingerly swimming. Stefan seemed never to have been coolthrough the summer except when he was squatting or paddling in this hole. He remembered only indistinctly the boys with whom he bathed; he had nofriends among them. But there had been a little girl with starched whiteskirts, huge blue bows over blue eyes, and yellow hair, whom he hadadmired to adoration. She wanted desperately to bathe in the hole, and hedemanded of her mother that this be permitted. Stefan smiled grimly as herecalled the horror of that lady, who had boxed his ears for trying tolead her girl into ungodliness, and to scandalize the neighbors. Thefriendship had been kept up surreptitiously after this, with interchangeof pencils and candy, until the little girl--he had forgotten her name--put her tongue out at him over a matter of chewing-gum which he hadinsisted she should not use. Revolted, he played alone again. 

The Presbyterian Church Stefan remembered as a whitewashed praying box, resounding to his father's high-pitched voice. It was filled with heatand flies from without in summer, and heat and steam from within inwinter. The school, whitewashed again, he recalled as a succession ofbanging desks, flying paper pellets, and the drone of undigested lessons. Here the water bucket loomed as the alleviation in summer, or the red hotoblong of the open stove in winter time. Through all these scenes, by anegotistical trick of the brain, he saw himself moving, a small brown-haired boy, with olive skin and queer, greenish eyes, entirely alien, absolutely lonely, completely critical. He saw himself in too large, ill-chosen clothes, the butt of his playfellows. He saw the sidelong, interested glances of little girls change to curled lips and tossed headsat the grinning nudge of their boy companions. He saw the harassed eyesof an anaemic teacher stare uncomprehendingly at him over the pages of anexercise book filled with colored drawings of George III and the Britishflag, instead of a description of the battle of Bunker Hill. Heremembered the hatred he had felt even then for the narrowness of thelocal patriotism which had prompted him to this revenge. As a result, hesaw himself backed against the schoolhouse wall, facing with contempt ayelling, jumping tangle of boys who, from a safe distance, called uponthe "traitor" and the "Dago" to come and be licked. He felt the ragemount in his head like a burning wave, saw a change in the eyes and facesof his foes, felt himself spring with a catlike leap, his lips tightabove his teeth and his arms moving like clawed wheels, saw boys runyelling and himself darting between them down the road, to fall at last, a trembling, sobbing bundle of reaction, into the grassy ditch. 

In memory Stefan followed himself home. The word was used to denote thehouse in which he and his father lived. A portrait of his mother hungover the parlor stove. It was a chalk drawing from a photograph, crudelydone, but beautiful by reason of the subject. The face was young and veryround, the forehead beautifully low and broad under black waves of hair. The nose was short and proud, the chin small but square, the mouth gailycurving around little, even teeth. But the eyes were deep and somber;there was passion in them, and romance. Stefan had not seen that face foryears, he barely remembered the original, but he could have drawn it nowin every detail. If the house in which it hung could be called home atall, it was by virtue of that picture, the only thing of beauty in it. 

Behind the portrait lay a few memories of joy and heartache, and onefinal one of horror. Stefan probed them, still with his nervous handacross his eyes. He listened while his mother sang gay or mournful littlesongs with haunting tunes in a tongue only a word or two of which heunderstood. He watched while she drew from her bureau drawer a box ofpaints and some paper. She painted for long hours, day after day throughthe winter, while he played beside her with longing eyes on her brushes. She painted always one thing--flowers--using no pencil, drawing theirshapes with the brush. Her flowers were of many kinds, nearly all strangeto him, but most were roses--pink, yellow, crimson, almost black. Sometimes their petals flared like wings; sometimes they were close-furled. Of these paintings he remembered much, but of her speech little, for she was silent as she worked. 

One day his mother put a brush into his hand. The rapture of it was assharp and near as to-day's misery. He sat beside her after that for manydays and painted. First he tried to paint a rose, but he had never seensuch roses as her brush drew, and he tired quickly. Then he drew a bird. His mother nodded and smiled--it was good. After that his memory showedhim the two sitting side by side for weeks, or was it months?--while thesnow lay piled beyond the window--she with her flowers, he with hisbirds. 

First he drew birds singly, hopping on a branch, or simply standing, claws and beaks defined. Then he began to make them fly, alone, and againin groups. Their wings spread across the paper, wider and moresweepingly. They pointed upward sharply, or lay flat across the page. Flights of tiny birds careened from corner to corner. They were blue, gold, scarlet, and white. He left off drawing birds on branches and drewthem only in flight, smudging in a blue background for the sky. 

One day by accident he made a dark smudge in the lower left-hand cornerof his page. 

"What is that?" asked his mother. 

The little boy looked at it doubtfully for a moment, unwilling to admitit a blot. Then he laughed. 

"Mother, Mother, that is America. " (Stefan heard himself. ) "Look!" Andrapidly he drew a bird flying high above the blot, with its head pointedto the right, away from it. 

His mother laughed and hugged him quickly. "Yes, eastward, " she said. 

After that all his birds flew one way, and in the left-hand lower cornerthere was usually a blob of dark brown or black. Once it was a square, red, white, and blue. 

On her table his mother had a little globe which revolved above a brassbase. Because of this he knew the relative position of two places--America and Bohemia. Of this country he thought his mother was unwillingto speak, but its name fell from her lips with sighs, with--as it nowseemed to him--a wild longing. Knowing nothing of it, he had pictured ita paradise, a land of roses. He seemed to have no knowledge of why shehad left it; but years later his father spoke of finding her in Boston inthe days when he preached there, penniless, searching for work as ateacher of singing. How she became jettisoned in that--to her--cold andinhospitable port, Stefan did not know, nor how soon after their marriagethe two moved to the still more alien peninsula of Michigan. 

Into his memories of the room where they painted a shadow constantlyintruded, chilling them, such a shadow, deep and cold, as is cast by aniceberg. The door would open, and his father's face, high and white withice-blue eyes, would hang above them. Instantly, the man remembered, theboy would cower like a fledgling beneath the sparrow-hawk, but with asmuch distaste as fear in his cringing. The words that followed alwaysseemed the same--he could reconstruct the scene clearly, but whether ithad occurred once or many times he could not tell. His father's voicewould snap across the silence like a high, tight-drawn string--

"Still wasting time? Have you nothing better to do? Where is your sewing?And the boy--why is he not outside playing?"

"This helps me, Henry, " his mother answered, hesitating and low. "Surelyit does no harm. I cannot sew all the time. "

"It is a childish and vain occupation, however, and I disapprove of theboy being encouraged in it. This of course you know perfectly well. Underordinary circumstances I should absolutely forbid it; as it is, I condemnit. "

"Henry, " his mother's voice trembled, "don't ask me to give up hiscompanionship. It is too cold for me to be outdoors, and perhaps afterthe spring I might not be with him. "

This sentence terrified Stefan, who did not know the meaning of it. Hewas glad, for once, of his father's ridicule. 

"That is perfectly absurd, the shallow excuse women always make theirhusbands for self-indulgence, " said the man, turning to go. "You are ahealthy woman, and would be more so but for idleness. "

His wife called him back, pleadingly. "Please don't be angry with me, I'mdoing the best I can, Henry--the very best I can. " There was a sweetforeign blur in her speech, Stefan remembered. 

His father paused at the door. "I have shown you your duty, my dear. I ama minister, and you cannot expect me to condone in my wife habits offrivolity and idleness which I should be the first to reprimand in myflock. I expect you to set an example. "

"Oh, " the woman wailed, "when you married me you loved me as I was--"

With a look of controlled annoyance her husband closed the door. Whetherthe memory of his father's words was exact or not, Stefan knew theireffect by heart. The door shut, his mother would begin to cry, quietly atfirst, then with deep, catching sobs that seemed to stifle her, so thatshe rose and paced the room breathlessly. Then she would hold the boy toher breast, and slowly the storm would change again to gentle tears. Thatday there would be no more painting. 

These, his earliest memories, culminated in tragedy. A spring day ofdriving rain witnessed the arrival of a gray, plain-faced woman, whomounted to his mother's room. The house seemed full of mysterious bustle. Presently he heard moans, and rushed upstairs thinking his mother wascrying and needed him. The gray-haired woman thrust him from the bedroomdoor, but he returned again and again, calling his mother, until hisfather emerged from the study downstairs, and, seizing him in his coldgrip, pushed him into the sanctum and turned the key upon him. 

Much later, a man whom Stefan knew as their doctor entered the room withhis father. A strange new word passed between them, and, in his high-strung state, impressed the boy's memory. It was "chloroform. " The doctorused the word several times, and his father shook his head. 

"No, doctor, " he heard him saying, "we neither of us approve of it. It iscontrary to the intention of God. Besides, you say the case is normal. "

The doctor seemed to be repeating something about nerves and hysteria. "Exactly, " his father replied, "and for that, self-control is needed, andnot a drug that reverses the dispensation of the Almighty. "

Both men left the room. Presently the boy heard shrieks. Lying, a grownman, in his berth, Stefan trembled at the memory of them. He fled inspirit as he had fled then--out of the window, down the roaring, swimmingstreet, where he knew not, pursued by a writhing horror. Hours later, asit seemed, he returned. The shades were pulled down across the windows ofhis house. His mother was dead. 

Looking back, the man hardly knew how the conviction had come to thechild that his father had killed his mother. A vague comprehensionperhaps of the doctor's urgings and his father's denials--a head-shakingmutter from the nurse--the memory of all his mother's tears. He washardly more than a baby, but he had always feared and disliked hisfather--now he hated him, blindly and intensely. He saw him as the causenot only of his mother's tears and death, but of all the ugliness in thelife about him. "Bohemia, " he thought, would have been theirs but forthis man. He even blamed him, in a sullen way, for the presence in theirhouse of a tiny little red and wizened object, singularly ugly, which thegray-haired woman referred to as his "brother. " Obviously, the thing wasnot a brother, and his father must be at the bottom of a conspiracy todeceive him. The creature made a great deal of noise, and when, by andby, it went away, and they told him his brother too was dead, he feltnothing but relief. 

So darkened the one bright room in his childhood's mansion. Obscured, itleft the other chambers dingier than before, and filled with the ache ofloss. Slowly he forgot his mother's companionship, but not her beauty, nor her roses, nor "Bohemia, " nor his hatred of the "America" which washis father's. To get away from his native town, to leave America, becamethe steadfast purpose of his otherwise unstable nature. 

The man watched himself through high school. He saw himself still hatinghis surroundings and ignoring his schoolfellows--save for an occasionalgirl whose face or hair showed beauty. At this time the first step in hisplan of escape shaped itself--he must work hard enough to get to college, to Ann Arbor, where he had heard there was an art course. For the boypainted now, in all his spare time, not merely birds, but dogs andhorses, boys and girls, all creatures that had speed, that he could drawin action, leaping, flying, or running against the wind. Even now Stefancould warm to the triumph he felt the day he discovered the old barnwhere he could summon these shapes undetected. His triumph was over thearch-enemy, his father--who had forbidden him paint and brushes andconfiscated the poor little fragments of his mother's work that he hadhoarded. His father destined him for a "fitting" profession--the mansmiled to remember it--and with an impressive air of generosity gave himthe choice of three--the Church, the Law, or Medicine. Hate had given himtoo keen a comprehension of his father to permit him the mistake ofargument. He temporized. Let him be sent to college, and there he woulddiscover where his aptitude lay. 

So at last it was decided. A trunk was found, a moth-eaten bag. Hischeap, ill-cut clothes were packed. On a day of late summer he steppedfor the first time upon a train--beautiful to him because it moved--andwas borne southward. 

At Ann Arbor he found many new things, rules, and people, but he brushedthem aside like flies, hardly perceiving them; for there, for the firsttime, he saw photographs and casts of the world's great art. The firstsight, even in a poor copy, of the two Discoboli--Diana with her swingingknee-high tunic--the winged Victory of Samothrace--to see them first atseventeen, without warning, without a glimmering knowledge of theirexistence! And the pictures! Portfolios of Angelo, of the voluptuousTitian, of the swaying forms of Botticelli's maidens--trite enough now--but then!

How long he could have deceived his father as to the real nature of hisinterests he did not know. Already there had been complaints of cutlectures, reprimands, and letters from home. Evading mathematics, science, and divinity, he read only the English and classic subjects--because they contained beauty--and drew, copying and creating, in everyodd moment. The storm began to threaten, but it never broke; for in hissecond year in college the unbelievable, the miracle, happened--hisfather died. They said he had died of pneumonia, contracted whilevisiting the sick in the winter blizzards, and they praised him; butStefan hardly listened. 

One fact alone stood out amid the ugly affairs of death, so that heregarded and remembered nothing else. He was free--and he had wings! Hisfather left insurance, and a couple of savings-bank accounts, but throughsome fissure of vanity or carelessness in the granite of his propriety, he left no will. The sums, amounting in all to something over threethousand dollars, came to Stefan without conditions, guardians, or otherhindrances. The rapture of that discovery, he thought, almost wiped outhis father's debt to him. 

He knew now that not Bohemia, but Paris, was his El Dorado. In wild hastehe made ready for his journey, leaving the rigid trappings of his home tobe sold after him. But his dead father was to give him one more pang--thescales were to swing uneven at the last. For when he would have packedthe only possession, other than a few necessities, he planned to carrywith him, he found his mother's picture gone. Dying, his father, itappeared, had wandered from his bed, detached the portrait, and with hisown hands burnt it in the stove. The motive of the act Stefan could notcomprehend. He only knew that this man had robbed him of his mothertwice. All that remained of her was her wedding ring, which, drawn fromhis father's cash-box, he wore on his little finger. With bitterness amidhis joy he took the train once more, and saw the lights of the town'sshabby inn blink good-bye behind its frazzled shades. 

III

Byrd had lived for seven years in Paris, wandering on foot in summerthrough much of France and Italy. His little patrimony, stretched to thelast sou, and supplemented in later years by the occasional sale of hiswork to small dealers, had sufficed him so long. His headquarters were ina high windowed attic facing north along the rue des Quatre Ermites. Hiswork had been much admired in the ateliers, but his personal unpopularitywith, the majority of the students had prevented their admirationchanging to a friendship whose demands would have drained his smallresources. "Ninety-nine per cent of the Quarter dislikes Stefan Byrd, " anEnglishman had said, "but one per cent adores him. " Repeated to Byrd, this utterance was accepted by him with much complacence, for, even morethan the average man, he prided himself upon his faults of character. Hisadoration of Paris had not prevented him from criticizing its denizens;the habits of mental withdrawal and reservation developed in his boyhooddid not desert him in the city of friendship, but he became more deeplyaware of the loneliness which they involved. He searched eagerly for thefew whose qualities of mind or person lifted them beyond reach of hisdemon of disparagement, and he found them, especially among women. 

To a minority of that sex he was unusually attractive, and he became alover of women, but as subjects for enthusiasm rather than desire. Inpassion he was curious but capricious, seldom rapidly roused, nor longheld. In his relations with women emotion came second to mentalstimulation, so that he never sought one whose mere sex was her mainattraction. This saved him from much--he was experienced, but notdegraded. Of love, however, in the fused sense of body, mind, and spirit, he knew nothing. Perhaps his work claimed too much from him; at any ratehe was too egotistical, too critical and self-sufficient to give easily. Whether he had received such love he did not ask himself--it is probablethat he had, without knowing it, or understanding that he had not himselfgiven full measure in return. The heart of France is practical; with allher ardor Paris had given Byrd desire and friendship, but not romance. 

In his last year, with only a few francs of his inheritance remaining, Stefan had three pictures in the Beaux Arts. One of these was sold, butthe other two importuned vainly from their hanging places. Enormousnumbers of pictures had been exhibited that year. Every gallery, publicand private, was crowded; Paris was glutted with works of art. Stefanfaced the prospect of speedy starvation if he could not dispose ofanother canvas. He had enough for a summer in Brittany, after which, ifthe dealers could do nothing for him, he was stranded. Nevertheless, heenjoyed his holiday light-heartedly, confident that his two largepictures could not long fail to be appreciated. Returning to Paris inSeptember, however, he was dismayed to find his favorite dealersuninterested in his canvases, and disinclined to harbor them longer. Portraits and landscapes, they told him, were in much demand, butfantasies, no. His sweeping groups of running, flying figures againststormy skies, or shoals of mermaids hurrying down lanes of the deep sea, did not appeal to the fashionable taste of the year. Something morelanguorous, more subdued, or, on the other hand, more "chic, " wasdemanded. 

In a high rage of disgust, Stefan hired a fiacre, and bore his childrendefiantly home to their birthplace. Sitting in his studio like a ruffledbird upon a spoiled hatching, he reviewed the fact that he had 325 francsin the world, that the rent of his attic was overdue, and that hispictures had never been so unmarketable as now. 

At this point his one intimate man friend, Adolph Jensen, a Swede, appeared as the deus ex machine. He had, he declared, an elder brother inNew York, an art dealer. This brother had just written him, describingthe millionaires who bought his pictures and bric-a-brac. His shop wascrowded with them. Adolph's brother was shrewd and hard to please, butlet his cher Stefan go himself to New York with his canvases, impress thebrother with his brilliance and the beauty of his work, and, undoubtedly, his fortune would at once be made. The season in New York was in thewinter. Let Stefan go at once, by the fastest boat, and be first in thefield--he, Adolph, who had a little laid by, would lend him thenecessary money, and would write his brother in advance of the greatopportunity he was sending him. 

Ultimately, with a very ill grace on Stefan's part--who could hardly bepersuaded that even a temporary return to America was preferable tostarvation--it was so arranged. The second-class passage money was 250francs; for this and incidentals, he had enough, and Adolph lent himanother 250 to tide him over his arrival. He felt unable to affordadequate crating, so his canvases were unstretched and made into a rollwhich he determined should never leave his hands. His clothing was packedin two bags, one contributed by Adolph. Armed with his roll, and followedby his enthusiastic friend carrying the bags, Stefan departed from theGare Saint-Lazare for Dieppe, Liverpool, and the Lusitania. 

Reacting to his friend's optimism, Stefan had felt confident enough onleaving Paris, but the discomforts of the journey had soon flattened hisspirits, and now, limp in his berth, he saw the whole adventure mistaken, unreal, and menacing. In leaving the country of his adoption for that ofhis birth, he now felt that he had put himself again in the clutches of achimera which had power to wither with its breath all that was rare andbeautiful in his life. Nursing a grievance against himself and fate, heat last fell asleep, clothed as he was, and forgot himself for a time insuch uneasy slumber as the storm allowed. 

IV

The second-class deck was rapidly filling. Chairs, running in a doublerow about the deck-house were receiving bundles of women, rugs, andbabies. Energetic youths, in surprising ulsters and sweaters, tramped inbroken file between these chairs and the bulwarks. Older men, in woolenwaistcoats and checked caps, or in the aging black of the small clergyand professional class, obstructed, with a rooted constancy, the fewclear corners of the deck. Elderly women, with the parchment skin and duntailored suit of the "personally conducted" tourist, tied their heads inveils and ventured into sheltered corners. On the boat-deck a game ofshuffleboard was in progress. Above the main companion-way the ship'sbands condescended to a little dance music on behalf of the second class. The Scotchman, clad in inch-thick heather mixture, was already discussingwith all whom he could buttonhole the possibilities of a ship's concert. In a word, it was the third day out, the storm was over, and thepassengers were cognizant of life, and of each other. 

The Scot had gravitated to a group of men near the smoking-room door, andhaving received from his turtle-jawed neighbor of the dinner table, whowas among them, the gift of a cigar, interrogated him as to musicalgifts. "I shall recite mesel', " he explained complacently, sucking in hissmoke. "Might we hope for a song, now, from you? I've asked yon artistchap, but he says he doesna' sing. "

His neighbor also disclaimed talents. "Sorry I can't oblige you. Whowants to hear a man sing, anyway? Where are your girls?"

"There seems to be a singular absence of bonny girrls on board, " repliedthe Scot, twisting his erect forelock reflectively. 

"Have you asked the English girl?" suggested a tall, rawboned NewEnglander. 

"Which English girrl?" demanded the Scot. 

"Listen to him--which! Why, that one over there, you owl. "

The Scotchman's eyes followed the gesture toward a group of childrensurrounding a tall girl who stood by the rail on the leeward side. Shewas facing into the wind toward the smoking-room door. 

"Eh, mon, " said the Scot, "till now I'd only seen the back of yon youngwoman, " and he promptly strode down the deck to ask, and receive, thepromise of a song. 

Stefan Byrd, after a silent breakfast eaten late to avoid his tablecompanions, had just come on deck. It had been misty earlier, but now thesun was beginning to break through in sudden glints of brightness. Thedeck was still damp, however, and the whole prospect seemed to theemerging Stefan cheerless in the extreme. His eyes swept the gray, huddled shapes upon the chairs, the knots of gossiping men, the clumsy, tramping youths, with the same loathing that the whole voyage hadhitherto inspired in him. The forelocked Scot, tweed cap in hand, wascrossing the deck. "There goes the brute, busy with his infernalconcert, " he thought, watching balefully. Then he actually seemed topoint, like a dog, limbs fixed, eyes set, his face, with its salientnose, thrust forward. 

The Scot was speaking to a tall, bareheaded girl, about whom half a dozennondescript children crowded. She was holding herself against the wind, and from her long, clean limbs her woolen dress was whipped, rippling. The sun had gleamed suddenly, and under the shaft of brightness her hairshone back a golden answer. Her eyes, hardly raised to those of the tallScotchman, were wide, gray, and level--the eyes of Pallas Athene; herfeatures, too, were goddess-like. One hand upon the bulwarks, she seemed, even as she listened, to be poised for flight, balancing to the sway ofthe ship. 

Stefan exhaled a great breath of joy. There was something beautiful uponthe ship, after all. He found and lit a cigarette, and squaring hisshoulders to the deckhouse wall, leaned back the more comfortably toindulge what he took to be his chief mission--the art of perceivingbeauty. 

The girl listened in silence till the Scotchman had finished speaking, and replied briefly and quietly, inclining her head. The Scot, jottingsomething in a pocket notebook, left her with an air of elation, and sheturned again to the children. One, a toddler, was picking at her skirt. She bent toward him a smile which gave Stefan almost a stab ofsatisfaction, it was so gravely sweet, so fitted to her person. Shestooped lower to speak to the baby, and the artist saw the free, rhythmicmotion which meant developed, and untrammeled muscles. Presently thechildren, wriggling with joy, squatted in a circle, and the girl sank tothe deck in their midst with one quick and easy movement, curling herfeet under her. There proceeded an absurd game, involving a slipper andmuch squealing, whose intricacies she directed with unruffled ease. 

Suddenly the wind puffed the hat of one of the small boys from his head, carrying it high above their reach. In an instant the girl was up, springing to her feet unaided by hand or knee. Reaching out, she caughtthe hat as it descended slantingly over the bulwarks, and was down againbefore the child's clutching hands had left his head. 

A mother, none other than the prominently busted lady of Stefan's table, blew forward with admiring cries of gratitude. Other matrons, vocative, surrounded the circle, momentarily cutting off his view. He changed hisposition to the bulwarks beside the group. There, a yard or two from thegleaming head, he perched on the rail, feet laced into its supports, andcontinued his concentrated observation. 

"See yon chap, " remarked the Scot from the smoking-room door to which histalent-seeking round of the deck had again brought him. "He's fairstaring the eyes oot o'his head!"

"Exceedingly annoying to the young lady, I should imagine, " returned histable neighbor, the prim minister, who had joined the group. 

"Hoots, she willna' mind the likes of him, " scoffed the other, with hisbooming laugh. 

And indeed she did not. Oblivious equally of Byrd and of her more distantwatchers, the English girl passed from "Hunt the Slipper" to "A Cold andFrosty Morning, " and from that to story-telling, as absorbed as her smallcompanions, or as her watcher-in-chief. 

Gradually the sun broke out, the water danced, huddled shapes began torise in their chairs, disclosing unexpected spots of color--a bright tieor a patterned blouse--animation increased on all sides, and the ringabout the storyteller became three deep. 

After a time a couple of perky young stewards appeared with huge irontrays, containing thick white cups half full of chicken broth, and pilesof biscuits. Upon this, the pouter-pigeon lady bore off her small son tobe fed, other mothers did the same, and the remaining children, at thelure of food, sidled off of their own accord, or sped wildly, whoopingout promises to return. For the moment, the story-teller was alone. Stefan, seeing the Scot bearing down upon her with two cups of broth inhis hand and purpose in his eye, wakened to the danger just in time. Throwing his cigarette overboard, he sprang lightly between her and theapproaching menace. 

"Won't you be perfectly kind, and come for a walk?" he asked, stooping towhere she sat. The girl looked up into a pair of green-gold eyes set in abrown, eager face. The face was lighted with a smile of dazzlingfriendliness, and surmounted by an uncovered head of thick, brown-blackhair. Slowly her own eyes showed an answering smile. 

"Thank you, I should love to, " she said, and rising, swung off besidehim, just in time--as Stefan maneuvered it--to avoid seeing the Scot andhis carefully balanced offering. Discomfited, that individual consoledhimself with both cups of broth, and bided his time. 

"My name is Stefan Byrd. I am a painter, going to America to sell somepictures. I'm twenty-six. What is your name?" said Stefan, who neverwasted time in preliminaries and abhorred small talk--turning hisbrilliant happy smile upon her. 

"To answer by the book, " she replied, smiling too, "my name is MaryElliston. I'm twenty-five. I do odd jobs, and am going to America to tryto find one to live on. "

"What fun!" cried Stefan, with a faunlike skip of pleasure, as theyturned onto the emptier windward deck. "Then we're both seeking ourfortunes. "

"Living, rather than fortune, in my case, I'm afraid. "

"Well, of course you don't need a fortune, you carry so much gold withyou, " and he glanced at her shining hair. 

"Not negotiable, unluckily, " she replied, taking his compliment as he hadpaid it, without a trace of self-consciousness. 

"Like the sunlight, " he answered. "In fact, "--confidentially--"I'm afraidyou're a thief; you've imprisoned a piece of the sun, which should belongto us all. However, I'm not going to complain to the authorities, I likethe result too much. You don't mind my saying that, do you?" hecontinued, sure that she did not. "You see, I'm a painter. Color meanseverything to me--that and form. "

"One never minds hearing nice things, I think, " she replied, with a franksmile. They were swinging up and down the windward deck, and as he talkedhe was acutely aware of her free movements beside him, and of the blow ofher skirts to leeward. Her hair, too closely pinned to fly loose, yetseemed to spring from her forehead with the urge of pinioned wings. Liferadiated from her, he thought, with a steady, upward flame--not fitfully, as with most people. 

"And one doesn't mind questions, does one--from real people?" hecontinued. "I'm going to ask you lots more, and you may ask me as many asyou like. I never talk to people unless they are worth talking to, andthen I talk hard. Will you begin, or shall I? I have at least two hundredthings to ask. "

"It is my turn, though, I think. " She accepted him on his own ground, with an open and natural friendliness. 

"I have only one at the moment, which is, 'Why haven't we talkedbefore?'" and she glanced with a quiet humorousness at the fewunpromising samples of the second cabin who obstructed the windward deck. 

"Oh, good for you!" he applauded, "aren't they loathly!"

"Oh, no, all right, only not stimulating--"

"And we are, " he finished for her, "so that, obviously, your question hasonly one answer. We haven't talked before because I haven't seen youbefore, and I haven't seen you because I have been growling in my cabin--voilà tout!"

"Oh, never growl--it's such a waste of time, " she answered. "You'll see, the second cabin isn't bad. "

"It certainly isn't, _now_, " rejoiced Stefan. "My turn for aquestion. Have you relatives, or are you, like myself, alone in theworld?"

"Quite alone, " said Mary, "except for a married sister, who hardlycounts, as she's years older than I, and fearfully preoccupied withhusband, houses, and things. " She paused, then added, "She hasn't anybabies, or I might have stayed to look after them, but she has lots ofmoney and 'position to keep up, ' and so forth. "

"I see her, " said Stefan. "Obviously, she takes after the _other_parent. You are alone then. Next question--"

"Oh, isn't it my turn again?" Mary interposed, smilingly. 

"It is, but I ask you to waive it. You see, questions about _me_ areso comparatively trivial. What sort of work do you do?"

"Well, I write a little, " she replied, "and I've been a governess and acompanion. But I'm really a victim of the English method of educatinggirls. That's my chief profession--being a monument to its inefficiency, "and she laughed, low and bell-like. 

"Tell me about that--I've never lived in England, " he questioned, witheager interest. ("And oh, Pan and Apollo, her voice!" he thought. )

"Well, " she continued, "they bring us up so nicely that we can't doanything--except _be_ nice. I was brought up in a cathedral town, right in the Close, and my dear old Dad, who was a doctor, attended theBishop, the Dean, and all the Chapter. Mother would not let us go toboarding-school, for fear of 'influences'--so we had governesses at home, who taught us nothing we didn't choose to learn. My sister Isobel married'well, ' as they say, while I was still in the schoolroom. Her husbandbelongs to the county--"

"What's that?" interrupted Stefan. 

"Don't you know what the county is? How delightful! The 'county' is thecounty families--landed gentry--very ancient and swagger and all that--much more so than the titled people often. It was very great promotionfor the daughter of one of the town to marry into the county--or wouldhave been except that Mother was county also. " She spoke with mocksolemnity. 

"How delightfully picturesque and medieval!" exclaimed Stefan. "TheGuelphs and Ghibellines, eh?"

"Yes, " Mary replied, "only there is no feud, and it doesn't seem soromantic when you're in it. The man my sister married I thought wasfrightfully boring except for his family place, and being in the army, which is rather decent. He talks, " she smiled, "like a phonograph withonly one set of records. "

"Wondrous Being--Winged Goddess--" chanted Stefan, stopping before herand apostrophizing the sky or the boat-deck--"a goddess with a sense ofhumor!" And he positively glowed upon her. 

"About the first point I know nothing, " she laughed, walking on againbeside him, "but for the second, " and her face became a little grave, "you have to have some humor if you are a girl in Lindum, or you gounder. "

"Tell me, tell me all about it, " he urged. "I've never met an Englishgirl before, _nor_ a goddess, and I'm so interested!"

They rested for a time against the bulwarks. The wind was dropping, andthe spume seethed against the black side of the ship without force fromthe waves to throw it up to them in spray. They looked down into deepblue and green water glassing a sky warm now, and friendly, in which highwhite cumuli sailed slowly, like full-rigged ships all but becalmed. 

"It is a very commonplace story with us, " Mary began. "Mother died alittle time after Isobel married, and Dad kept my governess on. I beggedto go to Girton, or any other college he liked, but he wouldn't hear ofit. Said he wanted a womanly daughter. " She smiled rather ruefully. "Dadwas doing well with his practice, for a small-town doctor, and had a gooddeal saved, and a little of mother's money. He wanted to have more, so heput it all into rubber. You've heard about rubber, haven't you?" sheasked, turning to Stefan. 

"Not a thing, " he smiled. 

"Well, every one in England was putting money into rubber last year, andlots of people did well, but lots--didn't. Poor old Dad didn't--he losteverything. It wouldn't have really mattered--he had his profession--butthe shock killed him, I think; that and being lonely without Mother. " Shepaused a moment, looking into the water. "Anyhow, he died, and there wasnothing for me to do except to begin earning my living without any of thenecessary equipment. "

"What about the brother-in-law?" asked Stefan. 

"Oh, yes, I could have gone to them--I wasn't in danger of starvation. But, " she shook her head emphatically, "a poor relation! I couldn't havestood that. "

"Well, " he turned squarely toward her, his elbow on the rail, "I can'thelp asking this, you know; where were the bachelors of Lindum?"

She smiled, still in her friendly, unembarrassed way. 

"I know what you mean, of course. The older men say it quite openly inEngland. --'Why don't a nice gel like you get married?'--It's rather along story. " ("Has she been in love?" Stefan wondered. ) "First of all, there are very few young men of one's own sort in Lindum; most of themare in the Colonies. Those there are--one or two lawyers, doctors, andsquires' sons--are frightfully sought after. " She made a wry face. "Toomuch competition for them, altogether, and--" she seemed to take a plungebefore adding--"I've never been successful at bargain counters. "

He turned that over for a moment. "I see, " he said. "At least I shoulddo, if it weren't for it being you. Look here, Miss Elliston, honestlynow, fair and square--" he smiled confidingly at her--"you're not askingme to believe that the competition in your ease didn't appear in theother sex?"

"Mr. Byrd, " she answered straightly, "in my world girls have to have morethan a good appearance. " She shrugged her shoulders rather disdainfully. "I had no money, and I had opinions. "

("She's been in love--slightly, " he decided. ) "Opinions, " he echoed, "what kind? Mustn't one have any in Lindum?"

"Young girls mustn't--only those they are taught, " she replied. "I read agood deal, I sympathized with the Liberals. I was even--" her voicedropped to mock horror--"a Suffragist!"

"I've heard about that, " he interposed eagerly, "though the French womendon't seem to care much. You wanted to vote? Well, why ever not?"

She gave him the brightest smile he had yet received. 

"Oh, how nice of you!" she cried. "You really mean that?"

"Couldn't see it any other way. I've always liked and believed in womenmore than men. I learnt that in childhood, " he added, frowning. 

"Splendid! I'm so glad, " she responded. "You see, with our men it'susually the other way round. My ideas were a great handicap at home. "

"So you decided to leave?"

"Yes; I went to London and got a job teaching some children sums andhistory--two hours every morning. In the afternoons I worked at storiesfor the magazines, and placed a few, but they pay an unknown writerhorribly badly. I lived with an old lady as companion for two months, butthat was being a poor relation minus the relationship--I couldn't standit. I joined the Suffragists in London--not the Militants--I don't quitesee their point of view--and marched in a parade. Brother-in-law heard ofit, and wrote me I could not expect anything from them unless I stoppedit. " She laughed quietly. 

Stefan flushed. He pronounced something--conclusively--in French. Then--"Don't ask me to apologize, Miss Elliston. "

"I won't, " reassuringly. "I felt rather like that, too. I wrote that Ididn't expect anything as it was. Then I sat down and thought about thewhole question of women in England and their chances. I had a hundredpounds and a few ornaments of Mother's. I love children, but I didn'twant to be a governess. I wanted to stand alone in some place where myhead wouldn't be pushed down every time I tried to raise it. I believedin America people wouldn't say so often, 'Why doesn't a nice girl likeyou get married?' so I came, and here I am. That's the whole story--avery humdrum one. "

"Yes, here you are, thank God!" proclaimed Stefan devoutly. "Whatmagnificent pluck, and how divine of you to tell me it all! You've savedme from suicide, almost. These people immolate me. "

"How delightfully he exaggerates!" she thought. 

"What thousands of things we can talk about, " he went on in a burst ofenthusiasm. "What a perfectly splendid time we are going to have!" He allbut warbled. 

"I hope so, " she answered, smilingly, "but there goes the gong, and I'mravenous. "

"Dinner!" he cried scornfully; "suet pudding, all those horrible people--you want to leave this--?" He swept his arm over the glittering water. 

"I don't, but I want my dinner, " she maintained. 

This checked his spirits for a moment; then enlightenment seemed to burstupon him. 

"Glorious creature!" he apostrophized her. "She must be fed, or she wouldnot glow with such divine health! That gong was for the first table, andI'm not in the least hungry. Nevertheless, we will eat, here and now. "

She demurred, but he would have his way, demanding it in celebration oftheir meeting. He found the deck steward, tipped him, and exacted theimmediate production of two dinners. He ensconced Miss Elliston in someone else's chair, conveniently placed, settled her with some one else'scushions, which he chose from the whole deck for their color--a cleanblue--and covered her feet with the best rug he could find. She acceptedhis booty with only slight remonstrance, being too frankly engaged by hisspirits to attempt the role of extinguisher. He settled himself besideher, and they lunched delightedly, like children, on chops and a ricepudding. 

V

It is not too easy to appropriate a pretty girl on board ship. There arealways young men who expect the voyage to offer a flirtation, and whospend much ingenuity in heading each other off from the companionship ofthe most attractive damsels. But the "English girl" was not in the"pretty" class. She was a beauty, of the grave and pure type whichimplies character. All the children knew her; all the women and menwatched her; but few of the latter had ventured to speak to her, evenbefore Stefan claimed her as his monopoly. For this he did, from themoment of their first encounter. To him nobody on the ship existed buther, and he assumed the right to show it. 

He had trouble from only two people. One was the Scotchman, McEwan, whosehide seemed impervious to rebuffs, and who would charge into aconversation with the weight of a battering ram, planting himselfimplacably in a chair beside Miss Elliston, and occasionally reducingeven Stefan to silence. The other was Miss Elliston herself. She waskind, she was friendly, she was boyishly frank. But occasionally shewould withdraw into herself, and sometimes would disappear altogetherinto her cabin, to be found again, after long search, telling stories tosome of the children. On such occasions Stefan roamed the decks andsaloons very like a hungry wolf, snapping with intolerable rudeness atany one who spoke to him. This, however, few troubled to do, for he wascordially disliked, both for his own sake and because of his success withMiss Elliston. That success the ship could not doubt. Though she wasinvariably polite to every one, she walked and talked only with him orthe children. She was, of course, above the social level of the second-class; but this the English did not resent, because they understood it, nor the Americans, because they were unaware of it. On the other hand, English and Americans alike resented Byrd, whom they could neither placenor understand. These two became the most conspicuous people in thecabin, and their every movement was eagerly watched and discussed, thoughboth remained entirely oblivious to it. Stefan was absorbed in the girl, that was clear; but how far she might be in him the cabin could not besure. She brightened when he appeared. She liked him, smiled at him, andlistened to him. She allowed him to monopolize her. But she never soughthim out, never snubbed McEwan for his intrusions into their tête-à-têtes, seemed not to be "managing" the affair in any way. Used to more obviousmethods, most of the company were puzzled. They did not understand thatthey were watching the romance of a woman who added perfect breeding toher racial self-control. Mary Elliston would never wear her feelingsnakedly, nor allow them to ride her out of hand. 

Not so Stefan, who was, as yet unknowingly, experiencing romantic lovefor the first time. This girl was the most glorious creature he had everknown, and the most womanly. Her sex was the very essence of her; she hadno need to wear it like a furbelow. She was utterly different from thefeminine, adroit women he had known; there was something cool and deepabout her like a pool, and withal winged, like the birds that fly overit. She was marvelous--marvelous! he thought. What a find!

His spirit flung itself, kneeling, to drink at the pool--his imaginationreached out to touch the wings. For the first time in his life he was toodeeply enthralled to question himself or her. He gloried in her openly, conspicuously. 

On the morning of the fifth day they had their first dispute. They weresitting on the boat deck, aft, watching the wake of the ship as ittwisted like an uncertain white serpent. Stefan was sketching her, as hehad done already several times when he could get her apart from hoveringchildren--he could not endure being overlooked as he worked. "They chewgum in my ear, and breathe down my neck, " he would explain. 

He had almost completed an impression of her head against the sky, with aflying veil lifting above it, when a shadow fell across the canvas, andthe voice of McEwan blared out a pleased greeting. 

"Weel, here ye are!" exclaimed that mountain of tweed, lowering himselfonto a huge iron cleat between which and the bulwarks the two weresitting cross-legged. "I was speerin' where ye'd both be. "

"Good Lord, McEwan, can't you speak English?" exclaimed Byrd, with quickexasperation. 

"I hae to speak the New York lingo when I get back there, ye ken, "replied the Scot with imperturbable good humor, "so I like to use a weebit o' the guid Scotch while I hae the chance. "

"A wee bit!" snorted Stefan, and "Good morning, Mr. McEwan, isn't itbeautiful up here?" interposed Miss Elliston, pleasantly. 

"It's grand, " replied the Scotchman, "and ye look bonnie i' the sun, " headded simply. 

"So Mr. Byrd thinks. You see he has just been painting me, " she answeredsmilingly, indicating, with a touch of mischief, the drawing that Stefanhad hastily slipped between them. 

The Scotchman stooped, and, before Stefan could stop him, had the sketchin his hand. 

"It's a guid likeness, " he pronounced, "though I dinna care mesel' foryon new-fangled way o' slappin' on the color. I'll mak'ye a suggestion--"But he got no further, for Stefan, incoherent with irritation, snatchedthe sketch from his hands and broke out at him in a stammering torrent ofFrench of the Quarter, which neither of his listeners, he was aware, could understand. Having safely consigned all the McEwans of the universeto pig-sties and perdition, he walked off to cool himself, the sketchunder his arm, leaving both his hearers incontinently dumb. 

McEwan recovered first. "The puir young mon suffers wi' his temper, there's nae dooting, " said he, addressing himself to the task ofentertaining his rather absent-minded companion. 

His advantage lasted but a few moments, however. Byrd, repenting hisstrategic error, returned, and in despair of other methods succeeded insummoning a candid smile. 

"Look here, McEwan, " said he, with the charm of manner he knew so wellhow to assume, "don't mind my irritability; I'm always like that when I'mpainting and any one interrupts--it sends me crazy. The light's justright, and it won't be for long. I can't possibly paint with anybodyround. Won't you, like a good fellow, get out and let me finish?"

His frankness was wonderfully disarming, but in any case, the Scot wasalways good nature's self. 

"Aye, I ken your nairves trouble ye, " he replied, lumbering to his feet, "and I'll no disobleege ye, if the leddy will excuse me?" turning to her. 

Miss Elliston, who had not looked at Stefan since his outburst, murmuredher consent, and the Scot departed. 

Stefan exploded into a sigh of relief. "Thank heaven! Isn't hemaddening?" he exclaimed, reassembling his brushes. "Isn't he the mostfatuous idiot that ever escaped from his native menagerie? Did you hearhim commence to criticize my work? The oaf! I'm afraid--" glancing at herface--"that I swore at him, but he deserved it for butting in like that, and he couldn't understand what I said. " His tone was slightly, veryslightly, apologetic. 

"I don't think that's the point, is it?" asked the girl, in a very coolvoice. She was experiencing her first shock of disappointment in him, andfelt unhappy; but she only appeared critical. 

"What do you mean?" he asked, dashed. 

"Whether he understood or not. " She was still looking away from him. "Itwas so unkind and unnecessary to break out at the poor man like that--and, " her voice dropped, "so horribly rude. "

"Well, " Stefan answered uncomfortably, "I can't be polite to people likethat. I don't even try. "

"No, I know you don't. That's what I don't like, " Mary replied, even morecoldly. She meant that it hurt her, obscured the ideal she wasconstructing of him, but she could not have expressed that. 

He painted for a few minutes in a silence that grew more and moreconstrained. Then he threw down his brush. "Well, I can't paint, " heexclaimed in an aggrieved tone, "I'm absolutely out of tune. You'll haveto realize I'm made like that. I can't change, can't hide my real self. "As she still did not speak, he added, with an edge to his voice, "I mayas well go away; there's nothing I can do here. " He stood up. 

"Perhaps you had better, " she replied, very quietly. Her throat wasaching with hurt, so that she could hardly speak, but to him she appearedindifferent. 

"Good-bye, " he exclaimed shortly, and strode off. 

For some time she remained where he had left her, motionless. She feltvery tired, without knowing why. Presently she went to her cabin and laydown. 

Mary did not see Stefan again until after the midday meal, though by thetime she appeared on deck he had been waiting and searching for her foran hour. When he found her it was in an alcove of the lounge, screenedfrom the observation of the greater part of the room. She was reading, but as he came toward her she looked up and closed her book. Before hespoke both knew that their relation to each other had subtly changed. They were self-conscious; the hearts of both beat. In a word, theirquarrel had taught them their need of each other. 

He took her hand and spoke rather breathlessly. 

"I've been looking for you for hours. Thank God you're here. I wasabominable to you this morning. Can you possibly forgive me? I'm sohorribly lonely without you. " He was extraordinarily handsome as he stoodbefore her, looking distressed, but with his eyes shining. 

"Of course I can, " she murmured, while a weight seemed to roll off herheart--and she blushed, a wonderful pink, up to the eyes. 

He sat beside her, still holding her hand. "I must say it. You are themost beautiful thing in the world. The--most--beautiful!" They looked ateach other. 

"Oh!" he exclaimed with a long breath, jumping up again and half pullingher after him in a revulsion of relief, "come on deck and let's walk--andtalk--or, " he laughed excitedly, "I don't know what I shall do next!"

She obeyed, and they almost sped round the deck, he looking spirituallyintoxicated, and she, calm by contrast, but with an inward glow as thoughbehind her face a rose was on fire. The deck watched them and nodded itshead. There was no doubt about it now, every one agreed. Bets began tocirculate on the engagement. A fat salesman offered two to one it wasdeclared before they picked up the Nantucket light. The pursy littlepassenger snapped an acceptance. "I'll take you. Here's a dollar says thelady is too particular. " The high-bosomed matron confided her fears forthe happiness of the girl, "who has been real kind to Johnnie, " to thespinster who had admired Stefan the first day out. Gossip was universal, but through it all the two moved radiant and oblivious. 

VI

McEwan had succeeded in his fell design of getting up a concert, and theevent was to take place that night. Miss Elliston, who had promised tosing, went below a little earlier than usual to dress for dinner. Byrdhad tried to dissuade her from taking part, but she was firm. 

"It's a frightful bother, " she said, "but I can't get out of it. Ipromised Mr. McEwan, you know. "

"I won't say any further what I think of McEwan, " replied Stefan, laughing. "Instead, I'll heap coals of fire on him by not trying anylonger to persuade you to turn him down. "

As she left, Stefan waved her a gay "Grand succès!" but he was alreadyprey to an agony of nervousness. Suppose she didn't make a success, or--worse still--suppose she _did_ make a success--by singing badmusic! Suppose she lacked art in what she did! _She_ was perfection;he was terrified lest her singing should not be. His fastidious braintortured him, for it told him he would love her less completely ifshe failed. 

Like most artists, Stefan adored music, and, more than most, understoodit. Suppose--just suppose--she were to sing Tosti's "Good-bye!" Heshuddered. Yet, if she did not sing something of that sort, it would fallflat, and she would be disappointed. So he tortured himself all throughdinner, at which he did not see her, for he had been unable to get hisplace changed to the first sitting with hers. He longed to keep away fromthe concert, yet knew that he could not. At last, leaving his dessertuntouched, he sought refuge in his cabin. 

The interval that must be dragged through while the stewards cleared thesaloon Stefan occupied in routing from Adolph's huge old Gladstone hisone evening suit. He had not at first dreamed of dressing, but many ofthe other men had done so, and he determined that for her sake he mustplay the game at least to that extent. Byrd added the scorn of the artistto the constitutional dislike of the average American for conventionalevening dress. His, however, was as little conventional as possible, andwhile he nervously adjusted it he could not help recognizing that it wasexceedingly becoming. He tore a tie and destroyed two collars, however, before the result satisfied him, and his nerves were at leaping pitchwhen staccato chords upon the piano announced that the concert had begun. He found a seat in the farthest corner of the saloon, and waited, penciling feverish circles upon the green-topped table to keep his handssteady. 

Mary Elliston's name was fourth on the program, and came immediatelyafter McEwan's, who was down for a "recitation. " Stefan managed to sitthrough the piano-solo and a song by a seedy little English baritoneabout "the rolling deep. " But when the Scot began to blare out, withtremendous vehemence, what purported to be a poem by Sir Walter Scott, Stefan, his forehead and hands damp with horror, could endure no more, and fled, pushing his way through the crowd at the door. He climbed tothe deck and waited there, listening apprehensively. When the scatteredapplause warned him that the time for Mary's song had come, he foundhimself utterly unable to face the saloon again. Fortunately the maincompanionway gave on a well opening directly over the saloon; and it wasfrom the railing of this well that Stefan saw Mary, just as the pianosounded the opening bars. 

She stood full under the brilliant lights in a gown of white chiffon, lowin the neck, which drooped and swayed about her in flowing lines ofgrace. Her hair gleamed; her arms showed slim, white, but strong. And"Oh, my golden girl!" his heart cried to her, leaping. Her lips parted, and quite easily, in full, clear tones that struck the very center of thenotes, she began to sing. "Good girl, _good girl!"_ he thought. Forwhat she sang was neither sophisticated nor obvious--was indeed the onlything that could at once have satisfied him and pleased her audience. "Under the greenwood tree--" the notes came gay and sweet. Then, "Fear nomore the heat o' the sun--" and the tones darkened. Again, "Oh, mistressmine--" they pulsed with happy love. Three times Mary sang--the immortalballads of Shakespeare--simply, but with sure art and feeling. As thelast notes ceased, "Love's a stuff will not endure, " and the applausebroke out, absolute peace flooded Stefan's heart. 

In a dream he waited for her at the saloon door, held her coat, andmounted beside her to the boat deck. Not until they stood side by side atthe rail, and she turned questioningly toward him, did he speak. 

"You were perfect, without flaw. I can't tell you--" he broke off, wordless. 

"I'm so glad--glad that you were pleased, " she whispered. 

They leant side by side over the bulwarks. They were quite alone, and themoon was rising. There are always liberating moments at sea when thespirit seems to grow--to expand to the limits of sky and water, tobecome one with them. Such a moment was theirs, the perfect hour ofmoonrise on a calm and empty sea. The horizon was undefined. They seemedsuspended in limitless ether, which the riding moon pierced with a swaleof living brightness, like quicksilver. They heard nothing save thehidden throb and creak of the ship, mysterious yet familiar, as the nightitself. It was the perfect time. Stefan turned to her. Her face and hairshone silver, glorified. They looked at each other, their eyes strange inthe moonlight. They seemed to melt together. His arms were round her, andthey kissed. 

A little later he began to talk, and it was of his young mother, deadyears ago in Michigan, that he spoke. "You are the only woman who hasever reminded me of her, Mary. The only one whose beauty has been sodivinely kind. All my life has been lonely between losing her and findingyou. "

This thrilled her with an ache of mother-pity. She saw him misunderstood, unhappy, and instantly her heart wrapped him about with protection. Inthat moment his faults were all condoned--she saw them only as the fruitsof his loneliness. 

Later, "Mary, " he said, "yours is the most beautiful of all names. Poetsand painters have glorified it in every age, but none as I shall do"; andhe kissed her adoringly. 

Again, he held his cheek to hers. "Beloved, " he whispered, "when we aremarried" (even as he spoke he marveled at himself that the word shouldcome so naturally) "I want to paint you as you really are--a goddess ofbeauty and love. "

She thrilled in response to him, half fearful, yet exalted. She was his, utterly. 

As they clung together he saw her winged, a white flame of love, agoddess elusive even in yielding. He aspired, and saw her, Cytheria-like, shining above yet toward him. But her vision, leaning on his heart, wasof those two still and close together, nestling beneath Love's protectingwings, while between their hands she felt the fingers of a little child. 

VII

That night Mary and Stefan spoke only of love, but the morning broughtplans. Before breakfast they were together, pacing the sun-swept deck. 

Mary took it for granted that their engagement would continue tillStefan's pictures were sold, till they had found work, till their futurewas in some way arranged. Stefan, who was enormously under her influence, and a trifle, in spite of his rapture, in awe of her sweetreasonableness, listened at first without demur. After breakfast, however, which they ate together, he occupying the place of a late comerat her table after negotiation with the steward, his impatienttemperament asserted itself in a burst. 

"Dearest one, " he cried, when they were comfortably settled in theirfavorite corner of the boat deck, "listen! I'm sure we're all wrong. Iknow we are. Why should you and I--" and he took her hand--"wait and planand sour ourselves as little people do? We've both got to live, haven'twe? And we are going to live; you don't expect we shall starve, do you?"

She shook her head, smiling. 

"Well, then, " triumphantly, "why shouldn't we live together? Why, itwould be absurd not to, even from the base and practical point of view. Think of the saving! One rent instead of two--one everything instead oftwo!" His arm gave her a quick pressure. 

"Yes, but--" she demurred. 

He turned on her suddenly. "You don't want to wait for trimmings--clothes, orange blossoms, all that stuff--do you?" he expostulated. 

"No, of course not, foolish one, " she laughed. 

"Well, then, where's the difficulty?" exultingly. 

She could not answer--could hardly formulate the answer to herself. Deepin her being she seemed to feel an urge toward waiting, towardpreparation, toward the collection of she knew not what small householdgods. It was as if she wished to make fair a place to receive hersacrament of love. But this she could not express, could not speak to himof the vision of the tiny hand. 

"You're brave, Mary. Your courage was one of the things I most loved inyou. Let's be brave together!" His smile was irresistibly happy. 

She could not bear that he should doubt her courage, and she wantedpassionately not to take that smile from his face. She began to weaken. 

"Mary, " he cried, fired by the instinct to make the courage of theirmating artistically perfect. "I've told you about my pictures. I knowthey are good--I know I can sell them in New York. But let's not wait forthat. Let's bind ourselves together before we put our fortunes to thetouch! Then we shall be one, whatever happens. We shall have that. " Hekissed her, seeing her half won. 

"You've got five hundred dollars, I've only got fifty, but the picturesare worth thousands, " he went on rapidly. "We can have a wonderful weekin the country somewhere, and have plenty left to live on while I'mnegotiating the sale. Even at the worst, " he exulted, "I'm strong. I canwork at anything--with you! I don't mind asking you to spend your money, sweetheart, because I _know_ my things are worth it five timesover. "

She was rather breathless by this time. He pressed his advantage, holdingher close. 

"Beloved, I've found you. Suppose I lost you! Suppose, when you weresomewhere in the city without me, you got run over or something. " Even asshe was, strained to him, she saw the horror that the thought conjured inhis eyes, and touched his cheek with her hand, protectingly. 

"No, " he pleaded, "don't let us run any risks with our wonderfulhappiness, don't let us ever leave each other!" He looked imploringly ather. 

She saw that for Stefan what he urged was right. Her love drew her tohim, and upon its altar she laid her own retarding instinct in happysacrifice. She drew his head to hers, and holding his face in the cup ofher hands, kissed him with an almost solemn tenderness. This was hersurrender. She took upon herself the burden of his happiness, even as sheyielded to her own. It was a sacrament. He saw it only as a response. 

Later in the day Stefan sought out the New England spinster, Miss Mason, who sat opposite to him at table. He had entirely ignored her hitherto, but he remembered hearing her talk familiarly about New York, and hismale instinct told him that in her he would find a ready confidante. Suchshe proved, and a most flattered and delighted one. Moreover sheproffered all the information and assistance he desired. She had movedfrom Boston five years ago, she said, and shared a flat with a widowedsister uptown. If they docked that night Miss Elliston could spend itwith them. The best and cheapest places to go to near the city, sheassured him, were on Long Island. She mentioned one where she had spent amonth, a tiny village of summer bungalows on the Sound, with one smallbut comfortable inn. Questioned further, she was sure this inn would benearly empty, but not closed, now in mid-September. She was evidentlypractical, and pathetically eager to help. 

Unwilling to stay his plans, however, on such a feeble prop, Byrd huntedup the minister, whom he took to be a trifle less plebeian than most ofthe men, and obtained from him an endorsement of Miss Mason's views. Theman of God, though stiff, was too conscientious to be unforgiving, and onreceiving Stefan's explanation congratulated him sincerely, if withrestraint. He did not know Shadeham personally, he explained, but he knewsimilar places, and doubted if Byrd could do better. 

Mary, all enthusiasm now that her mind was made up, was enchanted at theprospect of a tiny seaside village for their honeymoon. In gratitude shemade herself charming to Miss Mason until Stefan, impatient every momentthat he was not with her, bore her away. 

They docked at eight o'clock that night. Stefan saw Mary and Miss Masonto the door of their flat, and would have lingered with them, but theywere both tired with the long process of customs inspection. Moreover, Mary said that she wanted to sleep well so as to look "very nice" for himto-morrow. 

"Imperturbable divinity!" admired Stefan, in mock amazement. "I shall notsleep at all. I am far too happy; but to you, what is a mere marriage?"

The jest hurt her a little, and seeing it, he was quick with loverlikerecompense. They parted on a note of deep tenderness. He lay sleepless, as he had prophesied, at the nearest cheap hotel, companioned by visionsat once eagerly masculine and poetically exalted. Mary slept fitfully, but sweetly. 

The next morning they were married. Stefan's first idea had been the CityHall, as offering the most expeditious method, but Mary had been firm fora church. A sight of the municipal authorities from whom they obtainedtheir license made of Stefan an enthusiastic convert to her view. "Allthe ugliness and none of the dignity of democracy, " he snorted as theyleft the building. They found a not unlovely church, half stifled betweentall buildings, and were married by a curate whose reading of the servicewas sufficiently reverent. For a wedding ring Mary had that of Stefan'smother, drawn from his little finger. 

By late afternoon they were in Shadeham, ensconced in a small woodenhotel facing a silent beach and low cliffs shaded with scrub-oak. Thehouse was clean, and empty of other guests, and they were given apleasant room overlooking the water. From its windows they watched themoon rise over the sea as they had watched her two nights before on deck. She was the silver witness to their nuptials. 

PART II

MATED

I

Mary found Stefan an ideal lover. Their marriage, entered into with such, headlong adventurousness, seemed to unfold daily into more perfect bloom. The difficulties of his temperament, which had been thrown into sharprelief by the crowded life of shipboard, smoothed themselves away at thetouch of happiness and peace. No woman, Mary realized, could wish for afuller cup of joy than Stefan offered her in these first days of theirmating. She was amazed at herself, at the suddenness with which love hadtransmuted her, at the ease with which she adjusted herself to this newworld. She found it difficult to remember what kind of life she had ledbefore her marriage--hardly could she believe that she had ever lived atall. 

As for Stefan, he wasted no moments in backward glances. He neitherremembered the past nor questioned the future, but immersed himselfutterly in his present joy with an abandonment he had never experiencedsave in painting. Questioned, he would have scoffed at the idea that lifefor him could ever hold more than his work, and Mary. 

Thus absorbed, Stefan would have allowed the days to slip into weeksuncounted. But on the ninth day Mary, incapable of a wholly carefreeattitude, reminded him that they had planned only a week of holiday. 

"Let's stay a month, " he replied promptly. 

But Mary had been questioning her landlord about New York. 

"It appears, " she explained, "that every one moves on the first ofOctober, and that if one hasn't found a studio by then, it is almostimpossible to get one. He says he has heard all the artists live roundabout Washington Square, but that even there rents are fearfully high. It's at the foot of Fifth Avenue, he says, which sounds very fashionableto me, but he explains it is too far 'down town. '"

"Yes, Fifth Avenue is the great street, I understand, " said Stefan, "andmy dealer's address is on Fourth, so he's in a very good neighborhood. Idon't know that I should like Washington Square--it sounds so patriotic. "

"Fanatic!" laughed Mary. "Well, whether we go there or not, it's evidentwe must get back before October the first, and it's now September thetwenty-fourth. "

"Angel, don't let's be mathematical, " he replied, pinching the lobe ofher ear, which he had proclaimed to be entrancingly pretty. "I can't add;tell me the day we have to leave, and on that day we will go. "

"Three days from now, then, " and she sighed. 

"Oh, no! Not only three more days of heaven, Mary?"

"It will hurt dreadfully to leave, " she agreed, "but, " and she nestled tohim, "it won't be any less heaven there, will it, dearest?"

This spurred him to reassurance. "Of course not, " he responded, quicklysummoning new possibilities of delight. "Imagine it, you haven't evenseen my pictures yet. " They had left them, rolled, at Miss Mason's. "AndI want to paint you--really paint you--not just silly little sketches andheads, but a big thing that I can only do in a studio. Oh, darling, thinkof a studio with you to sit to me! How I shall work!" His imagination wasfired; instantly he was ready to pack and leave. 

But they had their three days more, in the golden light of the Indiansummer. Three more swims, in which Stefan could barely join for joy ofwatching her long lines cutting the water in her close English bathingdress. Three more evening walks along the shimmering sands. Three morenights in their moon-haunted room within sound of the slow splash of thewaves. And, poignant with the sadness of a nearing change, these dayswere to Mary the most exquisite of all. 

Their journey to the city, on the little, gritty, perpetually stoppingtrain was made jocund by the lively anticipations of Stefan, who was in amood of high confidence. 

They had decided from the first to try their fortunes in New York thatwinter; not to return to Paris till they had established a sure marketfor Stefan's work. He had halcyon plans. Masterpieces were to be paintedunder the inspiration of Mary's presence. His success in the Beaux Artswould be an Open Sesame to the dealers, and they would at once becomeprosperous, --for he had the exaggerated continental idea of Americanprices. In the spring they would return to Paris, so that Mary should seeit first at its most beautiful. There they would have a studio, making ittheir center, but they would also travel. 

"Spain, Italy, Greece, Mary--we will see all the world's masterpiecestogether, " he jubilated. "You shall be my wander-bride. " And he sang herlittle snatches of gay song, in French and Italian, thrumming animaginary guitar or making castanets of his fingers. 

"I will paint you on the Acropolis, Mary, a new Pallas to guard theParthenon. " His imagination leapt from vista to vista of the future, eachopening to new delights. Mary's followed, lured, dazzled, a littlehesitant. Her own visions, unformulated though they were, seemed ofsomewhat different stuff, but she saw he could not conceive them otherthan his, and yielded her doubts happily. 

At the Pennsylvania Station they took a taxicab, telling the driver theywanted a hotel near Washington Square. The amount registered on the metergave Mary an apprehensive chill, but Stefan paid it carelessly. A momentlater he was in raptures, for, quite unexpectedly, they found themselvesin a French hotel. 

"What wonderful luck--what a good omen!" he cried. "Mary, it's almostlike Paris!" and he broke into rapid gesticulating talk with the deskclerk. Soon they were installed in a bright little room with Frenchprints on the walls, a gay old-fashioned wall paper and patternedcurtains. Stefan assured her it was extraordinarily cheap for New York. While she freshened her face and hair he dashed downstairs, ignoring theelevator--which seemed to exist there only as an American afterthought--in search of a packet of French cigarettes. Finding them, he wascompletely in his element, and leant over the desk puffing luxuriously, to engage the clerk in further talk. From him he obtained advice as tothe possibilities of the neighborhood in respect of studios, and armedwith this, bounded up the stairs again to Mary. Presently, fortified by apot of tea and delicious French rolls, they sallied out on their quest. 

That afternoon they discovered two vacant studios. One was on a top flooron Washington Square South, a big room with bathroom and kitchenetteattached and a small bedroom opening into it. The other was an attic justoff the Square. It had water, but no bathroom, was heated only by an openfire, and consisted of one large room with sufficient light, and a largecloset in which was a single pane of glass high up. The studio containedan abandoned model throne, the closet a gas ring and a sink. The rent ofthe first apartment was sixty dollars a month; of the second, twenty-five. Both were approached by a dark staircase, but in one case there wasa carpet, in the other the stairs were bare, dirty, and creaking, whilefrom depths below was wafted an unmistakable odor of onions and cats. 

Mary, whose father's rambling sunny house in Lindum with its Elizabethanpaneling and carvings had been considered dear at ninety pounds a year, was staggered at the price of these mean garrets, the better of which shefelt to be quite beyond their reach. Even Stefan was a little dashed, butwas confident that after his interview with Adolph's brother sixtydollars would appear less formidable. 

"You should have seen my attic in Paris, Mary--absolutely falling topieces--but then I didn't mind, not having a goddess to house, " and hepressed her arm. "For you there should be something spacious and brightenough to be a fitting background. " He glanced up a little ruefully atthe squalid house they had just left. 

But she was quick to reassure him, her courage mounting to sustain his. "We could manage perfectly well in the smaller place for a time, dearest, and how lucky we don't have to take a lease, as we should in England. "Her mind jumped to perceive any practical advantage. Already, mentally, she was arranging furniture in the cheaper place, planning for a screen, a tin tub, painting the dingy woodwork. They asked for the refusal ofboth studios till the next day, and for that evening left matterssuspended. 

In the morning, Stefan, retrieving his canvases from Miss Mason's flat, sought out the dealer, Jensen. Walking from Fifth Avenue, he wassurprised at the cheap appearance of the houses on Fourth, only one blockaway. He had expected to find Adolph's brother in such a great stonebuilding as those he had just passed, with their show windows empty savefor one piece of tapestry or sculpture, or a fine painting brilliantagainst its background of dull velvet. Instead, the number on FourthAvenue proved a tumbledown house of two stories, with tattered awningsflapping above its shop-window, which was almost too grimy to disclosethe wares within. These were a jumble of bric-a-brac, old furniture ofdoubtful value, stained prints, and one or two blackened oil paintings intarnished frames. With ominous misgivings, Stefan entered the half-openeddoor. The place was a confused medley of the flotsam and jetsam ofdwelling houses, and appeared to him much more like a pawnbroker's thanthe business place of an art dealer. From its dusty shadows a stoopedfigure emerged, gray-haired and spectacled, which waited for Stefan tospeak with an air of patient humbleness. 

"This isn't Mr. Jensen's, is it?" Stefan asked, feeling he had mistakenthe number. 

"My name is Jensen. What can I do for you?" replied the man in a tonelessvoice. 

"You are Adolph's brother?" incredulously. 

At the name the gray face flushed pathetically. Jensen came forward, pressing his hands together, and peered into Stefan's face. 

"Yes, I am, " he answered, "and you are Mr. Byrd that he wrote to meabout. I'd hoped you weren't coming, after all. Well, " and he waved hishand, "you see how it is. "

Stefan was completely dismayed. "Why, " he stammered, "I thought you wereso successful--"

"I'm sorry. " Jensen dropped his eyes, picking nervously at his coat. "Yousee, I am the eldest brother; a man does not like to admit failure. I maybe sold up any time now. I wanted Adolph not to guess, so I--wrote--him--differently. " He flushed painfully again. Stefan was silent, too takenaback for speech. 

"I tell you, Mr. Byrd, " Jensen stammered on, striking his hands togetherimpotently, "for all its wealth, this is a city of dead hopes. It's beena long fight, but it's over now. .. . Yes, you are Adolph's friend, and Ican't so much as buy a sketch from you. It's quite, quite over. " Andsuddenly he sank his head in his hands, while Stefan stood, infinitelyembarrassed, clutching his roll of canvases. After a moment Jensen, mastering himself, lifted his head. His lined, prematurely old faceshowed an expression at once pleading and dignified. 

"I didn't dream what I wrote would do any harm, Mr. Byrd, but now ofcourse you will have to explain to Adolph--?"

Stefan, moved to sympathy, held out his hand. 

"Look here, Jensen, you've put me in an awful hole, worse than you know. But why should I say anything? Let Adolph think we're both millionaires, "and he grinned ruefully. 

Jensen straightened and took the proffered hand in one that trembled. "Thank you, " he said, and his eyes glistened. "I'm grateful. If therewere only something I could do--"

"Well, give me the names of some dealers, " said Stefan, to whom sceneswere exquisitely embarrassing, anxious to be gone. 

Jensen wrote several names on a smudged half sheet of paper. "These arethe best. Try them. My introduction wouldn't help, I'm afraid, " bitterly. 

On that Stefan left him, hurrying with relief from the musty atmosphereof failure into the busy street. Though half dazed by the suddensubsidence of his plans, unable to face as yet the possible consequences, he had his pictures, and the names of the real dealers; confidence stillbuoyed him. 

II

Three hours later Mary, anxiously waiting, heard Stefan's step approachtheir bedroom door. Instantly her heart dropped like lead. She did notneed his voice to tell her what those dragging feet announced. She sprangto the door and had her arms round his neck before he could speak. Shetook the heavy roll of canvases from him and half pushed him into theroom's one comfortable arm-chair. Kneeling beside him, she pressed hercheek to his, stroking back his heat-damped hair. "Darling, " she said, "you are tired to death. Don't tell me about your day till you've resteda little. "

He closed his eyes, leaning back. He looked exhausted; every line of hisface drooped. In spite of his tan, it was pale, with hollows under theeyes. It was extraordinary that a few hours should make such a change, she thought, and held him close, comfortingly. 

He did not speak for a long time, but at last, "Mary, " he said, in a flatvoice, "I've had a complete failure. Nobody wants my things. This is whatI've let you in for. " His tone had the indifferent quality of extremefatigue, but Mary was not deceived. She knew that his whole being cravedreassurance, rehabilitation in its own eyes. 

"Why, you old foolish darling, you're too tired to know what you'retalking about, " she cried, kissing him. "Wait till you've had somethingto eat. " She rang the bell--four times for the waiter, as the card overit instructed her. "Failure indeed!" she went on, clearing a small table, "there's no such word! One doesn't grow rich in a day, you know. " Shemoved silently and quickly about, hung up his hat, stood the canvases ina corner, ordered coffee, rolls and eggs, and finally unlaced Stefan'sshoes in spite of his rather horrified if feeble protest. 

Not until she had watched him drink two cups of coffee and devour thefood--she guessed he had had no lunch--did she allow him to talk, firstlighting his cigarette and finding a place for herself on the arm of hischair. By this time Stefan's extreme lassitude, and with it his despair, had vanished. He brightened perceptibly. "You wonder, " he exclaimed, catching her hand and kissing it, "now I can tell you about it. " With hisarm about her he described all his experiences, the fiasco of the Jensenaffair and his subsequent interviews with Fifth Avenue dealers. "They areall Jews, Mary. Some are decent enough fellows, I suppose, though I hatethe Israelites!" ("Silly boy!" she interposed. ) "Others are horrors. Noneof them want the work of an American. Old masters, or well knownforeigners, they say. I explained my success at the Beaux Arts. Two ofthem had seen my name in the Paris papers, but said it would mean nothingto their clients. Hopeless Philistines, all of them! I do believe Ishould have had a better chance if I'd called myself Austrian, instead ofAmerican, and I only revived my American citizenship because I thought itwould be an asset!" He laughed, ironically. "They advised me to have aone-man show, late in the winter, so as to get publicity. "

"So we will then, " interposed Mary confidently. 

"Good Lord, child, " he exclaimed, half irritably, "you don't suppose Icould have a gallery for nothing, do you? God knows what it would cost. Besides, I haven't enough pictures--and think of the frames!" He sat up, fretfully. 

She saw his nerves were on edge, and quickly offered a diversion. "Stefan, " she cried, jumping to her feet and throwing her arms back witha gesture the grace of which did not escape him even in his impatientmood, "I haven't even seen the pictures yet, you know, and can't wait anylonger. Let me look at them now, and then I'll tell you just how idioticthose dealers were!" and she gave her bell-like laugh. "I'll undo them. "Her fingers were busy at the knots. 

"I hate the sight of that roll, " said Stefan, frowning. "Still--" and hejumped up, "I do immensely want you to see them. I know _you'll_understand them. " Suddenly he was all eagerness again. He took thecanvases from her, undid them and, casting aside the smaller ones, spreadthe two largest against the wall, propping their corners adroitly withchairs, an umbrella, and a walking stick. "Don't look yet, " he calledmeanwhile. "Close your eyes. " He moved with agile speed, instinctivelyfinding the best light and thrusting back the furniture to secure aclearer view. "There!" he cried. "Wait a minute--stand here. _Now_look!" triumphantly. 

Mary opened her eyes. "Why, Stefan, they're wonderful!" she exclaimed. But even as she spoke, and amidst her sincere admiration, her heart, veryslightly, sank. She knew enough of painting to see that here was genius. The two fantasies, one representing the spirits of a wind-storm, theother a mermaid fleeing a merman's grasp, were brilliant in color, lineand conception. They were things of beauty, but it was a beauty strange, menacing, subhuman. The figures that tore through the clouds urged on thestorm with a wicked and abandoned glee. The face of the merman almostfrightened her; it was repellent in its likeness at once to a fish and aman. The mermaid's face was less inhuman, but it was stricken with ahorrid terror. She was swimming straight out of the picture as if tofling herself, shrieking, into the safety of the spectator's arms. Thepictures were imaginative, powerful, arresting, but they were notpleasing. Few people, she felt, would care to live with them. After along scrutiny she turned to her husband, at once glorying in the strengthof his talent and troubled by its quality. 

"You are a genius, Stefan, " she said. 

"You really like them?" he asked eagerly. 

"I think they are wonderful!" He was satisfied, for it was her heart, nother voice, that held a reservation. 

Stefan showed her the smaller canvases, some unfinished. Most were ofnymphs and winged elves, but there were three landscapes. One of these, astream reflecting a high spring sky between banks of young meadow grass, showed a little faun skipping merrily in the distance. The atmosphere wasindescribably light-hearted. Mary smiled as she looked at it. The othertwo were empty of figures; they were delicately graceful and alluring, but there was something lacking in them---what, she could not tell. Sheliked best a sketch of a baby boy, lost amid trees, behind which wood-nymphs and fauns peeped at him, roguish and inquisitive. The boy wasseated on the ground, fat and solemn, with round, tear-wet eyes. He wasso lonely that Mary wanted to hug him; instead, she kissed Stefan. 

"What a duck of a baby, dearest!" she exclaimed. 

"Yes, he was a nice kid--belonged to my concierge, " he answeredcarelessly. "The picture is sentimental, though. This is better, " and hepointed to another mermaid study. 

"Yes, it's splendid, " she answered, instinctively suppressing a sigh. Shebegan to realize a little what a strange being she had married. With animpulsive need of protection she held him close, hiding her face in hisneck. The reality of his arms reassured her. 

That day they decided, at Mary's urging, to take the smaller studio atonce, abandoning the extravagance of hotel life. In practical manners shewas already assuming a leadership which he was glad to follow. Shesuggested that in the morning he should take his smaller canvases, andtry some of the less important dealers, while she made an expedition insearch of necessary furniture. To this he eagerly agreed. 

"It seems horrible to let you do it alone, but it would be sacrilegiousto discuss the price of saucepans with a goddess, " he explained. "Are yousure you can face the tedium?"

"Why, I shall love it!" she cried, astonished at such an expression. 

He regarded her whimsically. "Genius of efficiency, then I shall leave itto you. Such things appal me. In Paris, my garret was furnished only withpictures. I inherited the bed from the last occupant, and I think Adolphinsisted on finding a pillow and a frying-pan. He used to come up andcook for us both sometimes, when he thought I had been eating too oftenat restaurants. He approved of economy, did Adolph. " Stefan was loungingon the bed, with his perpetual cigarette. 

"He must be a dear, " said Mary. She had begun to make a shopping list. "Tell me, absurd creature, what you really need in the studio. There is amodel throne, you will remember. "

"Oh, I'll get my own easel and stool, " he replied quickly. "There'snothing else, except of course a table for my paints. A good solid one, "he added with emphasis. "I'll tell you what, " and he sat up. "I go outearly to-morrow on my dealer hunt. I force myself to stay out until lateafternoon. When I return, behold! The goddess has waved her hand, andinvisible minions--" he circled the air with his cigarette--"havetransported her temple across the square. There she sits enthroned, waiting for her acolyte. How will that do?" He turned his radiant smileon her. 

"Splendid, " she answered, amused. "I only hope the goddess won't getchipped in the passage. "

She thought of the dusty studio, of brooms and scrubbing brushes, but shewas already wise enough in wife-lore not to mention them. Mary came of arace whose women had always served their men. It did not seem strange toher, as it might have to an American, that the whole labor of theirinstallation should devolve on her. 

With her back turned to him, she counted over their resources, calculating what would be available when their hotel bill was paid. Except for a dollar or two, Stefan had turned his small hoard over toher. "It's all yours anyway, dearest, " he had said, "and I don't want tospend a cent till I have made something. " They had spent very little sofar; she was relieved to realize that the five hundred dollars remainedalmost intact. While Stefan continued to smoke luxuriously on the bed, she jotted down figures, apportioning one hundred and fifty dollars forsix months' rent, and trying to calculate a weekly basis for their livingexpenses. She knew that they were both equally ignorant of prices in NewYork, and determined to call in the assistance of Miss Mason. 

"Stefan, " she said, taking up the telephone, "I'm going to summon aminion. " She explained to Miss Mason over the wire. "We are startinghousekeeping to-morrow, and I know absolutely nothing about where toshop, or what things ought to cost. Would it be making too great demandson your kindness if I asked you to meet me here to-morrow morning andjoin me in a shopping expedition?"

The request, delivered in her civil English voice, enchanted Miss Mason, who had to obtain all her romance vicariously. "I should just love to!"she exclaimed, and it was arranged. 

Mary then telephoned that they would take the studio--a technicalitywhich she knew Stefan had entirely forgotten--and notified the hoteloffice that their room would be given up next morning. 

"O thou above rubies and precious pearls!" chanted Stefan from the bed. 

After dinner they sat in Washington Square. Their marriage moon waswaning, but still shone high and bright. Under her the trees appearedetherealized, and her light mingled in magic contest with the white beamsof the arc lamps near the arch. Above each of these, a myriad tiny mothsfluttered their desirous wings. Under the trees Italian couples wandered, the men with dark amorous glances, the girls laughing, their necks gaywith colored shawls. Brightly ribboned children, black-haired, playedabout the benches where their mothers gossiped. There was enchantment inthe tired but cooling air. 

Stefan was enthusiastic. "Look at the types, Mary! The whole place isutterly foreign, full of ardor and color. I have cursed America withoutcause--here I can feel at home. " To her it was all alien, but her heartresponded to his happiness. 

On the bench next them sat a group of Italian women. From this a tiny boydetached himself, plump and serious, and, urged by curiosity, graduallyapproached Mary, his velvet eyes fixed on her face. She lifted him, resistless, to her knee, and he sat there contentedly, sucking a coloredstick of candy. 

"Look, Stefan!" she cried; "isn't he a lamb?"

Stefan cast a critical glance at the baby. "He's paintable, but horriblysticky, " he said. "Let's move on before he begins to yell. I want to seethe effect from the roadway of these shifting groups under the trees. Itmight be worth doing, don't you think?" and he stood up. 

His manner slightly rebuffed Mary, who would gladly have nursed thelittle boy longer. However, she gently lowered him and, rising, moved offin silence with Stefan, who was ignorant of any offense. The rest oftheir outing passed sweetly enough, as they wandered, arm in arm, aboutthe square. 

III

The next morning Stefan started immediately after his premier déjeuner ofrolls and coffee in quest of the less important dealers, taking with himonly his smaller canvases. "I'll stay away till five o'clock, not aminute longer, " he admonished. Mary, still seated in the dining-room overher English bacon and eggs--she had smilingly declined to adopt hisFrench method of breakfasting--glowed acquiescence, and offered him aparting suggestion. 

"Be sure to show them the baby in the wood. "

"Why that one?" he questioned. "You admit it isn't the best. "

"Perhaps, but neither are they the best connoisseurs. You'll see. " Shenodded wisely at him. 

"The oracle has spoken--I will obey, " he called from the door, kissinghis fingers to her. She ventured an answering gesture, knowing the roomempty save for waiters. She was almost as unselfconscious as he, but hadher nation's shrinking from any public expression of emotion. 

Hardly had he gone when the faithful Miss Mason arrived, her mild eyesalmost youthful with enthusiasm. Prom a black satin reticule ofdimensions beyond all proportion to her meager self she drew a list ofnames on which she discoursed volubly while Mary finished her breakfast. 

"You'll get most everything at this first place, " she said. "It's prettynear the biggest department store in the city, and only two blocks fromhere--ain't that convenient? You can deal there right along foreverything in the way of dry goods. "

Mary had no conception of what either a department store or dry goodsmight be, but determined not to confound her mentor by a display of suchignorance. 

"Seemed to me, though, you might get some things second hand, so I got alist of likely places from my sister, who's lived in New York longer'n Ihave. I thought mebbe--" her tone was tactful--"you didn't want to wasteyour money any?"

Mary was impressed again, as she had been before her wedding, by thenatural good manners of this simple and half educated woman. "Why is it, "she wondered to herself, "that one would not dream of knowing people ofher class at home, but rather likes them here?" She did not realize asyet that for Miss Mason no classes existed, and that consequently she wasas much at ease with Mary, whose mother had been "county, " as she wouldbe with her own colored "help. "

"You guessed quite rightly, Miss Mason, " Mary smiled. "I want to spend aslittle as possible, and shall depend on you to prevent my makingmistakes. "

"I reckon I know all there is t' know 'bout economy, " nodded Miss Mason, and, as if by way of illustration, drew from her bag a pair of cottongloves, for which she exchanged her kid ones, rolling these carefullyaway. "They get real mussed shopping, " she explained. 

Within half an hour, Mary realized that she would have been lost indeedwithout her guide. First they inspected the studio. Mary had had a vagueidea of cleaning it herself, but Miss Mason demanded to see thejanitress, and ascended, after a ten minutes' emersion in the noisomegloom of the basement, in high satisfaction. "She's a dago, " shereported, "but not so dirty as some, and looks a husky worker. It's herbusiness to clean the flats for new tenants, but I promised her fiftycents to get the place done by noon, windows and all. She seemed realpleased. She says her husband will carry your coal up from the cellar fora quarter a week; I guess it will be worth it to you. You don't want togive the money to him though, " she admonished, "the woman runseverything. I shouldn't calc'late, " she sniffed, "he does more'n a coupleof real days' work a month. They mostly don't. "

So the first problem was solved, and it was the same with all the rest. Many dollars did Miss Mason save the Byrds that day. Mary would havebought a bedstead and screened it, but her companion pointed out theextravagance and inconvenience of such a course, and initiated herforthwith into the main secret of New York's apartment life. 

"You'll want your divan new, " she said, and led her in the greatdepartment store to a hideous object of gilded iron which opened into adouble bed, and closed into a divan. At first Mary rejected this Janus-faced machine unequivocally, but became a convert when Miss Mason showedher how cretonne (she pronounced it "_cree_ton") or rugs wouldsoften its nakedness to dignity, and how bed-clothes and pillows wereswallowed in its maw by day to be released when the studio became asleeping room at night. 

These trappings they purchased at first hand, and obliging salesmenpromised Miss Mason with their lips, but Mary with their eyes, that theyshould go out on the noon delivery. For other things, however, the twosearched the second-hand stores which stand in that district like logs ina stream, staying abandoned particles of the city's ever moving current. Here they bought a high, roomy chest of drawers of painted pine, a Morrischair, three single chairs, and a sturdy folding table in cherry, quiteold, which Mary felt to be a "find, " and which she destined for Stefan'spaints. Miss Mason recommended a "rocker, " and Mary, who had had visionsof stuffed English easy chairs, acquiesced on finding in the rocker andMorris types the only available combinations of cheapness and comfort. Asecond smaller table of good design, two brass candlesticks, and a littlelooking-glass in faded greenish gilt, rejoiced Mary's heart, withoutunreasonably lightening her pocket. During these purchases Miss Mason'sauthority paled, but she reasserted herself on the question of iceboxes. One dealer's showroom was half full of them, and Miss Mason pounced on asmall one, little used, marked six dollars. "That's real cheap--youcouldn't do better--it's a good make, too. " Mary had never seen an ice-box in her life, and said so, striking Miss Mason almost dumb. 

"I'm sure we shouldn't need such a thing, " she demurred. 

Recovering speech, Miss Mason launched into the creed of the ice-box--itsubiquity, values and economies. Mary understood she was receiving hersecond initiation into flat life, and mentally bracketed this new cultwith that of the divan. 

"All right, Miss Mason. In Rome, et cetera, " she capitulated, and paidfor the ice-box. 

Thanks to her friend, their shopping had been so expeditious that the daywas still young. Mary was fired by the determination to have some sort ofnest for her tired and probably disheartened husband to return to thatevening, and Miss Mason entered whole-heartedly into the scheme. Thetransportation of their scattered purchases was the main difficulty, butit yielded to the little spinster's inspiration. A list of theirperformances between noon and five o'clock would read like thedescription of a Presidential candidate's day. They dashed back to thestudio and reassured themselves as to the labors of the janitress. MissMason unearthed the lurking husband, and demanded of him a friend and ahand-cart. These she galvanized him into producing on the spot, and sentthe pair off armed with a list of goods to be retrieved. In the midst ofthis maneuver the department store's great van faithfully disgorged theirbed and bedding. Hardly waiting to see these deposited, the two hurriedout in quest of sandwiches and milk. 

"I guess we're the lightning home-makers, all right, " was Miss Mason'scomment as they lunched. 

Returning to the department store they bought and brought away with thema kettle, a china teapot ("Fifteen cents in the basement, " Miss Masoninstructed), three cups and saucers, six plates, a tin of floor-polishand a few knives, forks, and spoons. Meanwhile they had telephoned thehotel to send over the baggage. When the street car dropped them near thestudio they found the two Italians seated on the steps, the furniture andbaggage in the room, and Mrs. Corriani wiping her last window pane. "Ishall want your husband again for this floor, " commanded theindefatigable Miss Mason, opening her tin of polish, "and his friend forerrands. " They fell upon their task. 

An hour later the spinster dropped into the rocking chair. "Well, we'vedone it, " she said, "and I don't mind telling you I'm tuckered out. "

Mary's voice answered from the sink, where she was sluicing her face andarms. 

"You've been a marvel--the whole thing has been Napoleonic--and I simplydon't know how to thank you. " She appeared at the door of the closet, which was to serve as kitchenette and bathroom, drying her hands. 

"My, your face is like a rose! _You_ don't look tired any!"exclaimed the spinster. "As for thanks, why, it's been a treat to me. I've felt like I was a girl again. But we're through now, and I've got togo. " She rose. "I guess I'll enjoy my sleep to-night. "

"Oh, don't go, Miss Mason, stay for tea and let my husband thank youtoo. "

But the little New Englander again showed her simple tact. "No, no, mydear, it's time I went, and you and Mr. Byrd will want to be alonetogether your first evening, " and she pulled on her cotton gloves. 

At the door Mary impulsively put her arms round Miss Mason and kissedher. 

"You have been good to me--I shall never forget it, " she whispered, almost loath to let this first woman friend of her new life go. 

Alone, Mary turned to survey the room. 

The floor, of wide uneven planks, was bare, but it carried a dark stain, and this had been waxed until it shone. The walls, painted gray, hadyielded a clean surface to the mop. The grate was blackened. On eitherside of it stood the two large chairs, and Mary had thrown a strip ofbright stuff over the cushions of the Morris. Beside this chair stood thesmaller table, polished, and upon it blue and white tea things. Near thelarge window stood the other table, with Stefan's palette, paint tubes, and brushes in orderly array, and a plain chair beside it, while centeredat that end was the model-throne. Opposite the fireplace the divanfronted the wall, obscured by Mary's steamer rug and green deck cushion. At the end of the room the heavy chest of drawers, with its dark walnutpaint, faced the window, bearing the gilded mirror and a strip ofembroidery. On the mantlepiece stood Mary's traveling clock and the twobrass candlesticks, and above it Stefan's pastoral of the stream and thedancing faun was tacked upon the wall. She could hear the kettle singingfrom the closet, through the open door of which a shaft of sunlight fellfrom the tiny window to the floor. 

Suddenly Mary opened her arms. "Home, " she whispered, "home. " Tearsstarted to her eyes. With a caressing movement she leant her face againstthe wall, as to the cheek of her lover. 

But emotion lay deep in Mary--she was ashamed that it should rise tofacile tears. "Silly girl, " she thought, and drying her eyes proceededmore calmly to her final task, which was to change her dress for onefitted to honor Stefan's homecoming. 

Hardly was she ready when she heard his feet upon the stair. Her heartleapt with a double joy, for he was springing up two steps at a time, triumph in every bound. The door burst open; she was enveloped in awhirlwind embrace. "Mary, " he gasped between kisses, "I've sold the boy--sold him for a hundred! At the very last place--just as I'd given up. You beloved oracle!"

Then he held her away from him, devouring with his eyes her glowing face, her hair, and her soft blue dress. "Oh, you beauty! The day has been athousand years long without you!" He caught her to him again. 

Mary's heart was almost bursting with happiness as she clung to him. Here, in the home she had prepared, he had brought her his success, andtheir love glorified both. Her emotion left her wordless. Another moment, and his eyes swept the room. 

"Why, Mary!" It was a shout of joy. "You magician, you miracle-worker!It's beautiful! Don't tell me how you did it--" hastily--"I couldn'tunderstand. It's enough that you waved your hand and beauty sprang up!Look at my little faun dancing--we must dance too!" He lilted a swayingair, and whirled her round the room with gipsy glee. His face looked likethe faun's, elfin, mischievous, happy as the springtime. 

At last he dropped into a chair. Then Mary fetched her teakettle. Theyquenched their thirst, she shared his cigarette, they prattled likechildren. It was late before they remembered to go out in search ofdinner, hours later before they dropped asleep upon the gilded Janus-faced couch that had become for Mary the altar of a sacrament. 

IV

Mary's original furnishings had cost her less than a hundred dollars. Inthe first days of their housekeeping she made several additions, andStefan contributed a large second-hand easel, a stool, and a piece ofstrangely colored drapery for the divan. This he discovered during a walkwith Mary, in the window of an old furniture dealer, and instantly fell avictim to. He was so delighted with it that Mary had not the heart toveto its purchase, though it was a sad extravagance, costing them morethan a week's living expenses. The stuff was of oriental silk, shot witha changing sheen, of colors like a fire burning over water, which made itseem a living thing in their hands. The night they took it home Stefanlit six candles in its honor. 

In spite of these expenses Mary banked four hundred dollars, leavingherself enough in hand for a fortnight to come, for she found that theycould live on twenty-five dollars a week. She calculated that they mustmake, as an absolute minimum, to be safe, one hundred dollars a month, for she was determined, if possible, not to draw further upon theirhoard. This was destined for a future use, the hope of which trembledconstantly in her heart. All her plans centered about this hope, but shestill forebore to speak of it to Stefan, even as she had done beforetheir marriage. Perhaps she instinctively feared a possible lack ofresponse in him. Meanwhile, she must safeguard her nest. 

In spite of Stefan's initial success, Mary wondered if his art would atfirst yield the necessary monthly income, and cast about for some meansby which she could increase his earnings. She had come to America toattain independence, and there was nothing in her code to make dependencea necessary element of marriage. 

"Stefan, " she said one morning, as she sat covering a cushion, while heworked at one of the unfinished pastorals, "you know I sold several shortstories for children when I was in London. I think I ought to try my luckhere, don't you?"

"You don't need to, sweetheart, " he replied. "Wait till I've finishedthis little thing. You see if the man I sold the boy to won't jump at itfor another hundred. " And he whistled cheerily. 

"I'm sure he will, " she smiled. "Still, I should like to help. "

"Do it if you want to, Beautiful, only I can't associate you with pensand typewriters. I'm sure if you were just to open your mouth, and sing, out there in the square--" he waved a brush--"people would come runningfrom all over the city and throw yellow and green bills at you likeleaves, till you had to be dug out with long shovels by those funnystreet-cleaners who go about looking dirty in white clothes. You would bea nymph in a shower of gold--only the gold would be paper! How likeAmerica!" He whistled again absently, touching the canvas with delicatestrokes. 

"You are quite the most ridiculous person in the world, " she laughed athim. "You know perfectly well that my voice is much too small to be ofpractical value. "

"But I'm not being practical, and you mustn't be literal, darling--goddesses never should. "

"Be practical just for a moment then, " she urged, "and think about mychances of selling stories. "

"I couldn't, " he said absently, holding his brush suspended. "Wait aminute, I've got an idea! That about the shower of gold--I know--Danaë!"he shouted suddenly, throwing down his palette. "That's how I'll paintyou. I've been puzzling over it for days. Darling, it will be my chefd'oeuvre!" He seized her hands. "Think of it! You standing under a greatshaft of sun, nude, exalted, your hands and eyes lifted. About you gold, pouring down in cataracts, indistinguishable from the sunlight--abackground of prismatic fire--and your hair lifting into it like wings!"He was irradiated. 

She had blushed to the eyes. "You want me to sit to you--like that!" Hervoice trembled. 

He gazed at her in frank amazement. "Should you mind?" he asked, amazed. "Why, you rose, you're blushing. I believe you're shy!" He put his armsaround her, smiling into her face. "You wouldn't mind, darling, for me!"he urged, his cheek to hers. "You are so glorious. I've always wanted topaint your glory since the first day I saw you. You _can't_ mind!"

He saw she still hesitated, and his tone became not only surprised buthurt. He could not conceive of shame in connection with beauty. Seeingthis she mastered her shrinking. He was right, she felt--she had givenhim her beauty, and a denial of it in the service of his art would rebuffthe God in him--the creator. She yielded, but she could not express thedeeper reason for her emotion. As he was so oblivious, she could notbring herself to tell him why in particular she shrank from sitting asDanaë. He had not thought of the meaning of the myth in connection withher all-absorbing hope. 

"Promise me one thing, " she pleaded. "Don't make the face too like me--just a little different, dearest, please!"

This a trifle fretted him. 

"I don't really see why; your face is just the right type, " he puzzled. "I shan't sell the picture, you know. It will be for us--our marriagepresent to each other. "

"Nevertheless, I ask it, dearest. " With that he had to be content. 

Stefan obtained that afternoon a full-length canvas, and the sittingsbegan next morning. He was at his most inspiring, laughed away Mary'sstage fright, posed her with a delight which, inspired her, too, so thatshe stood readily as he suggested, and made half a dozen lightningsketches to determine the most perfect position, exclaimingenthusiastically meanwhile. 

When absorbed, Stefan was a sure and rapid worker. Mary posed for himevery morning, and at the end of a week the picture had advanced to athing of wonderful promise and beauty. Mary would stand before it almostawed. Was this she, she pondered, this aspiring woman of flame? Ittroubled her a little that his ideal of her should rise to such splendor;this apotheosis left no place for the pitying tenderness of love, onlyfor its glory. The color of this picture was like the sound of silvertrumpets; the heart-throb of the strings was missing. Mary was neithermorbid nor introspective, but at this time her whole being was keyed tomore than normal comprehension. Watching the picture, seeing that it wasa portrayal not of her but of his love for her, she wondered if any womancould long endure the arduousness of such deification, or if a man whohad visioned a goddess could long content himself with a mortal. 

The face, too, vaguely troubled her. True to his promise, Stefan had notmade it a portrait, but its unlikeness lay rather in the meaning andexpression than in the features. These differed only in detail from herown. A slight lengthening of the corners of the eyes, a fuller and widermouth were the only changes. But the expression amidst its exaltationheld a quality she did not understand. Translated into music, it was thecall of the wood-wind, something wild and unhuman flowing across thesilver triumph of the horns. 

Of these half questionings, however, Mary said nothing, telling Stefanonly what she was sure of, that the picture would be a masterpiece. 

The days were shortening. Stefan found the light poor in the afternoons, and had to take part of the mornings for work on his pastoral. This hewould have neglected in his enthusiasm for the Danaë, but for Mary'surgings. He obeyed her mandates on practical issues with theunquestioning acceptance of a child. His attitude suggested that he waswilling to be worldly from time to time if his Mary--not too often--toldhim to. 

The weather had turned cool, and Mr. Corriani brought them up their firstscuttle of coal. They were glad to drink their morning coffee and eattheir lunch before the fire, and Mary's little sable neck-piece, relic offormer opulence, appeared in the evenings when they sought their dinner. This they took in restaurants near by--quaint basements, or back parlorsof once fine houses, where they were served nutritious meals on bareboards, in china half an inch thick. Autumn, New York's most beautifulseason, was in the air with its heart-lightening tang; energy seemed toflow into them as they breathed. They took long walks in the afternoonsto the Park, which Stefan voted hopelessly banal; to the MetropolitanMuseum, where they paid homage to the Sorollas and the Rodins; to theBattery, the docks, and the whole downtown district. This they foundoppressive at first, till they saw it after dark from a ferry boat, whenStefan became fired by the towerlike skyscrapers sketched in patterns oflight against the void. 

Immediately he developed a cult for these buildings. "America's onecreation, " he called them, "monstrous, rooted repellently in the earth'sbowels, growing rank like weeds, but art for all that. " He made severalsketches of them, in which the buildings seemed to sway in a drunkenabandonment of power. "Wicked things, " he named them, and saw themmenacing but fascinating, titanic engines that would overwhelm theirmakers. He and Mary had quite an argument about this, for she thought theskyscrapers beautiful. 

"They reach sunward, Stefan, they do not menace, they aspire, " sheobjected. 

"The aspiration is yours, Goddess. They are only fit symbols of a super-materialism. Their strength is evil, but it lures. "

He was delighted with his drawings. Mary, who was beginning to developcivic pride, told him they were goblinesque. 

"Clever girl, that's why I like them, " he replied. 

Late in October Stefan sold his pastoral, though only for seventy-fivedollars. This disappointed him greatly. He was anxious to repay his debtto Adolph, but would not accept the loan of it from his wife. Maryrenewed her determination to be helpful, and sent one of her old storiesto a magazine, but without success. She had no one to advise her as tolikely markets, and posted her manuscript to two more unsuitablepublications, receiving it back with a printed rejection slip. 

Her fourth attempt, however, was rewarded by a note from the editor whichgave her much encouragement. Children's stories, he explained, wereoutside the scope of his magazine, but he thought highly of Mrs. Byrd'smanuscript, and advised her to submit it to one of the women's papers--henamed several--where it might be acceptable. Mary was delighted by thisnote, and read it to Stefan. 

"Splendid!" he cried, "I had no idea you had brought any stories overwith you. Guarded oracle!" he added, teasingly. 

"Oracles don't tell secrets unless they are asked, " she rejoined. 

"True. And now I do ask. Give me the whole secret--read me the story, "he exclaimed, promptly putting away his brushes, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself, eagerly attentive, into the Morris chair. 

Mary prepared to comply, gladly, if a little nervously. She had beensomewhat hurt at his complete lack of interest in her writing; now shewas anxious for his approbation. Seated in the rocking chair she readaloud the little story in her clear low voice. When she had finished shefound Stefan regarding her with an expression affectionate but somewhatquizzical. 

"Mary, you have almost a maternal air, sitting there reading so lovinglyabout a baby. It's a new aspect--the rocker helps. I've never quite likedthat chair--it reminds me of Michigan. "

Mary had flushed painfully, but he did not notice it in the half light ofthe fire. It had grown dark as she read. 

"But the story, Stefan?" she asked, her tone obviously hurt. He jumped upand kissed her, all contrition. 

"Darling, it sounded beautiful in your voice, and I'm sure it is. In factI know it is. But I simply don't understand that type of fiction; I haveno key to it. So my mind wandered a little. I listened to the lovelysounds your voice made, and watched the firelight on your hair. You werelike a Dutch interior--quite a new aspect, as I said--and I gotinterested in that. "

Mary was abashed and disappointed. For the first time she questionedStefan's generosity, contrasting his indifference with her own absorbedinterest in his work. She knew her muse trivial by comparison with his, but she loved it, and ached for the stimulus his praise would bring. 

Beneath the wound to her craftsmanship lay another, in which the knifewas turning, but she would not face its implication. Nevertheless itoppressed her throughout the evening, so that Stefan commented on hersilence. That night as she lay awake listening to his easy breathing, forthe first time since her marriage her pillow was dampened by tears. 

V

In the nest morning's sun Mary's premonitions appeared absurd. Stefanwaked in high spirits, and planned a morning's work on his drawings ofthe city, while Mary, off duty as a model, decided to take her story inperson to the office of one of the women's papers. As she crossed theSquare and walked up lower Fifth Avenue she had never felt more buoyant. The sun was brilliant, and a cool breeze whipped color into her cheeks. 

The office to which she was bound was on the north side of Union Square. Crossing Broadway, she was held up half way over by the traffic. As shewaited for an opening her attention was attracted by the singular anticsof a large man, who seemed to be performing some kind of a ponderousfling upon the curbstone opposite. A moment more and she grasped that thedance was a signal to her, and that the man was none other than McEwan, sprucely tailored and trimmed in the American fashion, but unmistakablefor all that. She crossed the street and shook hands with him warmly, delighted to see any one connected with the romantic days of her voyage. McEwan's smile seemed to buttress his whole face with teeth, but to heramazement he greeted her without a trace of Scotch accent. 

"Well, " said he, pumping both her hands up and down in his enormous fist, "here's Mrs. Byrd! That's simply great. I've been wondering where I couldlocate you both. Ought to have nosed you out before now, but my job keepsme busy. I'm with a magazine house, you know--advertising manager. "

"I didn't know, " answered Mary, whose head was whirling. 

"Ah, " he grinned at her, "you're surprised at my metamorphosis. I allowmyself a month every year of my native heath, heather-mixture, and burr--I like to do the thing up brown. The rest of the time I'm a Gothamite, of necessity. Some time, when I've made my pile, I shall revert forkeeps, and settle down into a kilt and a castle. "

Much amused by this unsuspected histrionic gift, Mary walked on besideMcEwan. He was full of interest in her affairs, and she soon confided tohim the object of her expedition. 

"You're just the man to advise me, being on a paper, " she said, and addedlaughing, "I should have been terrified of you if I'd known that on theship. "

"Then I'm glad I kept it dark. You say your stuff is for children? Wherewere you going to?"

She told him. 

"A woman's the boss of that shop. She's O. K. And so's her paper, but herprices aren't high. " He considered. "Better come to our shop. We run twomonthlies and a weekly, one critical, one household, one entirely forchildren. The boss is a great pal of mine. Name of Farraday--an American. Come on!" And he wheeled her abruptly back the way they had come. Shefollowed unresistingly, intensely amused at his quick, jerky sentencesand crisp manner--the very antithesis of his former Scottish heaviness. 

"Mr. McEwan, what an actor you would have made!"

She smiled up at him as she hurried at his side. He looked about withpretended caution, then stooped to her ear. 

"Hoots, lassie!" he whispered, with a solemn wink. 

"Stefan will never believe this!" she said, bubbling with laughter. 

At the door of a building close to the corner where they had met hestopped, and for a moment his manner, though not his voice, assumed itserstwhile weightiness. 

"Never mind!" he held up an admonishing forefinger. "I do the talking. What do you know about business? Nothing!" His hand swept away possibleobjections. "I know your work. " She gasped, but the finger was up again, solemnly wagging. "And I say it's good. How many words?" he half snapped. 

"Three thousand five hundred, " she answered. 

"Then I say, two hundred dollars--not a cent less--and what I say_goes_, see?" The finger shot out at her, menacing. 

"I leave it to you, Mr. McEwan, " she answered meekly, and followed him tothe lift, dazed. "This, " she said to herself, "simply is not happening!"She felt like Alice in Wonderland. 

They shot up many stories, and emerged into a large office furnished witha switch-board, benches, tables, desks, pictures, and office boys. Aceaseless stenographic click resounded from behind an eight-footpartition; the telephone girl seemed to be engaged conjointly on a noveland a dozen plugs; the office boys were diligent with their chewing gum;all was activity. Mary felt at a loss, but the great McEwan, toweringover the switchboard like a Juggernaut, instantly compelled theoperator's eyes from their multiple distractions. "Good morning, Mr. McEwan--Spring one-O-two-four, " she greeted him. 

"'Morning. T'see Mr. Farraday, " he economized. 

"M'st Farraday--M'st McEwan an' lady t'see you. Yes. M'st Farraday'll seeyou right away. 'Sthis three-one hundred? Hold th' line, please, " saidthe operator in one breath, connecting two calls and waving McEwanforward simultaneously. Mary followed him down a long corridor of doorsto one which he opened, throwing back a second door within it. 

They entered a sunny room, quiet, and with an air of spacious order. Facing them was a large mahogany table, almost bare, save for a vasewhich held yellow roses. Flowers grew in a window box and another vase ofwhite roses stood on a book shelf. Mary's eyes flew to the flowers evenbefore she observed the man who rose to greet them from beyond the table. He was very tall, with the lean New England build. His long, bony facewas unhandsome save for the eyes and mouth, which held an expression ofgreat sweetness. He shook hands with a kindly smile, and Mary took aninstant liking to him, feeling In his presence the ease that comes ofclass-fellowship. He looked, she thought, something under forty yearsold. 

"I am fortunate. You find me in a breathing spell, " he was saying. 

"He's the busiest man in New York, but he always has time, " McEwanexplained, and, indeed, nothing could have been more unhurried than thewhole atmosphere of both man and room. Mary said so. 

"Yes, I must have quiet or I can't work, " Farraday replied. "My windowsface the back, you see, and my walls are double; I doubt if there's aquieter office in New York. "

"Nor a more charming, I should think, " added Mary, looking about at therestful tones of the room, with its landscapes, its beautifully chosenold furniture, and its flowers. 

"The owner thanks you, " he acknowledged, with his kindly smile. 

"Business, business, " interjected McEwan, who, Mary was amused toobserve, approximated much more to the popular idea of an American thandid his friend. "I've brought you a find, Farraday. This lady writes forchildren--she's printed stuff in England. I haven't read it, but I knowit's good because I've seen her telling stories to the kids by the houraboard ship, and you couldn't budge them. You can see, " he waved his handat her, "that her copy would be out of the ordinary run. "

This absurdity would have embarrassed Mary but that Mr. Farraday turnedon her a smile which seemed to make them allies in their jointcomprehension of McEwan's advocacy. 

"She's got a story with her for you to see, " went on that enthusiast. "I've told her if it's good enough for our magazine it's two hundreddollars good enough. There's the script. " He took it from her, andflattened it out on Farraday's table. "Look it over and write her. "

"What's your address?" he shot at Mary. She produced it. 

"I'll remember that, " McEwan nodded; "coming round to see you. There youare, James. We won't keep you. You have no time and I have less. Come on, Mrs. Byrd. " He made for the door, but Farraday lifted his hand. 

"Too fast, Mac, " he smiled. "I haven't had a chance yet. A mere Americancan't keep pace with the dynamic energy you store in Scotland. Where doesit come from? Do you do nothing but sleep there?"

"Much more than that. He practises the art of being a Scotchman, " laughedMary. 

"He has no need to practise. You should have heard him when he first cameover, " said Farraday. 

"Well, if you two are going to discuss me, I'll leave you at it; I'm nota highbrow editor; I'm the poor ad man--my time means money to me. "McEwan opened the door, and Mary rose to accompany him. 

"Won't you sit down again, Mrs. Byrd? I'd like to ask you a fewquestions, " interposed Farraday, who had been turning the pages of Mary'smanuscript. "Mac, you be off. I can't focus my mind in the presence of ahuman gyroscope. "

"I've got to beat it, " agreed the other, shaking hands warmly with Mary. "But don't you be taken in by him; he likes to pretend he's slow, buthe's really as quick as a buzz-saw. See you soon, " and with a final waveof the hand he was gone. 

"Now tell me a little about your work, " said Farraday, turning on Maryhis kind but penetrating glance. She told him she had published three orfour stories, and in what magazines. 

"I only began to write fiction a year ago, " she explained. "Before thatI'd done nothing except scribble a little verse at home. "

"What kind of verse?"

"Oh, just silly little children's rhymes. "

"Have you sold any of them?"

"No, I never tried. "

"I should like to see them, " he said, to her surprise. "I could use themperhaps if they were good. As for this story, " he turned the pages, "Isee you have an original idea. A child bird-tamer, dumb, whose power noone can explain. Before they talk babies can understand the birds, but assoon as they learn to speak they forget bird language. This child isdumb, so he remembers, but can't tell any one. Very pretty. "

Mary gasped at his accurate summary of her idea. He seemed to havephotographed the pages in his mind at a glance. 

"I had tried to make it a little mysterious, " she said rather ruefully. His smile reassured her. 

"You have, " he nodded, "but we editors learn to get impressions quickly. Yes, " he was reading as he spoke, "I think it likely I can use this. Thestyle is good, and individual. " He touched a bell, and handed themanuscript to an answering office boy. "Ask Miss Haviland to read this, and report to me to-day, " he ordered. 

"I rarely have time to read manuscripts myself, " he went on, "but MissHaviland is my assistant for our children's magazine. If her judgmentconfirms mine, as I feel sure it will, we will mail you a cheque to-night, Mrs. Byrd--according to our friend McEwan's instructions--" and hesmiled. 

Mary blushed with pleasure, and again rose to go, with an attempt atthanks. The telephone bell had twice, with a mere thread of sound, announced a summons. The editor took up the receiver. "Yes, in fiveminutes, " he answered, hanging up and turning again to Mary. 

"Don't go yet, Mrs. Byrd; allow me the luxury of postponing otherbusiness for a moment. We do not meet a new contributor and a newcitizen every day. " He leant back with an air of complete leisure, turning to her his kindly, open smile. She felt wonderfully at her ease, as though this man and she were old acquaintances. He asked more abouther work and that of her husband. 

"We like to have some personal knowledge of our authors; it helps us incriticism and suggestion, " he explained. 

Mary described Stefan's success in Paris, and mentioned his sketches ofdowntown New York. Farraday looked interested. 

"I should like to see those, " he said. "We have an illustrated review inwhich we sometimes use such things. If you are bringing me your verses, your husband might care to come too, and show me the drawings. "

Again the insistent telephone purred, and this time he let Mary go, shaking her hand and holding the door for her. 

"Bring the verses whenever you like, Mrs. Byrd, " was his farewell. 

When she had gone, James Farraday returned to his desk, lit a cigar, andsmoked absently for a few moments, staring out of the window. Then hepulled his chair forward, and unhooked the receiver. 

VI

Mary hurried home vibrant with happiness, and ran into the studio to findStefan disconsolately gazing out of the window. He whirled at herapproach, and caught her in his arms. 

"Wicked one! I thought, like Persephone, you had been carried off by Disand his wagon, " he chided. "I could not work when I realized you had beengone so long. Where have you been?" He looked quite woebegone. 

"Ah, I'm so glad you missed me, " she cried from his arms. Then, unable tocontain her delight, she danced to the center of the room, and, throwingback her head, burst into song. "Praise God from whom all blessingsflow, " chanted Mary full-throated, her chest expanded, pouring out hergratitude as whole-heartedly as a lark. 

"Mary, I can see your wings, " interrupted Stefan excitedly. "You'resoaring!" He seized a stick of charcoal and dashed for paper, only tothrow down his tools again in mock despair. "Pouf, you're beyondsketching at this moment--you need a cathedral organ to express you. Whathas happened? Have you been sojourning with the immortals?"

But Mary had stopped singing, and dropped on the divan as if suddenlytired. She held out her arms to Stefan, and he sat beside her, lover-like. 

"Oh, dearest, " she said, her voice vibrating with tenderness, "I'vewanted so to help, and now I think I've sold a story, and I've found achance for your New York drawings. I'm so happy. "

"Why, you mysterious creature, your eyes have tears in them--and allbecause you've helped me! I've never seen your tears, Mary; they makeyour eyes like stars lost in a pool. " He kissed her passionately, and sheresponded, but waited eagerly to hear him praise her success. After amoment, however, he got up and wandered to his drawing board. 

"You say you found a chance for these, " indicating the sketches. "Howsplendid of you! Tell me all about it. " He was eagerly attentive, but shemight never have mentioned her story. Apparently, that part of her reportsimply had not registered in his brain. 

Mary's spirits suddenly dropped. She had come from an interview in whichshe was treated as a serious artist, and her husband could not even hearthe account of her success. She rose and began to prepare their luncheon, recounting her adventures meanwhile in a rather flat voice. Stefanlistened to her description of McEwan's metamorphosis only halfcredulously. 

"Don't tell me, " he commented, "that the cloven hoof will not out. Do youmean to say it's to him that you owe this chance?"

She nodded. 

"I don't see how we can take favors from that brute, " he said, runninghis hands moodily into his pockets. 

Mary looked at him in frank astonishment. 

"I don't understand you, Stefan, " she said. "Mr. McEwan was kindnessitself, and I am grateful to him, but there can be no question ofreceiving favors on your part. He introduced me to Mr. Farraday as awriter, and it was only through me that your work was mentioned at all. "She was hurt by his narrow intolerance, and he saw it. 

"Very well, goddess, don't flash your lightnings at me. " He laughedgaily, and sat down to his luncheon. Throughout it Mary listened to adetailed account of his morning's work. 

Next day she received by the first post a cheque for two hundred dollars, with a formal typewritten note from Farraday, expressing pleasure, and ahope that the Household Publishing Company might receive othermanuscripts from her for its consideration. Stefan was setting hispallette for a morning's work on the Danaë. She called to him ratherconstrainedly from the door where she had opened the letter. 

"Stefan, I've received a cheque for two hundred dollars for my story. "

"That's splendid, " he answered cheerfully. "If I sell these sketches weshall be quite rich. We must move from this absurd place to a properstudio flat. Mary shall have a white bathroom, and a beautiful blue andgold bed. Also minions to set food before her. Tra-la-la, " and he hummedgaily. "I'm ready to begin, beloved, " he added. 

As Mary prepared for her sitting she could not subdue a slight feeling ofirritation. Apparently she might never, even for a moment, enjoy theluxury of being a human being with ambitions like Stefan's own, but mustremain ever pedestaled as his inspiration. She was irked, too, by hishopelessly unpractical attitude toward affairs. She would have enjoyedthe friendly status of a partner as a wholesome complement to the ardorsof marriage. She knew that her husband differed from the legendarybohemian in having a strictly upright code in money matters, but shewished it could be less visionary. He mentally oscillated betweenpauperism and riches. Let him fail to sell a picture and he offered topawn his coat; but the picture sold, he aspired to hire a mansion. In aword, she began to see that he was incapable either of foresight ormoderation. Could she alone, she wondered, supply the deficiency?

That evening when they returned from dinner, which as a rare treat theyhad eaten in the café of their old hotel, they found McEwan waiting theirarrival from a seat on the stairs. 

"Here you are, " his hearty voice called to them as they labored up thelast flight. "I was determined not to miss you. I wanted to pay myrespects to the couple, and see how the paint-slinging was getting on. "

Mary, knowing now that the Scotchman was not the slow-witted blunderer hehad appeared on board ship, looked at him with sudden suspicion. Was shedeceived, or did there lurk a teasing gleam in those blue eyes? HadMcEwan used the outrageous phrase "paint-slinging" with maliceaforethought? She could not be sure. But if his object was to get a risefrom Stefan, he was only partly successful. True, her husband snortedwith disgust, but, at a touch from her and a whispered "Be nice to him, "restrained himself sufficiently to invite McEwan in with a frigid show ofpoliteness. But once inside, and the candles lighted, Stefan leant glumlyagainst the mantelpiece with his hands in his pockets, evidentlydetermined to leave their visitor entirely on Mary's hands. 

McEwan was nothing loath. He helped himself to a cigarette, and proceededto survey the walls of the room with interest. 

"Nifty work, Mrs. Byrd. You must be proud of him, " and again Mary seemedto catch a glint in his eye. "These sketches now, " he approached thetable on which lay the skyscraper studies. "Very harsh--cruel, you mightsay--but clever, yes, _sir_, mighty clever. " Mary saw Stefan writhewith irritation at the other's air of connoisseur. She shot him a glanceat once amused and pleading, but he ignored it with a shrug, as if toindicate that Mary was responsible for this intrusion, and must expect noaid from him. 

McEwan now faced the easel which held the great Danaë, shrouded by acloth. 

"Is this the latest masterpiece--can it be seen?" he asked, turning tohis host, his hand half stretched to the cover. 

Mary made an exclamation of denial, and started forward to intercept thehand. But even as she moved, dismay visible on her face, the perversedevil which had been mounting in Stefan's brain attained the mastery. Shehad asked him to be nice to this jackass--very well, he would. 

"Yes, that's the best thing I've done, McEwan. As you're a friend of bothof us, you ought to see it, " he exclaimed, and before Mary could utter aprotest had wheeled the easel round to the light and thrown back thedrapery. He massed the candles on the mantelpiece. "Here, " he called, "stand here where you can see properly. Mythological, you see, Danaë. What do you think of it?" There were mischief and triumph in his tone, and a shadow of spite. 

Mary had blushed crimson and stood, incapable of speech, in the darkestcorner of the room. McEwan had not noticed her protest, it had allhappened so instantaneously. He followed Stefan's direction, and facedthe canvas expectantly. There was a long silence. Mary, watching, saw thespruce veneer of metropolitanism fall from their guest like a discardedmask--the grave, steady Highlander emerged. Stefan's moment of malice hadflashed and died--he stood biting his nails, already too ashamed toglance in Mary's direction. At last McEwan turned. There was homage inhis eyes, and gravity. 

"Mr. Byrd, " he said, and his deep voice carried somewhat of its oldScottish burr, "I owe ye an apology. I took ye for a tricky young mon, clever, but better pleased with yersel' than ye had a right to be. I seeye are a great artist, and as such, ye hae the right even to the love ofthat lady. Now I will congratulate her. " He strode over to Mary's cornerand took her hand. "Dear leddy, " he said, his native speech still moreapparent, "I confess I didna think the young mon worthy, and in meblunderin' way, I would hae kept the two o' ye apart could I hae done it. But I was wrong. Ye've married a genius, and ye can be proud o' the wayye're helping him. Now I'll bid ye good night, and I hope ye'll baithcount me yer friend in all things. " He offered his hand to Stefan, whotook it, touched. Gravely he picked up his hat, and opened the door, turning for a half bow before closing it behind him. 

Stefan knew that he had behaved unpardonably, that he had been betrayedinto a piece of caddishness, but McEwan had given him the cue for hisdefense. He hastened to Mary and seized her hand. 

"Darling, forgive me. I knew you didn't want the picture shown, but it'sgot to be done some day, hasn't it? It seemed a shame for McEwan not tosee what you have inspired. I ought not to have shown it without askingyou, but his appreciation justified me, don't you think?" His tonecoaxed. 

Mary was choking back her tears. Explanations, excuses, were to hertrivial, nor was she capable of them. Wounded, she was always dumb, andto discuss a hurt seemed to her to aggravate it. 

"Don't let's talk about it, Stefan, " she murmured. "It seemed to me youshowed the picture because I did not wish it--that's what I don'tunderstand. " She spoke lifelessly. 

"No, no, you mustn't think that, " he urged. "I was irritated, and I'mhorribly sorry, but I do think it should be shown. "

But Mary was not deceived. If only for a moment, he had been disloyal toher. The urge of her love made it easy to forgive him, but she knew shecould not so readily forget. 

Though she put a good face on the incident, though Stefan was his mostcharming self throughout the evening, even though she refused torecognize the loss, one veil of illusion had been stripped from herheart's image of him. 

In his contrite mood, determined to please her, Stefan recalled thematter of her stories, and for the first time spoke of her success withenthusiasm. He asked her about the editor, and offered to go with her thenext morning to show Mr. Farraday his sketches. 

"Have you anything else to take him?" he asked. 

"Yes, " replied Mary. "I am to show him some verses I wrote at home inLindum. Just little songs for children. "

"Verses, " he exclaimed; "how wonderful! I knew you were a goddess and asong-bird, but not that you were a poet, too. "

"Nor am I; they are the most trifling things. "

"I expect they are delicious, like your singing. Read them to me, beloved, " he begged. 

But Mary would not. He pressed her several times during the evening, butfor the first time since their marriage he found he could not move her tocompliance. 

"Please don't bother about them, Stefan. They are for children; theywould not interest you. "

He felt himself not wholly forgiven. 

VII

A day or two later the Byrds went together to the office of the HouseholdPublishing Company and sent in their names to Mr. Farraday. This timethey had to wait their turn for admittance for over half an hour, sharingthe benches of the outer office with several men and women of typesranging from the extreme of aestheticism to the obviously commercial. Theoffice was hung with original drawings of the covers of the firm's threepublications--The Household Review, The Household Magazine, and The Childat Home. Stefan prowled around the room mentally demolishing thedrawings, while Mary glanced through the copies of the magazines thatcovered the large central table. She was impressed by the high level ofmakeup and illustration in all three periodicals, contrasting them withthe obvious and often inane contents of similar English publications. Ata glance the sheets appeared wholesome, but not narrow; dignified, butnot dull. She wondered how much of their general tone they owed to Mr. Farraday, and determined to ask McEwan more about his friend when nextshe saw him. Her speculations were interrupted by Stefan, who somewhatexcitedly pulled her sleeve, pointing to a colored drawing of a woman'shead on the wall behind her. 

"Look, Mary!" he ejaculated. "Rotten bourgeois art, but an interestingface, eh? I wonder if it's a good portrait. It says in the corner, 'Studyof Miss Felicity Berber. ' An actress, I expect. Look at the eyes; subtle, aren't they? And the heavy little mouth. I've never seen a face quitelike it. " He was visibly intrigued. 

Mary thought the face provocative, but somewhat unpleasant. 

"It's certainly interesting--the predatory type, I should think, " shereplied. "I'll bet it's true to life--the artist is too much of a foolto have created that expression, " Stefan went on. "Jove, I should like tomeet her, shouldn't you?" he asked naïvely. 

"Not particularly, " said Mary, smiling at him. "She'll have to be yourfriend; she's too feline for me. "

"The very word, observant one, " he agreed. 

At this point their summons came. Mary was very anxious that her husbandshould make a good impression. "I hope you'll like him, dearest, " shewhispered as for the second time the editor's door opened to her. 

Farraday shook hands with them pleasantly, but turned his level glancerather fixedly on her husband, Mary thought, before breaking into hiskindly smile. Stefan returned the smile with interest, plainly delightedat the evidences of taste that surrounded him. 

"I'm sorry you should have had to wait so long, " said Farraday. "I'mrarely so fortunately unoccupied as on your first visit, Mrs. Byrd. You've brought the verses to show me? Good! And Mr. Byrd has hisdrawings?" He turned to Stefan. "America owes you a debt for the newcitizen you have given her, Mr. Byrd. May I offer my congratulations?"

"Thanks, " beamed Stefan, "but you couldn't, adequately, you know. "

"Obviously not, " assented the other with a glance at Mary. "Our mutualfriend, McEwan, was here again yesterday, with a most glowing account ofyour work, Mr. Byrd; he seems to have adopted the rôle of press agent forthe family. "

"He's the soul of kindness, " said Mary. 

"Yes, a thoroughly good sort, " Stefan conceded. "Here are the New Yorksketches, " he went on, opening his portfolio on Farraday's desk. "Half adozen of them. "

"Thank you, just a moment, " interposed the editor, who had opened Mary'smanuscript. "Your wife's work takes precedence. She is an establishedcontributor, you see, " he smiled, running his eyes over the pages. 

Stefan sat down. "Of course, " he said, rather absently. 

Farraday gave an exclamation of pleasure. 

"Mrs. Byrd, these are good; unusually so. They have the Stevenson flavorwithout being imitations. A little condensation, perhaps--I'll pencil afew suggestions--but I must have them all. I would not let anothermagazine get them for the world! Let me see, how many are there! Eight. We might bring them out in a series, illustrated. What if I were to offerthe illustrating to Mr. Byrd, eh?" He put down the sheets and glancedfrom wife to husband, evidently charmed with his idea. "What do youthink, Mr. Byrd? Is your style suited to her work?" he asked. 

Stefan looked thoroughly taken aback. He laughed shortly. "I'm a painter, Mr. Farraday, not an illustrator. I haven't time to undertake that kindof thing. Even these drawings, " he indicated the portfolio, "were done inspare moments as an amusement. My wife suggested placing them with you--Ishouldn't have thought of it. "

To Mary his tone sounded needlessly ungracious, but the editor appearednot to notice it. 

"I beg your pardon, " he replied suavely. "Of course, if you don'tillustrate--I'm sorry. The collaboration of husband and wife would havebeen an attraction, even though the names were unknown here. I'll getLedward to do them. "

Stefan sat up. "You don't mean Metcalf Ledward, the painter, do you?" heexclaimed. 

"Yes, " replied Farraday quietly; "he often does things for us--our policyis to popularize the best American artists. "

Stefan was nonplused. Ledward illustrating Mary's rhymes! He feltuncomfortable. 

"Don't you think he would get the right atmosphere better perhaps thananyone?" queried Farraday, who seemed courteously anxious to elicitStefan's opinion. Mary interposed hastily. 

"Mr. Farraday, he can't answer you. I'm afraid I've been stupid, but Iwas so pessimistic about these verses that I wouldn't show them to him. Ithought I would get an outside criticism first, just to save my face, "she hurried on, anxious in reality to save her husband's. 

"I pleaded, but she was obdurate, " contributed Stefan, looking at herwith reproach. 

Farraday smiled enlightenment. "I see. Well, I shall hope you will changeyour mind about the illustrations when you have read the poems--that is, if your style would adapt itself. Now may I see the sketches?" and heheld out his hand for them. 

Stefan rose with relief. Much as he adored Mary, he could not comprehendthe seriousness with which this man was taking the rhymes which sheherself had described as "just little songs for children. " He was themore baffled as he could not dismiss Farraday's critical pretensions withcontempt, the editor being too obviously a man of cultivation. Now, however, that attention had been turned to his own work, Stefan was athis ease. Here, he felt, was no room for doubts. 

"They are small chalk and charcoal studies of the spirit of the city--mere impressions, " he explained, putting the drawings in Farraday'shands with a gesture which belied the carelessness of his words. 

Farraday glanced at them, looked again, rose, and carried them to thewindow, where he examined them carefully, one by one. Mary watched himbreathlessly, Stefan with unconcealed triumph. Presently he turned againand placed them in a row on the bare expanse of his desk. He stoodlooking silently at them for a moment more before he spoke. 

"Mr. Byrd, " he said at last, "this is very remarkable work. " Mary exhaledan audible breath of relief, and turned a glowing face to Stefan. "It isthe most remarkable work, " went on the editor, "that has come into thisoffice for some time past. Frankly, however, I can't use it. "

Mary caught her breath--Stefan stared. The other went on without lookingat them:

"This company publishes strictly for the household. Our policy is to sendinto the average American home the best that America produces, but itmust be a best that the home can comprehend. These drawings interpret NewYork as you see it, but they do not interpret the New York in which ourreaders live, or one which they would be willing to admit existed. "

"They interpret the real New York, though, " interposed Stefan. 

"Obviously so, to you, " replied the editor, looking at him for the firsttime. "For me, they do not. These drawings are an arraignment, Mr. Byrd, and--if you will pardon my saying so--a rather bitter and inhuman one. You are not very patriotic, are you?" His keen eyes probed the artist. 

"Emphatically no, " Stefan rejoined. "I'm only half American by birth, andwholly French by adoption. "

"That explains it, " nodded Farraday gravely. "Well, Mr. Byrd, there areundoubtedly publications in which these drawings could find a place, andI am only sorry that mine are not amongst them. May I, however, ventureto offer you a suggestion?"

Stefan was beginning to look bored, but Mary interposed with a quick "Oh, please do!" Farraday turned to her. 

"Mrs. Byrd, you will bear me out in this, I think. Your husband hasgenius--that is beyond question--but he is unknown here as yet. Would itnot be a pity for him to be introduced to the American public throughthese rather sinister drawings? We are not fond of the too frank critichere, you know, " he smiled, whimsically. "You may think me a Philistine, Mr. Byrd, " he continued, "but I have your welfare in mind. Win yourpublic first with smiles, and later they may perhaps accept chastisementfrom you. If you have any drawings in a different vein I shall feelhonored in publishing them"--his tone was courteous--"if not, I shouldsuggest that you seek your first opening through the galleries ratherthan the press. Whichever way you decide, if I can assist you at all byfurnishing introductions, I do hope you will call on me. Both for yourwife's sake and for your own, it would be a pleasure. And now"--gatheringup the drawings--"I must ask you both to excuse me, as I have a longstring of appointments. Mrs. Byrd, I will write you our offer for theverses. I don't know about the illustrations; you must consult yourhusband. " They found themselves at the door bidding him goodbye: Marywith a sense of disappointment mingled with comprehension; Stefan notknowing whether the more to deplore what he considered Farraday'sPhilistinism, or to admire his critical acumen. 

"His papers and his policy are piffling, " he summed up at last, as theywalked down the Avenue, "but I must say I like the man himself--he is thefirst person of distinction I have seen since I left France. "

"Oh! Oh! The first?" queried Mary. 

"Darling, " he seized her hand and pressed it, "I said the first person, not the first immortal!" He had a way of bestowing little endearments inpublic, which Mary found very attractive, even while her training obligedher to class them as solecisms. 

"I felt sure you would like him. He seems to me charming, " she said, withdrawing the hand with a smile. 

"Grundy!" he teased at this. "Yes, the man is all right, but if that is asample of their attitude toward original work over here we have a prettyprospect of success. 'Genius, get thee behind me!' would sum it up. Imbeciles!" He strode on, his face mutinous. 

Mary was thinking. She knew that Farraday's criticism of her husband'swork was just. The word "sinister" had struck home to her. It could beapplied, she felt, with equal truth to all his large paintings but one--the Danaë. 

"Stefan, " she asked, "what did you think of his advice to win the publicfirst by smiles?"

"Tennysonian!" pronounced Stefan, using what she knew to be his finaladjective of condemnation. 

"A little Victorian, perhaps, " she admitted, smiling at this succinctrepudiation. "Nevertheless, I'm inclined to think he was right. There isa sort of Pan-inspired terror in your work, you know. "

He appeared struck. "Mary, I believe you've hit it!" he exclaimed, suddenly standing still. "I've never thought of it like that before--thething that makes my work unique, I mean. Like the music of Pan, it'soutside humanity, because I am. "

"Don't say that, dear, " she interrupted, shocked. 

"Yes, I am. I hate my kind--all except a handful. I love beauty. It isnot my fault that humanity is ugly. "

Mary was deeply disturbed. Led on by a chance phrase of hers, he wasactually boasting of just that lack which was becoming her secret fearfor him. She touched his arm, pleadingly. 

"Stefan, don't speak like that; it hurts me dreadfully. It is awful forany one to build up a barrier between himself and the world. It meansmuch unhappiness, both for himself and others. "

He laughed affectionately at her. "Why, sweet, what do we care? I loveyou enough to make the balance true. You are on my side of the barrier, shutting me in with beauty. "

"Is that your only reason for loving me?" she asked, still distressed. 

"I love you because you have a beautiful body and a beautiful mind--because you are like a winged goddess of inspiration. Could there be amore perfect reason?"

Mary was silent. Again the burden of his ideal oppressed her. There wasno comfort in it. It might be above humanity, she felt, but it was not ofit. Again her mind returned to the pictures and Farraday's criticism. "Sinister!" So he would have summed up all the others, except the Danaë. To that at least the word could not apply. Her heart lifted at therealization of how truly she had helped Stefan. In his tribute to herthere was only beauty. She knew now that her gift must be withoutreservation. 

Home again, she stood long before the picture, searching its strangeface. Was she wrong, or did there linger even here the sinister, half-human note?

"Stefan, " she said, calling him to her, "I was wrong to ask you not tomake the face like me. It was stupid--'Tennysonian, ' I'm afraid. " Shesmiled bravely. "It _is_ me--your ideal of me, at least--and I wantyou to make the face, too, express me as I seem to you. " She leantagainst him. "Then I want you to exhibit it. I want you to be known firstby our gift to each other, this--which is our love's triumph. " She wastrembling; her face quivered--he had never seen her so moved. She firedhim. 

"How glorious of you, darling!" he exclaimed, "and oh, how beautiful youlook! You have never been so wonderful. If I could paint that rapt face!Quick, I believe I can get it. Stand there, on the throne. " He seized hispallette and brushes and worked furiously while Mary stood, still flamingwith her renunciation. In a few minutes it was done. He ran to her andcovered her face with kisses. "Come and look!" he cried exultingly, holding her before the canvas. 

The strange face with its too-wide eyes and exotic mouth was gone. Instead, she saw her own purely cut features, but fired by such exultantadoration as lifted them to the likeness of a deity. The picture now wasincredibly pure and passionate--the very flaming essence of love. Tearsstarted to her eyes and dropped unheeded. She turned to him worshiping. 

"Beloved, " she cried, "you are great, great. I adore you, " and she kissedhim passionately. 

He had painted love's apotheosis, and his genius had raised her love toits level. At that moment Mary's actually was the soul of flame he haddepicted it. 

That day, illumined by the inspiration each had given each, was destinedto mark a turning point in their common life. The next morning theunderstanding which Mary had for long instinctively feared, and againstwhich she had raised a barrier of silence, came at last. 

She was standing for some final work on the Danaë. But she had awakenedfeeling rather unwell, and her pose was listless. Stefan noticed it, andshe braced herself by an effort, only to droop again. To his surprise, she had to ask for her rest much sooner than usual; he had hitherto foundher tireless. But hardly had she again taken the pose than she feltherself turning giddy. She tottered, and sat down limply on the throne. He ran to her, all concern. 

"Why, darling, what's the matter, aren't you well?" She shook her head. "What can be wrong?" She looked at him speechless. 

"What is it, dearest, has anything upset you?" he went on with--it seemedto her--incredible blindness. 

"I can't stand in that pose any longer, Stefan; this must be the lasttime, " she said at length, slowly. 

He looked at her as she sat, pale-faced, drooping on the edge of thethrone. Suddenly, in a flash, realization came to him. He strode acrossthe room, looked again, and came back to her. 

"Why, Mary, are you going to have a baby?" he asked, quite baldly, with asurprised and almost rueful expression. 

Mary flushed crimson, tears of emotion in her eyes. "Oh, Stefan, yes. I've known it for weeks; haven't you guessed?" Her arms reached to himblindly. 

He stood rooted for a minute, looking as dumfounded as if an earthquakehad rolled under him. Then with a quick turn he picked up her wrap, folded it round her, and took her into his arms. But it was a moment toolate. He had hesitated, had not been there at the instant of her greatestneed. Her midnight fears were fulfilled, just as her instinct hadforetold. He was not glad. There in his arms her heart turned cold. 

He soon rallied; kissed her, comforted her, told her what a fool he hadbeen; but all he said only confirmed her knowledge. "He is not glad. Heis not glad, " her heart beat out over and over, as he talked. 

"Why did you not tell me sooner, darling? Why did you let me tire youlike this?" he asked. 

Impossible to reply. "Why didn't you know?" her heart cried out, and, "Iwasn't tired until to-day, " her lips answered. 

"But why didn't you tell me?" he urged. "I never even guessed. It wasidiotic of me, but I was so absorbed in our love and my work that thisnever came to my mind. "

"But at first, Stefan?" she questioned, probing for the answer shealready knew, but still clinging to the hope of being wrong. "I nevertalked about it because you didn't seem to care. But in the beginning, when you proposed to me--the day we were married--at Shadeham--did younever think of it then?" Her tone craved reassurance. 

"Why, no, " he half laughed. "You'll think me childish, but I never did. Isuppose I vaguely faced the possibility, but I put it from me. We hadeach other and our love--that seemed enough. "

She raised her head and gazed at him in wide-eyed pain. "But, Stefan, what's marriage _for?_" she exclaimed. 

He puckered his brows, puzzled. "Why, my dear, it's for love--companionship--inspiration. Nothing more so far as I am concerned. " Theystared nakedly at each other. For the first time the veils were strippedaway. They had felt themselves one, and behold! here was a barrier, impenetrable as marble, dividing each from the comprehension of theother. To Stefan it was inconceivable that a marriage should be based onanything but mutual desire. To Mary the thought of marriage apart fromchildren was an impossibility. They had come to their first spiritualdeadlock. 

VIII

Love, feeling its fusion threatened, ever makes a supreme effort forreunity. In the days that followed, Stefan enthusiastically sought torebuild his image of Mary round the central fact of her maternity. Hebecame inspired with the idea of painting her as a Madonna, and recalledall the famous artists of the past who had so glorified their hearts'mistresses. 

"You are named for the greatest of all mothers, dearest, and my pictureshall be worthy of the name, " he would cry. Or he would call herAphrodite, the mother of Love. "How beautiful our son will be--anotherEros, " he exclaimed. 

Mary rejoiced in his new enthusiasm, and persuaded herself that hisindifference to children was merely the result of his lonelybachelorhood, and would disappear forever at the sight of his own child. Now that her great secret was shared she became happier, and openlycommenced those preparations which she had long been cherishing inthought. Miss Mason was sent for, and the great news confided to her. They undertook several shopping expeditions, as a result of which Marywould sit with a pile of sewing on her knee while Stefan worked tocomplete his picture. Miss Mason took to dropping in occasionally with apattern or some trifle of wool or silk. Mary was always glad to see her, and even Stefan found himself laughing sometimes at her shrewd NewEngland wit. For the most part, however, he ignored her, while he paintedaway in silence behind the great canvas. 

Mary had received twelve dollars for each of her verses--ninety-sixdollars in all. Before Christmas Stefan sold his pastoral of the dancingfaun for one hundred and twenty-five, and Mary felt that financially theywere in smooth water, and ventured to discuss the possibility of largerquarters. For these they were both eager, having begun to feel theconfinement of their single room; but Mary urged that they postponemoving until spring. 

"We are warm and snug here for the winter, and by spring we shall havesaved something substantial, and really be able to spread out, " sheargued. 

"Very well, wise one, we will hold in our wings a little longer, " heagreed, "but when we do fly, it must be high. " His brush soared inillustration. 

She had discussed with him the matter of the illustrations for her versesas soon as she received her cheque from Farraday. They had agreed that itwould be a pity for him to take time for them from his masterpiece. 

"Besides, sweetheart, " he had said, "I honestly think Ledward will dothem better. His stuff is very graceful, without being sentimental, andhe understands children, which I'm afraid I don't. " He shruggedregretfully. "Didn't you paint that adorable lost baby?" she remindedhim. "I've always grieved that we had to sell it. "

"I'll buy it back for you, or paint you another better one, " he offeredpromptly. 

So the verses went to Ledward, and the first three appeared in theChristmas number of The Child at Home, illustrated--as even Stefan had toadmit--with great beauty. 

Mary would have given infinitely much for his collaboration, but she hadnot urged it, feeling he was right in his refusal. 

As Christmas approached they began to make acquaintances among thepolyglot population of the neighborhood. Their old hotel, the culinaryaristocrat of the district, possessed a cafe in which, with true Frenchhospitality, patrons were permitted to occupy tables indefinitely on thestrength of the slenderest orders. Here for the sake of the Frenchatmosphere Stefan would have dined nightly had Mary's frugalitypermitted. As it was, they began to eat there two or three nights a week, and dropped in after dinner on many other nights. They would sit at abare round table smoking their cigarettes, Mary with a cup of coffee, Stefan with the liqueur he could never induce her to share, and watchingthe groups that dotted the other tables. Or they would linger at thecheapest of their restaurants and listen to the conversation of the youngpeople, aggressively revolutionary, who formed its clientele. These lastwere always noisy, and assumed as a pose manners even worse than thosethey naturally possessed. Every one talked to every one else, regardlessof introductions, and Stefan had to summon his most crushing manner toprevent Mary from being monopolized by various very youthful andvisionary men who openly admired her. He was inclined to abandon theplace, but Mary was amused by it for a time, bohemianism being acompletely unknown quantity to her. 

"Don't think this is the real thing, " he explained; "I've had seven yearsof that in Paris. This is merely a very crass imitation. "

"Imitation or not, it's most delightfully absurd and amusing, " said she, watching the group nearest her. This consisted of a very short and rotundman with hair a la Paderewski and a frilled evening shirt, a thin man ofincredible stature and lank black locks, and a pretty young girl in atunic, a tam o' shanter, enormous green hairpins, and tiny patent-leathershoes decorated with three inch heels. To her the lank man, who wore ared velvet shirt and a khaki-colored suit reminiscent of Mr. BernardShaw, was explaining the difference between syndicalism and trade-unionism in the same conversational tone which men in Lindum had used indescribing to Mary the varying excellences of the two local hunts. "I. W. W. " and "A. F. Of L. " fell from his lips as "M. F. H. " and "J. P. " usedto from theirs. The contrast between the two worlds entertained her not alittle. She thought all these young people looked clever, thoughsingularly vulgar, and that her old friends would have appeared bycomparison refreshingly clean and cultivated, but quite stupid. 

"Why, Stefan, are dull, correct people always so clean, and clever andoriginal ones usually so unwashed?" she wondered. 

"Oh, the unwashed stage is like the measles, " he replied; "you are boundto catch it in early life. "

"I suppose that's true. I know even at Oxford the Freshmen go through anutterly ragged and disreputable phase, in which they like to pretend theyhave no laundry bill. "

"Yes, it advertises their emancipation. I went through it in Paris, butmine was a light case. "

"And brief, I should think, " smiled Mary, to whom Stefan's felineperfection of neatness was one of his charms. 

At the hotel, on the other hand, the groups, though equally individual, lacked this harum-scarum quality, and, if occasionally noisy, were cleanand orderly. 

"Is it because they can afford to dress better?" Mary asked on their nextevening there, noting the contrast. 

"No, " said Stefan. "That velvet shirt cost as much probably as half adozen cotton ones. These people have more, certainly, or they wouldn't behere--but the real reason is that they are a little older. The othercrowd is raw with youth. These have begun to find themselves; they don'tneed to advertise their opinions on their persons. " He was looking abouthim with quite a friendly eye. 

"You don't seem to hate humanity this evening, Stefan, " Mary commented. 

"No, " he grinned. "I confess these people are less objectionable thanmost. " He spoke in rapid French to the waiter, ordering another drink. 

"And the language, " he continued. "If you knew what it means to me tohear French!"

Mary nodded rather ruefully. Her French was of the British school-girlvariety, grammatically precise, but with a hopeless, insular accent. After a few attempts Stefan had ceased trying to speak it with her. "Darling, " he had begged, "don't let us--it is the only ugly sound youmake. "

One by one they came to know the habitués of these places. In therestaurant Stefan was detested, but tolerated for the sake of his wife. "Beauty and the Beast" they were dubbed. But in the hotel café he madehimself more agreeable, and was liked for his charming appearance, hisfluent French, and his quick mentality. The "Villagers, " as these peoplecalled themselves, owing to their proximity to New York's old GreenwichVillage, admired Mary with ardor, and liked her, but for a time werebaffled by her innate English reserve. Mentally they stood round her likea litter of yearling pups about a stranger, sniffing and wagging friendlybut uncertain tails, doubtful whether to advance with affectionatefawnings or to withdraw to safety. This was particularly true of the men--the women, finding Mary a stanch Feminist, and feeling for her thesympathy a bride always commands from her sex, took to her at once. Therevolutionary group on the other hand would have broken through herpleasant aloofness with the force--and twice the speed--of a McEwan, hadStefan not, with them, adopted the role of snarling watchdog. 

One of Mary's first after dinner friendships was made at the hotel with acertain Mrs. Elliott, who turned out to be the President of the localSuffrage Club. Scenting a new recruit, this lady early engaged the Byrdsin conversation and, finding Mary a believer, at once enveloped her inthe camaraderie which has been this cause's gift to women all the worldover. They exchanged calls, and soon became firm friends. 

Mrs. Elliot was an attractive woman in middle life, of slim, gracefulfigure and vivacious manner. She had one son out in the world, and one incollege, and lived in a charming house just off the Avenue, with anadored but generally invisible husband, who was engaged in businessdowntown. As a girl Constance Elliot had been on the stage, and hadplayed smaller Shakespearean parts in the old Daly Company, but, bowingto the code of her generation, had abandoned her profession at marriage. Now, in middle life, too old to take up her calling again with any hopeof success, yet with her mental activity unimpaired, she found in theSuffrage movement her one serious vocation. 

"I am nearly fifty, Mrs. Byrd, " she said to Mary, "and have twenty goodyears before me. I like my friends, and am interested in philanthropy, but I am not a Jack-of-all-trades by temperament. I need work--a real jobsuch as I had when the boys were little, or when I was a girl. We are allworking hard enough to win the vote, but what we shall fill the hole inour time with when we have it, I don't know. It will be easy for theyounger ones--but I suppose women like myself will simply have to pay theprice of having been born of our generation. Some will find solace asgrandmothers--I hope I shall. But my elder son, who married a prettysociety girl, is childless, and my younger such a light-hearted youngrascal that I doubt if he marries for years to come. "

Mary was much interested in this problem, which seemed more salient herethan in her own class in England, in which social life was a vocation forboth sexes. 

At Mrs. Elliot's house she met many of the neighborhood's moreconventional women, and began to have a great liking for these gentlybred but broad-minded and democratic Americans. She also met a mixedcollection of artists, actresses, writers, reformers and followers ofvarious "isms"; for as president of a suffrage club it was Mrs. Elliot'spolicy to make her drawing rooms a center for the whole neighborhood. Shewas a charming hostess, combining discrimination with breadth of view;her Fridays were rallying days for the followers of many more cults thanshe would ever embrace, but for none toward which she could not feeltolerance. 

At first Stefan, who, man-like, professed contempt for social functions, refused to accompany Mary to these at-homes. But after Mrs. Elliot'svisit to the studio he conceived a great liking for her, and to Mary'sdelight volunteered to accompany her on the following Friday. Fewmisanthropes are proof against an atmosphere of adulation, and in thisMrs. Elliot enveloped Stefan from the moment of first seeing his Danaë. She introduced him as a genius--America's coming great painter, and hefrankly enjoyed the novel sensation of being lionized by a group ofclever and attractive women. 

Mrs. Elliot affected house gowns of unusual texture and design, whichflowed in adroitly veiling lines about her too slim form. Theseimmediately attracted the attention of Stefan, who coveted somethingequally original for Mary. He remarked on them to his hostess on hissecond visit. 

"Yes, " she said, "I love them. I am eclipsed by fashionable clothing. Felicity Berber designs all my things. She's ruinous, " with a sigh, "butI have to have her. I am a fool at dressing myself, but I haveintelligence enough to know it, " she added, laughing. 

"Felicity Berber, " questioned Stefan. "Is that a creature with Mongolianeyes and an O-shaped mouth?"

"What a good description! Yes--have you met her?"

"I haven't, but you will arrange it, won't you?" he asked cajolingly. "Isaw a drawing of her--she's tremendously paintable. Do tell me about her. Wait a minute. I'll get my wife!"

He jumped up, pounced on Mary, who was in a group by the tea-table, andbore her off regardless of her interrupted conversation. 

"Mary, " he explained, all excitement, "you remember that picture at themagazine office? Yes, you do, a girl with slanting black eyes--FelicityBerber. Well, she isn't an actress after all. Sit down here. Mrs. Elliotis going to tell us about her. " Mary complied, sharing their hostess'sofa, while Stefan wrapped himself round a stool. "Now begin at thebeginning, " he demanded, beaming; "I'm thrilled about her. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Elliot, dropping a string of jade beads through herfingers, "so are most people. She's unique in her way. She came here fromthe Pacific coast, I believe, quite unknown, and trailing an impossiblehusband. That was five years ago--she couldn't have been more thantwenty-three. She danced in the Duncan manner, but was too lazy to keepit up. Then she went into the movies, and her face became the rage; itwas on all the picture postcards. She got royalties on every photographsold, and made quite a lot of money, I believe. But she hates activework, and soon gave the movies up. About that time the appalling husbanddisappeared. I don't know if she divorced him or not, but he ceased tobe, as it were. His name was Noaks. " She paused, "Does this bore you?"she asked Mary. 

"On the contrary, " smiled she, "it's most amusing--like the pennynovelettes they sell in England. "

"Olympian superiority!" teased Stefan. "Please go on, Mrs. Elliot. Didshe attach another husband?"

"No, she says she hates the bother of them, " laughed their hostess. "Menare always falling in love with her, but-openly at least-she seemsuninterested in them. "

"Hasn't found the right one, I suppose, " Stefan interjected. 

"Perhaps that's it. At any rate her young men are always confiding theirwoes to me. My status as a potential grandmother makes me a suitablerepository for such secrets. "

"Ridiculous, " Stefan commented. 

"But true, alas!" she laughed. "Well, Felicity had always designed thegowns for her dancing and acting, and after the elimination of Mr. Noaksshe set up a dressmaking establishment for artistic and individual gowns. She opened it with a thé dansant, at which she discoursed on the art ofdress. Her showroom is like a sublimated hotel lobby--tea is served therefor visitors every afternoon. Her prices are high, and she has made ahuge success. She's wonderfully clever, directs everything herself. Felicity detests exertion, but she has the art of making others work forher. "

"That sounds as if she would get fat, " said Stefan, with a shudder. 

"Doesn't it?" agreed Mrs. Elliot. "But she's as slim as a panther, andintensely alive nervously, for all her physical laziness. "

"Do you like her?" Mary asked. 

"Yes, I really do, though she's terribly rude, and I tell her I'mconvinced she's a dangerous person. She gives me a feeling that gunpowderis secreted somewhere in the room with her. I will get her here to meetyou both--you would be interested. She's never free in the afternoon;we'll make it an evening. " With a confirming nod, Mrs. Elliot rose togreet some newcomers. 

"Mary, " Stefan whispered, "we'll go and order you a dress from thisperson. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"How sweet of you, dearest, but we can't afford it, " replied Mary, surreptitiously patting his hand. 

"Nonsense, of course we can. Aren't we going to be rich?" scoffed he. 

"Look who's coming!" exclaimed Mary suddenly. 

Farraday was shaking hands with their hostess, his tall frame lookingmore than ever distinguished in its correct cutaway. Almost instantly hecaught sight of Mary and crossed the room to her with an expression ofkeen pleasure. 

"How delightful, " he greeted them both. "So you have found the presidinggenius of the district! Why did I not have the inspiration of introducingyou myself?" He turned to Mrs. Elliot, who had rejoined them. "Two morelions for you, eh, Constance?" he said, with a twinkle which betokenedold friendship. 

"Yes, indeed, " she smiled, "they have no rivals for my Art and Beautycages. "

"And what about the literary circus? I suppose you have been making Mrs. Byrd roar overtime?"

Their hostess looked puzzled. 

"Don't tell me that you are in ignorance of her status as the HouseholdCompany's latest find?" he ejaculated in mock dismay. 

Mrs. Elliot turned reproachful eyes on Mary. "She never told me, theunfriendly woman!"

"Just retribution, Constance, for poring over your propagandist sheetsinstead of reading our wholesome literature, " Farraday retorted. "Had youdone your duty by the Household magazines you would have needed notelling. "

"A hit, a palpable hit, " she answered, laughing. "Which reminds me that Iwant another article from you, James, for our Woman Citizen. "

"Mrs. Byrd, " said Farraday, "behold in me a driven slave. Won't you cometo my rescue and write something for this insatiable suffragist?"

Mary shook her head. "No, no, Mr. Farraday, I can't argue, eitherpersonally or on paper. You should hear me trying to make a speech!Pathetic. "

Stefan, who had ceased to follow the conversation, and was restlesslyexamining prints on the wall, turned at this. "Don't do it, dearest. Argument is so unbeautiful, and I couldn't stand your doing anythingbadly. " He drifted away to a group of women who were discussing theItalian Futurists. 

"Tell me about this lion, James, " said Constance, settling herself on thesofa. "I believe she is too modest to tell me herself. " She looked atMary affectionately. 

"She has written a second 'Child's Garden, ' almost rivaling the first, and we have a child's story of hers which will be as popular as some ofFrances Hodgson Burnett's, " summed up Farraday. 

Mary blushed with pleasure at this praise, but was about to deprecate itwhen Stefan signaled her away. "Mary, " he called, "I want you to hearthis I am saying about the Cubists!" She left them with a little smile ofexcuse, and they watched her tall figure join her husband. 

"James, " said Mrs. Elliot irrelevantly, "why in the world don't youmarry?"

"Because, Constance, " he smiled, "all the women I most admire in theworld are already married. "

"À propos, have you seen Mr. Byrd's work?" she asked. 

"Only some drawings, from which I suspect him of genius. But she is asgifted in her way as he, only it's a smaller way. "

"Don't place him till you've seen his big picture, painted from her. It'stremendous. We've got to have it exhibited at Constantine's. I want youto help me arrange it for them. She's inexperienced, and he's helplesslyunpractical. Oh!" she grasped his arm; "a splendid idea! Why shouldn't Ihave a private exhibition here first, for the benefit of the Cause?"

Farraday threw up his hands. "You are indefatigable, Constance. We'dbetter all leave it to you. The Byrds and Suffrage will benefit equally, I am sure. "

"I will arrange it, " she nodded smiling, her eyes narrowing, her slimhands dropping the jade beads from one to the other. 

Farraday, knowing her for the moment lost to everything save her latestpiece of stage management, left her, and joined the Byrds. He engagedhimself to visit their studio the following week. 

IX

Miss Mason was folding her knitting, and Mary sat in the firelight sewingdiligently. Stefan was out in search of paints. 

"I tell you what 'tis, Mary Elliston Byrd, " said Miss Mason. "It's 'bouttime you saw a doctor. My mother was a physician-homeopath, one of thefirst that ever graduated. Take my advice, and have a woman. "

"I'd much rather, " said Mary. 

"I should say!" agreed the other. "I never was one to be against the men, but oh, my--" she threw up her bony little hands--"if there's one thing Inever could abide it's a man doctor for woman's work. I s'pose I gotstarted that way by what my mother told me of the medical students in herday. Anyway, it hardly seems Christian to me for a woman to go to a mandoctor. "

Mary laughed. "I wish my dear old Dad could have heard you. I remember heonce refused to meet a woman doctor in consultation. She had to leaveLindum--no one would employ her. I was a child at the time, but even thenit seemed all wrong to me. "

"My dear, you thank the Lord you live under the Stars and Stripes, "rejoined Miss Mason, who conceived of England as a place beyond the reachof liberty for either women or men. 

"I shall live under the Tricolor if Stefan has his way, " smiled Mary. 

"Child, " said her visitor, putting on her hat, "don't say it. Yourhusband's an elegant man--I admire him--but don't you ever let me hearhe doesn't love his country. "

"I'm certainly learning to love it myself, " Mary discreetly evaded. 

"You're too fine a woman not to, " retorted the other. "Now I tell you. I've been treated for my chest at the Women's and Children's Hospital. There's one little doctor there's cute's she can be. I'm goin' to get youher address. You've got to treat yourself right. Good-bye, " nodded thelittle woman; and was gone in her usual brisk fashion. 

It was the day of Mr. Farraday's expected call, and Miss Mason had hardlydeparted when the bell rang. Mary hastily put away her sewing and pressedthe electric button which opened the downstairs door to visitors. Shewished Stefan were back again to help her entertain the editor, andgreeted him with apologies for her husband's absence. She was anxiousthat this man, whom she instinctively liked and trusted, should see herhusband at his best. Seating Farraday in the Morris chair, she got himsome tea, while he looked about with interest. 

The two big pictures, "Tempest, " and "Pursuit, " now hung stretched butunframed, on either side of the room. Farraday's gaze kept returning tothem. 

"Those are his Beaux Arts pictures; extraordinary, aren't they?" saidMary, following his eyes. 

"They certainly are. Remarkably powerful. I understand there is another, though, that he has only just finished?"

"Yes, it's on the easel, covered, you see, " she answered. "Stefan musthave the honor of showing you that himself. "

"I wish you would tell me, Mrs. Byrd, " said Farraday, changing thesubject, "how you happened to write those verses? Had you been brought upwith children, younger brothers and sisters, for instance?"

Mary shook her head. "No, I'm the younger of two. But I've always lovedchildren more than anything in the world. " She blushed, and Farraday, watching her, realized for the first time what a certain heightenedradiance in her face betokened. He smiled very sweetly at her. She in herturn saw that he knew, and was glad. His manner seemed to enfold her in amantle of comfort and understanding. 

As they finished their tea, Stefan arrived. He entered gaily, greetedFarraday, and fell upon the tea, consuming two cups and several slices ofbread and butter with the rapid concentration he gave to all his acts. 

That finished, he leaped up and made for the easel. 

"Now, Farraday, " he cried, "you are going to see one of the finest modernpaintings in the world. Why should I be modest about it? I'm not. It's amasterpiece--Mary's and mine!"

Mary wished he had not included her. Though determined to overcome thefeeling, she still shrank from having the picture shown in her presence. Farraday placed himself in position, and Stefan threw back the cloth, watching the other's face with eagerness. The effect surpassed hisexpectation. The editor flushed, then gradually became quite pale. Aftera minute he turned rather abruptly from the canvas and faced Stefan. 

"You are right, Mr. Byrd, " he said, in an obviously controlled voice, "it_is_ a masterpiece. It will make your name and probably yourfortune. It is one of the most magnificent modern paintings I have everseen. "

Mary beamed. 

"Your praise honors me, " said Stefan, genuinely delighted. 

"I'm sorry I have to run away now, " Farraday continued almost hurriedly. "You know what a busy man I am. " He shook hands with Stefan. "A thousandcongratulations, " he said. "Good-bye, Mrs. Byrd; I enjoyed my cup of teawith you immensely. " The hand he offered her was cold; he hardly lookedup. "You will let me have some more stories, won't you? I shall count onthem. Good-bye again--my warmest congratulations to you both, " and hetook his departure with a suddenness only saved from precipitation by thedeliberate poise of his whole personality. 

"I'm sorry he had to go so soon, " said Mary, a little blankly. 

"What got into the man?" Stefan wondered, thrusting his hands into hispockets. "He was leisurely enough till he had seen the picture. I tellyou what!" he exclaimed. "Did you notice his expression when he looked atit? I believe the chap is in love with you!" He turned his most impishand mischievous face to her. 

Mary blushed with annoyance. "How perfectly ridiculous, Stefan! Pleasedon't say such things. "

"But he is!" He danced about the room, hugely entertained by his idea. "Don't you see, that is why he is so eager about your verses, and why hewas so bouleversé by the Danaë! Poor chap, I feel quite sorry for him. You must be nice to him. "

Mary was thoroughly annoyed. "Please don't talk like that, " shereiterated. "You don't know how it hurts when you are so flippant. If yousuggest such a reason for his acceptance of my work, of course I can'tsend in any more. " Tears of vexation were in her eyes. 

"Darling, don't be absurd, " he responded, teasingly. "Why shouldn't he bein love with you? I expect everybody to be so. As for your verses, ofcourse he wouldn't take them if they weren't good; I didn't mean that. "

"Then why did you say it?" she asked, unplacated. 

"Dearest!" and he kissed her. "Don't be dignified; be Aphrodite again, not Pallas. I never mean anything I say, except when I say I love you!"

"Love isn't the only thing, Stefan, " she replied. 

"Isn't it? What else is there? I don't know, " and he jumped on the tableand sat smiling there with his head on one side, like a naughty littleboy facing his schoolmaster. 

She wanted to answer "comprehension, " but was silent, feeling theuselessness of further words. How expect understanding of a common humanhurt from this being, who alternately appeared in the guise of a god anda gamin? She remembered the old tale of the maiden wedded to thebeautiful and strange elf-king. Was the legend symbolic of thatmysterious thread--call it genius or what you will--that runs its erraticcourse through humanity's woof, marring yet illuminating the staiddesign, never straightened with its fellow-threads, never tied, and neverto be followed to its source? With the feeling of having for an instantheld in her hand the key to the riddle of his nature, Mary went to Stefanand ran her fingers gently through his hair. 

"Child, " she said, smiling at him rather sadly; and "Beautiful, " heresponded, with a prompt kiss. 

X

The next morning brought Constance Elliot, primed with a complete schemefor the future of the Danaë. She found Mary busy with her sewing andStefan rather restlessly cleaning his pallette and brushes. The greatpicture was propped against the wall, a smaller empty canvas beingscrewed on the easel. Stefan greeted her enthusiastically. 

"Come in!" he cried, forestalling Mary. "You find us betwixt and between. She's finished, " indicating the Danaë, "and I'm thinking of doing aninterior, with Mary seated. I don't know, " he went on thoughtfully; "it'squite out of my usual line, but we're too domestic here just now foranything else. " His tone was slightly grumbling. From the rocking chairConstance smiled importantly on them both. She had the happy faculty ofnever appearing to hear what should not have been expressed. 

"Children, " she said, "your immediate future is arranged. I have a planfor the proper presentation of the masterpiece to a waiting world, and Ihaven't been responsible for two suffrage matinees and a mile of theParade for nothing. I understand publicity. Now listen. "

She outlined her scheme to them. The reporters were to be sent for andinformed that the great new American painter, sensation of this year'sSalon, had kindly consented to a private exhibition of his masterpiece ather house for the benefit of the Cause. Tickets, one dollar each, to belimited to two hundred. 

"Then a bit about your both being Suffragists, and about Mary's writing, you know, " she threw in. "Note the value of the limited sale--at once itbecomes a privilege to be there. " Tickets, she went on to explain, wouldbe sent to the art critics of the newspapers, and Mr. Farraday wouldarrange to get Constantine himself and one or two of the big privateconnoisseurs. She personally knew the curator of the Metropolitan, andwould get him. The press notices would be followed by special letters andarticles by some of these men. Then Constantine would announce a twoweeks' exhibition at his gallery, the public would flock, and the picturewould be bought by one of the big millionaires, or a gallery. "I'vearranged it all, " she concluded triumphantly, looking from one to theother with her dark alert glance. 

Stefan was grinning delightedly, his attention for the moment completelycaptured. Mary's sewing had dropped to her lap; she was round-eyed. 

"But the sale itself, Mrs. Elliot, you can hardly have arranged that?"she laughed. 

Constance waved her hand. "That arranges itself. It is enough to set themachinery in motion. "

"Do you mean to say, " went on Mary, half incredulous, "that you cansimply send for the reporters and get them to write what you want?"

"Within reason, certainly, " answered the other. "Why not?"

"In England, " Mary laughed, "if a woman were to do that, unless she werea duchess, a Pankhurst, or a great actress, they wouldn't even come. "

Constance dismissed this with a shrug. "Ah, well, my dear, luckly we'renot in England! I'm going to begin to-day. I only came over to get yourpermission. Let me see--this is the sixteenth--too near Christmas. I'llhave the tickets printed and the press announcement prepared, and we'lllet them go in the dead week after Christmas, when the papers arethankful for copy. We'll exhibit the first Saturday in the New Year. Fora week we'll have follow-up articles, and then Constantine will take it. You blessed people, " and she rose to go, "don't have any anxiety. Suffragists always put things through, and I shall concentrate on thisfor the next three weeks. I consider the picture sold. "

Mary tried to express her gratitude, but the other waved it aside. "Ijust love you both, " she cried in her impulsive way, "and want to see youwhere you ought to be--at the top!" She shook hands with Stefaneffusively. "Mind you get on with your next picture!" she cried inparting; "every one will be clamoring for your work!"

"Oh, Stefan, isn't it awfully good of her?" exclaimed Mary, linking herarm through his. He was staring at his empty canvas. "Yes, splendid, " heresponded carelessly, "but of course she'll have the kudos, and herorganization will benefit, too. "

"Stefan!" Mary dropped his arm, dumfounded. It was not possible he shouldbe so ungenerous. She would have remonstrated, but saw he was obliviousof her. 

"Yes, " he went on absently, looking from the room to the canvas, "it'sfine for every one all round--just as it should be. Now, Mary, if youwill sit over there by the fire and take your sewing, I think I'll tryand block in that Dutch interior effect I noticed some time back. Thelight is all wrong, but I can get the thing composed. "

He was lost in his new idea. Mary told herself she had in part misjudgedhim. His comment on their friend's assistance was not dictated by lack ofappreciation so much as by indifference. No sooner was the picture'sfuture settled than he had ceased to be interested in it. The practicalresults of its sale would have little real meaning for him, she knew. Shebegan to see that all he asked of humanity was that it should leave himuntrammeled to do his work, while yielding him full measure of the beautyand acclamation that were his food. "Well, " she thought, "I'm the wife ofa genius. It's a great privilege, but it is strange, for I alwayssupposed if I married it would simply be some good, kind man. He wouldhave been very dull, " she smiled to herself, mentally contrasting theimagined with the real. 

A few days before Christmas Mary noticed that one of the six skyscraperstudies was gone from the studio. She spoke of it, fearing thepossibility of a theft, but Stefan murmured rather vaguely that it wasall right--he was having it framed. Also, on three consecutive morningsshe awakened to find him busily painting at a small easel close under thewindow, which he would hastily cover on hearing her move. As he evidentlydid not wish her to see it, she wisely restrained her curiosity. She washerself busy with various little secrets--there was some knitting to bedone whenever his back was turned, and she had made several shoppingexpeditions. On Christmas Eve Stefan was gone the whole afternoon, andreturned radiant, full of absurd jokes and quivers of suppressed glee. Hewas evidently highly pleased with himself, but cherished with touchingfaith, she thought, the illusion that his manner betrayed nothing. 

That night, when she was supposed to be asleep, she felt him creepcarefully out of bed, heard him fumbling for his dressing gown, and saw ashaft of light as the studio door was cautiously opened. A moment later arustling sounded through the transom, followed by the shrill whisper ofMadame Corriani. Listening, she fell asleep. 

She was wakened by Stefan's arms round her. 

"A happy Christmas, darling! So wonderful--the first Christmas I everremember celebrating. "

There was a ruddy glow of firelight in the room, but to her opening eyesit seemed unusually dark, and in a moment she saw that the great piece ofChinese silk they used for their couch cover was stretched across theroom on cords, shutting off the window end. She jumped up hastily. 

"Oh, Stefan, how thrilling!" she exclaimed, girlishly excited. As forhim, he was standing before her dressed, and obviously tingling withimpatience. She slipped into a dressing gown of white silk, and caughther hair loosely up. Simultaneously Stefan emerged from the kitchenettewith two steaming cups of coffee, which he placed on a table before thefire. 

"Clever boy!" she exclaimed delighted, for he had never made the coffeebefore. In a moment he produced rolls and butter. 

"Déjeuner first, " he proclaimed gleefully, "and then the surprise!" Theyate their meal as excitedly as two children. In the midst of it Mary roseand, fetching from the bureau two little ribbon-tied parcels, placed themin his hands. 

"For me? More excitements!" he warbled. "But I shan't open them till thecurtain comes down. There, we've finished. " He jumped up. "Beautiful, allow me to present to you the Byrds' Christmas tree. " With a dramaticgesture he unhooked a cord. The curtain fell. There in the full morninglight stood a tree, different from any Mary had ever seen. There were nocandles on it, but from top to bottom it was all one glittering white. There were no garish tinsel ornaments, but from every branch hung a whitebird, wings outstretched, and under each bird lay, on the branch below, something white. At the foot of the tree stood a little painting framedin pale silver. It was of a nude baby boy, sitting wonderingly upon ahilltop at early dawn. His eyes were lifted to the sky, his hands groped. Mary, with an exclamation of delight, stepped nearer. Then she saw whatthe white things were under the spreading wings of the birds. Each wasthe appurtenance of a baby. One was a tiny cap, one a cloak, others weredresses, little jackets, vests. There were some tiny white socks, and, atthe very top of the tree, a rattle of white coral and silver. 

"Oh, Stefan, my dearest--'the little white bird'!" she cried. 

"Do you like it, darling?" he asked delightedly, his arms about her. "Mrs. Elliot told me about Barrie's white bird--I hadn't known the story. But I wanted to show you I was glad about ours, " he held her close, "anddirectly she spoke of the bird, I thought of this. She went with me toget those little things--" he waved at the tree--"some of them are fromher. But the picture was quite my own idea. It's right, isn't it? Whatyou would feel, I mean? I tried to get inside your heart. "

She nodded, her eyes shining with tears. She could find no words to tellhim how deeply she was touched. Her half-formed doubts were swept away--he was her own dear man, kind and comprehending. She took the littlepainting and sat with it on her knee, poring over it, Stefan standing bydelighted at his success. Then he remembered his own parcels. The largerhe opened first, and instantly donned one of the two knitted ties itheld, proclaiming its golden brown vastly becoming. The smaller parcelcontained a tiny jeweler's box, and in it Stefan found an old and heavyseal ring of pure design, set with a transparent greenish stone, whichbore the intaglio of a winged head. He was enchanted. 

"Mary, you wonder, " he cried. "You must have created this--you couldn'tjust have found it. It symbolizes what you have given me--sums up allthat you are!" and he kissed her rapturously. 

"Oh, Stefan, " she answered, "it is all perfect, for your gift symbolizeswhat you have brought to me!"

"Yes, darling, but not all I am to you, I hope, " he replied, rubbing hischeek against hers. 

"Foolish one, " she smiled back at him. 

They spent a completely happy day, rejoicing in the successful attempt ofeach to penetrate the other's mind. They had never, even on theirhoneymoon, felt more at one. Later, Mary asked him about the missingsketch. 

"Yes, I sold it for the bird's trappings, " he answered gleefully; "wasn'tit clever of me? But don't ask me for the horrid details, and don't tellme a word about my wonderful ring. I prefer to consider that you fetchedit from Olympus. "

And Mary, whose practical conscience had given her sharp twinges over herextravagance, was glad to let it rest at that. 

During the morning a great sheaf of roses came for Mary with the card ofJames Farraday, and on its heels a bush of white heather inscribed tothem both from McEwan. The postman contributed several cards, and a tinystring of pink coral from Miss Mason. "How kind every one is!" Mary criedhappily. 

In the afternoon the Corrianis were summoned. Mary had small presents forthem and a glass of wine, which Stefan poured to the accompaniment of asong in his best Italian. This melted the somewhat sulky Corriani tosmiles, and his wife to tears. The day closed with dinner at theirbeloved French hotel, and a bottle of Burgundy shared with Stefan'sfavorite waiters. 

XI

During Christmas week Stefan worked hard at his interior, but about thefifth day began to show signs of restlessness. The following morning, after only half an hour's painting, he threw down his brush. 

"It's no use, Mary, " he announced, "I don't think I shall ever be able todo this kind of work; it simply doesn't inspire me. "

She looked up from her sewing. "Why, I thought it promised charmingly. "

"That's just it. " He ruffled his hair irritably. "It does. Can youimagine my doing anything 'charming'? No, the only hope for this interioris for me to get depth into it, and depth won't come--it's facile. " Andhe stared disgustedly at the canvas. 

"I think I know what you mean, " Mary answered absently. She was thinkingthat his work had power and height, but that depth she had never seen init. 

Stefan shook himself. "Oh, come along, Mary, let's get out of this. We'vebeen mewed up in this domestic atmosphere for days. I shall explode soon. Let's go somewhere. "

"Very well, " she agreed, folding up her work. 

"You feel all right, don't you?" he checked himself to ask. 

"Rather, don't I look it?"

"You certainly do, " he replied, but without his usual praise of her. "Ihave it, let's take a look at Miss Felicity Berber! I shall probably getsome new ideas from her. Happy thought! Come on, Mary, hat, coat, let'shurry. " He was all impatience to be gone. 

They started to walk up the Avenue, stopping at the hotel to find in thetelephone book the number of the Berber establishment. It was entered, "Berber, Felicity, Creator of Raiment. "

"How affected!" laughed Mary. 

"Yes, " said Stefan, "amusing people usually are. "

Though he appeared moody the crisp, sunny air of the Avenue graduallybrightened him, and Mary, who was beginning to feel her confinedmornings, breathed it in joyfully. 

The house was in the thirties, a large building of white marble. A liftcarried them to the top floor, and left them facing a black door with"Felicity Berber" painted on it in vermilion letters. Opening this, theyfound themselves in a huge windowless room roofed with opaque glass. Thefloor was inlaid in a mosaic of uneven tiles which appeared to be ofdifferent shades of black. The walls, from roof to floor, were hung withshimmering green silk of the shade of a parrot's wing. There were noshow-cases or other evidences of commercialism, but about the room wereset couches of black japanned wood, upon which rested flat mattressescovered in the same green as the walls. On these silk cushions in blackand vermilion were piled. The only other furniture consisted of lowtables in black lacquer, one beside every couch. On each of these resteda lacquered bowl of Chinese red, obviously for the receipt of cigaretteashes. A similar but larger bowl on a table near the door was filled withgreen orchids. One large green silk rug--innocent of pattern--invited theentering visitor deeper into the room; otherwise the floor was bare. There were no pictures, no decorations, merely this green and blackbackground, relieved by occasional splashes of vermilion, and leading upto a great lacquered screen of the same hue which obscured a door at thefurther end of the room. 

From the corner nearest the entrance a young woman advanced to meet them. She was clad in flowing lines of opalescent green, and her black hair wasbanded low across the forehead with a narrow line of emerald. 

"You wish to see raiment?" was her greeting. 

Mary felt rather at a loss amidst these ultra-aestheticisms, but Stefanpromptly asked to see Miss Berber. 

"Madame rarely sees new clients in the morning. " The green damsel waspessimistic. Mary felt secretly amused at the ostentatious phraseology. 

"Tell her we are friends of Mrs. Theodore Elliot's, " replied Stefan, withhis most brilliant and ingratiating smile. 

The damsel brightened somewhat. "If I may have your name I will see whatcan be done, " she offered, extending a small vermilion tray. Stefanproduced a card and the damsel floated with it toward the distant exit. Her footsteps were silent on the dead tiling, and there was no sound fromthe door beyond the screen. 

"Isn't this a lark? Let's sit down, " Stefan exclaimed, leading the way toa couch. 

"It's rather absurd, don't you think?" smiled Mary. 

"No doubt, but amusing enough for mere mortals, " he shrugged, a scarcelyperceptible snub in his tone. Mary was silent. They waited for severalminutes. At last instinct rather than hearing made them turn to see afigure advancing down the room. 

Both instantly recognized the celebrated Miss Berber. A small, slimwoman, obviously light-boned and supple, she seemed to move forward likea ripple. Her naturally pale face, with its curved scarlet lips andslanting eyes, was set on a long neck, and round her small head a heavyswathe of black hair was held by huge scarlet pins. Her dress, cut in anarrow V at the neck, was all of semi-transparent reds, the brillianthappy reds of the Chinese. In fact, but for her head, she would have beenonly half visible as she advanced against the background of the screen. Mary's impression of her was blurred, but Stefan, whose artist's eyeobserved everything, noticed that her narrow feet were encased inheelless satin shoes which followed the natural shape of the feet likegloves. 

"Mr. And Mrs. Byrd! How do you do?" she murmured, and her voice waslight-breathed, a mere memory of sound. It suggested that she customarilymislaid it, and recaptured only an echo. 

"Pull that other couch a little nearer, please, " she waved to Stefan, appropriating the one from which they had just risen. Upon this shestretched her full length, propping the cushions comfortably under hershoulders. 

"Do you smoke?" she breathed, and stretching an arm produced from ahidden drawer in the table at her elbow cigarettes in a box of blacklacquer, and matches in one of red. Mary declined, but Stefan immediatelylighted a cigarette for himself and held a match for Miss Berber. Maryand he settled themselves on the couch which he drew up, and whichslipped readily over the tiles. 

"Now we can talk, " exhaled their hostess on a spiral of smoke. "I neversee strangers in the morning, not even friends of dear Connie's, butthere was something in the name--" She seemed to be fingering a smallknob protruding from the lacquer of her couch. It must have been a bell, for in a moment the green maiden appeared. 

"Chloris, has that picture come for the sylvan fitting room?" shemurmured. "Yes? Bring it, please. " Her gesture seemed to waft the damselover the floor. During this interlude the Byrds were silent, Stefanhugely entertained, Mary beginning to feel a slight antagonism towardthis super-casual dressmaker. 

A moment and the attendant nymph reappeared, bearing a large canvasframed in glistening green wood. 

"Against the table--toward Mr. Byrd. " Miss Berber supplemented the murmurwith an indicative gesture. "You know that?" dropped from her lips as thenymph glided away. 

It was Stefan's pastoral of the dancing faun. He nodded gaily, but Maryfelt herself blushing. Her husband's work destined for a fitting room!

"I thought so, " Miss Berber enunciated through a breath of smoke. "Ipicked it up the other day. Quite lovely. My sylvan fitting room requiredjust that note. I use it for country raiment only. Atmosphere, Mr. Byrd. I want my clients to feel young when they are preparing for the country. I am glad to see you here. "

Stefan reciprocated. So far, Miss Berber had ignored Mary. 

"I might consult you about my next color scheme--original artists are sorare. I change this room every year. " Her eyelids drooped. 

At this point Mary ventured to draw attention to herself. 

"Why is it, Miss Berber, " she asked in her clear English voice, "that youhave only couches here?"

Felicity's lids trembled; she half looked up. "How seldom one hears abeautiful voice, " she uttered. "Chairs, Mrs. Byrd, destroy women'sbeauty. Why sit, when one can recline? My clients may not wear corsets;reclining encourages them to feel at ease without. "

Mary found Miss Berber's affectations absurd, but this explanationheightened her respect for her intelligence. "Method in her madness, " shequoted to herself. 

"Miss Berber, I want you to create a gown for my wife. I am sure when youlook at her you will be interested in the idea. " Stefan expected everyone to pay tribute to Mary's beauty. 

Again Miss Berber's fingers strayed. The nymph appeared. "How long haveI, Chloris? . .. Half an hour? Then send me Daphne. You notice thesilence, Mr. Byrd? It rests my clients, brings health to their nerves. Without it, I could not do my work. "

Mary smiled as she mentally contrasted these surroundings with Farraday'soffice, where she had last heard that expression. Was quiet so rare aprivilege in America, she wondered?

A moment, and a second damsel emerged, brown-haired, clad in a palergreen, and carrying paper and pencil. Not until this ministrant hadseated herself at the foot of Miss Berber's couch did that lady refer toStefan's request. Then, propping herself on her elbow, she at last lookedfull at Mary. What she saw evidently pleased her, for she allowed herselfa slight smile. "Ah, " she breathed, "an evening, or a house gown?"

"Evening, " interposed Stefan. Then to Mary, "You look your bestdecolletée, you know. "

"Englishwomen always do, " murmured Miss Berber. 

"Will you kindly take off your hat and coat, and stand up, Mrs. Byrd?"Mary complied, feeling uncomfortably like a cloak model. 

"Classic, pure classic. How seldom one sees it!" Miss Berber's voicebecame quite audible. "Gold, of course, classic lines, gold sandals. Afillet, but no ornaments. You wish to wear this raiment during theensuing months, Mrs. Byrd?" Mary nodded. "Then write Demeter type, " thedesigner interpolated to her satellite, who was taking notes. "Otherwiseit would of course be Artemis--or Aphrodite even?" turning for agreementto Stefan. "Would you say Aphrodite?"

"I always do, " beamed he, delighted. 

At this point the first nymph, Chloris, again appeared, and at a motionof Miss Berber's hand rapidly and silently measured Mary, the paler huednymph assisting her as scribe. 

"Mr. Byrd, " pronounced the autocrat of the establishment, when at theconclusion of these rites the attendants had faded from the room. "Inever design for less than two hundred dollars. Such a garment as I havein mind for your wife, queenly and abundant--" her hands waved inillustration--"would cost three hundred. But--" her look checked Mary inan exclamation of refusal--"we belong to the same world, the world ofart, not of finance. Yes?" She smiled. "Your painting, Mr. Byrd, is worththree times what I gave for it, and Mrs. Byrd will wear my raiment as fewclients can. It will give me pleasure"--her lids drooped to illustratefinality--"to make this garment for the value of the material, which willbe--" her lips smiled amusement at the bagatelle--"between seventy andeighty-five dollars--no more. " She ceased. 

Mary felt uncomfortable. Why should she accept such a favor at the handsof this poseuse? Stefan, however, saved her the necessity of decision. Heleapt to his feet, all smiles. 

"Miss Berber, " he cried, "you honor us, and Mary will glorify yourdesign. It is probable, " he beamed, "that we cannot afford a dress atall, but I disregard that utterly. " He shrugged, and snapped a finger. "You have given me an inspiration. As soon as the dress arrives, I shallpaint Mary as Demeter. Mille remerciements!" Bending, he kissed MissBerber's hand in the continental manner. Mary, watching, felt a tinyprick of jealousy. "He never kissed my hand, " she thought, and instantlyscorned herself for the idea. 

The designer smiled languidly up at Stefan. "I am happy, " she murmured. "No fittings, Mrs. Byrd. We rarely fit, except the model gowns. You willhave the garment in a week. Au revoir. " Her eyes closed. They turned tofind a high-busted woman entering the room, accompanied by two younggirls. As they departed a breath-like echo floated after them, "Oh, really, Mrs. Van Sittart--still those corsets? I can do nothing for you, you know. " Tones of shrill excuse penetrated to the lift door. At thecurb below stood a dyspeptically stuffed limousine, guarded by two men inpuce liveries. 

The Byrds swung southward in silence, but suddenly Stefan heaved a greatbreath. "Nom d'un nom d'un nom d'un vieux bonhomme!" he exploded, voicingin that cumulative expletive his extreme satisfaction with the morning. 

XII

Constance Elliot had not boasted her stage-management in vain. On thefirst Saturday in January all proceeded according to schedule. The Danaë, beautifully framed, stood at the farther end of Constance's doubledrawing-room, from which all other mural impedimenta, together with mostof the furniture, had been removed. Expertly lighted, the picture glowedin the otherwise obscure room like a thing of flame. 

Two hundred ticket holders came, saw, and were conquered. Farraday, inhis most correct cutaway, personally conducted a tour of three eminentcritics to the Village. Sir Micah, the English curator of theMetropolitan, reflectively tapping an eye-glass upon an uplifted fingertip, pronounced the painting a turning-point in American art. Fourreporters--whose presence in his immediate vicinity Constance hadinsured--transferred this utterance to their note books. Artists gazed, and well-dressed women did not forbear to gush. Tea, punch, and yellowsuffrage cakes were consumed in the dining room. There was much noise andexcessive heat. In short, the occasion was a success. 

Toward the end, when few people remained except the genial Sir Micah, whom Constance was judiciously holding with tea, smiles, and a goodcigar, the all-important Constantine arrived. Prompted, Sir Micah wasinduced to repeat his verdict. But the picture spoke for itself, and thefamous dealer was visibly impressed. Constance was able to eat her dinnerat last with a comfortable sense of accomplishment. She was only sorrythat the Byrds had not been there to appreciate her strategy. Stefan, indeed, did appear for half an hour, but Mary's courage had failed herentirely. She had succumbed to an attack of stage fright and shut herselfup at home. 

As for Stefan, he had developed one of his most contrary moods. Refusingconventional attire, he clad himself in the baggy trousers and flowingtie of his student days, under the illusion that he was thus defying theprejudices of Philistia. He was unaware that the Philistines, asrepresented by the gentlemen of the press, considered his costumequintessentially correct for an artist just returned from Paris, andwould have been grieved had he appeared otherwise. Unconsciously playingto the gallery, Stefan on arrival squared himself against a doorway andeyed the crowds with a frown of disapprobation. He had not forgotten hisearly snubs from the dealers, and saw in every innocent male visitor oneof the fraternity. 

Constance, in her bid for publicity, had sold most of her tickets to thesocially prominent, so that Stefan was soon surrounded by voluble ladiesunduly furred, corseted, and jeweled. He found these unbeautiful, and hismisanthropy, which had been quiescent of late, rose rampant. 

Presently he was introduced to a stout matron, whose costume centered inan enormous costal cascade of gray pearls. 

"Mr. Byrd, " she gushed, "I dote on art. I've made a study of it, and Ican say that your picture is a triumph. "

"Madam, " he fairly scowled, "it is as easy for the rich to enter thekingdom of Art as for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle. "Leaving her pink with offense, he turned his back and, shaking off otherwould-be admirers, sought his hostess. 

"My God, I can't stand any more of this--I'm off, " he confided to her. Constance was beginning to know her man. She gave him a quick scrutiny. "Yes, I think you'd better be, " she agreed, "before you spoil any of mygood work. An absent lion is better than a snarling one. Run home toMary. " She dismissed him laughingly, and Stefan catapulted himself out ofthe house, thereby missing the attractive Miss Berber by a few minutes. Dashing home across the Square, he flung himself on the divan with everyappearance of exhaustion. "Sing to me, Mary, " he implored. 

"Why, Stefan, " she asked, startled, "wasn't it a success? What's thematter?"

"Success!" he scoffed. "Oh, yes. They all gushed and gurgled and squeakedand squalled. Horrible! Sing, dearest; I must hear something beautiful. "

Failing to extract more from him, she complied. 

The next day brought a full account of his success from Constance, andglowing tributes from the papers. The head-lines ranged from"Suffragettes Unearth New Genius" to "Distinguished Exhibit at Home ofTheodore M. Elliot. " The verdict was unanimous. A new star had risen inthe artistic firmament. One look at the headings, and Stefan dropped thepapers in disgust, but Mary pored over them all, and found him quitewilling to listen while she read eulogistic extracts aloud. 

Thus started, the fuse of publicity burnt brightly. Constance's carefullyplanned follow-up articles appeared, and reporters besieged the Byrds'studio. Unfortunately for Mary, these gentry soon discovered that she wasthe Danaë's original, which fact created a mild succès de scandale. Personal paragraphs appeared about her and her writing, and, greatlyembarrassed, she disconnected the door-bell for over a week. But thepicture was all the more talked about. In a week Constantine had it onexhibition; in three, he had sold it for five thousand dollars to atobacco millionaire. 

"Mary, " groaned Stefan when he heard the news, "we have given in toMammon. We are capitalists. "

"Oh, dear, think of our beautiful picture going to some odious nouveauriche!" Mary sighed. But she was immeasurably relieved that Stefan's namewas made, and that they were permanently lifted from the ranks of theneedy. 

That very day, as if to illustrate their change of status, Mrs. Corrianipuffed up the stairs with the news that the flat immediately below themhad been abandoned over night. The tenants, a dark couple of questionablehabits and nationality, had omitted the formality of paying their rent--the flat was on the market. The outcome was that Stefan and Mary, keepingtheir studio as a workshop, overflowed into the flat beneath, and foundthemselves in possession of a bed and bathroom, a kitchen and maid'sroom, and a sitting room. These they determined to furnish gradually, andMary looked forward to blissful mornings at antique stores and auctions. She had been brought up amidst the Chippendale, old oak, and brasses of acathedral close, and new furniture was anathema to her. A telephone and acolored maid-servant were installed. Their picnicking days were over. 

XIII

True to her word, Constance arranged a reception in the Byrds' honor, atwhich they were to meet Felicity Berber. The promise of this encounterreconciled Stefan to the affair, and he was moreover enthusiasticallylooking forward to Mary's appearance in her new gown. This had arrived, and lay swathed in tissue paper in its box. In view of their change offortune they had, in paying the account of seventy-five dollars, concocted a little note to Miss Berber, hoping she would now reconsiderher offer, and render them a bill for her design. This note, written andsigned by Mary in her upright English hand, brought forth acharacteristic reply. On black paper and in vermilion ink arrived twolines of what Mary at first took to be Egyptian hieroglyphics. Studiedfrom different angles, these yielded at last a single sentence: "A giftis a gift, and repays itself. " This was followed by a signature travelingperpendicularly down the page in Chinese fashion. It was outlined in anoblong of red ink, but was itself written in green, the capitals beingsupplied with tap-roots extending to the base of each name. Mary tossedthe letter over to Stefan with a smile. He looked at it judicially. 

"There's draughtsmanship in that, " he said; "she might have made anetcher. It's drawing, but it's certainly not handwriting. "

On the evening of the party Stefan insisted on helping Mary to dress. Together they opened the great green box and spread its contents on thebed. The Creator of Raiment had not done things by halves. In addition tothe gown, she had supplied a wreath of pale white and gold metals, representing two ears of wheat arranged to meet in a point over the brow, and a pair of gilded shoes made on the sandal plan, with silver-whitebuckles. Pinned to the gown was a printed green slip, reading "Nocorsets, petticoats or jewelry may be worn with this garb. "

The dress was of heavy gold tissue, magnificently draped in generousclassic folds. It left the arms bare, the drapery being fastened oneither shoulder with great brooches of white metal, reproduced, as Stefanat once recognized, from Greek models. Along all the edges of the draperyran a border of ears of wheat, embroidered in deep gold and pale silver. Mary, who had hitherto only peeped at the gown, felt quite excited whenshe saw it flung across the bed. 

"Oh, Stefan, I do think it will be becoming, " she cried, her cheeksbright pink. She had never dreamed of owning such a dress. 

He was enchanted. "It's a work of art. Very few women could wear it, buton you--! Well, it's worthy of you, Beautiful. "

During the dressing he made her quite nervous by his exact attention toevery detail. The arrangement of her hair and the precise position of thewreath had to be tried and tried again, but the result justified him. 

"Olympian Deity, " he cried, "I must kneel to you!" And so he did, gailyadoring, with a kiss for the hem of her robe. They started in the highestspirits, Stefan correct this time in an immaculate evening suit whichMary had persuaded him to order. As they prepared to enter the drawingroom he whispered, "You'll be a sensation. I'm dying to see their faces. "

"Don't make me nervous, " she whispered back. 

By nature entirely without self-consciousness, she had become verysensitive since the Danaë publicity. But her nervousness only heightenedher color, and as with her beautiful walk she advanced into the roomthere was an audible gasp from every side. Constance pounced upon her. 

"You perfectly superb creature! You ought to have clouds rolling underyour feet. There, I can't express myself. Come and receive homage. Mr. Byrd, you're the luckiest man on earth--I hope you deserve it all--butthen of course no man could. Mary, here are two friends of yours--Mr. Byrd, come and be presented to Felicity. "

Farraday and McEwan had advanced toward them and immediately formed thenucleus of a group which gathered about Mary. Stefan followed his hostessacross the room to a green sofa, on which, cigarette in hand, reclinedMiss Berber, surrounded by a knot of interested admirers. 

"Yes, Connie, " that lady murmured, with the ghost of a smile, "I've metMr. Byrd. He brought his wife to the Studio. " She extended a languid handto Stefan, who bowed over it. 

"Ah! I might have known you had a hand in that effect, " Constanceexclaimed, looking across the room toward Mary. 

"Of course you might, " the other sighed, following her friend's eyes. "It's perfect, I think; don't you agree, Mr. Byrd?" and she actually rosefrom the sofa to obtain a better view. 

"Absolutely, " answered Stefan, riveted in his turn upon her. 

Miss Berber was clad in black tulle, so transparent as barely to obscureher form. Sleeves she had none. A trifle of gauze traveled over oneshoulder, leaving the other bare save for a supporting strap of tinyscarlet beads. Her triple skirt was serrated like the petals of a blackcarnation, and outlined with the same minute beads. Her bodice couldscarcely be said to exist, so deep was its V. From her ears longornaments of jet depended, and a comb in scarlet bead-work ran whollyacross one side of her head. A flower of the same hue and workmanshiptrembled from the point of her corsage. She wore no rings, but her nailswere reddened, and her sleek black hair and scarlet lips completed thechromatic harmony. The whole effect was seductive, but so crisp as toescape vulgarity. 

"I must paint you, Miss Berber, " was Stefan's comment. 

"All the artists say that. " She waved a faint expostulation. 

Her hands, he thought, had the whiteness and consistency of a camelia. 

"All the artists are not I, however, " he answered with a smiling shrug. 

"Greek meets Greek, " thought Constance, amused, turning away to otherguests. 

"I admit that. " Miss Berber lit another cigarette. "I have seen yourDanaë. The people who have painted me have been fools. Obvious--treatingme like an advertisement for cold cream. "

She breathed a sigh, and sank again to the sofa. Her lids drooped as ifin weariness of such banalities. Stefan sat beside her, the manner ofboth eliminating the surrounding group. 

"One must have subtlety, must one not?" she murmured. 

How subtle she was, he thought; how mysterious, in spite of her obviousposing! He could not even tell whether she was interested in him. 

"I shall paint you, Miss Berber, " he said, watching her, "as a Nixie. Water creatures, you know, without souls. "

"No soul?" she reflected, lingering on a puff of smoke. "How chic!"

Stefan was delighted. Hopefully, he broke into French. She replied withfluent ease, but with a strange, though charming, accent. The exoticFrench fitted her whole personality, he felt, as English could not do. Hewas pricked by curiosity as to her origin, and did not hesitate to askit, but she gave her shadow of a smile, and waved her cigarette vaguely. "Quién sabe?" she shrugged. 

"Do you know Spanish?" he asked in French, seeking a clue. 

"Only what one picks up in California. " He was no nearer a solution. 

"Were you out there long?"

She looked at him vaguely. "I should like some coffee, please. "

Defeated, he was obliged to fetch a cup. When he returned, it was to findher talking monosyllabic English to a group of men. 

Farraday and McEwan had temporarily resigned Mary to a stream ofnewcomers, and stood watching the scene from the inner drawing room. 

"James, " said McEwan, "get on to the makeup of the crowd round our lady, and compare it with the specimens rubbering the little Berber. "

Farraday smiled in his grave, slow way. 

"You're right, Mac, the substance and the shadow. "

Many of the women seated about the room were covertly staring atFelicity, but so far none had joined her group. This consisted, besidesStefan, of two callow and obviously enthralled youths, a heavy semi-baldman with paunched eyes and a gluttonous mouth, and a tall languid personwearing tufts of hair on unexpected parts of his face, and showing thehands of a musician. 

Round Mary stood half a dozen women, their host, the kindly and practicalMr. Elliot, a white-haired man of distinguished bearing, and a giganticyoung viking with tawny hair and beard and powerful hands. 

"That's Gunther, an A1 sculptor, " said McEwan, indicating the viking, whowas looking at Mary as his ancestors might have looked at a vision ofFreia. 

"They're well matched, eh, James?"

"As well as she could be, " the other answered gravely. McEwan looked athis friend. "Mon, " he said, relapsing to his native speech, "come and haea drop o' the guid Scotch. "

Constance had determined that Felicity should dance, in spite of herwell-known laziness. At this point she crossed the room to attack her, expecting a difficult task, but, to her surprise, Felicity hardlydemurred. After a moment of sphinx-like communing, she dropped hercigarette and rose. 

"Mr. Byrd is going to paint me as something without a soul--I think Iwill dance, " she cryptically vouchsafed. 

"Shall I play?" offered Constance, delighted. 

Miss Berber turned to the languid musician. 

"Have you your ocarina, Marchmont?" she breathed. 

"I always carry it, Felicity, " he replied, with a reproachful look, drawing from his pocket what appeared to be a somewhat contortedmeerschaum pipe. 

"Then no piano to-night, Connie. A little banal, the piano, perhaps. " Herhands waved vaguely. 

A space was cleared; chairs were arranged. 

Miss Berber vanished behind a portiere. The languid Marchmont drapedhimself in a corner, and put the fat little meerschaum to his lips. Aclear, jocund sound, a mere thread of music, as from the pipe of somehidden faun, penetrated the room. The notes trembled, paused, and fell tothe minor. Felicity, feet bare, toes touched with scarlet, wafted intothe room. Her dancing was incredibly light; she looked like some exoticpoppy swaying to an imperceptible breeze. The dance was languorously sad, palely gay, a thing half asleep, veiled. It seemed always about to breakinto fierce life, yet did not. The scent of mandragora hung over it--itwas as if the dancer, drugged, were dreaming of the sunlight. 

When, waving a negligent hand to the applause, Felicity passed Stefan atthe end of her dance, he caught a murmured phrase from her. 

"Not soulless, perhaps, but sleeping. " Whether she meant this as anexplanation of her dance or of herself he was not sure. 

Mary watched the dance with admiration, and wished to compare herimpressions of it with her husband's. She tried to catch his eye acrossthe room at the end, but he had drifted away toward the dining room. Momentarily disappointed, she turned to find Farraday at her elbow, andgladly let him lead her, also, in search of refreshments. There was ageneral movement in that direction, and the drawing room was almost emptyas McEwan, purpose in his eye, strode across it to Constance. He spoke toher in an undertone. 

"Sing? Does she? I had no idea! She never tells one such things, " hishostess replied. "Do you think she would? But she has no music. You couldplay for her? How splendid, Mr. McEwan. How perfectly lovely of you. I'llarrange it. " She hurried out, leaving McEwan smiling at nothing invisible contentment. In a few minutes she returned with Mary. 

"Of course I will if you wish it, " the latter was saying, "but I've nomusic, and only know foolish little ballads. "

"Mr. McEwan says he can vamp them all, and it will be too delightful tohave something from each of my women stars, " Constance urged. "Now I'llleave you two to arrange it, and in a few minutes I'll get every one backfrom the dining room, " she nodded, slipping away again. 

"Cruel man, you've given me away, " Mary smiled. 

"I always brag about my friends, " grinned McEwan. They went over to thepiano. 

"What price the Bard! Do you know this?" His fingers ran into the old airfor "Sigh No More, Ladies. " She nodded. 

"Yes, I like that. "

"And for a second, " he spun round on his stool, "what do you say to aduet?" His candid blue eyes twinkled at her. 

"A duet!" she exclaimed in genuine surprise. "Do you sing, Mr. McEwan?"

"Once in a while, " and, soft pedal down, he played a few bars ofMarzials' "My True Love Hath My Heart, " humming the words in an easybarytone. 

"Oh, what fun!" exclaimed Mary. "I love that. " They tried it over, belowtheir breaths. 

The room was filling again. People began to settle down expectantly;McEwan struck his opening chords. 

Just as Mary's first note sounded, Stefan and Felicity entered the room. He started in surprise; then Mary saw him smile delightedly, and theyboth settled themselves well in front. 

"'Men were deceivers ever, '" sang Mary, with simple ease, and "'Heynonny, nonny. '" The notes fell gaily; her lips and eyes smiled. 

There was generous applause at the end of the little song. Then McEwanstruck the first chords of the duet. 

"'My true love hath my heart, '" Mary sang clearly, head up, eyes shining. "'My true love hath my heart, '" replied McEwan, in his cheery barytone. 

"'--And I have his, '" Mary's bell tones announced. 

"'--And I have his, '" trolled McEwan. 

"'There never was a better bargain driven, '" the notes came, confidentand glad, from the golden figure with its clear-eyed, glowing face. Theyended in a burst of almost defiant optimism. 

Applause was hearty and prolonged. McEwan slipped from his stool andsought a cigarette in the adjoining room. There was a generalcongratulatory movement toward Mary, in which both Stefan and Felicityjoined. Then people again began to break into groups. Felicity found hersofa, Mary a chair. McEwan discovered Farraday under the arch between thetwo drawing-rooms, and stood beside him to watch the crowd. Stefan hadmoved with Felicity toward her sofa, and, as she disposed herself, sheseemed to be talking to him in French. McEwan and Farraday continuedtheir survey. Mary was surrounded by people, but her eyes strayed acrossthe room. Felicity appeared almost animated, but Stefan seemedinattentive; he fidgeted, and looked vague. 

A moment more, and quite abruptly he crossed the room, and plantedhimself down beside Mary. 

"Ah, " sighed McEwan, apparently à propos of nothing, and with a trace ofScotch, "James, I'll now hae another whusky. "

PART III

THE NESTLING

I

Stefan's initial and astonishing success was not to be repeated thatwinter. The great Constantine, anxious to benefit by the flood tide ofhis client's popularity, had indeed called at the studio in search ofmore material, but after a careful survey, had decided against exhibiting"Tempest" and "Pursuit. " Before these pictures he had stood wrapped inspeculation for some time, pursing his lips and fingering the over-heavyseals of his fob. Mary had watched him eagerly, deeply curious as to theeffect of the paintings. But Stefan had been careless to the point ofrudeness; he had long since lost interest in his old work. When at lastthe swarthy little dealer, who was a Greek Jew, and had the keen, perceptions of both races, had shaken his head, Mary was not surprised, was indeed almost glad. 

"Mr. Byrd, " Constantine had pronounced, in his heavy, imperfect English, "I think we would make a bad mistake to exhibit these paintings now. Technically they are clever, oh, very clever indeed, but they would beunpopular; and this once, " he smiled shrewdly, "the public would be rightabout it. Your Danaë was a big conception as well as fine painting; ithad inspiration--feeling--" his thick but supple hands circled inemphasis--"we don't want to go back simply to cleverness. When you paintme something as big again as that one I exhibit it; otherwise, " with ashrug, "I think we spoil our market. "

After this visit Stefan, quite unperturbed, had turned the two fantasiesto the wall. 

"I dare say Constantine is right about them, " he said; "they are rathercrazy things, and anyhow, I'm sick of them. "

Mary was quite relieved to have them hidden. The merman in particular hadgot upon her nerves of late. 

As the winter advanced, the Byrds' circle of acquaintances grew, and manyvisitors dropped into the studio for tea. These showed much interest inStefan's new picture, a large study of Mary in the guise of Demeter, forwhich she was posing seated, robed in her Berber gown. Miss Mason inparticular was delighted with the painting, which she dubbed a "companionpiece" to the Danaë. The story of Constantine's decision against the twosalon canvases got about and, amusingly enough, heightened the Byrds'popularity. The Anglo-Saxon public is both to take its art neat, preferring it coated with a little sentiment. It now became accepted thatStefan's genius was due to his wife, whose love had lighted the torch ofinspiration. 

"Ah, Mr. Byrd, " Miss Mason had summed up the popular view, in one of herrare romantic moments, "the love of a good woman--!" Stefan had lookedcompletely vague at this remark, and Mary had burst out laughing. 

"Why, Sparrow, " for so, to Miss Mason's delight, she had named her, "don't be Tennysonian, as Stefan would say. It was Stefan's power to feellove, and not mine to call it out, that painted the Danaë, " and shelooked at him with proud tenderness. 

But the Sparrow was unconvinced. "You can't tell me. If 'twas all in him, why didn't some other girl over in Paris call it out long ago?"

"Lots tried, " grinned Stefan, with his cheeky-boy expression. 

"Ain't he terrible, " Miss Mason sighed, smiling. She adored Mary'shusband, but consistently disapproved of him. 

Try as she would, Mary failed to shake her friends' estimate of her sharein the family success. It became the fashion to regard her as a muse, andshe, who had felt oppressed by Stefan's lover-like deification, now foundher friends, too, conspiring to place her on a pedestal. Essentiallysimple and modest, she suffered real discomfort from the cult ofadoration that surrounded her. Coming from a British community which shefelt had underestimated her, she now found herself made too much of. Asmaller woman would have grown vain amid so much admiration; Mary onlybecame inwardly more humble, while outwardly carrying her honors withlaughing deprecation. 

For some time after the night of Constance's reception, Stefan had shownevery evidence of contentment, but as the winter dragged into a cold andslushy March he began to have recurrent moods of his restlessirritability. By this time Mary was moving heavily; she could no longerkeep brisk pace with him in his tramps up the Avenue, but walked moreslowly and for shorter distances. She no longer sprang swiftly from herchair or ran to fetch him a needed tool; her every movement was matronly. But she was so well, so entirely normal, as practically to be unconsciousof a change to which her husband was increasingly alive. 

Another source of Stefan's dissatisfaction lay in the progress of hisDemeter. This picture showed the Goddess enthroned under the shade of atree, beyond which spread harvest fields in brilliant sunlight. At herfeet a naked boy, brown from the sun, played with a pile of red andgolden fruits. In the distance maids and youths were dancing. The Goddesssat back drowsily, her eyelids drooping, her hands and arms relaxed overher chair. She had called all this richness into being, and now in theheat of the day she rested, brooding over the fecund earth. So far, thecomposition was masterly, but the tones lacked the necessary depth; theywere vivid where they should have been warm, and he felt the deficiencywithout yet having been able to remedy it. 

"Oh, damn!" said Stefan one morning, throwing down his brush. "Thispicture is architectural, absolutely. What possessed me to try such aconception? I can only do movement. I can't be static. Earth! I don'tunderstand it--everything good I've done has been made of air and fire, or water. " He turned an irritable face to Mary. 

"Why did you encourage me in this?"

She looked up in frank astonishment, about to reply, but he forestalledher. 

"Oh, yes, I know I was pleased with the idea--it isn't your fault, ofcourse, and yet--Oh, what's the use!" He slapped down his pallette andmade for the door. "I'm off to get some air, " he called. 

Mary felt hurt and uneasy. The nameless doubts of the autumn againassailed her. What would be the end, she wondered, of her greatadventure? The distant prospect vaguely troubled her, but she turnedeasily from it to the immediate future, which held a blaze of joysufficient to obliterate all else. 

The thought of her baby was to Mary like the opening of the gates ofparadise to Christian the Pilgrim. Her heart shook with joy of it. Shepassed through her days now only half conscious of the world about her. She had, together with her joy, an extraordinary sense of physical well-being, of the actual value of the body. For the first time she becameactively interested in her beauty. Even on her honeymoon she had neverdressed to please her husband with the care she now gave to the donningof her loose pink and white negligées and the little boudoir caps she hadbought to wear with them. That Stefan paid her fewer compliments, that heoften failed to notice small additions to her wardrobe, affected her notat all. "Afterwards he will be pleased; afterwards he will love me morethan ever, " she thought, but, even so, knew that it was not for him shewas now fair, but for that other. She did not love Stefan less, but herlove was to be made flesh, and it was that incarnation she now adored. Ifshe had been given to self-analysis she might have asked what it bodedthat she had never--save for that one moment's adoration of his geniusthe day he completed the Danaë--felt for Stefan the abandonment of loveshe felt for his coming child. She might have wondered, but she did not, for she felt too intensely in these days to have much need of thought. She loved her husband--he was a great man--they were to have a child. Thesense of those three facts made up her cosmos. 

Farraday had asked her in vain on more than one occasion for anothermanuscript. The last time she shook her head, with one of her rareattempts at explanation, made less rarely to him than to her otherfriends. 

"No, Mr. Farraday, I can't think about imaginary children just now. There's a spell over me--all the world waits, and I'm holding my breath. Do you see?"

He took her hand between both his. 

"Yes, my dear child, I do, " he answered, his mouth twisting into its sadand gentle smile. He had come bringing a sheaf of spring flowers, narcissus, and golden daffodils, which she was holding in her lap. Hethought as he said good-bye that she looked much more like Persephonethan the Demeter of Stefan's picture. 

In spite of her deep-seated emotion, Mary was gay and practical enough inthese late winter days, with her small household tasks, her occasionalshopping, and her sewing. This last had begun vaguely to irritate Stefan, so incessant was it. 

"Mary, do put down that sewing, " he would exclaim; or "Don't sing thesong of the shirt any more to-day;" and she would laughingly fold herwork, only to take it up instinctively again a few minutes later. 

One evening he came upon her bending over a table in their sitting room, tracing a fine design on cambric with a pencil. Something in her pose andfigure opened a forgotten door of memory; he watched her puzzled for amoment, then with a sudden exclamation ran upstairs, and returned with apad of paper and a box of water-color paints. He was visibly excited. "Here, Mary, " he said, thrusting a brush into her hand and clearing aplace on the table. "Do something for me. Make a drawing on this pad, anything you like, whatever first comes into your head. " His tone waseagerly importunate. She looked up in surprise, "Why, you funny boy! Whatshall I draw?"

"That's just it--I don't know. Please draw whatever you want to--itdoesn't matter how badly--just draw something. "

Mystified, but acquiescent, Mary considered for a moment, looking frompaper to brush, while Stefan watched eagerly. 

"Can't I use a pencil?" she asked. 

"No, a brush, please, I'll explain afterwards. "

"Very well. " She attacked the brown paint, then the red, then mixed somegreen. In a few minutes the paper showed a wobbly little house with a redroof and a smudged foreground of green grass with the suggestion of ashade-giving tree. 

"There, " she laughed, handing him the pad, "I'm afraid I shall never bean artist, " and she looked up. 

His face had dropped. He was staring at the drawing with an expression ofalmost comic disappointment. 

"Why, Stefan, " she laughed, rather uncomfortably, "you didn't think Icould draw, did you?"

"No, no, it isn't that, Mary. It's just--the house. I thought you might--perhaps draw birds--or flowers. "

"Birds?--or flowers?" She was at a loss. 

"It doesn't matter; just an idea. "

He crumpled up the little house, and closed the paintbox. "I'm going outfor awhile; good-bye, dearest"; and, with a kiss, he left the room. 

Mary sat still, too surprised for remonstrance, and in a moment heard thebang of the flat door. 

"Birds, or flowers?" Suddenly she remembered something Stefan had toldher, on the night of their engagement, about his mother. So that was it. Tears came to her eyes. Rather lonely, she went to bed. 

Meanwhile Stefan, his head bare in the cold wind, was speeding up theAvenue on the top of an omnibus. 

"Houses are cages, " he said to himself. For some reason, he felthideously depressed. 

 * * * * *

"I called on Miss Berber last evening, " Stefan announced casually atbreakfast the next morning. 

"Did you?" replied Mary, surprised, putting down her cup. "Well, did youhave a nice time?"

"It was mildly amusing, " he said, opening the newspaper. The subjectdropped. 

II

Mary, who had lived all her life in a small town within sight of the openfields, was beginning to feel the confinement of city life. Even duringher year in London she had joined other girls in weekend bicyclingexcursions out of town, or tubed to Golder's Green or Shepherd's Bush insearch of country walks. Now that the late snows of March had clearedaway, she began eagerly to watch for swelling buds in the Square, and wasdismayed when Stefan told her that the spring, in this part of America, was barely perceptible before May. 

"That's the first objection I've found to your country, Stefan, " shesaid. 

He was scowling moodily out of the window. "The first? I see nothing butobjections. "

"Oh, come!" she smiled at him; "it hasn't been so bad, has it?"

"Better than I had expected, " he conceded. "But it will soon be April, and I remember the leaves in the Luxembourg for so many Aprils back. "

She came and put her arm through his. "Do you want to go, dear?"

"Oh, hang it all, Mary, you don't suppose I want to leave you?" heanswered brusquely, releasing his arm. "I want my own place, that's all. "

She had, in her quieter way, become just as homesick for England, thoughsharing none of his dislike of her adopted land. 

"Well, shall we both go?" she suggested. 

He laughed shortly. "Don't be absurd, dearest--what would your doctor sayto such a notion? No, we've got to stick it out, " and he ruffled his hairimpatiently. 

With a suppressed sigh Mary changed the subject. "By the by, I want youto meet Dr. Hillyard; I have asked her to tea this afternoon. "

"Do you honestly mean it when you say she is not an elderly ironsideswith spectacles?"

"I honestly assure you she is young and pretty. Moreover, I forbid you totalk like an anti-suffragist, " she laughed. 

"Very well, then, I will be at home, " with an answering grin. 

And so he was, and on his best behavior, when the little doctor arrivedan hour later. She had been found by the omniscient Miss Mason, and afterseveral visits Mary had more than endorsed the Sparrow's enthusiasticpraise. 

When the slight, well-tailored little figure entered the room Stefanfound it hard to believe that this fresh-faced girl was the physician, already a specialist in her line, to whom Mary's fate had been entrusted. For the first time he wondered if he should not have shared with Marysome responsibility for her arrangements. But as, with an unwonted senseof duty, he questioned the little doctor, his doubts vanished. Without atrace of the much hated professional manner she gave him glimpses of wideexperience, and at one point mentioned an operation she had justperformed--which he knew by hearsay as one of grave difficulty--with thesame enthusiastic pleasure another young woman might have shown in thedescription of a successful bargain-hunt. She was to Stefan a new type, and he was delighted with her. Mary, watching him, thought withaffectionate irony that had the little surgeon been reported plain offace he would have denied himself in advance both the duty and thepleasure of meeting her. 

Over their tea, Dr. Hillyard made a suggestion. 

"Where are you planning to spend the summer?" she asked. 

Stefan looked surprised. "We thought we ought to be here, near you, " heanswered. 

"Oh, no, " the doctor shook her head; "young couples are alwaysmartyrizing themselves for these events. By May it will be warm, and Mrs. Byrd isn't acclimatized to our American summers. Find a nice place nottoo far from the city--say on Long Island--and I can run out whenevernecessary. You both like the country, I imagine?"

Stefan was overjoyed. He jumped up. 

"Dr. Hillyard, you've saved us. We thought we had to be prisoners, andI've been eating my heart out for France. The country will be acompromise. "

"Yes, " said the doctor, smiling a little, "Mrs. Byrd has been longing forEngland for a month or more. "

"I never said so!" and "She never told me!" exclaimed Mary and Stefansimultaneously. 

"No, you didn't, " the little doctor nodded wisely at her patient, "but Iknow. "

Stefan immediately began to plan an expedition in search of the idealspot, as unspoiled if possible as Shadeham, but much nearer town. Allthrough dinner he discussed it, his spirits hugely improved, andimmediately after rang up Constance Elliot for advice. 

"Hold the line, " the lady's voice replied, "while I consult. " In a minuteor two she returned. 

"Mr. Farraday is dining with us, and I've asked him. He lives at Crab'sBay, you know. "

"No, I don't, " objected Stefan. 

"Well, he does, " her voice laughed back. "He was born there. He says ifyou like he will come over and talk to you about it, and I, like a self-sacrificing hostess, am willing to let him. "

"Splendid idea, " said Stefan, "ask him to come right over. Mary, " hecalled, hanging up the receiver, "Constance is sending Farraday across toadvise us. "

"Oh, dear, " said she; "sometimes I feel almost overwhelmed by all thefavors we receive from our friends. "

"Fiddlesticks! They are paid by the pleasure of our society. You don'tseem to realize that we are unusually interesting and attractive people, "laughed he with a flourish. 

"Vain boy!"

"So I am, and vain of being vain. I believe in being as conceited aspossible, conceited enough to make one's conceit good. "

She smiled indulgently, knowing that, as he was talking nonsense, he felthappy. 

Farraday appeared in a few minutes, and they settled in a group round thefire with coffee and cigarettes. Stefan offered Mary one. She shook herhead. 

"I'm not smoking now, you know. "

"Did Dr. Hillyard say so?" he asked quickly. 

"No, but--"

"Then don't be poky, dearest. " He lit the cigarette and held it out toher, but she waved it back. 

"Don't tease, dear, " she murmured, noticing that Farraday was watchingthem. Stefan with a shrug retained the cigarette in his left hand, andsmoked it ostentatiously for some minutes, alternately with his own. Mary, hoping he was not going to be naughty, embarked on the Long Islandtopic. 

"We want to be within an hour of the city, " she explained, "but in prettycountry. We want to keep house, but not to pay too much. We should liketo be near the sea. Does that sound wildly impossible?"

Farraday fingered his cigarette reflectively. 

"I rather think, " he said at last, "that my neighborhood most nearlymeets the requirements. I have several hundred acres at Crab's Bay, whichbelonged to my father, running from the shore halfway to the railroadstation. The village itself is growing suburban, but the propertiesbeyond mine are all large, and keep the country open. We are only an hourfrom the city--hardly more, by automobile. "

"Are there many tin cans?" enquired Stefan, flippantly. "In Michigan Iremember them as the chief suburban decoration. "

"Yes?" said Farraday, in his invariably courteous tone, "I've never beenthere. It is a long way from New York. "

"Touché, " cried Stefan, grinning. "But you would think pessimismjustified if you'd ever had my experience of rural life. "

"Was your father really American?" enquired his guest with apparentirrelevance. 

"Yes, and a minister. "

"Oh, a minister. I see, " the other replied, quietly. 

"Explains it, does it?" beamed Stefan, who was nothing if not quick. Theyall laughed, and the little duel was ended. Mary took up the brokendiscussion. 

"Is there the slightest chance of our finding anything reasonably cheapin such a neighborhood?" she asked. 

"I was just coming to that, " said Farraday. "You would not care to be inthe village, and any houses that might be for rent there would beexpensive, I'm afraid. But it so happens there is a cottage on the edgeof my property where my father's old farmer used to live. After his deathI put a little furniture in the place, and have occasionally used it. Butit is entirely unnecessary to me, and you are welcome to it for thesummer if it would suit you. The rent would be nominal. I don't regard itcommercially, it's too near my own place. "

Mary flushed. "It's most awfully good of you, " she said, "but I don'tknow if we ought to accept. I'm afraid you may be making it convenientout of kindness. "

"Mary, how British!" Stefan interrupted. He had taken lately so tolabeling her small conventionalities. "Why accuse Mr. Farraday ofaltruistic insincerity? I think his description sounds delightful. Let'sgo tomorrow and see the cottage. "

"If you will wait till Sunday, " Farraday smiled, "I shall be delighted todrive you out. It might be easier for Mrs. Byrd. "

Mary again demurred on the score of giving unnecessary trouble, butStefan overrode her, and Farraday was obviously pleased with the plan. Itwas arranged that he should call for them in his car the followingSunday, and that they should lunch with him and his mother. When he hadleft Stefan performed a little pas seul around the room. 

"Tra-la-la!" he sang; "birds, Mary, trees, water. No more chimney pots, no more walking up and down that tunnel of an avenue. See what it is tohave admiring friends. "

Mary flushed again. "Why will you spoil everything by putting it likethat?"

He stopped and patted her cheek teasingly. 

"It's me they admire, Mary, the great artist, creator of the famousDanaë, " and he skipped again, impishly. 

Mary was obliged to laugh. "You exasperating creature!" she said, andwent to bed, while he ran up to the studio to pull out the folding easeland sketching-box of his old Brittany days. 

III

When on the following Sunday morning Farraday drove up to the house, Marywas delighted to find Constance Elliot in the tonneau. 

"Theodore has begun golfing again, now that the snow has gone, " shegreeted her, "so that I am a grass widow on holidays as well as all theweek. "

"Why don't you learn to play, too?" Mary asked, as they settledthemselves, Stefan sitting in front with Farraday, who was driving. 

"Oh, for your English feet, my dear!" sighed Constance. "They are biggerthan mine--I dare say so, as I wear fours--but you can walk on them. Iwas brought up to be vain of my extremities, and have worn two-inch heelstoo long to be good for more than a mile. The links would kill me. Besides, " she sighed again prettily, "dear Theodore is so much happierwithout me. "

"How can you, Constance!" objected Mary. 

"Yes, my dear, " went on the other, her beautiful little hands, which sheseldom gloved, playing with the inevitable string of jade, "the result ofmodern specialization. Theodore is a darling, and in theory a Suffragist, but he has practised the matrimonial division of labor so long that hedoes not know what to do with the woman out of the home. "

"This is Queensborough Bridge, " she pointed out in a few minutes, as theysped up a huge iron-braced incline. "It looks like eight pepper-castorson a grid, surmounted by bayonets, but it is very convenient. "

Mary laughed. Constance's flow of small talk always put her in goodspirits. She looked about her with interest as the car emerged from thebridge into a strange waste land of automobile factories, new stone-facedbusiness buildings, and tumbledown wooden cottages. The houses, in theirdisarray, lay as if cast like seeds from some titanic hand, to fall, wither or sprout as they listed, regardless of plan. The bridge seemed todivide a settled civilization from pioneer country, and as they left thefactories behind and emerged into fields dotted with advertisements andwooden shacks Mary was reminded of stories she had read of the far West, or of Australia. Stefan leant back from the front seat, and waved at theview. 

"Behold the tin can, " he cried, "emblem of American civilization!" Shesaw that he was right; the fields on either side were dotted with tins, bottles, and other husks of dinners past and gone. Gradually, however, this stage was left behind: they began to pass through villages ofpleasant wooden houses painted white or cream, with green shutters, orgroups of red-tiled stucco dwellings surrounded by gardens in the Englishmanner. Soon these, too, were left, and real country appeared, prettilywooded, in which low-roofed homesteads clung timidly to the roadside asif in search of company. 

"What dear little houses!" Mary exclaimed. 

"Yes, " said Constance, "that is the Long Island farmhouse type, as goodarchitecturally as anything America has produced, but abandoned in favorof Oriental bungalows, Italian palaces and French châteaux. "

"I should adore a little house like one of those. "

"Wait till you see Mr. Farraday's cottage; it's a lamb, and his home likeit, only bigger. What can one call an augmented lamb? I can only think ofsheep, which doesn't sound well. "

"I'm afraid we should say it was 'twee' in England, " Mary smiled, "whichsounds worse. "

"Yes, I'd rather my house were a sheep than a 'twee, ' because I do atleast know that a sheep is useful, and I'm sure a 'twee' can't be. "

"It's not a noun, Constance, but an adjective, meaning sweet, " translatedMary, laughing. She loved Constance's nonsense because it was never morethan that. Stefan's absurdities were always personal and, often, notwithout a hidden sting. 

"Well, " Constance went on, "you must be particularly 'twee' then, toJames' mother, who is a Quaker from Philadelphia, and an Americangentlewoman of the old school. His father was a New Englander, and tookhis pleasures sadly, as I tell James he does; but his mother is as warmas a dear little toast, and as pleasant--well--as the dinner bell. "

"What culinary similes, Constance!"

"My dear, from sheep to mutton is only a step, and I'm so hungry I canthink only in terms of a menu. And that, " she prattled on, "reminds me ofMr. McEwan, whose face is the shape of a mutton chop. He is sure to bethere, for he spends half his time with James. Do you like him?"

"Yes, I do, " said Mary; "increasingly. "

"He's one of the best of souls. Have you heard his story?"

"No, has he one?"

"Indeed, yes, " replied Constance. "The poor creature, who, by the way, adores you, is a victim of Quixotism. When he first came to New York hemarried a young girl who lived in his boarding-house and was in troubleby another man. Mac found her trying to commit suicide, and, as the otherman had disappeared, married her to keep her from it. She was pretty, Ibelieve, and I think he was fond of her because of her terriblehelplessness. The first baby died, luckily, but when his own was born ayear or two later the poor girl was desperately ill, and lost most ofwhat little mind she possessed. She developed two manias--the commonspendthrift one, and the conviction that he was trying to divorce her. That was ten years ago. He has to keep her at sanitariums with acompanion to check her extravagance, and he pays her weekly visits toreassure her as to the divorce. She costs him nearly all he makes, indoctors' bills and so forth--he never spends a penny on himself, exceptfor a cheap trip to Scotland once a year. Yet, with it all, he is one ofthe most cheerful souls alive. "

"Poor fellow!" said Mary. "What about the child?"

"He's alive, but she takes very little notice of him. He spends most ofhis time with Mrs. Farraday, who is a saint. James, poor man, adoreschildren, and is glad to have him. "

"Why hasn't Mr. Farraday married, I wonder?" Mary murmured under thecovering purr of the car. 

"Oh, what a waste, " groaned Constance. "An ideal husband thrown away!Nobody knows, my dear. I think he was hit very hard years ago, and nevergot over it. He won't say, but I tell him if I weren't ten years older, and Theodore in evidence, I should marry him myself out of hand. "

"I like him tremendously, but I don't think I should ever have feltattracted in that way, " said Mary, who was much too natural a woman notto be interested in matrimonial speculations. 

"That's because you are two of a kind, simple and serious, " noddedConstance. "I could have adored him. "

They had been speeding along a country lane between tall oaks, and, breasting a hill, suddenly came upon the sea, half landlocked by curvingbays and little promontories. Beyond these, on the horizon, the coast ofConnecticut was softly visible. Mary breathed in great draughts of salt-tanged air. 

"Oh, how good!" she exclaimed. 

"Here we are, " cried Constance, as the machine swung past white postsinto a wooded drive, which curved and curved again, losing and findingglimpses of the sea. No buds were out, but each twig bulged with nobbinsof new life; and the ground, brown still, had the swept and garnishedlook which the March winds leave behind for the tempting of Spring. Persephone had not risen, but the earth listened for her step, and theair held the high purified quality that presages her coming. 

"Lovely, lovely, " breathed Mary, her eyes and cheeks glowing. 

The car stopped under a porte cochère, before a long brown house of heavyclapboards, with shingled roof and green blinds. Farraday jumped down andhelped Mary out, and the front door opened to reveal the shining grin ofMcEwan, poised above the gray head of a little lady who advanced withoutstretched hand to greet them. 

"My mother--Mrs. Byrd, " Farraday introduced. 

"I am very pleased to meet thee. My son has told me so much about theeand thy husband. Thee must make thyself at home here, " beamed the littlelady, with one of the most engaging smiles Mary had ever beheld. 

Stefan was introduced in his turn, and made his best continental bow. Heliked old ladies, who almost invariably adored him. McEwan greeted himwith a "Hello, " and shook hands warmly with the two women. They all movedinto the hall, Mary under the wing of Mrs. Farraday, who presently tookher upstairs to a bedroom. 

"Thee must rest here before dinner, " said she, smoothing with a tiny handthe crocheted bedspread. "Ring this bell if there is anything thee wants. Shall I send Mr. Byrd up to thee?"

"Indeed, I'm not a bit tired, " said Mary, who had never felt better. 

"All the same I would rest a little if I were thee, " Mrs. Farraday noddedwisely. Mary was fascinated by her grammar, never having met a Quakerbefore. The little lady, who barely reached her guest's shoulder, hadsuch an air of mingled sweetness and dignity as to make Mary feel shemust instinctively yield to her slightest wish. Obediently she lay down, and Mrs. Farraday covered her feet. 

Mary noticed her fine white skin, soft as a baby's, the thousand tinylines round her gentle eyes, her simple dress of brown silk with a cameoat the neck, her little, blue-veined hands. No wonder the son of such awoman impressed one with his extraordinary kindliness. 

The little lady slipped away, and Mary, feeling unexpected pleasure inthe quiet room and the soft bed, closed her eyes gratefully. 

At luncheon, or rather dinner, for it was obvious that Mrs. Farraday keptto the old custom of Sunday meals, a silent, shock-headed boy of aboutten appeared, whom McEwan with touching pride introduced as his son. Hewas dressed in a kilt and small deerskin sporran, with the regulationheavy stockings, tweed jacket and Eton collar. 

"For Sundays only--we have to be Yankees on school days, eh, Jamie?"explained his father. The boy grinned in speechless assent, instantlylooking a duplicate of McEwan. 

Mary's heart warmed to him at once, he was so shy and clumsy; but Stefan, who detested the mere suspicion of loutishness, favored him with anabsent-minded stare. Mary, who sat on Farraday's right, had the boy nexther, with his father beyond, Stefan being between Mrs. Farraday andConstance. The meal was served by a gray-haired negro, of manners soperfect as to suggest the ideal southern servant, already familiar toMary in American fiction. As if in answer to a cue, Mrs. Farradayexplained across the table that Moses and his wife had come fromPhiladelphia with her on her marriage, and had been born in the Southbefore the war. Mary's literary sense of fitness was completely satisfiedby this remark, which was received by Moses with a smile of gentle pride. 

"James, " said Constance, "I never get tired of your mother's house; it isso wonderful to have not one thing out of key. "

Farraday smiled. "Bless you, she wouldn't change a footstool. It is alljust as when she married, and much of it, at that, belonged to hermother. "

This explained what, with Mary's keen eye for interiors, had puzzled herwhen they first arrived. She had expected to see more of the perfecttaste and knowledge displayed in Farraday's office, instead of which thehouse, though dignified and hospitable, lacked all traces of theconnoisseur. She noticed in particular the complete absence of any colorsense. All the woodwork was varnished brown, the hangings were of dullbrown velvet or dark tapestry, the carpets toneless. Her bedroom had beenhung with white dimity, edged with crochet-work, but the furniture was ofsomber cherry, and the chintz of the couch-cover brown with yellowflowers. The library, into which she looked from where she sat, wasfurnished with high glass-doored bookcases, turned walnut tables, andstuffed chairs and couches with carved walnut rims. Down each window theshade was lowered half way, and the light was further obscured by lacecurtains and heavy draperies of plain velvet. The pictures were mostlyfamily portraits, with a few landscapes of doubtful merit. There were noflowers anywhere, except one small vase of daffodils upon the dinnertable. According to all modern canons the house should have been hideous;but it was not. It held garnered with loving faith the memories ofanother day, as a bowl of potpourri still holds the sun of long deadsummers. It fitted absolutely the quiet kindliness, the faded face andsoft brown dress of its mistress. It was keyed to her, as Constance hadunderstood, to the last detail. 

"Yes, " said Farraday, smiling down the table at his mother, "she couldhardly bring herself to let me build my picture gallery on the end of thehouse--nothing but Christian charity enabled her to yield. "

The old lady smiled back at her tall son almost like a sweetheart. "Hehumors me, " she said; "he knows I'm a foolish old woman who love, my nestas it was first prepared for me. "

"Oh, I can so well understand that, " said Mary. 

"Do you mean to say, Mrs. Farraday, " interposed Stefan, "that you havelived in this one house, without changing it, all your married life?"

She turned to him in simple surprise. "Why, of course; my husband choseit for me. "

"Marvelous!" said Stefan, who felt that one week of those brown hangingswould drive him to suicide. 

"Nix on the home-sweet-home business for yours, eh, Byrd?" threw inMcEwan with his glint of a twinkle. 

"Boy, " interposed their little hostess, "why will thee always use suchshocking slang? How can I teach Jamie English with his father's examplebefore him?" She shook a tiny finger at the offender. 

"Ma'am, if I didn't sling the lingo, begging your pardon, in my office, they would think I was a highbrow, and then--good night Mac!"

"Don't believe him, Mother, " said Farraday. "It isn't policy, butaffection. He loves the magazine crowd, and likes to do as it does. Besides, " he smiled, "he's a linguistic specialist. "

"You think slang is an indication of local patriotism?" asked Mary. 

"Certainly, " said Farraday. "If we love a place we adopt its customs. "

"That's quite true, " Stefan agreed. "In Paris I used the worst argot ofthe quarter, but I've always spoken straightforward English because theonly slang I knew in my own tongue reminded me of a place I loathed. "

"Stefan used to be dreadfully unpatriotic, Mrs. Farraday, " explainedMary, "but he is outgrowing it. "

"Am I?" Stefan asked rather pointedly. 

"Art, " said McEwan grandly, "is international; Byrd belongs to theworld. " He raised his glass of lemonade, and ostentatiously drankStefan's health. The others laughed at him, and the conversation veered. Mary absorbed herself in trying to draw out the bashful Jamie, and Stefanlistened while his hostess talked on her favorite theme, that of her son, James Farraday. 

They had coffee in the picture gallery, a beautiful room which Farradayhad extended beyond the drawing-room, and furnished with perfect examplesof the best Colonial period. It was hung almost entirely with the work ofAmericans, in particular landscapes by Inness, Homer Martin, and GeorgeMunn, while over the fireplace was a fine mother and child by MaryCassatt. For the first time since their arrival Stefan showed realinterest, and leaving the others, wandered round the room criticallyabsorbing each painting. 

"Well, Farraday, " he said at the end of his tour, "I must say you havethe best of judgment. I should have been mighty glad to paint one or twoof those myself. " His tone indicated that more could not be said. 

Meanwhile, Mary could hardly wait for the real object of theirexpedition, the little house. When at last the car was announced, Mrs. Farraday's bonnet and cloak brought by a maid, and everybody, Jamieincluded, fitted into the machine, Mary felt her heart beating withexcitement. Were they going to have a real little house for their baby?Was it to be born out here by the sea, instead of in the dusty, overcrowded city? She strained her eyes down the road. "It's only half amile, " called Farraday from the wheel, "and a mile and a half from thestation. " They swung down a hill, up again, round a bend, and there was agrassy plateau overlooking the water, backed by a tree-clad slope. Nestling under the trees, but facing the bay, was just such a littlehouse as Mary had admired along the road, low and snug, shingled on wallsand roof, painted white, with green shutters and a little columned porchat the front door. A small barn stood near; a little hedge divided housefrom lane; evidences of a flower garden showed under the windows. "Oh, what a duck!" Mary exclaimed. "Oh, Stefan!" She could almost have wept. 

Farraday helped her down. 

"Mrs. Byrd, " said he with his most kindly smile, "here is the key. Wouldyou like to unlock the door yourself?"

She blushed with pleasure. "Oh, yes!" she cried, and turned instinctivelyto look for Stefan. He was standing at the plateau's edge, scrutinizingthe view. She called, but he did not hear. Then she took the key and, hurrying up the little walk, entered the house alone. 

A moment later Stefan, hailed stentoriously by McEwan, followed her. 

She was standing in a long sitting-room, low-ceilinged and white-walled, with window-seats, geraniums on the sills, brass andirons on the hearth, an eight-day clock, a small old fashioned piano, an oak desk, a chintz-covered grandmother's chair, a gate-legged table, and a braided raghearth-rug. Her hands were clasped, her eyes shining. 

"Oh, Stefan!" she exclaimed as she heard his step. "Isn't it a darling?Wouldn't it be simply ideal for us?"

"It seems just right, and the view is splendid. There's a good dealthat's paintable here. "

"Is there? I'm so glad. That makes it perfect. Look at the furniture, Stefan, every bit right. "

"And the moldings, " he added. "All handcut, do you see? The whole placeis actually old. What a lark!" He appeared almost as pleased as she. 

"Here come the others. Let's go upstairs, dearest, " she whispered. 

There were four bedrooms, and a bathroom. The main room had a four-postbed, and opening out of it was a smaller room, almost empty. In this Marystood for some minutes, measuring with her eye the height of the windowfrom the floor, mentally placing certain small furnishings. "It would beideal, simply ideal, " she repeated to herself. Stefan was looking out ofthe window, again absorbed in the view. She would have liked so well toshare with him her tenderness over the little room, but he was allunmindful of its meaning to her, and, as always, his heedlessness madeexpression hard for her. She was still communing with the future when heturned from the window. 

"Come along, Mary, let's go downstairs again. "

They found the others waiting in the sitting-room, and Farraday detachedStefan to show him a couple of old prints, while Mrs. Farraday ledConstance and Mary to an exploration of the kitchen. Chancing to lookback from the hall, Mary saw that McEwan had seated himself in thegrandmother's chair, and was holding the heavy shy Jamie at his knee, onearm thrown round him. The boy's eyes were fixed in dumb devotion on hisfather's face. 

"The two poor lonely things, " she thought. 

The little kitchen was spotless, tiled shoulder-high, and painted blueabove. Against one wall a row of copper saucepans grinned their fatcontent, echoed by the pale shine of an opposing row of aluminum. Snowylarder shelves showed through one little door; through another, laundrytubs were visible. There was a modern coal stove, with a boiler. Thequarters were small, but perfect to the last detail. Mrs. Farraday'slittle face fairly beamed with pride as they looked about them. 

"He did it all, bought every pot and pan, arranged each detail. Therewere no modern conveniences until old Cotter died--_he_ would notlet James put them in. My boy loves this cottage; he sometimes spendsseveral days here all alone, when he is very tired. He doesn't even likeme to send Moses down, but of course I won't hear of that. " She shook herhead with smiling finality. There were some things, her manner suggested, that little boys could not be allowed. 

"But, Mrs. Farraday, " Mary exclaimed, "how can we possibly take the housefrom him if he uses it?"

"My dear, " the little lady's hand lighted on Mary's arm, "when thee knowsmy James better, thee will know that his happiness lies in helping hisfriends find theirs. He would be deeply disappointed if thee did not takeit, " and her hand squeezed Mary's reassuringly. 

"We are too wonderfully lucky--I don't know how to express my gratitude, "Mary answered. 

"I think the good Lord sends us what we deserve, my dear, whether of goodor ill, " the little lady replied, smiling wisely. 

Constance sighed contentedly. "Oh, Mrs. Farraday, you are so good for usall. I'm a modern backslider, and hardly ever go to church, but youalways make me feel as if I had just been. "

"Backslider, Constance? 'Thy own works praise thee, and thy children riseup and call thee blessed--thy husband also, '" quoted their hostess. 

"Well, I don't know if my boys and Theodore call me blessed, but I hopethe Suffragists will one day. Goodness knows I work hard enough forthem. "

"I've believed in suffrage all my life, like all Friends, " Mrs. Farradayanswered, "but where thee has worked I have only prayed for it. "

"If prayers are heard, I am sure yours should count more than my work, dear lady, " said Constance, affectionately pressing the other's hand. 

The little Quaker's eyes were bright as she looked at her friend. 

"Ah, my dear, thee is too generous to an old woman. "

Mary loved this little dialogue, "What dears all my new friends are, " shethought; "how truly good. " All the world seemed full of love to her inthese days; her heart blossomed out to these kind people; she folded themin the arms of her spirit. All about, in nature and in human kind, shefelt the spring burgeoning, and within herself she felt it most of all. But of this Mary could express nothing, save through her face--she hadnever looked more beautiful. 

Coming into the dining room she found Farraday watching her. He seemedtired. She put out her hand. 

"May we really have it? You are sure?"

"You like it?" he smiled, holding the hand. 

She flushed with the effort to express herself. "I adore it. I can'tthank you. "

"Please don't, " he answered. "You don't know what pleasure this gives me. Come as soon as you can; everything is ready for you. "

"And about the rent?" she asked, hating to speak of money, but knowingStefan would forget. 

"Dear Mrs. Byrd, I had so much rather lend it, but I know you wouldn'tlike that. Pay me what you paid for your first home in New York. "

"Oh, but that would be absurd, " she demurred. 

"Make that concession to my pride in our friendship, " he smiled back. 

She saw that she could not refuse without ungraciousness. Stefan haddisappeared, but now came quickly in from the kitchen door. 

"Farraday, " he called, "I've been looking at the barn; you don't use it, I see. If we come, should you mind my having a north light cut in it?With that it would make an ideal workshop. "

"I should be delighted, " the other answered; "it's a good idea and willmake the place more valuable. I had the barn cleaned out thinking someone might like it for a garage. "

"We shan't run to such an extravagance yet awhile, " laughed Mary. 

"A bicycle for me and the station hack for Mary, " Stefan summed up. "Isuppose there is such a thing at Crab's Bay?"

"She won't have to walk, " Farraday answered. 

Started on practical issues, Mary's mind had flown to the need of atelephone to link them to her doctor. "May we install a 'phone?" sheasked. "I never lived with one till two months ago, but already it is aconfirmed vice with me. "

"Mayn't I have it put in for you--there should be one here, " said he. 

"Oh, no, please!"

"At least let me arrange for it, " he urged. 

"Now, son, thee must not keep Mrs. Byrd out too late. Get her home beforesundown, " Mrs. Farraday's voice admonished. Obediently, every one movedtoward the hall. At a word from McEwan, the mute Jamie ran to open thetonneau door. Farraday stopped to lock the kitchen entrance and foundMcEwan on the little porch as he emerged, while the others were busysettling themselves in the car. As Farraday turned the heavy front doorlock, his friend's hand fell on his shoulder. 

"Ought ye to do it, James?" McEwan asked quietly. 

Farraday raised his eyes, and looked steadily at the other, with his slowsmile. 

"Yes, Mac, it's a good thing to do. In any case, I shouldn't have beenlikely to marry, you know. " The two friends took their places in the car. 

IV

After much consideration from Mary, the Byrds decided to give up theirrecently acquired flat, but to keep the old studio. She felt they shouldnot attempt to carry three rents through the summer, but, on the otherhand, Stefan was still working at his Demeter, using an Italian model forthe boy's figure, and could not finish it conveniently elsewhere. Then, too, he expressed a wish for a pied-à-terre in the city, and as Mary hadvery tender associations with the little studio she was glad to think ofkeeping it. 

Stefan was working fitfully at this time. He would have spurts of energyfollowed by fits of depression and disgust with his work, during which hewould leave the house and take long rides uptown on the tops ofomnibuses. Mary could not see that these excursions in search of aircalmed his nervousness, and she concluded that the spring fever was inhis blood and that he needed a change of scene at least as much as shedid. 

About this time he sold his five remaining drawings of New York to thePan-American Magazine, a progressive monthly. They gained considerableattention from the art world, and were seized upon by certain groups ofradicals as a sermon on the capitalistic system. On the strength of them, Stefan was hailed as that rarest of all beings, a politically mindedartist, and became popular in quarters from which his intolerance hadhitherto barred him. 

It entertained him hugely to be proclaimed as a champion of democracy, for he had made the drawings in impish hatred not of a class but ofAmerican civilization as a whole. 

Their bank account, in spite of much heightened living expenses, remainedsubstantial by reason of this new sale, but Stefan was as indifferent asever to its control, and Mary's sense of caution was little diminished. Her growing comprehension of him warned her that their position was stillinsecure; he remained, for all his success, an unknown quantity as aproducer. She wanted him to assume some interest in their affairs, andsuggested separate bank accounts, but he begged off. 

"Let me have a signature at the bank, so that I can cash checks forpersonal expenses, but don't ask me to keep accounts, or know how much wehave, " he said. "If you find I am spending too much at any time, justtell me, and I will stop. "

Further than this she could not get him to discuss the matter, and sawthat she must think out alone some method of bookkeeping which would befair to them both, and would establish a record for future use. Ultimately she transferred her own money, less her private expendituresduring the winter, to a separate account, to be used for all her personalexpenses. The old account she put in both their names, and made out amonthly schedule for the household, beyond which she determined never todraw. Anything she could save from this amount she destined for a savingsbank, but over and above it she felt that her husband's earnings werehis, and that she could not in honor interfere with them. Mary was almostpainfully conscientious, and this plan cost her many heart-searchingsbefore it was complete. 

After her baby was born she intended to continue her writing; she did notwish ever to draw on Stefan for her private purse. So far at least, shewould live up to feminist principles. 

There was much to be done before they could leave the city, and Mary hadpractically no assistance from Stefan in her arrangements. She would askhis advice about the packing or disposal of a piece of furniture, and hewould make some suggestion, often impracticable; but on any furtherquestioning he would run his hands through his hair, or thrust them intohis pockets, looking either vague or nervous. "Why fuss about suchthings, dear?" or "Do just as you like, " or "I'm sure I haven't anotion, " were his most frequent answers. He developed a habit of leavinghis work and following Mary restlessly from room to room as she packed orsorted, which she found rather wearing. 

On one such occasion--it was the day before they were to leave--she wascarrying a large pile of baby's clothes from her bedroom to a trunk inthe sitting-room, while Stefan stood humped before the fireplace, smoking. As she passed him he frowned nervously. 

"How heavily you tread, Mary, " he jerked out. She stood stock-still andflushed painfully. 

"I think, Stefan, " she said, with the tears of feeling which came over-readily in these days welling to her eyes, "instead of saying that youmight come and help me to carry these things. "

He looked completely contrite. "I'm sorry, dearest, it was a silly thingto say. Forgive me, " and he kissed her apologetically, taking the bundlefrom her. He offered to help several times that afternoon, but as henever knew where anything was to go, and fidgeted from foot to foot whilehe hung about her, she was obliged at last to plead release from hisefforts. 

"Stefan dear, " she said, giving him rather a harassed smile, "youevidently find this kind of thing a bore. Why don't you run out and leaveme to get on quietly with it?"

"I know I've been rotten to you, and I thought you wanted me to help, " heexplained, in a self-exculpatory tone. 

She stroked his cheek maternally. "Run along, dearest. I can get onperfectly well alone. "

"You're a brick, Mary. I think I'll go. This kind of thing--" he flunghis arm toward the disordered room--"is too utterly unharmonious. " Andkissing her mechanically he hastened out. 

That night for the first time in their marriage he did not return fordinner, but telephoned that he was spending the evening with friends. Mary, tired out with her packing, ate her meal alone and went to bedimmediately afterwards. His absence produced in her a dull heartache, butshe was too weary to ponder over his whereabouts. 

Early next morning Mary telephoned Miss Mason. Stefan, who had come homelate, was still asleep when the Sparrow arrived, and by the time he hadhad his breakfast the whole flat was in its final stage of disruption. Afew pieces of furniture were to be sent to the cottage, a few morestored, and the studio was to be returned to its original omnibus status. Mrs. Corriani, priestess of family emergencies, had been summoned fromthe depths; the Sparrow had donned an apron, Mary a smock; Lily, thecolored maid, was packing china into a barrel, surrounded by writhingseas of excelsior. For Stefan, the flat might as well have been givenover to the Furies. He fetched his hat. 

"Mary, " he said, "I'm not painting again until we have moved. Djinns, Afrits and Goddesses should be allowed to perform their spiritings unseenof mortals. I shall go and sit in the Metropolitan and contemplateRodin's Penseur--he is so spacious. "

"Very well, dearest, " said Mary brightly. She had slept away her lowspirits. "Don't forget Mr. Farraday is sending his car in for us at threeo'clock. "

He looked nonplused. "You don't mean to say we are moving to-day?"

"Yes, you goose, " she laughed, "don't you remember?"

"I'm frightfully sorry, Mary, but I made an engagement for this evening, to go to the theatre. I knew you would not want to come, " he added. 

Mary looked blank. "But, Stefan, " she exclaimed, "everything is arranged!We are dining with the Farradays. I told you several times we were movingon the fourth. You make it so difficult, dear, by not taking anyinterest. " Her voice trembled. She had worked and planned for theirflitting for a week past, was all eagerness to be gone, and now he, whohad been equally keen, seemed utterly indifferent. 

He fidgeted uncomfortably, looking contrite yet rebellious. Mary was at aloss. The Sparrow, however, promptly raised her crest and exhibited aclaw. 

"Land sakes, Mr. Byrd, " she piped, "you are a mighty fine artist, butthat don't prevent your being a husband first these days! Men are allalike--" she turned to Mary--"always ready to skedaddle off when there'swork to be done. Now, young man--" she pointed a mandatory finger--"yourun and telephone your friends to call the party off. " Her voiceshrilled, her beady eyes snapped; she looked exactly like one of hernamesakes, ruffled and quarreling at the edge of its nest. 

Stefan burst out laughing. "All right, Miss Sparrow, smooth yourfeathers. Mary, I'm a mud-headed idiot--I forgot the whole thing. Pay noattention to my vagaries, dearest, I'll be at the door at three. " Hekissed her warmly, and went out humming, banging the door behind him. 

"My father was the same, and my brothers, " the Sparrow philosophized. "Spring-cleaning and moving took every ounce of sense out of them. " Marysighed. Her zest for the preparations had departed. 

Presently, seeing her languor, Miss Mason insisted Mary should lie downand leave the remaining work to her. The only resting place left was theold studio, where their divan had been replaced. Thither Mary mounted, and lying amidst its dusty disarray, traced in memory the months she hadspent there. It had been their first home. Here they had had their firstquarrel and their first success, and here had come to her herannunciation. Though they were keeping the room, it would never hold thesame meaning for her again, and though she already loved their new home, it hurt her at the last to bid their first good-bye. Perhaps it was atrick of fatigue, but as she lay there the conviction came to her thatwith to-day's change some part of the early glamour of marriage was togo, that not even the coming of her child could bring to life thememories this room contained. She longed for her husband, for his voicecalling her the old, dear, foolish names. She felt alone, and fearful ofthe future. 

"My grief, " exclaimed Miss Mason from the door an hour later. "I told youto go to sleep 'n here you are wide awake and crying!"

Mary smiled shamefacedly. 

"I'm just tired, Sparrow, that's all, and have been indulging in the'vapors. '" She squeezed her friend's hand. "Let's have some lunch. "

"It's all ready, and Lily with her hat 'n coat on. Come right downstairs--it's most two o'clock. "

Mary jumped up, amazed at the time she had wasted. Her spell ofdepression was over, and she was her usual cheerful self when, at threeo'clock, she heard Stefan's feet bounding up the stairs for the lasttime. 

"Tra-la, Mary, the car is here!" he called. "Thank God we are getting outof this city! Good-by, Miss Sparrow, don't peck me, and come and see usat Crab's Bay. March, Lily. A riverderci, Signora Corriani. Come, dearest. " He bustled them all out, seized two suitcases in one hand andMary's elbow in the other, chattered his few words of Italian to thejanitress, chaffed Miss Mason, and had them all laughing by the time theyreached the street. He seemed in the highest spirits, his moods of thelast weeks forgotten. 

As the car started he kissed his fingers repeatedly to Miss Mason andwaved his hat to the inevitable assemblage of small boys. 

"The country, darling!" he cried, pressing Mary's hand under the rug. "Farewell to ugliness and squalor! How happy we are going to be!"

Mary's hand pressed his in reply. 

V

It was late April. The wooded slopes behind "The Byrdsnest, " as Mary hadchristened the cottage, were peppered with a pale film of green. The lawnbefore the house shone with new grass. Upon it, in the early morning, Mary watched beautiful birds of types unknown to her, searching for nest-making material. She admired the large, handsome robins, so serious andstately after the merry pertness of the English sort, but her favoriteswere the bluebirds, and another kind that looked like greenish canaries, of which she did not know the name. None of them, she thought, had suchmelodious song as at home in England, but their brilliant plumage was aconstant delight to her. 

Daffodils were springing up in the garden, crocuses were out, and theblue scylla. On the downward slope toward the bay the brown furry headsof ferns had begun to push stoutly from the earth. The spring was awake. 

Stefan seemed thoroughly contented again. He had his north light in thebarn, but seldom worked there, being absorbed in outdoor sketching. Hewas making many small studies of the trees still bare against the gleamof water, with a dust of green upon them. He could get a number ofvaluable notes here, he told Mary. 

During their first two weeks in the country his restlessness had oftenrecurred. He had gone back and forth to the city for work on his Demeter, and had even slept there on several occasions. But one morning he wakenedMary by coming in from an early ramble full of joy in the spring, andannouncing that the big picture was now as good as he could make it, andthat he was done with the town. He threw back the blinds and called toher to look at the day. 

"It's vibrant, Mary; life is waking all about us. " He turned to the bed. 

"You look like a beautiful white rose, cool with the dew. "

She blushed--he had forgotten lately his old habit of pretty speech-making. He came and sat on the bed's edge, holding her hand. 

"I've had my restless devil with me of late, sweetheart, " he said. "Butnow I feel renewed, and happy. I shan't want to leave you any more. " Hekissed her with a gravity at which she might have wondered had she beenmore thoroughly awake. His tone was that of a man who makes a promise tohimself. 

Since that morning he had been consistently cheerful and carefree, moreattentive to Mary than for some time past, and pleased with all hissurroundings. She was overjoyed at the change, and for her own part nevertired of working in the house and garden, striving to make more perfectthe atmosphere of simple homeliness which Farraday had first imparted tothem. Lily was fascinated by her kitchen and little white bedroom. 

"This surely is a cute little house, yes, _ma'am_, " she wouldexclaim emphatically, with a grin. 

Lily was a small, chocolate-colored negress, with a neat figure, and theever ready smile which is God's own gift to the race. Mary, who hardlyremembered having seen a negro till she came to America, had none of thecolor-prejudice which grows up in biracial communities. She found Lilycivil, cheerful, and intelligent, and felt a sincere liking for her whichthe other reciprocated with a growing devotion. 

Often in these days a passerby--had there been any--could have heard athreefold chorus rising about the cottage, a spring-song as unconsciousas the birds'. From the kitchen Lily's voice rose in the endless refrainof a hymn; Mary's clear tones traveled down from the little room besideher own, where she was preparing a place for the expected one; andStefan's whistle, or his snatches of French song, resounded from woods orbarn. Youth and hope were in the house, youth was in the air and earth. 

Farraday's gardens were the pride of the neighborhood, these and thelibrary expressing him as the house did his mother. Several times he sentdown an armful of flowers to the Byrdsnest, and, one Sunday morning, Maryhad just finished arranging such a bunch in her vases when she heard thechug of an automobile in the lane. She looked out to see Constance, aveiled figure beside her, stopping a runabout at the gate. Delighted, shehastened to the door. Constance hailed her. 

"Mary, behold the charioteer! Theodore has given me this machine forsuffrage propaganda during the summer, and I achieved my driver's licenseyesterday. I'm so vain I'm going to make Felicity design me a gown with apeacock's tail that I can spread. I've brought her with me to show offtoo, and because she needed air. How are you, bless you? May we come in?"

Not waiting for an answer, she jumped down and hugged Mary, Miss Berberfollowing in more leisurely fashion. Mary could not help wishingConstance had come alone, as she now felt a little self-conscious beforestrangers. However, she shook hands with Miss Berber, and led them bothinto the sitting-room. 

"Simply delicious!" exclaimed Constance, glancing eagerly about her, "andhow divinely healthy you look--like a transcendental dairy-maid! Thisplace was made for you, and how you've improved it. Look, Felicity, ather chintz, and her flowers, and her _cunning_ pair of chinashepherdesses!" She ran from one thing to another, ecstaticallyappreciative. 

Mary had had no chance to speak yet, and, as Felicity was absorbed in thelanguid removal of a satin coat and incredible yards of apple greenveiling, Constance held the floor. 

"Look at her pair of love-birds sidling along the curtain pole, as tameas humans! Where did you find that wooden cage? And that white cottondress? You smell of lavender and an ironing-board! Oh, dear, " she beganagain, "driving is very wearing, and I should like a cocktail, but I musthave milk. Milk, my dear Mary, is the only conceivable beverage in thishouse. Have you a cow? You ought to have a cow--a brindled cow--also alamb; 'Mary had, ' et cetera. My dear, stop me. Enthusiasm converts meinto an 'agreeable rattle, ' as they used to call our great-grandmothers. "

"Subdue yourself with this, " laughed Mary, holding out the desired glassof milk. "Miss Berber, can I get anything for you?"

Felicity by this time was unwrapped, and had disposed herself upon awindow-seat, her back to the light. 

"Wine or water, Mrs. Byrd; I do not drink milk, " she breathed, lighting acigarette. 

"We have some Chianti; nothing else, I'm afraid, " said Mary, and a glassof this the designer deigned to accept, together with a little yellowcake set with currants, and served upon a pewter plate. 

"I see, Mrs. Byrd, " Felicity murmured, as Constance in momentary silencesipped her milk, "that you comprehend the first law of decoration forwoman--that her accessories must be a frame for her type. I--how should Iappear in a room like this?" She gave a faint shrug. "At best, a falsetone in a chromatic harmony. You are entirely in key. "

Her eyelids drooped; she exhaled a long breath of smoke. "Very wellthought out--unusually clever--for a layman, " she uttered, and was still, with the suggestion of a sibyl whose oracle has ceased to speak. 

Mary tried not to find her manner irritating, but could not wholly dispelthe impression that Miss Berber habitually patronized her. 

She laughed pleasantly. 

"I'm afraid I can't claim to have been guided by any subtle theories--Ihave merely collected together the kind of things I am fond of. "

"Mary decorates with her heart, Felicity, you with your head, " saidConstance, setting down her empty tumbler. 

"I'm afraid I should find the heart too erratic a guide to art. Knowledge, Mrs. Byrd, knowledge must supplement feeling, " said Felicity, with a gesture of finality. 

"Really!" answered Mary, falling back upon her most correct Englishmanner. There was nothing else to say. "She is either cheeky, or abromide, " she thought. 

"Felicity, " exclaimed Constance, "don't adopt your professional manner;you can't take us in. You know you are an outrageous humbug. "

"Dear Connie, " replied the other with the ghost of a smile, "you arealways so amusing, and so much more wide awake in the morning than I am. "

Conversation languished for a minute, Constance having embarked on acake. For some reason which she could not analyze, Mary felt in no greathurry to call Stefan from the barn, should he be there. 

Felicity rose. "May we not see your garden, Mrs. Byrd?"

"Certainly, " said Mary, and led the way to the door. Felicity slipped outfirst, and wandered with her delicate step a little down the path. 

"Isn't it darling!" exclaimed Constance from the porch, surveying theflower-strewn grass, the feathery trees, and the pale gleam of the water. Mary began to show her some recent plantings, in particular a rose-bedwhich was her last addition to the garden. 

"I see you have a barn, " said Felicity, flitting back to them with a hintof animation. "Is it picturesque inside? Would it lend itself totreatment?" She wandered toward it, and there was nothing for the othersto do but follow. 

"Oh, yes, " explained Mary, "my husband has converted it into a studio. Hemay be working there now--I had been meaning to call him. "

She felt a trifle uncomfortable, almost as if she had put herself in thewrong. 

"Coo-oo, Stefan, " she called as they neared the barn, Felicity stillflitting ahead. The door swung open, and there stood Stefan, pallette inhand, screwing up his eyes in the sun. 

As they lit on his approaching visitor an expression first ofastonishment, and then of something very like displeasure, crossed hisface. At sight of it, Mary's spirits subconsciously responded by adistinct upward lift. Stefan waved his brush without shaking hands, andthen, seeing Constance, broke into a smile. 

"How delightful, Mrs. Elliot! How did you come? By auto? And you droveMiss Berber? We are honored. You are our first visitors except theFarradays. Come and see my studio. "

They trooped into the quaint little barn, which appeared to wear its bignorth light rather primly, as a girl her first low-necked gown. It wasunfurnished, save for a table and easel, several canvases, and an oldarm-chair. Felicity glanced at the sketches. 

"In pastoral mood again, " she commented, with what might have been thefaintest note of sarcasm. Stefan's eyebrows twitched nervously. 

"There's nothing to see in here-these are the merest sketches, " he saidabruptly. "Come along, Mrs. Elliot, I've been working since beforebreakfast; let's say good-morning to the flowers. " And with his armlinked through hers he piloted Constance back toward the lawn. 

"Mr. Byrd ought never to wear tweed, do you think? It makes him lookheavy, " remarked Felicity. 

Again Mary had to suppress a feeling of irritation. "I rather like it, "she said. "It's so comfy and English. "

"Yes?" breathed Felicity vaguely, walking on. 

Suddenly she appeared to have a return of animation. 

She floated forward quickly for a few steps, turned with a swayingmovement, and waited for Mary with hands and feet poised. 

"The grass under one's feet, Mrs. Byrd, it makes them glad. One couldalmost dance!"

Again she fluttered ahead, this time overtaking Constance and Stefan, whohad halted in the middle of the lawn. She swayed before them on tiptoe. 

"Connie, " she was saying as Mary came up, "why does one not more oftendance in the open?"

Though her lids still drooped she was half smiling as she swayed. 

"It may be the spring; or perhaps I have caught the pastoral mood of Mr. Byrd's work; but I should like to dance a little. Music, " her palms werelifted in repudiation, "is unnecessary. One has the birds. "

"Good for you, Felicity! That _will_ be fun, " Constance exclaimeddelightedly. "You don't dance half often enough, bad girl. Come along, people, let's sit on the porch steps. "

They arranged themselves to watch, Constance and Mary on the upper step, Stefan on the lower, his shoulders against his wife's knees, whileFelicity dexterously slipped off her sandals and stockings. 

Her dress, modeled probably on that of the central figure in Botticelli'sSpring, was of white chiffon, embroidered with occasional formal sprigsof green leaves and hyacinth-blue flowers, and kilted up at bust andthigh. Her loosely draped sleeves hung barely to the elbow. A line ofgreen crossed from the shoulders under each breast, and her hair, tightlybound, was decorated with another narrow band of green. She lookedyounger than in the city--almost virginal. Stooping low, she gathered ahandful of blue scylla from the grass, Mary barely checking anexclamation at this ravishing of her beloved bulbs. Then Felicity laydown upon the grass; her eyes closed; she seemed asleep. They waitedsilently for some minutes. Stefan began to fidget. 

Suddenly a robin called. Felicity's eyes opened. They looked calm anddewy, like a child's. She raised her head--the robin called again. Felicity looked about her, at the flowers in her hand, the trees, thesky. Her face broke into smiles, she rose tall, taller, feet on tiptoe, hands reaching skyward. It was the waking of spring. Then she began todance. 

Gone was the old languor, the dreamy, hushed steps of her former method. Now she appeared to dart about the lawn like a swallow, following thecalls of the birds. She would stand poised to listen, her ear would catcha twitter, and she was gone; flitting, skimming, seeming not to touch theearth. She danced to the flowers in her hand, to the trees, the sky, herface aglint with changing smiles, her skirts rippling like water. 

At last the blue flowers seemed to claim her solely. She held themsunward, held them close, always swaying to the silent melody of thespring. She kissed them, pressed them to her heart; she sank downward, like a bird with folding wings, above a clump of scylla; her armsencircled them, her head bent to her knees--she was still. 

Constance broke the spell with prolonged applause; Mary was breathlesswith admiration; Stefan rose, and after prowling restlessly for a moment, hurried to the dancer and stooped to lift her. 

As if only then conscious of her audience, Felicity looked up, and boththe other women noticed the expression that flashed across her facebefore she took the proffered hand. It seemed compounded of triumph, challenge, and something else. Mary again felt uncomfortable, andConstance's quick brain signaled a warning. 

"Surely not getting into mischief, are you, Felicity?" she mentallyquestioned, and instantly began to east about for two and two to puttogether. 

"Wonderful!" Stefan was saying. "You surely must have wings--great, butterfly ones--only we are too dull to see them. You were exactly likeone of my pictures come to life. " He was visibly excited. 

"Husband disposed of, available lovers unattractive, asks me to drive herout here; that's one half, " Constance's mind raced. "Wife on the shelf, variable temperament, studio in town; and that's the other. I've foundtwo and two; I hope to goodness they won't make four, " she sighed toherself anxiously. 

Mary meanwhile was thanking Miss Berber. She noticed that the dancer wasperfectly cool--not a hair ruffled by her efforts. She looked as smoothas a bird that draws in its feathers after flight. Stefan was probablyobserving this, too, she thought; at any rate he was hovering about, staring at Felicity, and running his hands through his hair. Mary couldnot be sure of his expression; he seemed uneasy, as if discomfort mingledwith his pleasure. 

They had had a rare and lovely entertainment, and yet no one appearedwholly pleased except the dancer herself. It was very odd. 

Constance looked at her watch. "Now, Felicity, this has all been ideal, but we must be getting on. I 'phoned James, you know, and we are lunchingthere. I was sure Mrs. Byrd wouldn't want to be bothered with us. "

Mary demurred, with a word as to Lily's capacities, but Constance wasfirm. 

"No, my dear, it's all arranged. Besides, you need peace and quiet. Felicity, where are your things? Thank you, Mr. Byrd, in the sitting-room. Mary, you dear, I adore you and your house--I shall come againsoon. Where are my gloves?" She was all energy, helping Felicity with herveil, settling her own hat, kissing Mary, and cranking the runabout--anoperation she would not allow Stefan to attempt for her--with her usualeffervescent efficiency. "I'd no idea it was so late!" she exclaimed. 

As Felicity was handed by Stefan into the car, she murmured something inFrench, Constance noticed, to which he shook his head with a nervousfrown. As the machine started, he was left staring moodily after it downthe lane. 

"Thee is earlier than I expected, " little Mrs. Farraday said toConstance, when they arrived at the house. "I am afraid we shall have tokeep thee waiting for thy lunch for half an hour or more. "

"How glad I shall be--" Stefan turned to Mary, half irritably--"whenthis baby is born, and you can be active again. "

He ate his lunch in silence, and left the table abruptly at the end. Nordid she see him again until dinner time, when he came in tired out, hisboots whitened with road dust. 

"Where have you been, dearest?" she asked. "I've been quite anxious aboutyou. "

"Just walking, " he answered shortly, and went up to his room. The tearscame to her eyes, but she blinked them away resolutely. She must notmind, must not show him that she even dreamed of any connection betweenhis moodiness and the events of the morning. 

"My love must be stronger than that, now of all times, " thought Mary. "Afterwards--afterwards it will be all right. " She smiled confidently toherself. 

VI

It was the end of June. Mary's rosebushes were in full bloom and thelittle garden was languid with the scent of them. The nesting birds hadall hatched their broods--every morning now Mary watched from her bedroomwindow the careful parents carrying worms and insects into the trees. Shealways looked for them the moment she got up. She would have loved tohang far out of the window as she used to do in her old home in England, and call good-morning to her little friends--but she was hemmed in by thebronze wire of the windowscreens. These affected her almost like prisonbars; but Long Island's summer scourge had come, and after a fewexperiences of nights sung sleepless by the persistent horn of the enemyand made agonizing by his sting, she welcomed the screens as deliverers. The mosquitoes apart, Mary had adored the long, warm days--not too hot asyet on the Byrdsnest's shady eminence--and the perpetually smiling skies, so different from the sulky heavens of England. But she began to feelvery heavy, and found it increasingly difficult to keep cool, so that shecounted the days till her deliverance. She felt no fear of what wascoming. Dr. Hillyard had assured her that she was normal in everyrespect--"as completely normal a woman as I have ever seen, " she put it--and should have no complications. Moreover, Mary had obtained from herdoctor a detailed description of what lay before her, and had read one ortwo hand-books on the subject, so that she was spared the fearfulimaginings and reliance on old wives' tales which are the results of theancient policy of surrounding normal functions with mystery. 

Now the nurse was here, a tall, grave-eyed Canadian girl, quiet ofspeech, silent in every movement. Mary had wondered if she ought to gointo Dr. Hillyard's hospital, and was infinitely relieved to have herassurance that it was unnecessary. She wanted her baby to be born herein the country, in the sweet place she had prepared for it, surrounded bythose she loved. Everything here was perfect for the advent--she couldask for nothing more. True, she was seeking comparatively little ofStefan, but she knew he was busily painting, and he was uniformly kindand affectionate when they were together. He had not been to town forover two months. 

Mrs. Farraday was a frequent caller, and Mary had grown sincerely to lovethe sweet-faced old lady, who would drive up in a low pony chaise, bringing offerings of fruit and vegetables, or quaint preserves fromrecipes unknown to Mary, which had been put up under her own direction. 

Then, too, McEwan would appear at week-ends or in the evening, trampingdown the lane to hail the house in absurd varieties of the latest NewYork slang, which, never failed to amuse Mary. The shy Jamie was oftenwith her; they were now the most intimate of friends. He would show herprimitive tools and mechanical contrivances of his own making, and shewould tell him stories of Scotland, of Prince Charlie and Flora, of Bruceand Wallace, of Bannockburn, or of James, the poet king. Of these she hada store, having been brought up, as many English girls happily are, onthe history and legends of the island, rather than on less robustfeminine fare. 

Farraday, too, sometimes dropped in in the evening, to sit on the porchwith Stefan and Mary and talk quietly of books and the like. Occasionallyhe came with McEwan or Jamie; he never came alone--though this she hadnot noticed--at hours when Stefan was unlikely to be with her. 

At the suggestion of Mrs. Farraday, whose word was the social law of thedistrict, the most charming women in the neighborhood had called on Mary, so that her circle of acquaintances was now quite wide. She had had inaddition several visits from Constance, and the Sparrow had spent a week-end with them, chirping admiration of the place and encomiums of herfriend's housekeeping. But Mary liked best to be with Stefan, or to dreamalone through the hushed, sunlit hours amid her small tasks of house andgarden. Now that the nurse was here, occupying the little bedroom openingfrom Mary's room, the final preparations had been made; there was nothingleft to do but wait. 

Miss McCullock had been with them three days, and Stefan had become usedto her quiet presence, when late one evening certain small symptoms toldher that Mary's time had come. Stefan, entering the hall, found her atthe telephone. "Dr. Hillyard will be here in about an hour and aquarter, " she said quietly, hanging up the receiver. "Do you know if shehas driven out before? If not, it might be well for you, Mr. Byrd, towalk to the foot of the lane soon, and be ready to signal the turning toher. " Miss McCullock always distrusted the nerves of husbands on theseoccasions, and planned adroitly to get them out of the way. 

Stefan stared at her as flabbergasted as if this emergency had not beenhourly expected. "Do you mean, " he gasped, "that Mary is ill?"

"She is not ill, Mr. Byrd, but the baby will probably be born beforemorning. "

"My God!" said Stefan, suddenly blanching. He had not faced this moment, had not thought about it, had indeed hardly thought about Mary'smotherhood at all except to deplore its toll upon her bodily beauty. Hehad tried for her sake, harder than she knew, to appear sympathetic, butin his heart the whole thing presented itself as nature's grotesque pricefor the early rapture of their love. That the price might be tragic aswell as grotesque had only now come home to him. He dropped on a chair, his memory flying back to the one other such event in which he had hadpart. He saw himself thrust from his mother's door--he heard her shrieks--felt himself fly again into the rain. His forehead was wet; cold tinglesran to his fingertips. 

The nurse's voice sounded, calm and pleasant, above him. A whiff ofbrandy met his nostrils. "You'd better drink this, Mr. Byrd, and then ina minute you might go and see Mrs. Byrd. You will feel better after that, I think. "

He drank, then looked up, haggard. 

"They'll give her plenty of chloroform, won't they?" he whispered, catching the nurse's hand. She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Mr. Byrd, your wife is in splendid condition, and ether will certainly begiven when it becomes advisable. "

The brandy was working now and his nerves had steadied, but he found thenurse's manner maddeningly calm. "I'll go to Mary, " he muttered, and, brushing past her, sprang up the stairs. 

What he expected to see he did not know, but his heart pounded as heopened the bedroom door. The room was bright with lamplight, and inspotless order. At her small writing-table sat Mary, in a loose whitedressing gown, her hair in smooth braids around her head, writing. Whatwas she doing? Was she leaving some last message for him, in case--? Hefelt himself grow cold again. "Mary!" he exclaimed hoarsely. 

She looked round, and called joyfully to him. 

"Oh, darling, there you are. I'm getting everything ready. It's coming, Stefan dearest. I'm so happy!" Her face was excited, radiant. 

He ran to her with a groan of relief, and, kneeling, caught her face tohis. "Oh, Beautiful, you're all right then? She told me--I was afraid--"he stumbled, inarticulate. 

She stroked his cheek comfortingly. "Dearest, isn't it wonderful--justthink--by to-morrow our baby will be here. " She kissed him, between happytears and laughter. 

"You are not in pain, darling? You're all right? What were you writingwhen I came in?" he stammered, anxiously. 

"I'm putting all the accounts straight, and paying all the bills to date, so that Lily won't have any trouble while I'm laid up, " she beamed. 

Stefan stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, then burst into half-hysterical laughter. 

"Oh, you marvel, " he gasped, "goddess of efficiency, unshakable Olympian!Bills! And I thought you were writing me a farewell message. "

"Silly boy, " she replied. "The bills have got to be paid; a nice muddleyou would be in if you had them to do yourself. But, dearest--" her facegrew suddenly grave and she took his hand--"listen. I _have_ writtenyou something--it's there--" her fingers touched an elastic bound pile ofpapers. "I'm perfectly well, but if anything _should_ happen, I wantmy sister to have the baby. Because I think, dear--" she stroked his handwith a look of compassionate understanding--"that without me you wouldnot want it very much. Miss Mason would take it to England for you, andyou could make my sister an allowance. I've left you her address, and allthat I can think of to suggest. "

He gazed at her dumbly. Her face glowed with life and beauty, her voicewas sweet and steady. There she sat, utterly mistress of herself, in theshadow of life and death. Was it that her imagination was transcendent, or that she had none? He did not know, he did not understand her, but inthat moment he could have said his prayers at her feet. 

The nurse entered. "Now, Mr. Byrd, I think if you could go to the end ofthe lane and be looking out for the doctor? Mrs. Byrd ought to have herbath. "

Stefan departed. In a dream he walked to the lane's end and waited there. He was thinking of Mary, perhaps for the first time, not as a beautifulobject of love and inspiration, nor as his companion, but as a woman. What was this calm strength, this certitude of hers? Why did her everyword and act seem to move straight forward, while his wheeled andcircled? What was it that Mary had that he had not? Of what was herinmost fiber made? It came to him that for all their loving passages hiswife was a stranger to him, and a stranger whom he had never sought toknow. He felt ashamed. 

It was about eleven o'clock when the distance was pricked by two pointsof light, which, gradually expanding, proved to be the head-lamps of thedoctor's car. She stopped at his hail and he climbed beside her. 

"I'm glad you came, though I think I know the turning, " said Dr. Hillyardcheerfully. 

"How long will it be, doctor?" he asked nervously. 

"Feeling jumpy?" she replied. "Better let me give you a bromide, and tryfor a little sleep. Don't you worry--unless we have complications it willbe over before morning. "

"Before _morning_!" he groaned. "Doctor, you won't let her suffer--you will give her something?"

He was again reassured. "Certainly. But she has a magnificent physique, with muscles which have never been allowed to soften through tightclothing or lack of exercise. I expect an easy case. Here we are, Ithink. " The swift little car stopped accurately at the gate, and thedoctor, shutting off her power, was out in a moment, bag in hand. Thenurse met them in the hall. 

"Getting on nicely--an easy first stage, " she reported. The two womendisappeared upstairs, and Stefan was left alone to live through as besthe could the most difficult hours that fall to the lot of civilized man. Presently Miss McCullock came down to him with a powder, and advice fromthe doctor anent bed, but he would take neither the one nor the other. "What a sot I should be, " he thought, picturing himself lying drugged toslumber while Mary suffered. 

By and by he ventured upstairs. Clouds of steam rose from the bathroom, brilliant light was everywhere, two white-swathed figures, scarcelyrecognizable, seemed to move with incredible speed amid a perfectlyordered chaos. All Mary's pretty paraphernalia were gone; white oil clothcovered every table, and was in its turn covered by innumerable objectssealed in stiff paper. Amid these alien surroundings Mary sat in hernightgown on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up. 

"Hello, dearest, " she called rather excitedly, "we're getting awfullybusy. " Then her face contracted. "Here comes another, " she said cheerily, and gasped a little. On that Stefan fled, with a muttered "Call me if shewants me, " to the nurse. 

He wandered to the kitchen. There was a roaring fire, but the room wasempty--even Lily had found work upstairs. For an hour more Stefanprowled--then he rang up the Farraday's house. After an interval James'voice answered him. 

"It's Byrd, Farraday, " said Stefan. "No--" quickly--"everything'sperfectly all right, perfectly, but it's going on. Could you come over?"

In fifteen minutes Farraday had dressed and was at the door, his greatcar gliding up silently beside the doctor's. As he walked in Stefan sawthat his face was quite white. 

"It was awfully good of you to come, " he said. 

"I'm so glad you asked me. My car is a sixty horsepower, if anything wereneeded. " Farraday sat down, and lighted a pipe. Stefan deliveredknowledge of the waiting machine upstairs, and then recommenced hisprowl. Back and forth through the two living rooms he walked, lighting, smoking, or throwing away endless cigarettes. Farraday sat drawing at hispipe. Neither spoke. One o'clock struck, and two. 

Presently they heard a loud growling sound, quite un-human, but with noquality of agony. It was merely as if some animal were making a supremephysical effort. In about two minutes this was repeated. Farraday's pipedropped on the hearth, Stefan tore upstairs. "What is it?" he asked atthe open door. Something large and white moved powerfully on the bed. Atthe foot bent the little doctor, her hands hidden, and at the head stoodthe nurse holding a small can. A heavy, sweet odor filled the room. 

"It's all right, " the doctor said rapidly. "Expulsive stage. She isn'tsuffering. "

"Hello, Stefan dear, " said a small, rather high voice, which made himjump violently. Then he saw a face on the pillow, its eyes closed, andits nose and mouth covered with a wire cone. In a moment there came agasp, the sheathed form drew tense, the nurse spilled a few drops fromher can upon the cone, the growling recommenced and heightened to acrescendo. Stefan had an impression of tremendous physical life, but thehuman tone of the "Hello, Stefan, " was quite gone again. 

He was backing shakily out when the doctor called to him. 

"It will be born quite soon, now, Mr. Byrd, " her cheery voice promised. 

Trembling with relief, he stumbled downstairs. Farraday was standingrigid before the fireplace, his face quite expressionless. 

"She's having ether--I don't think she's suffering. The doctor says quitesoon, now, " Stefan jerked out. 

"I'm thankful, " said Farraday, quietly. 

He stooped and picked up his fallen pipe, but it took him a long time torefill it--particles of tobacco kept showering to the rug from hisfingers. Stefan, with a new cigarette, resumed his prowl. 

Midsummer dawn was breaking. The lamplight began to pale before theglimmer of the windows. A sleepy bird chirped, the room becamemysterious. 

There had been rapid steps overhead for some moments, and now the two menbecame aware that the tiger-like sounds had quite ceased. The stepsoverhead quieted. Farraday put out the lamp, and the blue light floodedthe room. 

A bird called loudly, and another answered it, high, repeatedly. Thenotes were right over their heads; they rose higher, insistent. They werenot the notes of a bird. The nurse appeared at the door and looked atStefan. 

"Your son is born, " she said. 

Instantly to both men it was as if eerie bonds, drawn over-taut, hadsnapped, releasing them again to the physical world about them. The highmystery was over; life was human and kindly once again. Farraday droppedinto his chair and held a hand across his eyes. Stefan threw both armsround Miss McCullock's shoulders and hugged her like a child. 

"Oh, hurrah!" he cried, almost sobbing with relief. "Bless you, nurse. Isshe all right?"

"She's perfect--I've never seen finer condition. You can come up in a fewminutes, the doctor says, and see her before she goes to sleep. "

"There's nothing needed, nurse?" asked Farraday, rising. 

"Nothing at all, thank you. "

"Then I'll be getting home, Byrd, " he said, offering his hand to Stefan. "My warmest congratulations. Let me know if there's anything I can do. "

Stefan shook the proffered hand with a deeper liking than he had yet feltfor this silent man. 

"I'm everlastingly grateful to you, Farraday, for helping me out, andMary will be, too. I don't know how I could have stood it alone. "

Stefan mounted the stairs tremblingly, to pause in amazement at the doorof Mary's room. A second transformation had, as if by magic, taken place. The lights were out. The dawn smiled at the windows, through which agentle breeze ruffled the curtains. Gone were all evidences of thenight's tense drama; tables and chairs were empty; the room looked calmand spacious. 

On the bed Mary lay quiet, her form hardly outlined under the smoothcoverlet. Half fearfully he let his eyes travel to the pillow, dreadinghe knew not what change. Instantly, relief overwhelmed him. Her face wasradiant, her cheeks pink--she seemed to glow with a sublimated happiness. Only in her eyes lay any traces of the night--they were still heavy fromthe anaesthetic, but they shone lovingly on him, as though deep lightswere behind them. 

"Darling, " she whispered, "we've got a little boy. Did you worry? Itwasn't anything--only the most thrilling adventure that's ever happenedto me. "

He looked at her almost with awe--then, stooping, pressed his face to thepillow beside hers. 

"Were they merciful to you, Beautiful?" he whispered back. Weakly, herhand found his head. 

"Yes, darling, they were wonderful. I was never quite unconscious, yet itwasn't a bit bad--only as if I were in the hands of some prodigiousforce. They showed me the baby, too--just for a minute. I want to see himagain now--with you. "

Stefan looked up. Dr. Hillyard was in the doorway of the little room. Shenodded, and in a moment reappeared, carrying a small white bundle. 

"Here he is, " she said; "he weighs eight and a half pounds. You can bothlook at him for a moment, and then Mrs. Byrd must go to sleep. " She putthe bundle gently down beside Mary, whose head turned toward it. 

Almost hidden in folds of flannel Stefan saw a tiny red face, its eyesclosed, two microscopic fists doubled under its chin. It conveyed nothingto him except a sense of amazement. 

"He's asleep, " whispered Mary, "but I saw his eyes--they are blue. Isn'the pretty?" Her own eyes, soft with adoration, turned from her son toStefan. Then they drooped, drowsily. 

"She's falling off, " said the doctor under her breath, recovering thebaby. "They'll both sleep for several hours now. Lily is getting us somebreakfast--wouldn't you like some, too, Mr. Byrd?"

Stefan felt grateful for her normal, cheery manner, and for Mary's suddendrowsiness; they seemed to cover what he felt to be a failure in himself. He had been unable to find one word to say about the baby. 

At breakfast, served by the sleepy but beaming Lily, Stefan was dazed bythe bearing of doctor and nurse. These two women, after a night spent inwork of an intensity and scope beyond his powers to gage, appeared asfresh and normal as if they had just risen from sleep, while he, unshavedand rumpled, could barely control his racked nerves and heavy head, across which doctor and nurse discussed their case with animation. 

"We are all going to bed, Mr. Byrd, " said the doctor at last, noting hisexhausted aspect. "I shall get two or, three hours' nap on the sofabefore going back to town, and I hope you will take a thorough rest. "

Stefan rose rather dizzily from his unfinished meal. 

"Please take my room, " he said, "I couldn't stay in the house--I'm goingout. " He found the atmosphere of alert efficiency created by these womenutterly insupportable. The house stifled him with its teeming femininelife. In it he felt superfluous, futile. Hurrying out, he stumbled downthe slope and, stripping, dived into the water. Its cold touch robbed himof thought; he became at once merely one of Nature's straying childrenreturned again to her arms. 

Swimming back, he drew on his clothes, and mounting to the garden, threwhimself face down upon the grass, and fell asleep under the morning sun. 

He dreamed that a drum was calling him. Its beat, muffled and irregular, yet urged him forward. A flag waved dazzlingly before his eyes; its foldsstifled him. He tried to move, yet could not--the drum called ever moreurgently. He started awake, to find himself on his back, the sun beatinginto his face, and the doctor's machine chugging down the lane. 

VII

The little June baby at the Byrdsnest was very popular with theneighborhood. During the summer it seemed to Stefan that the house wasnever free of visitors who came to admire the child, guess his weight, and exclaim at his mother's health. 

As a convalescent, Mary was, according to Constance Elliot, a completefraud. Except for her hair, which had temporarily lost some of itselasticity, she had never looked so radiant. She was out of bed on theninth day, and walking in the garden on the twelfth. The behavior of thebaby--who was a stranger to artificial food--was exemplary; he neverfretted, and cried only when he was hungry. But as his appetite troubledhim every three hours during the day, and every four at night, heappeared to Stefan to cry incessantly, and his strenuous wail would drivehis father from house to barn, and from barn to woods. Lured from one ofthese retreats by an interval of silence, Stefan was as likely as not tofind an auto at the gate and hear exclamatory voices proceeding from thenursery, when he would fade into the woods again like a wild thingfearful of the trap. 

His old dislike of his kind reasserted itself. It is one thing to besurrounded by pretty women proclaiming you the greatest artist of yourday, and quite another to listen while they exclaim on the perfections ofyour offspring and the health of your wife. For the first type ofconversation Stefan had still an appetite; with the second he was quicklysurfeited. 

Nor were women his only tormentors. The baby spent much of its time inthe garden, and every Sunday Stefan would find McEwan planted on thelawn, prodding the infant with a huge forefinger, and exploding intofatuous mirth whenever he deluded himself into believing he had made itsmile. Of late Stefan had begun to tolerate this man, but after threesuch exhibitions decided to blacklist him permanently as an insufferableidiot. Even Farraday lost ground in his esteem, for, though guilty of nobanalities, he had a way of silently hovering over the baby-carriagewhich Stefan found mysteriously irritating. Jamie alone of theirmasculine friends seemed to adopt a comprehensible attitude, for hebacked away in hasty alarm whenever the infant, in arms or carriage, boredown upon him. On several occasions when the Farraday household invadedthe Byrdsnest Stefan and Jamie together sneaked away in search of anenvironment more seemly for their sex. 

"You are the only creature I know just now, Jamie, " Stefan said, "withany sense of proportion;" and these two outcasts from notice would trampmoodily through the woods, the boy faithfully imitating Stefan's slouchand his despondent way of carrying his hands thrust in his pockets. 

There were no more tales of Scotland for Jamie in these days, and as forStefan he hardly saw his wife. True, she always brightened when he camein and mutely evinced her desire that he should remain, but she was neverhis. While he talked her eye would wander to the cradle, or if they werein another room her ear would be constantly strained to catch a cry. Inthe midst of a pleasant interlude she would jump to her feet with amurmured "Dinner time, " or "He must have some water now, " and be gone. 

Stefan did not sleep with her--as he could not endure being disturbed atnight--and she took a long nap every afternoon, so that at best the hoursavailable for him were few. Any visitor, he thought morosely, won moreattention from her than he did, and this was in a sense true, for thevisitors openly admired the baby--the heart of Mary's life--and he didnot. 

He did not know how intensely she longed for this, how she ached to seeStefan jab his finger at the baby as McEwan did, or watch it with thetender smile of Farraday. She tried a thousand simple wiles to bring tolife the father in him. About to nurse the baby, she would call Stefan tosee his eager search for the comfort of her breast, looking up in proudjoy as the tiny mouth was satisfied. 

At the very first, when the baby was newborn, Stefan had watched thisrite with some interest, but now he only fidgeted, exclaiming, "You arelooking wonderfully fit, Mary, " or "Greedy little beggar, isn't he?" Henever spoke of his old idea of painting her as a Madonna. If she drew hisattention to the baby's tiny hands or feet, he would glance carelessly atthem, with a "They're all right, " or "I'll like them better when they'rebigger. "

Once, as they were going to bed, she showed Stefan the baby lying on hischest, one fist balled on either side of the pillow, the downy back ofhis head shining in the candle-light. She stooped and kissed it. 

"His head is too deliciously soft and warm, Stefan; do kiss it good-night. "

His face contracted into an expression of distaste. "No, " he said, "Ican't kiss babies, " and left the room. 

She felt terribly, unnecessarily hurt. It was so difficult for her tomake advances, so fatally easy for him to rebuff them. 

After that, she did not draw the baby to his attention again. 

Perhaps, had the child been a girl, Stefan would have felt more sentimentabout it. A girl baby, lying like a pink bud among the roses of thegarden, might have appealed to that elfin imagination which largely tookthe place in him of romance--but a boy! A boy was merely in his eyesanother male, and Stefan considered the world far too full of menalready. 

He sealed his attitude when the question of the child's name came up. Mary had fallen into a habit of calling it "Little Stefan, " or "Steve"for short, and one morning, as the older Stefan crossed the lawn to hisstudio her voice floated down from the nursery in an improvised song toher "Stefan Baby. " He bounded upstairs to her. 

"Mary, " he called, "you are surely not going to call that infant by myname?"

Mary, her lap enveloped in aprons and towels, looked up from the bath inwhich her son was practising tentative kicks. 

"Why, yes, dear, I thought we'd christen him after you, as he's theeldest. Don't you think that would be nice?" She looked puzzled. 

"No, I do not!" Stefan snorted emphatically. "For heaven's sake give thechild a name of his own, and let me keep mine. My God, one Stefan Byrd isenough in the world, I should think!"

"Well, dear, what shall we call him, then?" she asked, lowering her headover the baby to hide her hurt. 

"Give him your own name if you want to. After all, he's your child. Elliston Byrd wouldn't sound at all bad. "

"Very well, " said Mary slowly. "I think the Dad would have been pleasedby that. " In spite of herself, her voice trembled. 

"Good Lord, Mary, I haven't hurt you, have I?" He looked exasperated. 

She shook her head, still bending over the baby. 

"It's all right, dear, " she whispered. 

"You're so soft nowadays, one hardly dare speak, " he muttered. "Sorry, dear, " and with a penitent kiss for the back of her neck he hasteneddownstairs again. 

The christening was held two weeks later, in the small Episcopalianchurch of Crab's Bay. Stefan could see no reason for it, as neither henor Mary was orthodox, but when he suggested omitting the ceremony shelooked at him wide-eyed. 

"Not christen him, Stefan? Oh, I don't think that would be fair, " shesaid. Her manner was simple, but there was finality in her tone--it madehim feel that wherever her child was concerned she would be adamant. 

The baby's godmother was, of course, Constance, and his godfathers, equally obviously, Farraday and McEwan. Mary made the ceremony theoccasion of a small at-home, inviting the numerous friends from whom shehad received congratulations or gifts for the baby. 

Miss Mason had insisted on herself baking the christening cake; Farradayas usual supplied a sheaf of flowers. In the drawing room the littleElliston's presents were displayed, a beautiful old cup from Farraday, achristening robe, and a spoon, "pusher, " and fork from Constance, asilver bowl "For Elliston's porridge from his friend Wallace McEwan, " anda Bible in stout leather binding from Mrs. Farraday, inscribed in herdelicate, slanting hand. There was even a napkin ring from the baby'saunt in England, who was much relieved that her too-independent sisterhad married a successful artist and done her duty by the family sopromptly. 

Mary was naively delighted with these offerings. 

"He has got everything I should have liked him to have!" she exclaimed asshe arranged them. 

Stefan, led to the font, showed all the nervousness he had omitted at thealtar, but looked very handsome in a suit of linen crash, while Mary, inwhite muslin, was at her glowing best. 

Constance was inevitably late, for, like most American women, she did notcarry her undeniable efficiency to the point of punctuality. At the lastmoment, however, she dashed up to the church with the élan of atriumphant general, bearing her husband captive in the tonneau, and noless a person than Gunther, the distinguished sculptor, on the seatbeside her. 

"I know you did not ask him, but he's so handsome I thought he ought tobe here, " she whispered inconsequentially to Mary after the ceremony. 

Of their many acquaintances few were unrepresented except Miss Berber, towhom Mary had felt disinclined to send an invitation. She had soundedStefan on the subject, but had been answered by a "Certainly not!" soemphatic as to surprise her. 

At the house Gunther, with his great height and magnificent viking head, was unquestionably the hit of the afternoon. Holding the baby, which layconfidently in his powerful hands, he examined its head, arms and legswith professional interest, while every woman in the room watched himadmiringly. 

"This baby, Mrs. Byrd, is the finest for his age I have ever seen, and Ihave modeled many of them, " he pronounced, handing it back to Mary, whoblushed to her forehead with pleasure. "Not that I am surprised, " he wenton, staring frankly at her, "when I look at his mother. I am doing somegroups for the Pan-American exhibition next year in San Francisco. If youcould give me any time, I should very much like to use your head and thebaby's. I shall try and arrange it with you, " and he nodded as if thatsettled the matter. 

"Oh, " gasped Constance, "you have all the luck. Mary! Mr. Gunther hasknown me for years, but have _I_ had a chance to sit for him? I feelmyself turning green, and as my gown is yellow it will be mostunbecoming!" And seizing Farraday as if for consolation, she bore him tothe dining room to find a drink. 

Stefan, who was interested in Gunther, tried to get him to the barn tosee his pictures; but the sculptor would not move his eyes from Mary, andStefan, considerably bored, was obliged to content himself with showingthe studio to some of his prettiest neighbors. 

Nor did his spirits improve when the party came to an end. 

"Bon Dieu!" he cried, flinging himself fretfully into a chair. "Is ourhouse never to be free of chattering women? The only person here to-daywho speaks my language was Gunther, and you never gave me a chance athim. "

Mary gasped, too astonished at this accusation to refute it. 

"Ever since we came down here, " he went on irritably, "the place hasseethed with people, and overflowed with domesticity. I never hear oneword spoken except on the subject of furniture, gardening and babies! Ican't work in such an environment; it stifles all imagination. As foryou, Mary--"

He looked up at her. She was standing, stricken motionless, in the centerof the room. Her hair, straighter than of old, seemed to droop over herears; her form under its loose muslin dress showed soft and blurred, itsclean-cut lines gone, while her face, almost as white as the gown, waswoe-begone, the eyes dark with tears. She stood there like a hurt child, all her courageous gallantry eclipsed by this unkind ending to her happyday. Stefan rose to his feet and faced her, searching for some phrasethat could express his sense of deprivation. He had the instinct to stabher into a full realization of what she was losing in his eyes. 

"Mary, " he cried almost wildly, "your wings are gone!" and rushed out ofthe room. 

PART IV

WINGS

I

One evening early in October Mary telephoned Farraday to ask if she couldconsult him with reference to the Byrdsnest. He walked over after dinner, to find her alone in the sitting room, companioned by a wood fire and thetwo sleeping lovebirds. 

James had been very busy at the office for some time, and it was two orthree weeks since he had seen Mary. Now, as he sat opposite her, itseemed to him that the leaping firelight showed unaccustomed shadows inher cheeks and under her eyes, and that her color was less bright thanformerly. Was it merely the result of her care of her baby, he wondered, or was there something more?

"I fear we've already outstayed our time here, Mr. Farraday, " Mary wassaying, "and yet I am going to ask you for an extension. "

Farraday lit a cigarette. 

"My dear Mrs. Byrd, stay as long as you like. "

"But you don't know the measure of my demands, " she went on, with ahesitating smile. "They are so extensive that I'm ashamed. I love thislittle place, Mr. Farraday; it's the first real home I've ever had of myown. And Baby does so splendidly here--I can't bear the thought of takinghim to the city. How long might I really hope to stay withoutinconveniencing you? I mean, of course, at a proper rent. "

"As far as I am concerned, " he smiled back at her, "I shall be overjoyedto have you stay as long as the place attracts you. If you like, I willgive you a lease--a year, two, or three, as you will, so that you couldfeel settled, or an option to renew after the first year. "

"But, Mr. Farraday, your mother told me that you used to use the place, and in the face of that I don't know how I have the selfishness to askyou for any time at all, to say nothing of a lease!"

"Mrs. Byrd. " Farraday threw his cigarette into the fire, and, leaningforward, stared at the flames, his hands clasped between his knees. "Letme tell you a sentimental little story, which no one else knows exceptour friend Mac. " He smiled whimsically. 

"When I was a young man I was very much in love, and looked forward tohaving a home of my own, and children. But I was unfortunate--I did notsucceed in winning the woman I loved, and as I am slow to change, I madeup my mind that my dream home would never come true. But I was very fondof my 'cottage in the air, ' and some years later, when this little housebecame empty, I arranged it to look as nearly as I could as that othermight have done. I used to sit here sometimes and pretend that my shadowswere real. You will laugh at me, but I even have in my desk plans for anaddition, an ell, containing a play room and nurseries. "

Mary gave a little pitiful exclamation, and touched his clasped hands. Meeting her eyes, he saw them dewy with sympathy. 

"You are very gracious to a sentimental old bachelor, " he said, with hiswinning smile. "But these ghosts were bad for me. I was in danger ofbecoming absurdly self-centered, almost morbidly introspective. Mac, whose heart is the biggest I know, and who laughs away more troubles thanI ever dreamed of, rallied me about it, and showed me that I ought toturn my disappointment to some use. This was about ten years ago, whenhis own life fell to pieces. I had been associated with magazines forsome time, and knew how little that was really good found its way intothe plainer people's homes. At Mac's suggestion I bought an insolventmonthly, and began to remodel it. 'You've got the home-and-children bug;well, do something for other people's'--was the way Mac put it to me. Later we started the two other magazines, always keeping before us ouraim of giving the average home the best there is. To-day, though I haveno children of my own, I like to think I'm a sort of uncle to thousands. "

He leant back, still staring into the fire. There was silence for aminute; a log fell with a crash and a flight of sparks--Farraday replacedit. 

"Well, Mrs. Byrd, " he went on, "all this time the little ghost-housestood empty. No one used it but myself. It was made for a woman and forchildren, yet in my selfishness I locked its door against those whoshould rightfully have enjoyed it. Mac urged me to use it as a holidayhouse for poor mothers from the city, but, somehow, I could not bringmyself to evict its dream-mistress. "

"Oh, I feel more than ever a trespasser!" exclaimed Mary. 

He shook his head. "No, you have redeemed the place from futility--youare its justification. " He paused again, and continued in a lower tone, "Mrs. Byrd, you won't mind my saying this--you are so like that lady oflong ago that the house seems yours by natural right. I think I was onlywaiting for someone who would love and understand it--some golden-hairedyoung mother, like yourself, to give the key to. I can't tell you howhappy it makes me that the little house should at last fulfil itself. Please keep it for as long as you need it--it will always need you. "

Mary was much moved: "I can't thank you, Mr. Farraday, but I feel deeplyhonored. Perhaps my best thanks lie just in loving the house, and I dothat, with all my heart. You don't mind my foolish little name for it?"

"The Byrdsnest? I think it perfect. "

"And you don't mind either the alterations I have made?"

"My dear friend, while you keep this house I want it to be yours. Shouldyou wish to take a long lease, and enlarge it, I shall be happy. In fact, I will sell it to you, if in the future you would care to buy. My onlystipulation would be an option to repurchase should you decide to give itup. " He took her hand. "The Byrdsnest belongs to Elliston's mother; letus both understand that. "

Her lips trembled. "You are good to me. "

"No, it is you who are good to the dreams of a sentimentalist. And now--"he sat back smilingly--"that is settled. Tell me the news. How is mygodson, how is Mr. Byrd, how fares the sable Lily?"

"Baby weighs fourteen and a half pounds, " she said proudly; "he is simplyperfect. Lily is an angel. " She paused, and seemed to continue almostwith an effort. "Stefan is very busy. He does not care to paint autumnlandscapes, so he has begun work again in the city. He's doing afantastic study of Miss Berber, and is very much pleased with it. "

"That's good, " said Farraday, evenly. 

"But I've got more news for you, " she went on, brightening. "I've had agood deal more time lately, Stefan being so much in town, and Baby'shabits so regular. Here's the result. "

She fetched from the desk a pile of manuscript, neatly penned, and laidit on her guest's knee. 

"This is the second thing I wanted to consult you about. It's a book-length story for children, called 'The House in the Wood. ' I've writtenthe first third, and outlined the rest. Here's the list of chapters. Itis supposed to be for children between eight and fourteen, and was firstsuggested to me by this house. There is a family of four children, and aregulation father and mother, nurse, governess, and grandmother. Theylive in the country, and the children find a little deserted cottagewhich they adopt to play in. The book is full of their adventures in it. My idea is--" she sat beside him, her eyes brightening with interest--"tosuggest all kinds of games to the children who read the story, which seemthrilling, but are really educational. It's quite a moral little book, I'm afraid, " she laughed, "but I think story books should describeadventures which may be within the scope of the ordinary child's life, don't you? I'm afraid it isn't a work of art, but I hope--if I can workout the scheme--it may give some practical ideas to mothers who don'tknow how to amuse their children. .. . There, Mr. Editor, what is yourverdict?"

Farraday was turning the pages in his rapid, absorbed way. He nodded andsmiled as he looked. 

"I think it's a good idea, Mrs. Byrd; just the sort of thing we arealways on the lookout for. The subject might be trite enough, but Isuspect you of having lent it charm and freshness. Of course the familyis English, which is a disadvantage, but I see you've mixed in a smallAmerican visitor, and that he's beginning to teach the others a thing ortwo! Where did you learn such serpent wisdom, young lady?"

She laughed, amazed as she had been a year ago at his lightning-likeapprehension. 

"It isn't humbug. I do think an American child could teach ours at home alot about inventiveness, independence, and democracy--just as I thinkours might teach him something about manners, " she added, smiling. 

"Admitted, " said he, laying down the manuscript, "and thank you forletting me see this. I claim the first refusal. Finish it, have it typed, and send it in, and if I can run it as a serial in The Child at Home, Ishall be tremendously pleased to do so. If it goes, it ought to come outin book form, illustrated. "

"You really think the idea has something in it?"

"I certainly do, and you know how much I believe in your work. "

"Oh, I'm _so_ glad, " she exclaimed, looking far more cheerful thanhe had seen her that evening. 

He rose to go, and held her hand a moment in his friendly grasp. 

"Good night, dear Mrs. Byrd; give my love to Elliston, and remember thatin him and your work you have two priceless treasures which, even alone, will give you happiness. "

"Oh, I know, " she said, her eyes shining; "good night, and thank you forthe house. "

"Good night, and in the house's name, thank you, " he answered from thedoor. 

As she closed it, the brightness slowly faded from Mary's face. Shelooked at the clock--it was past ten. 

"Not to-night, either, " she said to herself. Her hand wandered to thetelephone in the hall, but she drew it back. "No, better not, " shethought, and, putting out the lights, walked resolutely upstairs. As, candle in hand, she passed the door of Stefan's room, she looked in. Hisbed was smooth; a few trifles lay in orderly array upon his dressingtable; boots, from which the country dust had been wiped days ago, stoodwith toes turned meekly to the wall. They looked lonely, she thought. 

With a sigh, she entered her own room, and passed through it to thenursery. There lay her baby, soundly sleeping, his cheek on the pillow, his little fists folded under his chin. How beautiful he looked, shethought; how sweet his little room, how fresh and peaceful all the house!It was the home of love--love lay all about her, in the kind protectionof the trees, in the nests of the squirrels, in the voices and faces ofher friends, and in her heart. Love was all about her, and the sweetnessof young life--and she was utterly lonely. One short year ago she thoughtshe would never know loneliness again--only a year ago. 

The candle wavered in her hand; a drop of wax fell on the baby's spotlesscoverlet. Stooping, she blew upon it till it was cold, and carefullybroke it off. She sat down in a low rocking chair, and lifting the baby, gave him his good-night nursing. He barely opened his sleep-laden eyes. She kissed him, made him tidy for the night, and laid him down, waitingwhile he cuddled luxuriously back to sleep. 

"Little Stefan, little Stefan, " she whispered. 

Then, leaving the nursery door ajar, she undressed noiselessly, and laydown on the cool, empty bed. 

II

The following afternoon about teatime Stefan bicycled up from thestation. Mary, who was in the sitting room, heard him calling from thegate, but did not go to meet him. He hurried into the room and kissed herhalf-turned cheek effusively. 

"Well, dear, aren't you glad to see me?" he asked rather nervously. 

"Do you know that you've been away six days, Stefan, and have onlytroubled to telephone me twice?" she answered, in a voice carefullycontrolled. 

"You don't mean it!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea it was so long. "

"Hadn't you?"

He fidgeted. "Well, dear, you know I'm frightfully keen on this newpicture, and the journeys back and forth waste so much time. But as forthe telephoning, I'm awfully sorry. I've been so absorbed I simply didn'tremember. Why didn't you ring me up?"

"I didn't wish to interrupt a sitting. I rang twice in the evenings, butyou were out. "

"Yes; I've been trying to amuse myself a little. " He was rocking from onefoot to the other like a detected schoolboy. 

"Hang it all, Mary, " he burst out, "don't be so judicial. One must havesome pleasure--I can't sit about this cottage all the time. "

"I don't think I've asked you to do that. "

"You haven't, but you seem to be implying the request now. "

She was chilled to silence, having no heart to reason him out of sounreasonable a defense. 

"Well, anyway, " he said, flinging himself on the sofa, "here I am, solet's make the best of it. Tea ready?"

"It's just coming. "

"That's good. When are you coming up to see the picture? It's going to bethe best I've done. I shall get Constantine to exhibit it and that stickof a Demeter together, and then the real people and the fools will bothhave something to admire. "

"You say this will be your best?" asked Mary, whom the phrase hadstabbed. 

"Well, " he said reflectively, lighting a cigarette, "perhaps not betterthan the Danaë in one sense--it hasn't as much feeling, but has moreoriginality. Miss Berber is such an unusual type--she's quite aninspiration. "

"And I'm not, any more, " Mary could not help adding in a muffled voice. 

"Don't be so literal, my dear; of course you are, but not for this sortof picture. " The assurance sounded perfunctory. 

"Thank goodness, here comes the tea, " he exclaimed as Lily entered withthe tray. "Hullo, Lily; how goes it?"

"Fine, Mr. Byrd, but we've shorely missed you, " she answered, withsomething less than her usual wholehearted smile. 

"Well, you must rejoice, now that the prodigal has returned, " he grinned. "Mary, you haven't answered my question yet--when are you coming in tosee the picture? Why not to-morrow? I'm dying to show it to you. "

She flushed. "I can't come, Stefan; it's impossible to leave Baby solong. "

"Well, bring him with you. "

"That wouldn't be possible, either; it would disturb his sleep, and upsethim. "

"There you are!" he exclaimed, ruffling his hair. "I can't work downhere, and you can't come to town--how can I help seeming to neglect you?Look here"--he had drunk his tea at a gulp, and now held out his cup formore--"if you're lonely, why not move back to the city--then you couldkeep your eye on me!" and he grinned again. 

For some time Mary had feared this suggestion--she had not yet discussedwith Stefan her desire to stay in the country. She pressed her handstogether nervously. 

"Stefan, do you really want me to move back?"

"I want you to do whatever will make you happier, " he temporized. 

"If you really needed me there I would come. But you are always soabsorbed when you're working, and I am so busy with Baby, that I don'tbelieve we should have much more time together than now. "

"Neither do I, " he agreed, in a tone suspiciously like relief, which shewas quick to catch. 

"On the other hand, " she went on, "this place is far better for Baby, andI am devoted to it. We couldn't afford anything half as comfortable inthe city, and you like it, too, in the summer. "

"Of course I do, " he answered cheerfully. "I should hate to give it up, and I'm sure it's much more economical, and all that. Still, if you stayhere through the winter you mustn't be angry if I am in town part of thetime--my work has got to come first, you know. "

"Yes, of course, dear, " said Mary, wistfully, "and I think it would be amistake for me to come unless you really wanted me. "

"Of course I want you, Beautiful. "

He spoke easily, but she was not deceived. She knew he was glad of thearrangement, not for her sake, but for his own. She had watched himfretting for weeks past, like a caged bird, and she had the wisdom to seethat her only hope of making him desire the nest again lay in giving himfreedom from it. Her pride fortified this perception. As she had saidlong ago, Mary was no bargainer. 

In spite of her comprehension, however, she warmed toward him. It was sogood to see him lounging on the sofa again, his green-gold eyes bright, his brown face with its elfish smile radiant now that his point was won. She knew he had been unkind to her both in word and act, but it wasimpossible not to forgive him, now that she enjoyed again the comfort ofhis presence. 

Smiling, she poured out his third cup of tea, and was just passing itwhen there was a knock, and McEwan entered the hall. 

"Hello, Byrd, " he called, his broad shoulders blocking the sitting roomdoor as he came in; "down among the Rubes again? Madam Mary, I accept inadvance your offer of tea. Well, how goes the counterfeit presentment ofour friend Twinkle-Toes?"

Stefan's eyebrows went up. "Do you mean Miss Berber?"

"Yes, " said McEwan, with an aggravating smile, as he devoured a slice ofcake. "We're all expecting another ten-strike. Are you depicting her as atoe-shaker or a sartorial artist?"

"Really, Wallace, " protested Mary, who had grown quite intimate withMcEwan, "you are utterly incorrigible in your Yankee vein--you respect noone. "

"I respect the President of these United States, " said he solemnly, raising an imaginary hat. 

"That's more than I do, " snorted Stefan; "a pompous Puritan!"

"For goodness' sake, don't start him on politics, Wallace, " said Mary;"he has a contempt for every public man in America except Roosevelt andBill Heywood. "

"So I have, " replied Stefan; "they are the only two with a spark of thepicturesque, or one iota of originality. "

"You ought to paint their pictures arm in arm, with Taft floating on acloud crowning them with a sombrero and a sandbag, Bryan pouring grape-juice libations, and Wilson watchfully waiting in the background. Labelit 'Morituri salutamus'--I bet it would sell, " said McEwan hopefully. 

Mary laughed heartily, but Stefan did not conceal his boredom. "Why don'tyou go into vaudeville, McEwan?" he frowned. 

"Solely out of consideration for the existing stars, " McEwan sighed, putting down his cup and rising. "Well, chin music hath charms, but Imust toddle to the house, or I shall get in bad with Jamie. My love toElliston, Mary. Byrd, I warn you that my well-known critical facultyneeds stimulation; I mean to drop in at the studio ere long to slam thelatest masterpiece. So long, " and he grinned himself out before Stefan'srising irritation had a chance to explode. 

"Why do you let that great tomfool call you by your first name, Mary?" hedemanded, almost before the front door was shut. 

"Wallace is one of the kindest men alive, and I'm quite devoted to him. Iadmit, though, that he seems to enjoy teasing you. "

"Teasing me!" Stefan scoffed; "it's like an elephant teasing a fly. Heobliterates me. "

"Well, don't be an old crosspatch, " she smiled, determined now they werealone again to make the most of him. 

"You are a good sort, Mary, " he said, smiling in reply; "it's restful tobe with you. Sing to me, won't you?" He stretched luxuriously on thesofa. 

She obeyed, glad enough of the now rare opportunity of pleasing him. Farraday had brought her some Norse ballads not long before; their sadelfin cadences had charmed her. She sang these now, touching the pianolightly for fear of waking the sleeping baby overhead. Turning to Stefanat the end, she found him sound asleep, one arm drooping over the sofa, the nervous lines of his face smoothed like a tired child's. For somereason she felt strangely pitiful toward him. "He must be very tired, poor boy, " she thought. 

Crossing to the kitchen, she warned Lily not to enter the sitting room, and herself slipped upstairs to the baby. Stefan slept till dinner time, and for the rest of the evening was unusually kind and quiet. 

As they went up to bed Mary turned wistfully to him. 

"Wouldn't you like to look at Elliston? You haven't seen him for a longtime. "

"Bless me, I suppose I haven't--let's take a peep at him. "

Together they bent over the cradle. "Why, he's looking quite human. Ithink he must have grown!" his father whispered, apparently surprised. "Does he make much noise at night nowadays, Mary?"

"No, hardly any. He just whimpers at about two o'clock, and I get up andnurse him. Then he sleeps till after six. "

"If you don't mind, then, " said Stefan, "I think I will sleep with youto-night. I feel as if it would rest me. "

"Of course, dearest. " She felt herself blushing. Was she really going tobe loved again? She smiled happily at him. 

When they were in bed Stefan curled up childishly, and putting one armabout her, fell asleep almost instantly, his head upon her shoulder. Marylay, too happy for sleep, listening to his quiet breathing, until hershoulder ached and throbbed under his head. She would not move for fearof waking him, and remained wide-eyed and motionless until her baby'svoice called to her. 

Then, with infinite care, she slipped away, her arm and shoulder numb, but her heart lighter than it had been for many weeks. 

She had forgotten to put out her dressing gown, and would not open thecloset door, because it creaked. Little Elliston was leisurely over hisrepast, and she was stiff with cold when at last she stole back into bed. Stefan lay upon his side. She crept close, and in her turn put an armabout him. He was here again, her man, and her child was close at hand, warm and comforted from her breast. Love was all about her, and to-nightshe was not mocked. Warm again from his touch, she, too, fell at last, with all the dreaming house, asleep. 

III

Stefan stayed at home for several days, sleeping long hours, andseemingly unusually subdued. He would lie reading on the sofa while Marywrote, and often she turned from her manuscript to find him dozing. Theytook a few walks together, during which he rarely spoke, but seemed gladof her silent company. Once he called with her on Mrs. Farraday, andactually held an enormous skein of wool for the old lady while she, busily winding, told them anecdotes of her son James, and of her longdead husband. He made no effort to talk, seeming content to sit receptiveunder the soothing flow of her reminiscences. 

"Thee is a good boy, " said the little lady, patting his hand kindly asthe last shred of wool was wound. 

"I'm afraid not, ma'am, " said he, dropping quaintly into the address ofhis childhood. "I'm just a rudderless boat staggering under topheavysails. "

"Thee has a sure harbor, son, " she answered, turning her gentle eyes onMary. 

He seemed about to say more, but checked himself. Instead he rose andkissed the little lady's hand. 

"You are one of those who never lose their harbor, Mrs. Farraday. We'reall glad to lower sail in yours. "

On the way home Mary linked her arm in his. 

"You were so sweet to her, dear, " she said. 

"You're wondering why I can't always be like that, eh, Mary!"

She laughed and nodded, pressing his arm. 

"Well, I can't, worse luck, " he answered, frowning. 

That evening, while they sat in the dining room over their dessert, thetelephone bell rang. Stefan jumped hastily to answer it, as if he feltsure it was for him, and he proved right. 

"Yes, this is I, " he replied, after his first "hello, " in what seemed toMary an artificial voice. 

There was a pause; then she heard him say, "You can?" delightedly, followed by "To-morrow morning at ten? Hurrah! No more wasted time; weshall really get on now. " Another pause, then, "Oh, what does it matterabout the store?" impatiently--and at last "Well, to-morrow, anyway. Yes. Good-bye. " The receiver clicked into place, and Stefan came skipping backinto the room radiant, his languor of the last few days completely gone. 

Mary's heart sank like a stone. It was too obvious that he had stayed athome, not to be with her, but merely because his sitter was unobtainable. 

"Cheers, Mary; back to work to-morrow, " he exclaimed, attacking hisdessert with vigor. "I've been slacking shamefully, but Felicity is sowrapped up in that store of hers I can't get her half the time. Now she'scontrite, and is going to sit to-morrow. "

Mary, remembering his remark about McEwan, longed to say, "Why do youcall that little vulgarian by her first name?" but retaliatory methodswere impossible to her. She contented herself with asking if he would behome the next evening. 

"Why, yes, I expect so, " he answered, looking vague, "but don'tabsolutely count on me, Mary. I've been very good this week. "

She saw that he was gone again. His return had been more in the body thanthe spirit, after all. If that had been wooed a little back to her it hadwinged away again at the first sound of the telephone. She told herselfthat it was only his work calling him, that he would have been equallyeager over any other sitter. But she was not sure. 

"Brace up, Mary, " he called across at her, "you're not being deserted. Good heavens, I must work!" His impatient frown was gathering. Shecollected herself, smiled cheerfully, and rose, telling Lily they wouldhave coffee in the sitting room. 

He spent the evening before the fire, smoking, and making thumbnailsketches on a piece of notepaper. She sang for some time, but withouteliciting any comment from him. When they went up to bed he stopped athis own door. 

"I think I'll sleep alone to-night, dear. I want to be fresh to-morrow. Good night, " and he kissed her cheek. 

When she came down in the morning he had already gone. Lying on thesitting room table, where it had been placed by the careful Lily, lay thescrap of notepaper he had been scribbling on the night before. It wascovered with tiny heads, and figures of mermaids, dancing nymphs, anddryads. All in face or figure suggested Felicity Berber. 

She laid it back on the table, dropping a heavy book over it. A littlelater, while she was giving Elliston his bath, it suddenly occurred toMary that her husband had never once during his stay alluded to hermanuscript, and never looked at the baby except when she had asked himto. She excused him to herself with the plea of his temperament, and hisabsorption in his art, but nevertheless her heart was sore. 

For the next few weeks Stefan came and went fitfully, announcing at onepoint that Miss Berber had ceased to pose for his fantastic study of her, called "The Nixie, " but had consented to sit for a portrait. 

"She's slippery--comes and goes, keeps me waiting interminably, " hecomplained. "I can never be sure of her, but she's a wonderful model. "

"What do you do while you're waiting for her?" asked Mary, who could notimagine Stefan enduring with equanimity such a tax upon his patience. 

"Oh, there's tremendous work to be done on the Nixie still, " he answered. "It's only her part in it that is finished. "

One evening he came home with a grievance. 

"That fool McEwan came to the studio to-day, " he complained. "It was allI could do not to shut the door in his face. Of all the chuckleheads!What do you think he called the Nixie? 'A tricky piece of work!' Tricky!"Stefan kicked the fire disgustedly. "And it's the best thing I've done!"

"As for the portrait, he said it was 'fine and dandy, ' the idiot. And themaddening thing was, " he went on, turning to Mary, and uncovering thereal source of his offense, "that Felicity positively encouraged him!Why, the man must have sat there talking with her for an hour. I couldnot paint a stroke, and he didn't go till I had said so three times!"completed Stefan, looking positively ferocious. "What in the fiend'sname, Mary, did she do it for?" He collapsed on the sofa beside her, likea child bereft of a toy. Mary could not help laughing at his tragic air. 

"I suppose she did it to annoy, because she knew it teased, " shesuggested. 

"How I loathe fooling and play-acting!" he exclaimed disgustedly. "ThankGod, Mary, you are sincere. One knows where one is with you!"

He seemed thoroughly upset. Miss Berber's pin-prick must have beensevere, Mary thought, if it resulted in a compliment for her. 

The next evening, Mary being alone, Wallace dropped in. For some timethey talked of Jamie and Elliston, and of Mary's book. 

He was Scotch to-night, as he usually was now when they were alonetogether. Cheerful as ever, his cheer was yet slow and solid--thecomedian was not in evidence. 

"Hae ye been up yet to see the new pictures?" he asked presently. Sheshook her head. 

"Ye should go, bairn, they're a fine key. Clever as the devil, butnaething true about them. After the Danaë-piff!" and he snapped hisfingers. "Ye hae no call to worry, you're the hub, Mary--let the wheelspin a wee while!"

She blushed. "Wallace, I believe you're a wizard--or a detective. "

"The Scottish Sherlock, eh?" he grinned. "Weel, it's as I tell ye--tak myword for't. Hae ye seen Mrs. Elliot lately?"

"No, Constance went up to their place in Vermont in June, you know. Shecame down purposely for Elliston's christening, the dear. She writes meshe'll be back in a few days now, but says she's sick of New York, andwould stay where she is if it weren't for suffrage. "

"But she would na', " said McEwan emphatically. 

"No, I don't think so, either. But she sees more of Theodore while shestays away, because he feels it his duty to run up every few days andprotect her against savage New England, whereas when she's in town shecould drive her car into the subway excavations and he'd never know it. I'm quoting verbatim, " Mary laughed. 

McEwan nodded appreciatively. "She's a grand card. "

"She pretends to be flippant about husbands, " Mary went on, "but as amatter of fact she cares much more for hers than for her sons, oranything in the world, except perhaps the Cause. "

"That's as it should be, " the other nodded. 

"I don't know. " There was a puzzled note in Mary's voice. "I can'tunderstand the son's taking such a distinctly second place. "

McEwan's face expanded into one of his huge smiles. "It's true, ye couldnot. That's the way God made ye, and I'll tell ye about that, too, someday, " he said, rising to go. 

"Good-bye, Mr. Holmes, " she smiled, as she saw him out. 

Before going to bed that night Mary examined her conscience. Why had shenot been to town to see Stefan's work? She knew that the baby--whosefeeding times now came less frequently--was no longer an adequate excuse. She had blamed Stefan in her heart for his indifference to her work--wasshe not becoming guilty of the same neglect? Was she not in danger of aworse fault, the mean and vulgar fault of jealousy? She felt herselfflushing at the thought. 

Two days later Mary put on her last year's suit, now a little shabby, kissed the baby, importuned the beaming Lily to be careful of him, anddrove to the train in one of the village livery stable's inconceivablydecrepit coupes. 

It was about twelve o 'clock when she arrived at the studio, and, ringingthe bell, mounted the well-known stairs with a heart which, in spite ofherself, beat anxiously. Stefan opened the door irritably, but his frownchanged to a look of astonishment, followed by an exuberant smile, as hesaw who it was. 

"Here comes Demeter, " he cried, calling into the room behind him. "Why, Mary, I'm honored. Has Elliston actually released his prisoner at last?"He drew her into the studio, and kissed her almost with ostentation. 

"Let's suspend the sitting, Felicity, " he cried, "and show our work. "

Mary looked about her. Her old home was almost unchanged. There was thepainted bureau, the divan, the big easel, the model throne where she hadposed as Danaë. It was unchanged, yet how different. From the thronestepped down a small svelt figure-it rippled toward her, its gownshimmering like a fire seen through water. It was Felicity, and her dresswas made from the great piece of oriental silk Stefan had bought whenthey were first married, and which they had used as a cover for theircouch. 

Mary recognized it instantly--there could be no mistake. She staredstupidly, unable to find speech, while Miss Berber's tones were wafted toher like an echo from cooing doves. 

"Ah, Mrs. Byrd, " she was saying, "how lovely you look as a matron. We arehaving a short sitting in my luncheon hour. This studio calms me afterthe banal cackling of my clients. I almost think of ceasing to createraiment, I weary so of the stupidities of New York's four hundred. Corsets, heels"--her hands fluttered in repudiation. She sank full lengthupon the divan, lighting a cigarette from a case of mother-of-pearl. "Your husband is the only artist, Mrs. Byrd, who has succeeded inpainting me as an individual instead of a beauty. It's relieving"--hervoice fainted--"very"--it failed--her lids drooped, she was still. 

Stefan looked bored. "Why, Felicity, what's the matter? I haven't seenyou so completely lethargic for a long time. I thought you kept thatmanner for the store. "

Mary could not help feeling pleased by this remark, which drew noresponse from Felicity save a shadowy but somewhat forced smile. 

"Turn round, Mary, " went on Stefan; "the Nixie is behind you. "

Mary faced the canvas, another of his favorite underwater pictures. TheNixie sat on a rock, in the green light of a river-bed. Green river-weedswayed and clung about her, and her hair, green too, streamed out tomingle with it. In the ooze at her feet lay a drowned girl, holding atiny baby to her breast. This part of the picture was unfinished, but theNixie stood out clearly, looking down at the dead woman with anexpression compounded of wonder and sly scorn. "Lord, what fools thesemortals be, " she might have been saying. 

The face was not a portrait--it was Felicity only in its potentialities, but it was she, unmistakably. The picture was brilliant, fantastic, andunpleasant. Mary said so. 

"Of course it is unpleasant, " he answered, "and so is life. Isn't itunpleasant that girls should kill themselves because of some fool man?And wouldn't sub-humans have a right to ribald laughter at a system whichfosters such things!"

"He has painted me as a sub-human, Mrs. Byrd, " drawled Felicity throughher smoke, "but when I hear his opinion of humans I feel complimented. "

"It seems to me, " said Mary, "that she's not laughing at humans ingeneral, but at this particular girl, for having cared. That's what makesit unpleasant to me. "

"I dare say she is, " said Stefan carelessly. "In any case, I'm glad youfind it unpleasant--in popular criticism the word is only a synonym fortrue. "

To Mary the picture was theatrical rather than true, but she did not careto argue the point. She turned to the portrait, a clever study in lightskeyed to the opalescent tones of the silk dress, and showing Felicitypoised for the first step of a dance. The face was still in charcoal--Stefan always blocked in his whole color scheme before beginning a head--but even so, it was alluring. 

Mary said with truth that it would be a fine portrait. 

"Yes, I like it. Full of movement. Nothing architectural about that, " hesaid, glancing by way of contrast at the great Demeter drowsing from thefurthest wall. "The silk is interesting, isn't it?"

Mary's throat ached painfully. He was utterly unconscious of any hurt toher in the transfer of this first extravagance of theirs. If he had doneit consciously, with intent to wound, she thought it might have hurt herless. 

"It's very pretty, " she said conventionally. 

"Bare, perhaps, rather than pretty, " murmured Miss Berber behind her veilof smoke. 

Mary flushed. This woman had a trick of always making her appear gauche. She looked at her watch, not sorry to see that it was already time toleave. 

"I must go, Stefan, I have to catch the one o'clock, " she said, holdingout her hand. 

"What a shame. Can't you even stay to lunch?" he asked dutifully. Sheshook her head, the ache in her throat making speech difficult. Sheseemed very stiff and matter-of-fact, he thought, and her clothes wereuninteresting. He kissed her, however, and held the door while she shookhands with Felicity, who half rose. The transom was open, and through itMary, who had paused on the landing to button her glove, overheard MissBerber's valedictory pronouncement. 

"The English are a remarkable race--remarkable. Character in them isfixed--in us, fluid. "

Mary sped down the first flight, in terror of hearing Stefan's reply. 

All that evening she held the baby in her arms--she could hardly bringherself to put him down when it was time to go to bed. 

IV

On November the 1st Mary received their joint bank book. The figuresappalled her. She had drawn nothing except for the household bills, butStefan had apparently been drawing cash, in sums of fifty or twenty-fivedollars, every few days for weeks past. Save for his meals and a littlenew clothing she did not know on what he could have spent it; but as theyhad made nothing since the sale of his drawings in the spring, their oncestout balance had dwindled alarmingly. One check, even while she felt itsextravagance, touched her to sympathy. It was drawn to Henrik Jensen fortwo hundred dollars. Stefan must have been helping Adolph's brother tohis feet again; perhaps that was where more of the money had gone. 

Stefan came home that afternoon, and Mary very unwillingly tackled thesubject. He looked surprised. 

"I'd no idea I'd been drawing so much! Why didn't you tell me sooner?" heexclaimed. "Yes, I've given poor old Henrik a bit from time to time; Ithought I'd mentioned it to you. "

"You did in the summer, now I come to think of it, but I thought youmeant a few dollars, ten or twenty. "

"Much good that would have done him. The poor old chap was stranded. He'sall right now, has a new business. I've been meaning to tell you aboutit. He supplies furniture on order to go with Felicity's gowns--backgrounds for personalities, and all that stuff. I put it up to her tohelp find him a job, and she thought of this right off. " He grinnedappreciatively. "Smart, eh? We both gave him a hand to start it. "

"You might have told me, I should have been so interested, " said Mary, trying not to sound hurt. 

"I meant to, but it's only just been arranged, and I've had no chance totalk to you for ages. "

"Not my doing, Stefan, " she said softly. 

"Oh, yes, the baby and all that. " He waved his arm vaguely, and began tofidget. She steered away from the rocks. 

"Anyhow, I'm glad you've helped him, " she said sincerely. 

"I knew you would be. Look here, Mary, can we go on at the present rate--barring Jensen--till I finish the Nixie? I don't want Constantine tohave the Demeter alone, it isn't good enough. "

"I think it is as good as the Nixie, " she said, on a sudden impulse. Heswung round, staring at her almost insolently. 

"My dear girl, what do you know about it?" His voice was cold. 

The blood rushed to her heart. He had never spoken to her in that tonebefore. As always, her hurt silenced her. 

He prowled for a minute, then repeated his question about their expenses. 

"I don't want to have to think in cents again unless I must, " he added. 

Mary considered, remembering the now almost finished manuscript in herdesk. 

"Yes, I think we can manage, dear. "

"That's a blessing; then we won't talk about it any more, " he exclaimed, pinching her ear in token of satisfaction. 

The next day Mary sent her manuscript to be typed. In a week it had goneto Farraday at his office, complete all but three chapters, of which sheenclosed an outline. With it she sent a purely formal note, asking, inthe event of the book being accepted, what terms the Company could offerher, and whether she could be paid partly in advance. She put the requesttentatively, knowing nothing of the method of paying for serials. Inanother week she had a typewritten reply from Farraday, saying that theserial had been most favorably reported, that the Company would buy itfor fifteen hundred dollars, with a guarantee to begin serializationwithin the year, on receipt of the final chapters, that they enclosed acontract, and were hers faithfully, etc. With this was a personal notefrom her friend, congratulating her, and explaining that his estimate ofher book had been more than borne out by his readers. 

"I don't want you to think others less appreciative than I, " was histactful way of intimating that her work had been accepted on its meritsalone. 

The letters took Mary's breath away. She had no idea that her work couldfetch such a price. This stroke of fortune completely lifted herfinancial anxieties, but her spirits did not rise correspondingly. Sixmonths ago she would have been girlishly triumphant at such a success, but now she felt at most a dull satisfaction. She hastened, however, towrite the final chapters, and deposited the check when it came in her ownbank, drawing the next month's housekeeping money half from that and halffrom Stefan's rapidly dwindling account. That she was able to do thisgave her a feeling of relief, no more. 

Mary had now nursed her baby for over four months, and began to feel anervous lassitude which she attributed--quite wrongly--to this fact. AsElliston still gained weight steadily, however, she gave her owncondition no thought. But the last leaves had fallen from the trees, seaand woods looked friendless, and the evenings were long and lonely. Theneighbors had nearly all gone back to the city. Farraday only came downat week-ends, Jamie was busy with his lessons, and Constance stilllingered in Vermont. As for Stefan, he came home late and left early;often he did not come at all. She began to question seriously if she hadbeen right to remain in the cottage. Her heart told her no, but her pridesaid yes, and her pride was strong; also, it was backed by reason. Hersteady brain, which was capable of quite impersonal thinking, told herthat Stefan would be actively discontented just now in company with hisfamily, and that this discontent would eat into his remaining love forher. 

But her heart repudiated this mental cautioning, crying out to her to goto him, to pour out her love and need, to capture him safely in her arms. More than once she nerved herself for such an effort, only to becomeincapable of the least expression at his approach. Emotionallyinarticulate even in happiness, Mary was quite dumb in grief. Herconversation became trite, her sore heart drew a mantle of thecommonplace over its wound; Stefan found her more than ever "English. "

So lonely was she at this time that she would have asked little MissMason to stay with her, but for the lack of a spare bedroom. Of all herfriends, only Mrs. Farraday remained at hand. Mary spent many hours atthe old lady's house, and rejoiced each time the pony chaise brought herto the Byrdsnest. Mrs. Farraday loved to drive up in the morning andwatch the small Elliston in his bath, comparing his feats with hermemories of her own baby. She liked, too, to call at the cottage formother and child, and take them for long rambling drives behind herruminant pony. 

But the little Quakeress usually had her house full of guests--quaint, elderly folk from Delaware or from the Quaker regions of Pennsylvania--and could not give more than occasional time to these excursions. She hadbecome devoted to Mary, whom she secretly regarded as her ideal of thewoman her James should marry. That her son had not yet met such a womanwas, after the loss of her husband, the little lady's greatest grief. 

In the midst of this dead period of graying days, Constance Elliot burstone morning--a God from the Machine--tearing down the lane in herdiminutive car with the great figure of Gunther, like some Norsedivinity, beside her. She fell out of her auto, and into an explanation, in one breath, embracing Mary warmly between sentences. 

"You lovely creature, here I am at last! Theodore hadn't been up for aweek, so I came down, to find Mr. Gunther thundering like Odin because Ihad promised to help him arrange sittings with you, and had forgotten it. I had to bring him at once. He says his group is all done but the twoheads, and he must have yours and the baby's. But he'll tell you allabout it. Where is he? Elliston, I mean. I've brought him some shortfrocks. Where are they, Mr. Gunther? If he's put them in his pockets, he'll never find them--they are feet long--the pockets, I mean. Blessyou, Mary Byrd, how good it is to see you! Come into the house, everyone, and let me rest. "

Mary was bubbling with laughter. 

"Constance, you human dynamo, we'll go in by all means, and hold ourbreaths listening to your 'resting'!"

"Don't sass your elders, naughty girl. Oh, my heavens, I've been fivemonths in New England, and have behaved like a perfect gentlewoman allthe time! Now I'm due for an attack of New Yorkitis!" Constance rushedinto the sitting room, pulled off her hat and patted her hair into shape, ran to the kitchen door to say hello to Lily, and was back in her chairby the time the others had found theirs. Her quick glance traveled fromone to the other. 

"Now I shall listen, " she said. "Mary, tell your news. Mr. Gunther, explain your ideas. "

Mary laughed again. "Visitors first, " she nodded to the Norwegian who, asalways, was staring at her with a perfectly civil fixity. 

He placed a great hand on either knee and prepared to state his case. With his red-gold beard and piercing eyes, he was, Mary thought, quitethe handsomest, and, after Stefan, the most attractive man she had everseen. 

"Mrs. Byrd, " he began, "I am doing, among other things, a large groupcalled 'Pioneers' for the Frisco exhibition. It is finished in the clay--as Mrs. Elliot said--all but two heads, and is already roughly blocked inmarble. I want your head, with your son's--I must have them. Six sittingswill be enough. If you cannot, as I imagine, come to the city, I willbring my clay here, and we will work in your husband's studio. Thesefigures, of whom the man is modeled from myself, do not representpioneers in the ordinary sense. They embody my idea of those who willlead the race to future greatness. That is why I feel it essential tohave you as a model. "

He spoke quite simply, without a trace of flattery, as if he were merelyputting into words a self-evident truth. A compliment of such staggeringdimensions, however, left Mary abashed. 

"You may wonder, " he went on, seeing her silent, "why I so regard you. Itis not merely your beauty, Mrs. Byrd, of which as an artist I can speakwithout offense, it is because to my mind you combine strong mentalityand morale with simplicity of temperament. You are an Apollonian, ratherthan a Dionysian. Of such, in my judgment, will the super-race be made. "Gunther folded his arms and leaned back. 

He was sufficiently distinguished to be able to carry off a pronouncementwhich in a lesser man would have been an impertinence, and he knew it. 

Constance threw up her hands. "There, Mary, your niche is carved. I don'tquite know what Mr. Gunther means, but he sounds right. "

Mary found her voice. "Mr. Gunther honors me very much, and, although ofcourse I do not deserve his praise, I shall certainly not refuse hisrequest. "

Gunther bowed gravely from the hips in the Continental manner, withoutrising. 

"When may I come, " he asked; "to-morrow? Good! I will bring the clay outby auto. "

"You lucky woman, " exclaimed Constance. "To think of being immortalizedby two great artists in one year!"

"Her type is very rare, " said Gunther in explanation. "When does one seethe classic face with expression added? Almost always, it is dull. "

"Now, Mary, produce the infant!" Constance did not intend the wholemorning to be devoted to the Olympian discourse of the sculptor. 

The baby was brought down, and the rest of the visit pivoted about him. Mary glowed at the praises he received; she looked immeasurably brighter, Constance thought, than when they arrived. 

On the way home Gunther unbosomed himself of a final pronouncement. "Shedoes not look too happy, but her beauty is richer and its meaning deeperthan before. She is what the mothers of men should be. I am sorry, " heconcluded simply, "that I did not meet her more than a year ago. "

Constance almost gasped. What an advantage, she thought, great physicalgifts bring. Even without this man's distinction in his art, it wasobvious that he had some right to assume his ability to mate withwhomever he might choose. 

Early the next morning the sculptor drove up to the barn, his tonneauloaded with impedimenta. Mary was ready for him, and watched withinterest while he lifted out first a great wooden box of clay, then asmall model throne, then two turntables, and finally, two tin buckets. These baffled her, till, having installed the clay-box, which she doubtedif an ordinary man could lift, he made for the garden pump and wateredhis clay with the contents of the buckets. 

He set up his three-legged turntables, each of which bore an angle-ironsupporting a twisted length of lead pipe, stood a bucket of water beneathone, and explained that in a few minutes he would be ready to begin. Donning a linen blouse, he attacked the mass of damp clay powerfully, throwing great pieces onto the skeleton lead-pipe, which he explained hadbeen bent to the exact angle of the head in his group. 

"The woman's figure I modeled from ideal proportions, Mrs. Byrd, and thishead will be set upon its shoulders. My statue will then be a livingthing instead of a mere symbol. "

When Mary was posed she became absorbed in watching Gunther's work grow. He modeled with extraordinary speed, yet his movements had none of thelightning swoops and darts of Stefan's method. Each motion of hispowerful hands might have been preordained; they seemed to move with adeliberate and effortless precision, so that she would hardly haverealized their speed had the head and face not leaped under them intobeing. He was a silent worker, yet she felt companioned; the man'spresence seemed to fill the little building. 

"After to-day I shall ask you to hold the child, for as long as it willnot disturb him. I shall then have the expression on your face which Idesire, and I will work at a study of the boy's head at those momentswhen he is awake. "

Mary sincerely enjoyed her sittings, which came as a welcome change inher even days. Gunther usually stayed to lunch, Constance joining them onone occasion, and Mrs. Farraday on another. Both these came to watch thework, Gunther, unlike Stefan, being oblivious of an audience; and onceMcEwan came, his sturdy form appearing insignificant beside the giantNorseman. Wallace hung about smoking a pipe for half an hour or more. Hewas at his most Scotch, appeared well pleased, and ejaculated "Aye, aye, "several times, nodding a ponderous head. 

"Wallace, what are you so solemnly aye-ayeing about? Why so mysterious?"enquired Mary. 

"I'm haeing a few thochts, " responded the Scot, his expression dividedbetween an irritating smile and a kindly twinkle. 

"Well, don't be annoying, and stay to lunch, " said Mary, dispensing evenjustice to both expressions. 

Stefan, returning home one afternoon half way through the sittings, expressed a mild interest in the news of them, and, going out to thebarn, unwrapped the wet cloths from the head. 

"He's an artist, " said he; "this has power and beauty. Never sit to asecond-rater, Mary, you've had the best now. " And he covered the headagain with a craftsman's thoroughness. 

Mary was sorry when the sittings came to an end. On the last day thesculptor brought two men with him, who made the return journey in thetonneau, each guarding a carefully swathed bust against the inequalitiesof the road. Gunther bowed low over her hand with a word of thanks atparting, and she watched his car out of sight regretfully. 

V

The week's interlude over, Mary's days reverted to their monotonoustenor. As November drew to a close, she began to think of Christmas, remembering how happy her last had been, and wondering if she couldsummon enough courage for an attempt to engage Stefan's interest in somekind of celebration. She now admitted to herself that she was activelyworried about her relations with him. He was quite agreeable to her whenin the house, but she felt this was only because she made no demands onhim. Let her reach out ever so little for his love, and he instantlybecame vague or restless. Their intercourse was friendly, but he appearedabsolutely indifferent to her as a woman; she might have been a well-liked sister. Under the grueling strain of self-repression Mary wasgrowing nervous, and the baby began to feel the effects. His weekly gainswere smaller, and he had his first symptoms of indigestion. 

She redoubled the care of her diet, and lengthened her daily walks, buthe became fretful, and at last, early in December, she found on weighinghim that he had made no gain for a week. Terrified, she telephoned forDr. Hillyard, and received her at the door with a white face. It was aSunday morning, and McEwan had just dropped in with some chrysanthemumsfrom the Farradays' greenhouse. Finding Mary disturbed he had notremained, and was leaving the house as the doctor drove up. 

Dr. Hillyard's first words were reassuring. There was absolutely nothingto fear in a week's failure to gain, she explained. "It always happens atsome stage or other, and many babies don't gain for weeks. "

Still, the outcome of her visit was that Mary, with an aching heart, added a daily bottle to Elliston's régime. In a week the doctor cameagain, gave Mary a food tonic, and advised the introduction of a secondbottle. Elliston immediately responded, palpably preferring his bottlefeedings to the others. His fretfulness after these continued, he turnedwith increased eagerness to his bottle, and with tears of disappointmentMary yielded to his loudly voiced demands. By Christmas time he wasweaned. His mother felt she could never forgive herself for failing himso soon, and a tinge of real resentment colored for the first time herattitude toward Stefan, whom she knew to be the indirect cause of herfailure. 

The somewhat abrupt deterioration of Mary's magnificent nervous systemwould have been unaccountable to Dr. Hillyard had it not been for achance encounter with McEwan after her first visit. The Scotchman hadhailed her in the lane, asking for a lift to a house beyond the village, where he had some small errand. During a flow of discursive remarks heelicited from the doctor, without her knowledge, her opinion that Marywas nervously run down, after which he rambled at some length about thevalue of art, allowing the doctor to pass his destination by a mile ormore. 

With profuse thanks for her kindness in turning back, he continued hisramblings, and she gathered the impression that he was a dull, inconsequential talker, that he considered young couples "kittle cattle, "that artists were always absorbed in their work, that females had a habitof needless worrying, and that commuting in winter was distracting to aman's labors. She only half listened to him, and dropped him with relief, wondering if he was an anti-suffragist. Some memory of his remarks must, however, have remained with her, for after her next visit to Mary shefound herself thinking that Mr. McEwan was probably neither an anti-suffragist, nor dull. 

A little before Christmas McEwan called on Constance, and found herimmersed in preparations for a Suffrage bazaar and fête. 

"I can't talk to any one, " she announced, receiving him in a chaos ofboxes, banners, paper flowers, and stenographers, in the midst of whichshe appeared to be working with two voices and six hands. "Didn't themaid warn you off the premises?"

"She did, but I sang 'Take back the lime that thou gavest' in such honeytones that she complied, " said Mac. 

"Just for that, you can give the fête a two-inch free ad in The HouseholdMagazine, " Constance implacably replied. 

He grinned. "I raise the ante. Three inches, at the risk of losing myjob, for five minutes alone with you. "

"You lose your job!" scoffed Constance, leading the way into an emptyroom, and seating herself at attention, one eye on her watch. "Proceed--Iam yours. "

Mac sat opposite her, and shot out an emphatic forefinger. 

"The Berber girl's middle name is Mischief, " he began, plunging in mediasres; "Byrd's is Variability; for the last five months the Mary lady's hasbeen Mother. Am I right?"

Constance's bright eyes looked squarely at him. 

"Wallace McEwan, you are, " she said. 

His finger continued poised. "Very well, we are 'on, ' and _our_middle name is Efficiency, eh?"

"Yes, " Constance nodded doubtfully, "but--"

McEwan's hand slapped his knee. "Here's the scheme, " he went on rapidly. "Variable folk must have variety, either in place or people. If we don'twant it to be people, we make it place, see? Is your country house closedyet?"

"No, I fancied I might go there to relax for a week after the fête. "

"A1 luck. You won't relax, you'll have a week's house-party, sleighing, skating, coasting, all that truck. The Byrds, Farraday (I'll persuade himhe can leave the office), a couple of pretty skirts with no brains--me ifyou like. Get me?"

Constance gasped, her mind racing. "But Mary's baby?" she exclaimed, clutching at the central difficulty. 

"You're the goods, " replied McEwan admiringly. "She couldn't shine asQueen of the Slide if she was tied to the offspring--granted. Now then. "He leant forward. "She's had to wean him--you didn't know that. Your dopeis to talk up the house-party, tell her she owes it to herself to get achange, and make her leave the boy with a trained nurse. The Mary lady'sno fool, she'll be on. "

Constance's eyes narrowed to slits, she fingered her beads, and noddedonce, twice. 

"More trouble, " she said, "but it's a go. Second week in January. "

He grasped her hand. "Votes for Women, " he beamed. 

She looked at her watch. "Five minutes exactly. Three inches, Mr. McEwan!"

"Three inches!" he called from the door. 

VI

Christmas was a blank period for Mary that year. Stefan came home onChristmas eve in a mood of somewhat forced conviviality, but Mary had hadno heart for festive preparations. Stefan had failed her and she hadfailed her baby--these two ever present facts shadowed her world. She hadbought presents for Lily and the baby, a pair of links for Stefan, booksfor Mrs. Farraday and Jamie, and trifles for Constance and Miss Mason, but the holly and mistletoe, the tree, the new frock and the Christmasfare which normally she would have planned with so much joy, weremissing. Stefan's gift to her--a fur-lined coat--was so extravagant thatshe could derive no pleasure from it, and she had the impression that hehad chosen it hurriedly, without much thought of what would best pleaseher. From Constance she received a white sweater of very beautiful heavysilk, with a cap and scarf to match, but she thought bitterly that prettythings to wear were of little use to her now. 

It was obvious that Stefan's conscience pricked him. He spent the morninghanging about her, and even played a little with his son, who now sat up, bounced, crowed with laughter, clutched every article within reach, andhad two teeth. Mary's heart reached out achingly to Stefan, but he seemedto her a strange man. The contrast between this and their last Christmassmote her intolerably. 

In the afternoon they walked over to the Farradays', where there was atree for Jamie and a few friends, including the chauffeur's andgardener's children. Here Stefan prowled into the picture gallery, whileMary, surrounded by children, was in her element. Returning to thedrawing room, Stefan watched her playing with them as he had watched heron the Lusitania fifteen months before. She was less radiant now, and herfigure was fuller, but as she smiled and laughed with the children, hercheeks pink and her hair all a-glitter under the lights, she looked verylovely, he thought. Why did the sight of her no longer thrill him? Whydid he enjoy more the society of Felicity Berber, whom he knew to beaffected and egotistic, and suspected of being insincere, than that ofthis beautiful, golden woman of whose truth he could never conceive adoubt?

A feeling of deep sadness, of unutterable regret, swept through him. Better never to have married than to have outlived so soon the magic ofromance. Which of them had lost the key? When Mary had furled her wingsto brood over her nest he had thought it was she; now he was not so sure. 

Walking home through the dark woods he stopped suddenly, and drew her tohim. 

"Mary, my Beautiful, I'm drifting, hold me close, " he whispered. Herbreath caught, she clung to him, he felt her face wet with tears. No morewords were spoken, but they walked on comforted, groping their way underthe damp fingers of the trees. Stefan felt no passion, but his tendernessfor his wife had reawakened. For her part, tears had thawed herbitterness, without washing it away. 

The next morning Constance drove over. 

"Children, " she said, hurrying in from the cold air, "what a deliciousscene! I invite myself to lunch. "

Mary was playing with Elliston on a blanket by the fire, Stefan sketchingthem, the room full of sun and firelight. The two greeted herdelightedly. 

"Now, " she said, settling herself on the couch, "let me tell you why Icame, " and she proceeded to unfold her plans for a house-party atBurlington. "You've never seen our winter sports, Mary, they're glorious, and you need a change from so much domesticity. As for you, Mr. Byrd, itwill give you a chance to learn that America can be attractive evenoutside New York. "

Both the Byrds were looking interested, Stefan unreservedly, Mary with apucker of doubt. 

"Now, don't begin about Elliston, " exclaimed Constance, forestallingobjections. "We've heaps of room, but it would spoil your fun to bringhim. I want you to get a trained nurse for the week--finest thing in theworld to take a holiday from maternity once in a while. " She turned toStefan as a sure ally. "Don't you agree, Mr. Byrd?"

"Emphatically, " beamed he, seizing her hand and kissing it. "A gloriousidea! Away with domesticity! A real breath of freedom, eh, Mary?"

Constance again forestalled difficulties. 

"We are all going to travel up by night, ten of us, and Theodore isengaging a compartment car with rooms for every one, so there won't beany expense about that part of it, Mary, my dear. Does it seem tooextravagant to ask you to get a trained nurse? I've set my heart onhaving you free to be the life of the party. All your admirers arecoming, that gorgeous Gunther, my beloved James, and Wallace McEwan. Ibaited my hooks with you, so you simply _can't_ disappoint me!" sheconcluded triumphantly. 

Stefan pricked up his ears. Here was Mary in a new guise; he had notthought of her for some time as having "admirers. " Yet he had alwaysknown Farraday for one; and certainly Gunther, who modeled her, andMcEwan, who dogged her footsteps, could admire her no less than theeditor. The thought that his wife was sought after, that he was probablyenvied by other men, warmed Stefan's heart pleasantly, just as Constanceintended it should. 

"It sounds fascinating, and I certainly think we must come, " Mary wassaying, "though I don't know how I shall bring myself to part withElliston, " and she hugged the baby close. 

"You born Mother!" said Constance. "I adored my boys, but I was alwaysenchanted to escape from them. " She laughed like a girl. "Now you graspthe inwardness of my Christmas present--it is a coasting outfit. Won'tshe look lovely in it, Mr. Byrd?"

"Glorious!" said Stefan, boyishly aglow; and "I don't believe two and twodo make four, after all, " thought Constance. 

All through luncheon they discussed the plan with animation, Constanceenlisting Mary's help at the Suffrage Fête the first week in January inadvance payment, as she said, for the house-party. "Why not get yournurse a few days earlier to break her in, and be free to give me as muchtime as possible?" she urged. 

"Good idea, Mary, " Stefan chimed in. "I'll stay in town that week andlunch with you at the bazaar, and you could sleep a night or two at thestudio. "

"We'll see, " said Mary, a little non-committal. She knew she should enjoythe Fête immensely, but somehow, she did not feel she could bring herselfto sleep in the little studio, with Felicity the Nixie sneering down ather from one wall, and Felicity the Dancer challenging from the other. 

But it was a much cheered couple that Constance left behind, and Stefancame home every afternoon during the week that remained till the openingof the bazaar. 

Being in the city for this event, Mary, in addition to engaging a nurse, indulged in some rather extravagant shopping. She had made up her mind tolook her best at Burlington, and though Mary was slow to move, when shedid take action her methods were thorough. She realized with gratitudethat Constance, whom she suspected of knowing more than she indicated, had given her a wonderful opportunity of renewing her appeal to herhusband, and she was determined to use it to the full. Incapable--as areall women of her type--of coquetry, Mary yet knew the value of herbeauty, and was too intelligent not to see that both it and she had beenat a grave disadvantage of late. She understood dimly that she wasconfronted by one of the fundamental problems of marriage, the difficultyof making an equal success of love and motherhood. She could not put herhusband permanently before her child, as Constance had done, and as sheknew most Englishwomen did, but she meant to do it completely for thisone week of holiday, at least. 

Meanwhile, amidst the color and music of the great drill-hall where thesuffragists held their yearly Fête, Mary, dispensing tea and cakes in aflower-garlanded tent, enjoyed herself with simple whole-heartedness. AllConstance's waitresses were dressed as daffodils, and the high cap, representing the inverted cup of the flower, with the tight-sheathedyellow and green of the gown, was particularly becoming to Mary. She knewagain the pleasure, which no one is too modest to enjoy, of being acenter of admiration. Stefan dropped in once or twice, and waxedenthusiastic over Constance's arrangements and Mary's looks. 

On one of these occasions Miss Berber suddenly appeared in the tent, dressed wonderfully in white panne, with a barbaric mottle of black andwhite civet-skins flung over one shoulder, and a tight-drawn cap of thefur, apparently held in place by the great claws of some feline mountedin heavy gold. She wore circles of fretted gold in her ears, and carrieda tall ebony stick with a gold handle, Louis Quatorze fashion. From herhuge civet muff a gold purse dangled. She looked at once moreconventional and more dynamic than Mary had seen her, and her rich dressmade the simple effects of the tent seem amateurish. 

Neither Mary nor she attempted more than a formal salutation, but shediscoursed languidly with Constance for some minutes. Stefan, who hadbeen eating ice cream like a schoolboy with two pretty girls at the otherside of the tent, came forward on seeing the new arrival, and after agood deal of undecided fidgeting, and a "See you later" to Mary, wanderedoff with Miss Berber and disappeared for the rest of the afternoon. Inspite of her best efforts, Mary's spirits were completely dashed by thisepisode, but they rose again when Stefan met her at the PennsylvaniaStation and traveled home with her. As they emerged from the speech-deadening roar of the tunnel he said casually, "Felicity Berber is anamusing creature, but she's a good deal of a bore at times. " Mary tookhis hand under the folds of their newspaper. 

VII

On the evening of their departure Mary parted from her baby with a pang, but she knew him to be in the best of hands, and felt no anxiety as tohis welfare. The nurse she had obtained was a friend of Miss McCullock's, and a most efficient and kindly young woman. 

Their journey up to town reminded Mary of their first journey fromShadeham, so full of spirits and enthusiasm was Stefan. The whole partymet at the Grand Central, and boarded the train amid laughter, introductions, and much gay talk. Constance scintillated. The solid Mr. Elliot was quite shaken out of his sobriety, McEwan's grin was at itsbroadest, Farraday's smile its pleasantest, and the three young womenwhom Constance had collected bubbled and shrilled merrily. 

Only Gunther appeared untouched by the holiday atmosphere. He toweredover the rest of the party calm and direct, disposing of porters andhand-baggage with an unruffled perfection of address. Mary, watching him, pulled Stefan's sleeve. 

"Look, " she said, pointing to two long ribbons of narrow wood lashed tosome other impedimenta of Gunther's. "Skis, Stefan, how thrilling! I'venever seen them used. "

Stefan nodded. "I'd like to get a drawing of that chap in action. Hislines are magnificent, " Mary had never been in a sleeping car before, andwas fascinated to see the sloping ceilings of the state-rooms change likepantomime trick into beds under the deft handling of the porter. Sheliked the white coat of this autocrat of the road, and the smart, muslintrimmings of the colored maid. She and Stefan had the compartment nexttheir host's; Farraday and McEwan shared one beyond; Gunther and his skisand Walter, the Elliot's younger son, completely filled the next; Mrs. Thayer, a cheerful young widow, and Miss Baxter and Miss Van Sittart, thetwo girls of the party, occupied the remaining three. The drawing roomhad been left empty to serve as a general overflow. To this high-balls, coffee, milk and sandwiches were borne by white-draped waiters from thebuffet, and set upon a magically installed table. Mrs. Thayer, Constance, and the men fell upon the stronger beverages, while Mary and the girlsdivided the milk. 

Under cover of the general chatter McEwan raised his glass to Constance. 

"I take off my hat to you, Mrs. Elliot, for a stage manager, " hewhispered, glancing at the other women. "A black-haired soubrette, abrown pony, and a redheaded slip; no rivals to the leading lady in thisshow!"

Their train reached Burlington in a flurry of snow, and they were bundledinto big, two-seated sleighs for the drive out of the city. 

Mary, wrapped in her fur-lined coat and covered with a huge bearskin, watched with interest the tidy, dignified little town speed by. EvenStefan was willing to admit it had some claims to the picturesque, but alittle way beyond, when they came to the open country, he gave almost awhoop of satisfaction. Before them stretched tumbled hills, converging onan icebound lake. Their snowy sides glittered pink in the sun and purplein the shadows; they reared their frosted crests as if in welcome of themorning; behind them the sky gleamed opalescent. Stefan leant forward inthe speeding sleigh as if to urge it with the sway of his body, thefrosty air stung his nostrils, the breath of the horses trailed likesmoke, the road seemed leading up to the threshold of the world. Thespeed of their cold flight was in tune with the frozen dance of thehills--Stefan whooped again, intoxicated, the others laughed back at himand cheered, Mary's face glowed with delight, they were like children intheir joy. 

The Elliot house lay in a high fold of the hills, overlooking the lake, and almost out of sight of other buildings. Within, all was spaciouswarmth and the crackle of great wood fires; on every side the icy view, seen through wide windows, contrasted with the glowing colors of therooms. A steaming breakfast waited to fortify the hastily drunk coffee ofthe train. After it, when the Byrds found themselves in their cozybedroom with its old New England furniture and blue-tiled bathroom, Stefan, waltzing round the room, fairly hugged Mary in excited glee. 

"What fun, Beautiful, what a lovely place, what air, what snow!" Shelaughed with him, her own heart bounding with unwonted excitement. 

The six-day party was a marked success throughout. Even the two younggirls were satisfied, for Constance contrived the appearance of severalstalwart youths of the neighborhood to help her son leaven the group ofolder men. Mrs. Thayer flirted pleasantly and wittily with whoeverchanced to be at hand, Mr. Elliot hobnobbed with Farraday and madetouchingly laborious efforts to be frivolous, and McEwan kept thehousehold laughing at his gambols, heavy as those of a St. Bernard pup. 

Constance darted from group to group like a purposeful humming-bird, butdid not lack the supreme gift of a hostess--that of leaving her guestsreasonably alone. All the women were inclined to hover about Byrd, who, with Gunther, represented the most attractive male element. As the womenwere sufficiently pretty and intelligent, Stefan enjoyed their notice, but Gunther stalked away from them like a great hound surrounded by lap-dogs. He was invariably courteous to his hostess, but had eyes only forMary. Never seeming to follow her, and rarely talking to her alone, hewas yet always to be found within a few yards of the spot she happened tooccupy. Farraday would watch her from another room, or talk with her inhis slow, kind way, and Wallace always drew her into his absurd games orhis sessions at the piano. But Gunther neither watched nor chattered, hesimply _was_, seeming to draw a silent and complete satisfactionfrom her nearness. Of the men he took only cursory notice, talkingsometimes with Stefan on art, or with Farraday on life, but never seekingtheir society. 

Indoors Gunther seemed negative, outdoors he became godlike. The Elliotspossessed a little Norwegian sleigh they had brought from Europe. It wasswan-shaped, stood on low wooden runners, and was brightly painted in theNorse manner. This Gunther found in the stable, and, promptly harnessingto it the fastest horse, drove round to the house. Striding into thehall, where the party was discussing plans for the day, he plantedhimself before Mary, and invited her to drive. The others, looking out ofthe window, exclaimed with pleasure at the pretty little sleigh, and Marygladly threw on her cap and coat. Gunther tucked her in and startedwithout a word. They were a mile from the house before he broke silence. 

"This sleigh comes from my country, Mrs. Byrd; I wish I could drive youthere in it. "

He did not speak again, and Mary was glad to enjoy the exhilarating airin silence. By several roads they had gradually climbed a hillside. Nowfrom below they could see the house at some distance to their right, andanother road running in one long slope almost straight to it from wherethey sat. Gunther suddenly stood up in the sleigh, braced his feet, andwrapped a rein round each arm. 

"Now we will drive, " said he. They started, they gathered speed, theyflew, the horse threw himself into a stretching gallop, the sleighrocked, it leapt like a dashing wave. Gunther half crouched, swaying withit. The horse raced, his flanks stretched to the snow. Mary clung to herseat breathless and tense with excitement--she looked up at the driver. His blue eyes blazed, his lips smiled above a tight-set jaw, he lookeddown, and meeting her eyes laughed triumphantly. Expanding his greatchest he uttered a wild, exultant cry--they seemed to be rushing off theworld's rim. She could see nothing but the blinding fume of the upflungsnow. She, too, wanted to cry aloud. Then their pace slackened, she couldsee the road, black trees, a wall, a house. They drove into the courtyardand stopped. 

The hall door was flung open. They were met by a group of faces excitedand alarmed. Gunther, his eyes still blazing, helped her down and, throwing the reins to a waiting stable-boy, strode silently past theguests and up to his room. 

"Good heavens! you might have been killed, " fussed Mr. Elliot. Farradaylooked pale, the women laughed excitedly. 

"Mary, " cried Stefan, his face flashing with eagerness, "you weren'tfrightened, were you?"

She shook her head, still breathless. 

"It was glorious, you were like storm gods. I've never seen anything soinspiring. " And he embraced her before them all. 

After this episode Gunther resumed his impassive manner, nor did anyother of their outdoor sports draw from him the strange, exultant look hehad given Mary in the sleigh. But his feats on the toboggan slide andwith his skis were sufficiently daring to supply the party with liberalthrills. His obvious skill gained him the captaincy of the toboggan, butafter his exhibition of driving, most of the women hesitated at first toform one of his crew. Mary, however, who was quite fearless andfascinated by this new sport, dashed down with him and the other menagain and again, and was, with her white wraps and brilliant pink cheeks, as McEwan had prophesied, "the queen of the slide. "

Stefan was intoxicated by the tobogganing, and though he was only lessnew to it than Mary he soon became expert. But on his skis the greatNorwegian was alone, the whole party turning out to watch whenever hestrapped them to his feet. His daring leaps were, Stefan said, thenearest thing to flying he had ever seen. "For I don't count aeroplanes--they are mere machinery. "

"Ah, if the lake were frozen enough for ice-boating, " replied Gunther, "Icould show you something nearer still. But they tell me there is littlechance till February for more than in-shore skating. "

Only in this last named sport had Gunther a rival, Stefan making up ingrace what he lacked in practice. Beside his, the Norwegian's skating waspowerful, but too unbending. 

Mary, owing to the open English winters, had had less experience than anyone there, but she was so much more graceful and athletic than the otherwomen that she soon outstripped them. She skated almost entirely withStefan, only once with Gunther, who, since his strange look in thesleigh, a little troubled her. On that one occasion he tore round theclear ice at breakneck speed, halting her dramatically, by sheer weight, a few inches from the bank, where she arrived breathless and thrilled. 

Seeing her thus at her best, happy and admired, and full of vigorouslife, Stefan found himself almost as much in love as in the early weeksof their marriage. 

"You are more beautiful than ever, Mary, " he exclaimed; "there is anadded life and strength in you; you are triumphant. "

It was a joy again to feel her in his arms, to know that they were eachother's. After his troubled flights he came back to her love with afeeling of deep spiritual peace. The night, when he could be alone withher, became the happy climax of the day. 

The amusements of the week ended in an impromptu dance which Constancearranged by a morning at the telephone. For this, Mary donned her mainextravagance, a dress of rainbow colored silk gauze, cut short to theankle, and worn with pale pink slippers. She had found it "marked down"at a Fifth Avenue house, and had been told it was a model dubbed"Aurora. " With it she wore her mother's pearl ornaments. Stefan wasentranced by the result, and Constance almost wept with satisfaction. 

"Oh, Mary Byrd, " she cried, hugging her daintily to avoid crushing thefrock; "you are the best thing that has happened in my family since mymother-in-law quit living with me. "

That night Stefan was at his best. Delighted with all his surroundings, he let his faunlike spirits have full play, and his keen, brown face andgreen-gold eyes flashed apparently simultaneously from every corner ofthe room. Gunther did not dance; Farraday's method was correct but quiet, and none of the men could rival Stefan in light-footed grace. Both he andMary were ignorant of any of the new dances, but Constance had given Marya lesson earlier in the day, and Stefan grasped the general scheme withhis usual lightning rapidity. Then he began to embroider, inventing stepsof his own which, in turn, Mary was quick to catch. No couple on thefloor compared with them in distinction and grace, and they danced, tothe chagrin of the other men and girls, almost entirely together. 

Whatever disappointment this caused, however, was not shared by theirhostess and McEwan. After enduring several rounds of Mac's punishingdancing, Constance was thankful to sit out with him and watch the others. She was glad to be silent after her strenuous efforts as a hostess, andMcEwan was apparently too filled with satisfaction to have room left forspeech. His red face beamed, his big teeth glistened, pleasure radiatedfrom him. 

"Aye, aye, " he chuckled, nodding his ponderous head, and again "Aye, aye, " in tones of fat content, as the two Byrds swung lightly by. 

"Aye, aye, Mr. McEwan, " smiled Constance, tapping his knee with her fan. "All this was your idea, and you are a good fellow. From this moment, Iintend to call you by your first name. "

"Aye, aye, " beamed McEwan, more broadly than before, extending a hugehand; "that'll be grand. "

The dance was the climax of the week. The next day was their last, leave-takings were in the air, and toward afternoon a bustle of packing. Stefanwas in a mood of slight reaction from his excitement of the night before. While Mary packed for them both he prowled uncertainly about the house, and, finding the men in the library, whiled away the time in an utterlyimpossible attempt to quarrel with McEwan on some theory of art. 

They all left for the train with lamentations, and arrived in New Yorkthe next morning in a cheerless storm of wet snow. 

But by this time Mary's regret at the ending of their holiday was lost injoy at the prospect of seeing her baby. She urged the stiff and tiredStefan to speed, and, by cutting short their farewells and jumping for astreet car, managed to make the next train out for Crab's Bay. She couldhardly sit still in the decrepit cab, and it had barely stopped at theirgate before she was out and tearing up the stairs. 

Stefan paid the cab, carried in their suitcase, and wandered, cold andlonely, to the sitting room. For him their home-coming offered noalleviating thrill. Already, he felt, Mary's bright wings were foldingagain above her nest. 

VIII

Refreshed, in spite of his natural reaction of spirits, by the week'sholiday, Stefan turned to his work with greater content in it than he hadfelt for some time. His content was, to his own surprise, ratherincreased than lessened by the discovery that Felicity Berber had leftNew York for the South. Arriving at his studio the day after their returnfrom Vermont, he found one of her characteristic notes, in crimson inkthis time, upon snowy paper. 

"Stefan, " it read, "the winter has found his strength at last in storms. But our friendship dallies with the various moods of spring. It leaves merestless. The snow chills without calming me. My designing is beautywasted on the blindness of the city's overfed. A need of warmth andstillness is upon me--the south claims me. The time of my return isunrevealed as yet. Felicity. "

Stefan read this epistle twice, the first time with irritation, thesecond with relief. "Affected creature, " he said to himself, "it's a goodjob she's gone. I've frittered away too much time with her as it is. "

At home that evening he told Mary. His devotion during their holiday hadalready obscured her memory of the autumn's unhappiness, and his carefreemanner of imparting his tidings laid any ghost of doubt that stillremained with her. Secure once more in his love, she was as uncloudedlyhappy as she had ever been. 

In his newly acquired mood of sanity, Stefan faced the fact that he hadless work to show for the last nine months than in any similar period ofhis career, and that he was still living on his last winter's success. What had these months brought him? An expensive and inconclusiveflirtation at the cost of his wife's happiness, a few disturbingmemories, and two unfinished pictures. Out of patience with himself, heplunged into his work. In two weeks of concentrated effort he hadfinished the Nixie, and had arranged with Constantine to exhibit it andthe Demeter immediately. This last the dealer appeared to admire, pronouncing it a fine canvas, though inferior to the Danaë. About theNixie he seemed in two minds. 

"We shall have a newspaper story with that one, Mr. Byrd, the lady beingso well known, and the subject so dramatic, but if you ask me will itsell--" he shrugged his fat shoulders--"that's another thing. "

Stefan stared at him. "I could sell that picture in France five timesover. "

Constantine waved his pudgy fingers. 

"Ah, France! V'là c' qui est autre chose, 's pas? But if we fail in NewYork for this one I think we try Chicago. "

The reception of the pictures proved Constantine a shrewd prophet. Theacademic Demeter was applauded by the average critic as a piece ofdecorative work in the grand manner, and a fit rebuke to all Cubists, Futurists, and other anarchists. It was bought by a committee from awestern agricultural college, which had come east with a check from thestate's leading politician to purchase suitable mural enrichments for thecollege's new building. Constantine persuaded these worthies that onesuitable painting by a distinguished artist would enrich theirinstitution more than the half dozen canvases "to fit the auditorium"which they had been inclined to order. Moreover, he mulcted them of twothousand dollars for Demeter, which, in his private estimation, was morethan she was worth. He achieved the sale more readily because of thenewspaper controversy aroused by the Nixie. Was this picture a satire onlife, or on the celebrated Miss Berber? Was it great art, or merelymelodrama? Were Byrd's effects of river-light obtained in the oldimpressionist manner, or by a subtler method of his own? Was he a masteror a poseur?

These and other questions brought his name into fresh prominence, butfailed to sell their object. Just, however, as Constantine wasconsidering a journey for the Nixie to Chicago, a purchaser appeared inthe shape of a certain Mr. Einsbacher. Stefan happened to be in thegallery when this gentleman, piloted by Constantine himself, came in, andrecognized him as the elderly satyr of the pouched eyes who had been soattentive to Felicity on the night of Constance's reception. When, later, the dealer informed him that this individual had bought the Nixie forthree thousand, Stefan made no attempt to conceal his disgust. 

"Thousand devils, Constantine, I don't paint for swine of that type, "said he, scowling. 

The dealer's hands wagged. "His check is good, " he replied, "and whoknows, he may die soon and leave the picture to the Metropolitan. "

But Stefan was not to be mollified, and went home that afternoon in astate of high rebellion against all commercialism. Mary tried to consolehim by pointing out that even with the dealer's commission deducted, hehad made more than a year's income from the two sales, and could now workagain free from all anxiety. 

"What's the good, " he exclaimed, "of producing beauty for sheep to bleatand monkeys to leer at! What's the good of producing it in America atall? Who wants, or understands it!"

"Oh, Stefan, heaps of people. Doesn't Mr. Farraday understand art, forinstance?"

"Farraday, " he snorted, "yes!--landscapes and women with children. Whatdoes he know of the radiance of beauty, its mystery, the hot soul of it?Oh, Mary, " he flung himself down beside her, and clutched her handeagerly, "don't be wise; don't be sensible, darling. It's March, springis beginning in Europe. It's a year and a half since I became an exile. Let's go, beloved. You say yourself we have plenty of money; let's takeship for the land where beauty is understood, where it is put first, above all things. Let's go back to France, Mary!"

His face was fired with eagerness; he almost trembled with the passion tobe gone. Mary flushed, and then grew pale with apprehension. "Do you meanbreak up our home, Stefan, for good?"

"Yes, darling. You know I've counted the days of bondage. We couldn'ttravel last spring, and since then we've been too poor. What have theselast months brought us? Only disharmony. We are free now, there isnothing to hold us back. We can leave Elliston in Paris, and follow thespring south to the vineyards. A progress a-foot through France, each dayfinding colors richer, the sun nearer--think of it, Beautiful!" He kissedher joyously. 

Her hands were quite cold now, "But, Stefan, " she temporized, "our littlehouse, our friends, my work, the--the _place_ we've been making?"

"Dearest, all these we can find far better there. "

She shook her head. "I can't. I don't speak French properly, I don'tunderstand French people. I couldn't sell my stories there or--oranything, " she finished weakly. 

He jumped up, his eyes blank, hands thrust in his pockets. 

"I don't get you, Mary. You don't mean--you surely can't mean, that youdon't want to go to France _at all_? That you want to _live_here?"

She floundered. "I don't know, Stefan. Of course you've always talkedabout France, and I should love to go there and see it, and so on, butsomehow I've come to think of the Byrdsnest as home--we've been so happyhere--"

"Happy?" he interrupted her. "You say we've been happy?" His tone wasutterly confounded. 

"Yes, dear, except--except when you were so--so busy last autumn--"

He dropped down by the table, squaring himself as if to get to the bottomof a riddle. 

"What is your idea of happiness, Mary, of _life_ in fact?" he asked, in an unusually quiet voice. She felt glad that he seemed so willing totalk things over, and to concede her a point of view of her own. 

"Well, " she began, feeling for her words, "my idea of life is to have aperson and work that you love, and then to build--both of you--a place, aposition; to have friends--be part of the community--so that yourchildren--the immortal part of you--may grow up in a more and moreenriching atmosphere. " She paused, while he watched her, motionless. "Ican't imagine, " she went on, "greater happiness for two people than tosee their children growing up strong and useful--tall sons and daughtersto be proud of, such as all the generations before us have had. Somethingto hand our life on to--as it was in the beginning--you know, Stefan--"She flushed with the effort to express. 

"Then, "--his voice was quieter still; she did not see that his hands wereclenched under the flap of the table--"in this scheme of life of yours, how many children--how many servants, rooms, all that sort of thing--should you consider necessary?"

She smiled. "As for houses, servants and things, that just depends onone's income. I hate ostentation, but I do like a beautifully run house, and I adore horses and dogs and things. But the children--" she flushedagain--"why, dearest, I think any couple ought to be simply too thankfulfor all the children they can have. Unless, perhaps, " she added naïvely, "they're frightfully poor. "

"Where should people live to be happy in this way?" he asked, still inthose carefully quiet tones. 

She was looking out of the window, trying to formulate her thoughts. "Idon't think it matters very much _where_ one lives, " she said in hersoft, clear tones, "as long as one has friends, and is not too much inthe city. But to own one's house, and the ground under one, to be able toleave it to one's son, to think of _his_ son being born in it--thatI think would add enormously to one's happiness. To belong to the placeone lives in, whether it's an old country, or one of the colonies, oranywhere. "

"I see, " said Stefan slowly, in a voice low and almost harsh. Startled, she looked at him. His face was knotted in a white mask; it was like theface of some creature upon which an iron door has been shut. "Stefan, "she exclaimed, "what--?"

"Wait a minute, " he said, still slowly. "I suppose it's time we talkedthis thing out. I've been a fool, and judged, like a fool, by myself. It's time we knew each other, Mary. All that you have said is horrible tome--it's like a trap. " She gave an exclamation. "Wait, let me dosomething I've never done, let me _think_ about it. " He was silent, his face still a hard, knotted mask. Mary waited, her heart trembling. 

"You, Mary, told me something about families in England who live as youdescribe--you said your mother belonged to one of them. I remember thatnow. " He nodded shortly, as if conceding her a point. "My father was aNew Englander. He was narrow and self-righteous, and I hated him, but hecame of people who had faced a hundred forms of death to liveprimitively, in a strange land. "

"I'm willing to live in a strange country, Stefan, " she almost cried tohim. 

"Don't, Mary--I'm still trying to understand. I'm not my father's son, I'm my mother's. I don't know what she was, but she was beautiful andpassionate--she came of a mixed race, she may have had gipsy blood--Idon't know--but I do know she had genius. She loved only color andmovement. Mary--" he looked straight at her for the first time, his eyeswere tortured--"I loved you because you were beautiful and free. Whenyour child bound you, and you began to collect so many things and peopleabout you, I loved you less. I met some one else who had the beauty ofcolor and movement, and I almost loved her. She told me the name Berberwasn't her own, that she had taken it because it belonged to a tribe ofwanderers--Arabs. I almost loved her for that alone. But, Mary, you stillheld me. I was faithful to you because of your beauty and the love thathad been between us. Then you rose from your petty little surroundings"--he cast a look of contempt at the pretty furnishings of the room--"I sawyou like a storm-spirit, I saw you moving among other women like agoddess, adored of men. I felt your beautiful body yield to me in the joyof wild movement, in the rhythm of the dance. You were my bride, alive, gloriously free--once more, you were the Desired. I loved you, Mary. " Herose and put his hands on her shoulders. Her face was as white as hisnow. His hands dropped, he almost leapt away from her, the muscles of hisface writhed. "My God, Mary, I've never wanted to _think_ about you, only to feel and see you! Now I must think. This--this existence that youhave described! Is that all you ask of life? Are you sure?"

"What more could one ask!" she uttered, dazed. 

"What _more?_" he cried out, throwing up his arms. "What_more, _ Mary! Why, it isn't life at all, this deadly, pettyintricate day by day, surrounded by things, and more things. Thehopeless, unalterable tameness of it!" He began to pace the room. 

"But, my dear, I don't understand you. We have love, and work, and ifsome part of our life is petty, why, every one's always has been, hasn'tit?"

She was deeply moved by his distress, afraid again for their happiness, longing to comfort him. Yet, under and apart from all these emotions, some cool little faculty of criticism wondered if he was not makingrather a theatrical scene. "Daily life must be a little monotonous, mustn't it?" she urged again, trying to help him. 

"No!" he almost shouted, with a gesture of fierce repudiation. "WasAngelo's life petty? Was da Vinci's? Did Columbus live monotonously, didScott or Peary? Does any explorer or traveler? Did Thoreau surroundhimself with _things_--to hamper--did George Borrow, or Whitman, orStevenson? Do you suppose Rodin, or de Musset, or Rousseau, or Millet, orany one else who has ever _lived_, cared whether they had aposition, a house, horses, old furniture? All the world's wanderers, fromUlysses down to the last tramp who knocked at this door, have known moreof life than all your generations of staid conventional county families!Oh, Mary"--he leant across the table toward her, and his voice pleaded--"think of what life _should_ be. Think of the peasants in Francetreading out the wine. Think of ships, and rivers, and all the beauty ofthe forests. Think of dancing, of music, of that old viking who firstfound America. Think of those tribes who wander with their tents over thedesert and pitch them under stars as big as lamps--all the things we'venever seen, Mary, the songs we've never heard. The colors, the scents, and the cruel tang of life! All these I want to see and feel, andtranslate into pictures. I want you with me, Mary--beautiful and free--Iwant us to drink life eagerly together, as if it were heady wine. " Hetook her hand across the table. "You'll come, Beloved, you'll give allthe little things up, and come?"

She rose, her face pitifully white. They stood with hands clasped, thetable between them. 

"The boy, Stefan?"

He laughed, thinking he had won her. "Bring him, too, as the Arab womencarry theirs, in a shawl. We'll leave him here and there, and have himwith us whenever we stay long in one place. "

She pulled her hand away, her eyes filled with tears. "I love you, Stefan, but I can't bring my child up like a gipsy. I'll live in France, or anywhere you say, but I must have a home--I can't be a wanderer. "

"You shall have a home, sweetheart, to keep coming back to. " His face wasbrightening to eagerness. 

"Oh, you don't understand. I can't leave my child; I can't be with himonly sometimes. I want him always. And it isn't only him. Oh, Stefan, dear"--her voice in its turn was pleading--"I don't believe I can come toFrance just now. I think, I'm almost sure, we're going to have anotherbaby. "

He straightened, they faced each other in silence. After a moment shespoke again, looking down, her hands tremblingly picking at herhandkerchief. 

"I was so happy about it. It was the sign of your renewed love. I thoughtwe could build a little wing on the cottage, and have a nurse. " Her voicefell to a whisper. "I thought it might be a little girl, and that youwould love her better than the boy. I'll come later, dear, if you say so, but I can't come now. " She sank into her chair, her head drooping. He, too, sat down, too dazed by this new development to find his way for aminute through its implications. 

"I'm sorry, Mary, " he said at last, dully. "I don't want a little girl. If she could be put away somewhere till she were grown, I should notmind. But to live like this all through one's youth, with a house, andservants, and people calling, and the place cluttered up with babies--Idon't think I can do that, possibly. "

She was frankly crying now. "But, dear one, can't we compromise? Afterthis baby is born, I'll give up the house. We'll live in France--I'lltravel with you a little. That will help, won't it?"

He sighed. "I suppose so. We shall have to think out some scheme. But theghastly part is that we shall both have to be content with half measures. You want one thing of life, Mary, I another. No amount of self-sacrificeon either side alters that fact. We married, strangers, and it's taken usa year and a half to find it out. My fault, of course. I wanted love andbeauty, and I got it--I didn't think of the cost, and I didn't think of_you_. I was just a damned egotistical male, I suppose. " He laughedbitterly. "My father wanted a wife, and he got the burning heart of arose. I--I never wanted a wife, I see that now, I wanted to snare thevery spirit of life and make it my own--you looked a vessel fit to carryit. But you were just a woman like the rest. We've failed each other, that's all. "

"Oh, Stefan, " she cried through her tears, "I've tried so hard. But I wasalways the same--just a woman. Only--" her tears broke out afresh--"whenyou married me, I thought you loved me as I was. "

He looked at her, transfixed. "My God, " he whispered, "that's what Iheard my mother say more than twenty years ago. What a mockery--eachgeneration a scorn and plaything for the high Gods! Well, we'll do thebest we can, Mary. I'm utterly a pagan, so I'm not quite the inhumangranite my Christian father was. Don't cry, dear. " He stooped and kissedher, and she heard his light, wild steps pass through the room and outinto the night. She sat silent, amid the ruins of her nest. 

IX

For a month Stefan brooded. He hung about the house, dabbled at a littlework, and returned, all without signs of life or interest. He was kind toMary, more considerate than he used to be, but she would have given allhis inanimate, painstaking politeness for an hour of his old, gaythoughtlessness. They had reached the stage of marriage in which, allbeing explained and understood, there seems nothing to hope for. Alonetogether they were silent, for there was nothing to say. Each condonedbut could not comfort the other. Stefan felt that his marriage had been amistake, that he, a living thing, had tied about his neck a dead mass ofinstitutions, customs and obligations which would slowly crush his lifeout. "I am twenty-seven, " he said to himself, "and my life is over. " Hedid not blame Mary, but himself. 

She, on the other hand, felt she had married a man outside the pale ofordinary humanity, and that though she still loved him, she could nolonger expect happiness through him. "I am twenty-five, " she thought, "and my personal life is over. I can be happy now only in my children. "As those were assured her, she never thought of regretting her marriage, but only deplored the loss of her dream. Nor did she judge Stefan. Sheunderstood the wild risk she had run in marrying a man of whom she knewnothing. "He is as he is, " she thought; "neither of us is to blame. "Lonely and grieved, she turned for companionship to her writing, andbegan a series of fairy tales which she had long planned for very youngchildren. The first instalment of her serial was out, charminglyillustrated; she had felt rather proud on seeing her name, for the firsttime, on the cover of a magazine. She engaged a young girl from thevillage to take Elliston for his daily outings, and settled down to aroutine of work, small social relaxations, and morning and evening careof the baby. The daily facts of life were pleasant to Mary; if some hurtor disappointed, her balanced nature swung readily to assuage itself withothers. She honestly believed she felt more deeply than her husband, andperhaps she did, but she was not of the kind whom life can break. Stefanmight dash himself to exhaustion against a rock round which Mary wouldfind a smooth channel. 

While her work progressed, Stefan's remained at a standstill. Disillusioned with his marriage and with his whole way of life he frettedhimself from his old sure confidence to a mood of despair. Their friendsbored him, his studio like his house became a cage. New York appeared inher old guise of mammoth materialist, but now he had no heart to satirizeher dishonor. He wanted only to be gone, but told himself that in commondecency he must remain with Mary till her child was born. He longed foreven the superficial thrill of Felicity's presence, but she stilllingered in the South. So fretting, he tossed himself against the barsthrough the long snows of an unusually severe March, until April brokethe frost, and the road to the Byrdsnest became a morass of running mud. 

In the last two weeks Stefan had begun a portrait of Constance, butwithout enthusiasm. She was a fidgety sitter, and was moreover so busywith her suffrage work that she could never be relied on for more than anhour at a time. After a few of these fragmentary sittings his raggednerves gave out completely. 

"It's utterly useless, Constance!" he exclaimed, throwing down hispallette and brushes, as the telephone interrupted them for the thirdtime in less than an hour. "I can't paint in a suffrage office. This is astudio, not the Club's headquarters. If you can't shut these people offand sit rationally, please don't trouble to come again. "

"I know, my dear boy, it's abominable, but what can I do? Our bill haspassed the Legislature; until it is submitted next year I can't be my ownor Theodore's, much less yours. As for you, you look a rag. This winterhas about made me hate my country. I don't wonder you long for France. "

Her eyes narrowed at him, she dangled her beads reflectively, and perchedon the throne again without attempting to resume her pose. "My dear boy, "she said suddenly, "why stay here and be eaten by devils--why not flyfrom them?"

"I wish to God I could, " he groaned. 

"You can. Mary was in to see our shop yesterday; she looked dragged. Youare both nervous. Do what I have always done--take a holiday from eachother. There's nothing like it as a tonic for love. "

"Do you really think she wouldn't mind?" he exclaimed eagerly. "You knowshe--she isn't very well. "

"Chtt, " shrugged Constance, "_that's_ only being more than usuallywell. You don't think Mary needs coddling, do you? She's worried becauseyou are bored. If you aren't there, she won't worry. I shall take youradvice--I shan't come here again--" and she settled her hat briskly--"andyou take mine. Go away--" Constance threw on her coat-- "go anywhere youlike, my dear Stefan--" she was at the door--"except south, " she addedwith a mischievous twinkle, closing it. 

Stefan, grinning appreciatively at this parting shot, unscrewed hissketch of Constance from the easel, set it face to the wall in a corner, cleaned his brushes, with the meticulous care he always gave to histools, and ran for the elevated, just in time to catch the next train forCrab's Bay. At the station he jumped into a hack, and, splashing home asquickly as the liquid road bed would allow, burst into the house to findMary still lingering over her lunch. 

"What has happened, Stefan?" she exclaimed, startled at his excited face. 

"Nothing. I've got an idea, that's all. Let me have something to eat andI'll tell you about it. "

She rang for Lily, and he made a hasty meal, asking her unwontedquestions meantime about her work, her amusements, whether many of theneighbors were down yet, and if she felt lonely. 

"No, I'm not lonely, dear. There are only a few people here, but they areawfully decent to me, and I'm very busy at home. "

"You are sure you are not lonely?" he asked anxiously, drinking hiscoffee, and lighting a cigarette. 

"Yes, quite sure. I'm not exactly gay--" and she smiled a little sadly--"but I'm really never lonely. "

"Then, " he asked nervously, "what would you say if I suggested going offby myself for two or three months, to Paris. " He watched her intently, fearful of the effect of his words. To his unbounded relief, she appearedneither surprised nor hurt, but, after twisting her coffee cupthoughtfully for a minute, looked up with a frank smile. 

"I think it would be an awfully good thing, Stefan dear. I've beenthinking so for a month, but I didn't like to say anything in case youmight feel--after our talk--" her voice faltered for a moment--"that Iwas trying to--that I didn't care for you so much. It isn't that, dear--"she looked honestly at him--"but I know you're not happy, and it doesn'thelp me to feel I am holding you back from something you want. I think weshall be happier afterwards if you go now. "

"I do, too, " said he, "but I was so afraid it would seem cruel in me tosuggest it. I don't want to grow callous like my father. " He shuddered. "I want to do the decent thing, Mary. " His eyes were pleading. 

"I know, dearest, you've been very kind. But for both our sakes, it willbe far better if you go for a time. " She rose, and, coming round thetable, kissed his rough hair. He caught her hand, and pressed itgratefully. "You are good to me, Mary. "

The matter settled, Stefan's spirit soared. He rang up the French Lineand secured one of the few remaining berths for their next sailing, whichwas in three days. He telephoned an ecstatic cable to Adolph. Then, hurrying to the attic, he brought down his friend's old Gladstone, andhis own suitcase, and began to sort out his clothes. Mary, anxious toquell her heartache by action, came up to help him, and vetoed his ideaof taking only the barest necessities. 

"I know, " she said, "you want to get back to your old Bohemia. Butremember you are a well-known artist now--the celebrated Stefan Byrd, "and she courtesied to him. "Suppose you were to meet some charming peoplewhom you wanted to see something of? Do take a dinner-jacket at least. "

He grinned at her. "I shall live in a blouse and sleep in my old atticwith Adolph. That's the only thing I could possibly want to do. But Iwon't be fractious, Mary. If it will please you to have me take dressclothes I'll do it--only you must pack them yourself!"

She nodded smilingly. "All right, I shall love to. " She had failed tomake her husband happy in their home, she thought; at least she wouldsucceed in her manner of speeding him from it. It was her tragedy that heshould want to go. That once faced, she would not make a second tragedyof his going. 

She spent the next morning, while he went to town to buy his ticket, in athorough overhauling of his clothes. She found linen bags to hold hisshoes and a linen folder for his shirts. She pressed his ties and brushedhis coats, packed lavender bags in his underwear, and slipped a framedsnapshot of herself and Elliston into the bottom of the Gladstone. Withit, in a box, she put the ring she had given him, with the winged head, which he had ceased to wear of late. She found some new poems and a novelhe had not read, and packed those. She gave him her own soapbox andtoothbrush case. She cleaned his two bags with shoe polish. Everythingshe could think of was done to show that she sent him away willingly, andshe worked so hard that she forgot to notice how her heart ached. In theafternoon she met him in town and they had dinner together. He suggestedtheir old hotel, but she shook her head. "No dear, not there, " she said, smiling a little tremulously. They went to a theatre, and got home solate that she was too tired to be wakeful. 

"By the by, " she said next morning at breakfast, "don't worry about mybeing alone after you've gone. I thought it might be triste for the firstfew days, so I've rung up the Sparrow, and she's coming to occupy yourroom for a couple of weeks. She's off for her yearly trip abroad at theend of the month. Says she can't abide the Dutch, but means to see whatthere is to their old Rhine, and come back by way of Tuscany and France. "Mary gurgled. "Can't you see her in Paris, poor dear, 'doing' the Louvre, with her nose in a guidebook. Why! Perhaps you may!"

"The gods forbid, " said Stefan devoutly. 

He had brought his paints and brushes home the night before, and afterbreakfast Mary helped him stow them away in the Gladstone, showing himsmilingly how well she had done his packing. While he admired, sheremembered to ask him if he had obtained a letter of credit. He burst outlaughing. 

"Mary, you wonder! I have about fifty dollars in my pocket, and shouldhave entirely forgotten to take more if you hadn't spoken of it. What abore! Can't I get it to-morrow?"

"You might not have time before sailing. I think you'd better go upto-day, and then you could call on Constance to say good-bye. "

"I don't like to leave you on our last day, " he said uneasily, "Oh, that will be all right, dear, " she smiled, patting his hand. "I haveoceans to do, and I think you ought to see Constance. Get your letter ofcredit for a thousand dollars, then you'll be sure to have enough. "

"A thousand! Great Scott, Adolph would think I'd robbed a bank if I hadall that. "

"You don't need to spend it, silly, but you ought to have it behind you. You never know what might happen. "

"Would there be plenty left for you?"

"Bless me, yes, " she laughed; "we're quite rich. "

While he was gone Mary arranged an impromptu farewell party for him, sothat instead of spending a rather depressing evening alone with her, ashe had expected, he found himself surrounded by cheerful friends--McEwan, the Farradays, their next neighbors, the Havens, and one or two others. McEwan was the last to leave, at nearly midnight, and pleading fatigue, Mary kissed Stefan good night at the door of her room. She dared notlinger with him lest the stifled pain at her heart should clamor forexpression too urgently to be denied. But by this time he himself beganto feel the impending separation. Ready for bed, he slipped into her roomand found her lying wide-eyed in a swathe of moonlight. Without a word helay down beside her and drew her close. Like children lost in the dark, they slept all night in each other's arms. 

Next day Mary saw him off. New York ended at the gangway. Across it, theywere in France. French decorations, French faces, French gaiety, thebeloved French tongue, were everywhere. 

"Listen to it, Mary, " he cried exultingly, and she smiled a cheerfulresponse. 

When the warning bell sounded he suddenly became grave. 

"Say good-bye again to Elliston for me, dear, " he said, holding her handclose. "I hope he grows up like you. "

Her eyes were swimming now, in spite of herself. "Mary, " he went on, "this separation makes or mars us. I hope, dear, I believe, it will makeus. God bless you. " He kissed her, pressed her to him. Suddenly they wereboth trembling. 

"Why are we parting?" he cried, in a revulsion of feeling. 

She smiled at him, wiping away her tears. "It's better, dearest, " shewhispered; "let me go now. " They kissed again; she turned hurriedly away. He watched her cross the gangway--she waved to him from the dock--thenthe crowd swallowed her. 

For a moment he felt bitterly bereaved. "How ironic life is, " he thought. Then a snatch of French chatter and a gay laugh reached him. The gangwaylifted, water widened between the bulwarks and the dock. As the shipswung out he caught the sea breeze--a flight of gulls swept by--he wasoutbound!

With a deep breath Stefan turned a brilliant smile upon the deck . .. Freedom!

Mary, hurrying home with aching heart and throat, let the slow tears rununheeded down her cheeks. From the train she watched the city's outskirtsstream by, formless and ugly. She was very desolate. But when, tired out, she entered her house, peace enfolded her. Here were her child, thethings she loved, her birds, her pleasant, smiling servant. Here werewhite walls and gracious calm. Her mate had flown, but the nest remained. Her heart ached still, but it was no longer torn. 

X

The day after Stefan sailed Felicity Berber returned from Louisiana. TheSouth had bored her, without curing her weariness of New York. She drovefrom the Pennsylvania Station to her studio, looked through the books, overhauled the stock, and realized with indifference that her businesshad suffered heavily through her absence. She listened lazily while herlieutenants, emphasizing this fact, implored her to take up the workagain. 

"What does it matter, " she murmured through her smoke. "The place stillpays. Your salaries are all secure, and I have plenty of money. I maycome back, I may not. In any event, I am bored. " She rippled out to herlandaulette, and drove home. At her apartment, her Chinese maid wasalready unpacking her trunks. 

"Don't unpack any more, Yo San. I may decide to go away again--abroadperhaps. I am still very bored--give me a white kirtle and telephone Mr. Marchmont to call in an hour. "

With her maid's help she undressed, pinned her hair high, and slipped ona knee-high tunic of heavy chiffon. Barefooted, she entered a large room, walled in white and dull silver--the end opposite the windows filled by asingle mirror. Between the windows stood a great tank of gold and silverfish swimming among water lilies. 

Two enormous vases of dull glass, stacked with lilies against herhomecoming, stood on marble pedestals. The floor was covered with acarpeting of dead black. A divan draped in yellow silk, a single ebonychair inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and a low table in teakwood were thesole furniture. Here, quite alone, Felicity danced away the stiffness ofher journey, danced away the drumming of the train from her ears, and itsdust from her lungs. Then she bathed, and Yo San dressed her in a looserobe of silver mesh, and fastened her hair with an ivory comb carved andtinted to the model of a water lily. These rites complete, Felicityslowly partook of fruit, coffee and toast. Only then did she re-enter thedance room, where, on his ebony chair, the dangling Marchmont had beenuncomfortably waiting for half an hour. 

She gave him her hand dreamily, and sank full length on the divan. 

"You are more marvelous than ever, Felicity, " said he, with an adoringsigh. 

She waved her hand. "For all that I am not in the mood. Tell me the news, my dear Marchmont--plays, pictures, scandals, which of my clients arericher, which are bankrupt, who has gone abroad, and all about myfriends. "

Marchmont leant forward, and prepared to light a cigarette, his thinmouth twisted to an eager smile, his loose hair wagging. 

"Wait, " she breathed, "I weary of smoke. Give me a lily, Marchmont. " Hefetched one of the great Easter lilies from its vase. Placing this on herbosom, she folded her supple hands over it, closed her eyes, and laystill, looking like a Bakst version of the Maid of Astolat. Felicity'shints were usually sufficient for her slaves. Marchmont put away hiscigarette, and proceeded with relish to recount the gossip with which, tohis long finger-tips, he was charged. 

"Well, " said he, after an hour's general survey of New York as they bothknew it, "I think that about covers the ground. There is, as I said, noquestion that Einsbacher is still devoted. My own opinion is he willpresent you with the Nixie. I suppose you received the clippings I sentabout the picture? Constance Elliot has only ordered two gowns from thestudio since you left--but you will have seen that by the books. She saysshe is saving her money for the Cause. " He snickered. "The fact is, shegrows dowdy as she grows older. Gunther has gone to Frisco with hisgroup. Polly Thayer tells me his adoration of the beautiful Byrd ispathetic. So much in love he nearly broke her neck showing off hisdriving for her benefit. " Marchmont snickered again. "As for your friendMr. Byrd--" he smiled with a touch of sly pleasure--"you won't see him, he sailed for France yesterday, alone. His name is in this morning's listof departures. " And he drew a folded and marked newspaper from hispocket. 

A shade of displeasure had crept over the immobile features of MissBerber. She opened her eyes and regarded the lank Marchmont withdistaste. Her finger pressed a button on the divan. Slowly she raisedherself to her elbow, while he watched, his pale eyes fixed on her withthe expression of a ratting dog waiting its master's thanks after acatch. 

"All that you have told me, " said Felicity at last, a slight edge to herzephyr-like voice, "is interesting, but I wish you would remember thatwhile you are free to ridicule my clients, you are not free as regards myfriends. Your comment on Connie was in poor taste. I am not in the moodfor more conversation this morning. I am fatigued. Good-day, Marchmont. "She sank to her pillows again--her eyes closed. 

"Oh, I say, Felicity, is that all the thanks I get?" whined her visitor. 

"Good-day, Marchmont, " she breathed again. The door opened, disclosing YoSan. Marchmont's aesthetic veneer cracked. 

"Oh, shucks, " he said, "how mean of you!" and trailed out, his cutawayseeming to hang limp like the dejected tail of a dog. 

The door closed, Felicity bounded up and, running across the room, invoked her own loveliness in the mirror. 

"Alone, " she whispered to herself, "alone. " She danced a few steps, swayingly. "You've never lived, lovely creature, you've never lived yet, "she apostrophized the dancing vision in the glass. 

Still swaying and posturing to some inward melody, she fluttered down thepassage to her bedroom. "Yo San, " she called, her voice almost full, "weshall go to Europe. " The stolid little maid nodded acquiescence. 

For the next three days Felicity Berber, creator of raiment, shut in herpastoral fitting room and surrounded by her chief acolytes, sat at atable opposite Stefan's dancing faun, and designed spring gowns. Felicitythe idle, the somnolent, the alluring, gave place to Felicity theinventor, and again to Felicity the woman of business. Scissors clipped, typewriters clicked, colored chalks covered dozens of sheets withdrawings. 

The staff became first relieved, then enthusiastic. What a spring displaythey were to have! On the third day hundreds of primrose-yellowenvelopes, inscribed in green ink to the studio's clients, poured intothe letter-chute. Within them an announcement printed in flowing greenscript read, under Felicity's letterhead, "I offer twenty-one originaldesigns for spring raiment, created by me under the inspiration of asojourn in the South. Each will be modified to the wearer's personality, and none will be duplicated. I am about to travel in Europe, there togain atmosphere for my fall creations. " After her signature, was stamped, by way of seal, a tiny woodcut of Stefan's faun. 

The last design was complete by Friday, and on Saturday Felicity sailedon the Mauretania, her suite of three rooms a wilderness of flowers. Marchmont, calling at the apartment to escort her to the boat, found thedance-room swathed in sheeting, its heavy carpet rolled into a corner. Evidently, this was to be no brief "sojourn. " The heavy Einsbacher was atthe dock to see her off, together with a small pack of nondescript youngmen. Constance was not there, and Marchmont guessed that she had not beentold of her friend's departure. 

Einsbacher had the last word with Felicity. "I hope you will like thevlowers, " he whispered gutturally. "Let me know if I may make you apresent of the Nixie, " and he gave a thick smile. 

"You know my rule, " she murmured, her lids heavy, a bored droop at thecorners of her mouth. "Nothing worth more than five dollars, exceptflowers. Why should I break it--" her voice hovered--"for you?"--it sank. She turned away, melting into the crowd. Marchmont, with maliciouspleasure, watched Einsbacher's discomfited retreat. 

In her cabin Felicity collected all the donors' cards from her flowersand, stepping outside, with a faint smile dropped them into the sea. 

XI

It was the end of April, and Paris rustled gaily in her spring dress. Stefan and Adolph, clad in disreputable baggy trousers topped in one caseby a painter's blouse and in the other by an infinitely aged alpacajacket, strolled homeward in the early evening from their favorite café. 

Adolph was in the highest spirits, as he had been ever since Stefan'sarrival three weeks before, but the other's face wore a rather moodyfrown. He had begun to weary a little of his good friend's ecstaticpleasure in their reunion. 

He was in Paris again, in his old attic; it was spring, and his belovedcity as beautiful as ever. He had expected a return of his old-timegaiety, but somehow the charm lacked potency. He wanted to paint, but hisideas were turgid and fragmentary. He wanted excitement, but the cityonly seemed to offer memories. The lapse of a short eighteen months hadscattered his friends surprisingly. Adolph remained, but Nanette wasmarried. Louise had left Paris, and Giddens, the English painter, hadgone back to London. Perhaps it was the spring, perhaps it was merely thelaw which decrees that the past can never be recaptured--whatever thecause, Stefan's flight had not wholly assuaged his restlessness. Ofadventures in the hackneyed sense he had not thought. He was toofastidious for the vulgar sort, and had hitherto met no women who stirredhis imagination. Moreover, he harbored the delusion that the failure ofhis great romance had killed his capacity for love. "I am done withwomen, " he said to himself. 

Mary seemed very distant. He thought of her with gratitude for hergenerosity, with regret, but without longing. 

"Never marry, " he said to Adolph for the twentieth time, as they turnedinto the rue des Trois Ermites; "the wings of an artist must remainunbound. "

"Ah, Stefan, " Adolph replied, sighing over his friend's disillusionment, "I am not like you. I should be grateful for a home, and children. I amonly a cricket scraping out my little music, not an eagle. "

Stefan snorted. "You are a great violinist, but you won't realize it. Look here, Adolph, chuck your job, and go on a walking tour with me. Let's travel through France and along the Riviera to Italy. I'm sick ofcities. There's lots of money for us both, and if we run short, why, bring your fiddle along and play it--why not?"

At their door the concierge handed Adolph some letters. 

"My friend, " said he, holding up a couple of bills, "one cannot slip awayfrom life so easily. How should I pay my way when we returned?"

"Hang it, " said Stefan impatiently, "don't you begin to talk obligations. I came to France to get away from all that. Have a little imagination, Adolph. It would be the best thing that could happen to you to get shakenout of that groove at the Opera--be the making of you. "

They had reached the attic, and Adolph lit a lamp. 

"We'll talk of it to-morrow, my infant, now I must dress--see, here is aletter for you. "

He handed Stefan a tinted envelope, and began leisurely to don hisconventional black. Holding the note under the lamp, Stefan saw with astart that it was from Felicity, and had been left by hand. Excited, hetore it open. It was written in ordinary ink, upon pale pink paper, agreeably scented. 

 "My dear friend, " he read in French, "I am in Paris, and chancing to remember your old address--("I swear I never told her the number, " he thought)--send this in search of you. How pleasant it would be to see you, and to have a little converse in the sweet French tongue. You did not know that it was my own, did you? But yes, I have French-Creole blood. One is happy here among one's own kind. This evening I shall be alone. Felicity. "

So, she was a Creole--of the race of Josephine! His pulses beat. Crammingthe note into his pocket he whirled excitedly upon his friend. 

"Adolph, " he cried, "I'm going out--where are my clothes?" and beganhastily to rummage for his Gladstone amidst a pile of their jointbelongings. Throwing it open, he dragged out his dress suit--folded stillas Mary had packed it--and strewed a table with collars, ties, shirts, and other accessories. 

"Hot water, Adolph! Throw some sticks into the stove--I must shave, " hecalled, and Adolph, amazed at this sudden transformation, hastily obeyed. 

"Where do you go?" he asked, as he filled the kettle. 

"I'm going to see a very attractive young woman, " Stefan grinned. "Wow, what a mercy I brought some decent clothes, eh?" He was already stripped, and shaking out a handful of silk socks. Something clicked to the floor, but he did not notice it. The dressing proceeded in a whirl, Adolph muchimpressed by the splendors of his friend's toilet. A fine shirt of tuckedlinen, immaculate pumps, links of dull gold--his comrade in Bohemia hadcompletely vanished. 

"O là, là!" cried he, beaming, "now I see it is true about all yourriches!"

"I'm going to take a taxi, " Stefan announced as he slipped into his coat;"can I drop you?"

He stood ready, having overtaken Adolph's sketchy but leisured dressing. 

"What speed, my child! One moment!" Adolph shook on his coat, found hisglasses, and was crossing to put out the lamp when his foot struck asmall object. 

"What is this, something of yours?" He stooped and picked up a framedsnapshot of a girl playing with a baby. "How beautiful!" he exclaimed, holding it under the lamp. 

"Oh, yes, " said Stefan with a slight frown, "that's Mary. I didn't know Ihad it with me. Come on, Adolph, " and he tossed the picture back into theopen Gladstone. 

While Adolph found a taxi, Stefan paused a moment to question theconcierge. Yes, monsieur's note had been left that afternoon, Madameremembered, by une petite Chinoise, bien chic, who had asked if Monsieurlived here. Madame's aged eyes snapped with Gallic appreciation of apossible intrigue. 

Stefan was glad when he had dropped Adolph. He stretched at ease alongthe cushions of his open taxi, breathing in the warm, audacious air ofspring, and watched the faces of the crowds as they emerged under thelights to be lost again mysteriously in the dusk. 

Paris, her day's work done, was turning lightly, with her entrancingsmile, to the pursuit of friendship, adventure, and love. All through thescented streets eyes sought eyes, voices rose in happy laughter ordrooped to soft allurement. Stefan thrilled to the magic in the air. He, too, was seeking his adventure. 

The taxi drew up in the courtyard of an apartment house. Giving his name, Stefan entered a lift and was carried up one floor. A white door opened, and the small Yo San, with a salutation, took his hat, and lifted acurtain. He was in a long, low room, yellow with candlelight. Facing him, open French windows giving upon a balcony showed the purpling dusk abovethe river and the black shapes of trees. Lights trickled their reflectionin the water, the first stars shone, the scent of flowers was heavy inthe air. 

All this he saw; then a curtain moved, and a slim form appeared from thebalcony as silently as a moth fluttering to the light. 

"Ah, Stefan, welcome, " a voice murmured. 

The setting was perfect. As Felicity moved toward him--her gownfluttering and swaying in folds of golden pink as delicately tinted asthe petals of a rose--Stefan realized he had never seen her so alluring. Her strange eyes shone, her lips curved soft and inviting, her cheeks andthroat were like warm, white velvet. 

He took her outstretched hand--of the texture of a camelia--and it pulsedas if a heart beat in it. 

"Felicity, " he half whispered, holding her hand, "how wonderful you are!"

"Am I?" she breathed, sighingly. "I have been asleep so long, Stefan. Perhaps I am awake a little now. "

Her eyes, wide and gleaming as he had never seen them, held him. Amysterious perfume, subtle and poignant, hung about her. Her gauzy dressfluttered as she breathed; she seemed barely poised on her slim feet. Heput out his arm as if to stay her from mothlike flight, and it fell abouther waist. He pressed her to him. Her lips met his--they were incrediblysoft and warm--they seemed to blossom under his kisses. 

 * * * * *

Adolph, returning from the opera at midnight, donned his old jacket and apair of slippers and, lighting his pipe, settled himself with a paper toawait Stefan's coming. Presently first the paper, then the burnt-outpipe, fell from his hands--he dozed, started awake, and dozed again. 

At last he roused himself and stretched stiffly. The lamp was burninglow--he looked at his watch--it was four o'clock. Stefan's Gladstone bagstill yawned on a chair beside the table. In it, the dull glow of thelamp was reflected from a small silver object lying among a litter ofties and socks. Adolph picked it up, and looked for some moments at theface of Mary, smiling above her little son. He shook his head. 

"Tch, tch! Quel dommage-what a pity!" he sighed, and putting down thepicture undressed slowly, blew out the lamp, and went to bed. 

XII

On a Saturday morning at the end of June, Mary stood by the gate of theByrdsnest, looking down the lane. McEwan, who was taking a whole holidayfrom the office, had offered to fetch her mail from the village. Anymoment he might be back. It was quite likely, she told herself, thatthere would be a letter from France this morning--a steamer had docked onThursday, another yesterday. Surely this time there would be somethingfor her. Mary's eyes, as they strained down the lane, had lost some oftheir radiant youth. A stranger might have guessed her older than thetwenty-six years she had just completed--she seemed grave and matronly--her face had a bleak look. Mary's last letter from France had come morethan a month ago, and a face can change much in a month of waiting. Sheknew that last letter--a mere scrap--by heart. 

 "Thank you for your sweet letters, dear, " it read. "I am well, and having a wonderful time. Not much painting yet; that is to come. Adolph admires your picture prodigiously. I have found some old friends in Paris, very agreeably. I may move about a bit, so don't expect many letters. Take care of yourself. Stefan. "

No word of love, nothing about Elliston, or the child to come; just ahasty word or two dashed off in answer to the long letters which she hadtried so hard to make amusing. Even this note had come after a two weeks'silence. "Don't expect many letters--" she had not, but a month was along time. 

There came Wallace! He had turned the corner--he had waved to her--but itwas a quiet wave. Somehow, if there had been a letter from France, Marythought he would have waved his hat round his head. She had never spokenof her month-long wait, but Wallace always knew things without beingtold. No, she was sure there was no letter. "It's too hot here in thesun, " she thought, and walked slowly into the house. 

"Here we are, " called McEwan cheerily as he entered the sitting room. "It's a light mail to-day. Nothing but 'Kindly remit' for me, and oneletter for you--looks like the fist of a Yankee schoolma'am. "

He handed her the letter, holding it with a big thumb over the right-handcorner, so that she recognized Miss Mason's hand before she saw theFrench stamp. 

"Mind if I hang round on the stoop and smoke a pipe?" queried McEwan, pulling a newspaper from his pocket. 

"Do, " said Mary, opening her letter. It was a long, newsy sheet writtenfrom Paris and filled with the Sparrow's opinions on continental hotels, manners, and morals. She read it listlessly, but at the fourth pagesuddenly sat upright. 

 "I thought as long as I was here I'd better see what there is to see, " Miss Mason's pen chatted; "so I've been doing a play or the opera every night, and I can say that not understanding the language don't make the plays seem any less immoral. However, that's what people go abroad to get, so I guess we can't complain. The night before last who was sitting in the orchestra but your husband with that queer Miss Berber? I saw them as plain as daylight, but they couldn't see me away up in the circle. When I was looking for a bus at the end I saw them getting into an elegant electric. I must say she looked cute, all in old rose color with a pearl comb in her hair. I think your husband looked real well too--I suppose they were going to some party together. It's about time that young man was home again with you, it seems to me, and so I should have told him if I could have got anywhere near him in the crowd. All I can say is, _I've_ had enough of Europe. I'm thinking of going through to London for a week, and then sailing. "

At the end of the letter Mary turned the last page back, and slowly readthis paragraph again. There was a dull drumming in her ears--a handseemed to be remorselessly pressing the blood from her heart. She satstaring straight before her, afraid to think lest she should think toomuch. At last she went to the window. 

"Wallace, " she called. He jumped in, paper in hand, and saw her standingdead white by her chair. 

"Ye've no had ill news, Mary?" he asked with a burr. 

She shook her head. "No, Wallace; no, of course not. But I feel ratherrotten this morning. Talk to me a little, will you?"

Obediently he sat down, and shook out the paper. "Hae ye been watchingthe European news much lately, Mary?" he began. 

"I always try to, but it's difficult to find much in the Americanpapers. "

"It's there, if ye know where to look. What would ye think o' thisassassination o' the Grand Duke now?" He cocked his head on one side, asif eagerly waiting for her opinion. She began to rally. 

"Why, it's awful, of course, but somehow I can't feel much sympathy forthe Austrians since they took Bosnia and Herzegovina. "

"What would ye think might come of it?"

"I don't know, Wallace--what would you!"

"Weel, " he said gravely, "I think something's brewing down yonder--there'll be trouble yet. "

"Those poor Balkans, always fighting, " she sighed. 

"I'm feered it'll be more than the Balkans this time. Watch the papers, Mary--I dinna' like the looks o' it mesel'. "

They talked on, he expounding his views on the menace of Austria's near-east aspirations as opposed to Russia's friendship for the Slavic races. Mary tried to listen intelligently--the effort brought a little color toher face. 

"Wallace, " she said presently, "do you happen to know where Miss Berberis this summer?"

"I do not, " he said, his blue eyes steadily watching her. "But Mrs. Elliot would ken maybe--ye might ask her. "

"Oh, it doesn't matter, " said Mary. "I just wondered. "

When McEwan had gone Mary read Miss Mason's letter for the third time, and again the cold touch of fear assailed her. She took a camp stool andsat by the edge of the bluff for a long time, watching the water. Thenshe went indoors again to her desk. 

 "Dear Stefan, " she wrote, "I have only had one note from you in six weeks, and am naturally anxious to know how you are getting on. I am very well, and expect our baby about the tenth of October. Elliston is beautiful; imagine, he is a year old now! I think he will have your eyes. I am sorry you are not getting on well with your work, but perhaps that has changed by now. Dear, I had a letter from Miss Mason this morning, and she writes of having seen you and Miss Berber together at the opera. You didn't tell me she was in Paris, and I can't help feeling it strange that you should not have done so, and should leave me without news for so long. I trust you, dear Stefan, and believe in our love in spite of the difficulties we have had. And I think you did rightly to take a holiday abroad. But you have been gone three months, and I have heard so little. Am I wrong still to believe in our love? Only six months ago we were so happy together. Do you wish our marriage to come to an end? Please write me, dear, and tell me what you really think, for, Stefan, I don't know how I shall bear the suspense much longer. I'm trying to be brave, dear--and I _do_ believe still. 

 "Your

 "Mary. "

Her hand was trembling as she finished writing. She longed to cry out, "For God's sake, come back to me, Stefan"--she longed to write of thewild ache at her heart--but she could not. She could not plead with him. If he did not feel the pain in her halting sentences it would be truethat he no longer loved her. She sealed and stamped the letter. "I muststill believe, " she kept repeating to herself. There was nothing to dobut wait. 

In the weeks that followed it seemed to Mary that her friends were morethan ever kind to her. Not only did James Farraday continually send hiscar to take her driving, and Mrs. Farraday appear in the pony carriage, but not a day passed without McEwan, Jamie, the Havens, or otherneighbors dropping in for a chat, or planning a walk, a luncheon, or asail. Constance, too, immersed in work though she was, ran out severaltimes in her car and spent the night. Mary was grateful--it made herwaiting so much less hard--while her friends were with her the constantache at her heart was drugged asleep. Knowing Wallace, she suspected hishand in this widespread activity, nor was she mistaken. 

The day after the arrival of Miss Mason's letter McEwan had dropped inupon Constance in the evening, when he knew she would be resting afterher strenuous day's work at headquarters. By way of a compliment on hergown he led the conversation round to Felicity Berber, and elicited theinformation that she was abroad. 

"In Paris, perhaps?" he suggested. 

"Now you mention it, I think they did say Paris when I was last in theshop. "

"Byrd is in Paris, you know, " said McEwan, meeting her eyes. 

"Ah!" said Constance, and she stared at him, her lids narrowing. "Ihadn't thought of that possibility. " She fingered her jade beads. 

"I wonder if you ever write her?" he asked. 

"I never write any one, my dear man, and, besides, what could I say?"

"Well, " said he, "I had a hunch you might need a new rig for the summerVotes campaign, or something. I thought maybe you'd want the very latestBerber styles, and would ask her to send a tip over. Then I thought you'dstring her the local gossip, how Mrs. Byrd's baby will be born inOctober, and you don't think her looking as fit as she might. You want acute rattle for it from Paris, or something. Get the idea?"

"You think she doesn't know?"

"I think the kid's about as harmless as a short-circuited wire, but Ithink she's a sport at bottom. My dope is, _if_ there's anything tothis proposition, then she doesn't know. " He rose to go. 

"Wallace, you are certainly a bright boy, " said Constance, holding outher hand. "The missive shall be despatched. "

"Moreover, " said Mac, turning at the door, "Mary's worried--a littlecheering up won't hurt her any. "

"I'll come out, " said Constance'. "What a shame it is--I'm so fond ofthem both. "

"Yes, it's a mean world--but we have to keep right on smiling. Goodnight, " said he. 

"Good night, " called Constance. "You dear, good soul, " she added toherself. 

XIII

Adolph was practising some new Futurist music of Ravel's. Its dissonancesfatigued and irritated him, but he was lured by its horrible fascination, and grated away with an enraged persistence. Paris was hot, the attichotter, for it was July. Adolph wondered as he played how long it wouldbe before he could get away to the sea. He was out of love with the city, and thought longingly of a possible trip to Sweden. His reflections wereinterrupted by Stefan, who pushed the door open listlessly, and instantlyimplored him to stop making a din. 

"What awful stuff--it's like the Cubist horrors, " said he, petulantly. 

"Yes, my friend, yet I play the one, and you go to see the other, " saidAdolph, laying down his fiddle and mopping his head and hands. 

"Not I, " contradicted Stefan, wandering over to his easel. On it was anunfinished sketch of Felicity dancing--several other impressions of herstood about the room. 

"Rotten work, " he said, surveying them moodily. "All I have to show forover three months here. Adolph, " he flung himself into a chair, andrumpled his hair angrily, "I'm sick of my way of life. My marriage was amistake, but it was better than this. I did better work with Mary than Ido with Felicity, and I didn't hate myself. "

"Well, my infant, " said Adolph, with a relieved sigh, "I'm glad to hearyou say it. You've told me nothing, but I am sure your marriage was abetter thing than you think. As for this little lady--" he shrugged hisshoulders--"I make nothing of this affair. "

Stefan's frown was moodier still. 

"Felicity is the most alluring woman I have ever known, and I believe sheis fond of me. But she is affected, capricious, and a perfect mass ofegotism. "

"For egotism you are not the man to blame her, " smiled his friend. 

"I know that, " shrugged Stefan. "I've always believed in egotism, but Iconfess Felicity is a little extreme. "

"Where is she?"

"Oh, she's gone to Biarritz for a week with a party of Americans. Iwouldn't go. I loathe mobs of dressed-up spendthrifts. We had planned togo to Brittany, but she said she needed a change of companionship--thather soul must change the color of its raiment, or some such piffle. " Helaughed shortly. "Here I am hanging about in the heat, most of my moneygone, and not able to do a stroke of work. It's hell, Adolph. "

"My boy, " said his friend, "why don't you go home?"

"I haven't the face, and that's a fact. Besides, hang it, I still wantFelicity. Oh, what a mess!" he growled, sinking lower into his chair. Suddenly Adolph jumped up. 

"I had forgotten; there is a letter for you, " and he tossed one into hislap. "It's from America. "

Stefan flushed, and Adolph watched him as he opened the letter. The flushincreased--he gave an exclamation, and, jumping up, began walkingfeverishly about the room. 

"My God, Adolph, she's heard about Felicity!" Adolph exclaimed in histurn. "She asks me about it--what am I to do?"

"What does she say; can you tell me?" enquired the Swede, distressed. 

"Tiens, I'll read it to you, " and Stefan opened the letter and hastilytranslated it aloud. "She's so generous, poor dear, " he groaned as hefinished. Adolph's face had assumed a deeply shocked expression. He wasred to the roots of his blonde hair. 

"Is your wife then enceinte, Stefan!"

"Yes, of course she is--she cares for nothing but having children. "

"_But_, Stefan!" Adolph's hands waved helplessly--he stammered. "Itcannot be--it is impossible, _impossible_ that you desert abeautiful and good wife who expects your child. I cannot believe it. "

"I _haven't_ deserted her, " Stefan retorted angrily. "I only cameaway for a holiday, and the rest just happened. I should have been homeby now if I hadn't met Felicity. Oh, you don't understand, " he groaned, watching his friend's grieved, embarrassed face. "I'm fond of Mary--devoted to her--but you don't know what the monotony of marriage does toa man of my sort. "

"No, I don't understand, " echoed his friend. "But now, Stefan, " and hebrought his fist down on the table, "now you will go home, will you not, and try to make her happy?"

"I don't think she will forgive this, " muttered Stefan. 

"This!" Adolph almost shouted. "This you will explain away, deny, so thatit troubles her no more!"

"Oh, rot, Adolph, I can't lie to Mary, " and Stefan began to pace the roomonce more. 

"For her sake, it seems to me you must, " his friend urged. 

"Stop talking, Adolph; I want to think!" Stefan exclaimed. He walked insilence for a minute. 

"No, " he said at last, "if my marriage is to go on, it must be on a basisof truth. I can't go back to Mary and act and live a lie. If she willhave me back, she must know I've made some sacrifice to come, I'll go, ifshe says so, because I care for her, but I _can't_ go as a faithful, loving husband--it would be too grotesque. "

"Consider her health, my friend, " implored Adolph, still with hisbewildered, shocked air; "it might kill her!"

"Can't! She's as strong as a horse--she can face the truth like a man. "

"Then think of the other woman; you must protect her. "

"Pshaw! she doesn't need protection! You don't know Felicity; she'd bejust as likely as not to tell Mary herself. "

"I always thought you so honorable, so generous, " Adolph murmured, dejectedly. 

"Oh, cut it, Adolph. I'm being as honorable and generous as I know how. I'll write to Mary now, and offer to come back if she says the word, andnever see Felicity again. I can't do more. "

He flung himself down at the desk, and snatched a pen. 

 "My dearest girl:" he wrote rapidly, "your brave letter has come to me, and I can answer it only with the truth. All that you feared when you heard of F. 's being with me is true. I found her here two months ago, and we have been together most of the time since. It was not planned, Mary; it came to me wholly unexpectedly, when I thought myself cured of love. I care for you, my dear, I believe you the noblest and most beautiful of women, but from F. I have had something which a woman of your kind could never give, and in spite of the pain I feel for your grief, I cannot say with truth that I regret it. There are things--in life and love of which you, my beautiful and clear-eyed Goddess, can know nothing--there is a wild grape, the juice of which you will never drink, but which once tasted, must ever be desired. Because this draught is so different from your own milk and honey, because it leaves my tenderness for you all untouched, because drinking it has assuaged a thirst of which you can have no knowledge, I ask you not to judge it with high Olympian judgment. I ask you to forgive me, Mary, for I love you still--better now than when I left you--and I hold you above all women. The cup is still at my lips, but if you will grant me forgiveness I will drink no more. I agonize over your grief--if you will let me I will return and try to assuage it. Write me, Mary, and if the word is forgive, for your sake I will bid my friend farewell now and forever. I am still your husband if you will have me--there is no woman I would serve but you. 

 "Stefan. "

He signed his name in a dashing scrawl, blotted and folded the letterwithout rereading it, addressed and stamped it, and sprang hatless downthe stairs to post it. 

An enormous weight seemed lifted from him. He had shifted his dilemma tothe shoulders of his wife, and had no conception that in so doing he wasguilty of an act of moral cowardice. Returning to the studio, he pulledout a clean canvas and began a vigorous drawing of two fauns chasing eachother round a tree. Presently, as he drew, he began to hum. 

XIV

It was the fourth of August. 

Stefan and Felicity sat at premier déjeuner on the balcony of herapartment. About them flowers grew in boxes, a green awning hung overthem, their meal of purple fruit, coffee, and hot brioches was servedfrom fantastic green china over which blue dragons sprawled. Felicity'snegligée was of the clear green of a wave's concavity--a butterfly ofblue enamel pinned her hair. A breeze, cool from the river, flutteredunder the awning. 

It was an attractive scene, but Felicity's face drooped listlessly, andStefan, hands deep in the pockets of his white trousers, lay back in hiswicker chair with an expression of nervous irritability. It was early, for the night had been too hot for late sleeping, and Yo San had not yetbrought in the newspapers and letters. Paris was tense. Germany andRussia had declared war. France was mobilizing. Perhaps already the axehad fallen. 

Held by the universal anxiety, Stefan and Felicity had lingered on inParis after her return from Biarritz, instead of traveling to Brittany asthey had planned. 

Stefan had another reason for remaining, which he had not imparted toFelicity. He was waiting for Mary's letter. It was already overdue, andnow that any hour might bring it he was wretchedly nervous as to theresult. He did not yet wish to break with Felicity, but still less did hewish to lose Mary. Without having analyzed it to himself, he would haveliked to keep the Byrdsnest and all that it contained as a warm and safehaven to return to after his stormy flights. He neither wished to beanchored nor free; he desired both advantages, and the knowledge that hewould be called upon to forego one frayed his nerves. Life was various--why sacrifice its fluid beauty to frozen forms?

"Stefan, " murmured Felicity, from behind her drooping mask, "we have hadthree golden months, but I think they are now over. " "What do you mean?"he asked crossly. 

"Disharmony"--she waved a white hand--"is in the air. Beauty--the arts--are to give place to barbarity. In a world of war, how can we taste lifedelicately? We cannot. Already, my friend, the blight has fallen uponyou. Your nerves are harsh and jangled. I think"--she folded her handsand sank back on her green cushions--"I shall make a pilgrimage toChina. "

"All of which, " said Stefan with a short laugh, "is an elaborate way ofsaying you are tired of me. "

Her eyebrows raised themselves a fraction. 

"You are wonderfully attractive, Stefan; you fascinate me as a pantherfascinates by its lithe grace, and your mind has the light and shade ofrunning brooks. "

Stefan looked pleased. 

"But, " she went on, her lids still drooping, "I must have harmony. In anatmosphere of discords I cannot live. Of your present discordant mood, myfriend, I _am_ tired, and I could not permit myself to continue tofeel bored. When I am bored, I change my milieu. "

"You are no more bored than I am, I assure you, " he snapped rudely. 

"It is such remarks as those, " breathed Felicity, "which make loveimpossible. " Her eyes closed. 

He pushed back his chair. "Oh, my dear girl, do have some sense ofhumor, " he said, fumbling for a cigarette. 

Yo San entered with a folded newspaper, and a plate of letters forFelicity. She handed one to Stefan. "Monsieur Adolph leave this, " shesaid. 

Disregarding the paper, Felicity glanced through her mail, and abstracteda thick envelope addressed in Constance's sprightly hand. Stefan's letterwas from Mary; he moved to the end of the balcony and tore it open. Abanker's draft fell from it. 

 "Good-bye, Stefan, " he read, "I can't forgive you. What you have done shames me to the earth. You have broken our marriage. It was a sacred thing to me--now it is profaned. I ask nothing from you, and enclose you the balance of your own money. I can make my living and care for the children, whom you never wanted. "

The last three words scrawled slantingly down the page; they were inlarge and heavier writing--they looked like a cry. The letter wasunsigned, and smudged. It might have been written by a dying person. Thesight of it struck him with unbearable pain. He stood, staring at itstupidly. 

Felicity called him three times before he noticed her--the last time shehad to raise her voice quite loudly. He turned then, and saw her sittingwith unwonted straightness at the table. Her eyes were wide open, andfixed. 

"I have a letter from Connie. " She spoke almost crisply. "Why did you nottell me that your wife was enceinte?"

"Why should I tell you?" he asked, staring at her with indifference. 

"Had I known it I should not have lived with you. I thought she had letyou come here alone through phlegmatic British coldness. If she lost you, it was her affair. This is different. You have not played fair with us. "

"Mary was never cold, " said Stefan dully, ignoring her accusation. 

"That makes it worse. " She sat like a ramrod; her face might have beenivory; her hands lay folded across the open letter. 

"What do you know--or care--about Mary?" he said heavily; "you never evenliked her. "

"Your wife bored me, but I admired her. Women nearly always bore me, butI believe in them far more than men, and wish to uphold them. "

"You chose a funny way of doing so this time, " he said, dropping into hischair with a hopeless sigh. 

She looked at him with distaste. "True, I mistook the situation. Conventions are nothing to me. But I have a spiritual code to which Iadhere. This affair no longer harmonizes with it. I trust--" Felicityrelaxed into her cushions--"you will return to your wife immediately. "

"Thanks, " he said ironically. "But you're too late. Mary knows, and hasthrown me over. "

There was silence for several minutes. Then Stefan rose, picked up thedraft from the floor, looked at it idly, refolded it into Mary's letter, and put both carefully away in his inside pocket. His face was very pale. 

"Adieu, Felicity, " he said quietly. "You are quite right about it. " Andhe held out his hand. 

"Adieu, Stefan, " she answered, waving her hand toward his, but nottouching it. "I am sorry about your wife. "

Turning, he went in through the French window. 

Felicity waited until she heard the thud of the apartment door, thenstruck her hands together. Yo San appeared. 

"A kirtle, Yo San. I must dance away a wound. Afterwards I will think. Beprepared for packing. We may leave Paris. It is time again for work. "

Stefan, walking listlessly toward his studio, found the streets filledwith crowds. Newsboys shrieked; men stood in groups gesticulating; therewere cries of "Vive la France!" and "A bas l'Allemagne!" Everywhere wasseething but suppressed excitement. As he passed a great hotel he foundthe street, early as it was, blocked with departing cabs piled high withbaggage. 

"War is declared, " he thought, but the knowledge conveyed nothing to hissenses. He crossed the Seine, and found himself in his own quarter. Atthe corner of the rue des Trois Ermites a hand-organ, surrounded by acosmopolitan crowd of students, was shrilly grinding out theMarseillaise. The students sang to it, cheering wildly. 

"Who fights for France?" a voice yelled hoarsely, and among cheers ascore of hands went up. 

"Who fights for France?" Stefan stood stock still, then hurried past thecrowd, and up the stairs to his attic. 

There, in the midst of gaping drawers and fast emptying shelves, stoodAdolph in his shirt sleeves, methodically packing his possessions into ahair trunk. He looked up as his friend entered; his mild face was alight;tears of excitement stood in his eyes. 

"Ah, my infant, " he exclaimed, "it has arrived! The Germans are acrossthe frontier. I go to fight for France. "

"Adolph!" cried Stefan, seizing and wringing his friend's hand. "ThankGod there's something great to be done in the world after all! I go withyou. "

"But your wife, Stefan?"

Stefan drew out Mary's letter. For the first time his eyes were wet. 

"Listen, " he said, and translated the brief words. 

Hearing them, the good Adolph sat down on his trunk, and quite franklycried. "Ah, quel dommage! quel dommage!" he exclaimed, over and over. 

"So you see, mon cher, we go together, " said Stefan, and lifted hisGladstone bag to a chair. As he fumbled among its forgotten contents, atiny box met his hand. He drew out the signet ring Mary had given him, with the winged head. 

"Ah, Mary, " he whispered with a half sob, "after all, you gave me wings!"and he put the ring on. He was only twenty-seven. 

 * * * * *

Later in the day Stefan went to the bank and had Mary's draft endorsedback to New York. He enclosed it in a letter to James Farraday, in whichhe asked him to give it to his wife, with his love and blessing, and totell her that he was enlisting with Adolph Jensen in the Foreign Legion. 

That night they both went to a vaudeville theatre. It was packed to thedoors--an opera star was to sing the Marseillaise. Stefan and Adolphstood at the back. No one regarded the performance at all till the singerappeared, clad in white, the French liberty cap upon her head, a greattricolor draped in her arms. Then the house rose in a storm of applause;every one in the vast audience was on his feet. 

"'_Allons, enfants de la patrie_, '" began the singer in amagnificent contralto, her eyes flashing. The house hung breathless. 

"'_Aux armes, citoyens!_'" Her hands swept the audience. "'_Marchons! Marchons!_'" She pointed at the crowd. Each man felther fiery glance pierce to him--France called--she was holding out herarms to her sons to die for her--

"'_Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!_'"

The singer gathered the great flag to her heart. The tears rolled downher cheeks; she kissed it with the passion of a mistress. The house brokeinto wild cheers. Men fell upon each other's shoulders; women sobbed. Thesinger was dumb, but the drums rolled on--they were calling, calling. Thefolds of the flag dazzled Stefan's eyes. He burst into tears. 

 * * * * *

The next morning Stefan Byrd and Adolph Jensen were enrolled in theForeign Legion of France. 

PART V

THE BUILDER

I

It was spring once more. In the garden of the Byrdsnest flowering shrubswere in bloom; the beds were studded with daffodils; the scent of lilacfilled the air. Birds flashed and sang, for it was May, high May, and thenests were built. Mary, warm-cheeked in the sun, and wearing a broad-brimmed hat and a pair of gardening gloves, was thinning out a clump ofcornflowers. At one corner of the lawn, shaded by a flowering dog-wood, was a small sand-pit, and in this a yellow-haired two-year-old boydiligently poured sand through a wire sieve. In a white perambulator laya pink, brown-haired, baby girl, soundly sleeping, a tiny thumb heldcomfortably in her mouth. Now and then Mary straightened from her taskand tiptoed over to the baby, to see that she was still in the shade, orthat no flies disturbed her. 

Mary's face was not that of a happy woman, but it was the face of one whohas found peace. It was graver than of old, but lightened whenever shelooked at her children with an expression of proud tenderness. She wasdressed in the simplest of white cotton gowns, beneath which the lines ofher figure showed a little fuller, but strong and graceful as ever. Shelooked very womanly, very desirable, as she bent over the baby'scarriage. 

Lily emerged from the front door, and set a tea-tray upon the low porchtable. She lingered for a moment, glancing with pride at the verandahwith its green rocking chairs, hammock, and white creeping-rug. 

"My, Mrs. Byrd, don't our new porch look nice, now it's all done?" sheexclaimed, beaming. 

"Yes, " said Mary, dropping into a rocking-chair to drink her tea, andthrowing off her hat to loosen the warm waves of hair about her forehead, "isn't it awfully pretty? I don't know how we should have managed withoutit on damp mornings, now that Baby wants to crawl all the time. Ah, hereis Miss Mason!" she exclaimed, smiling as that spinster, in whiteshirtwaist and alpaca skirt, dismounted from a smart bicycle at the gate. 

"Any letters, Sparrow?"

Miss Mason, extracting several parcels from her carrier, floppedgratefully into a rocker, and drew off her gloves. 

"One or two, " she said. "Here, Lily; here's your marmalade, and here'sthe soap, and a letter for you. There are a few bills, Mary, and a coupleof notes--" she passed them across--"and here's an afternoon paper one ofthe Haven youngsters handed me as I passed him on the road. He called outsomething about another atrocity. I haven't looked at it. I hate to openthe things these days. "

"I know, " nodded Mary, busy with her letters, "so do I. This is from Mr. Gunther, from California. He's been there all the winter, you know. Oh, how nice; he's coming back! Says we are to expect a visit from him soon, "Mary exclaimed, with a pleased smile. "Here's a line from Constance, " shewent on. "Everything is doing splendidly in her garden, she says. Shewants us all to go up in June, before she begins her auto speaking trip. Don't you think it would be nice!"

"Perfectly elegant, " said the Sparrow. "I'm glad she's taking a littlerest. I thought she looked real tired this spring. "

"She works so frightfully hard. "

"Land sakes, work agrees with _you_, Mary! You look simply great. Ifyour new book does as well as the old one I suppose porches won't satisfyyou--you'll be wanting to build an ell on the house?"

"That's just what I do want, " said Mary, smiling. "I want to have a spareroom, and proper place for the babies. We're awfully crowded. Did I tellyou Mr. Farraday had some lovely plans that he had made years ago, for awing?"

"You don't say!"

"Yes, but I'm afraid we'll have to wait another year for that, till I canincrease my short story output. "

"My, it seems to me you write them like a streak. "

Mary shook her head. "No, after Baby is weaned I expect to work faster, and ever so much better. "

"Well, if you do any better than you are doing, Frances Hodgson Burnettwon't be in it; that's all I can say. "

"Oh, Sparrow!" smiled Mary, "she writes real grown-up novels, too, and Ican only do silly little children's things. "

"They're not silly, Mary Byrd, I can tell you that, " sniffed Miss Mason, shaking out her paper. 

"My gracious!" She turned a shocked face to Mary. "What do you supposethose Germans have done now? Sunk the Lusitania!"

"The Lusitania?" exclaimed Mary, incredulously. 

"Yes, my dear; torpedoed her without warning. My, ain't that terrible? Itsays they hope most of the passengers are saved--but they don't knowyet. "

"Let me see!" Mary bent over her shoulder. "The Lusitania gone!" shewhispered, awed. 

"No, no!" exclaimed the Sparrow suddenly, hurrying off the porch. "Ellienot pour sand over his head! No, naughty!"

Mary sank into her chair with the paper. There was the staring blackheadline, but she could hardly believe it. The Lusitania gone? The greatship she knew so well, on which she and Stefan had met, gone! Lying inthe ooze, with fish darting above the decks where she had walked withStefan. Those hundreds of cabins a labyrinth for fish to lose their wayin--all rotting in the black sea currents. The possible loss of life hadnot yet come home to her. It was inconceivable that there would not havebeen ample time for every one to escape. But the ship, the great Englishship! So swift--so proud!

Dropping the paper, she walked slowly across the garden and the lane, andfound her way to a little seat she had made on the side of the bluffoverlooking the water. Here, her back to a tree trunk, she sat immobile, trying to still the turmoil of memories that rose within her. 

The Lusitania gone!

It seemed like the breaking of the last link that bound her to the past. All the belief, all the wonder of that time were already gone, and nowthe ship, her loveship, was gone, too, lost forever to the sight of men. 

She saw again its crowded decks, saw the lithe, picturesque figure of theyoung artist with the eager face bending over her--

"Won't you be perfectly kind, and come for a walk?"

She saw the saloon on her engagement night when shesang at the ship's concert. What were the last words she had sung?

 "Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty-- Love's a stuff will not endure. "

Alas, how unconsciously prophetic she had been. Nothing had endured, neither love, nor faith, nor the great ship of their pilgrimage herself. 

Other memories crowded. Their honeymoon at Shadeham, the sweet early daysof their studio life, her glorious pride in his great painting of loveexalted. .. . The night of Constance's party, when, after her singing, herhusband had left his place by Miss Berber and crossed the room so eagerlyto her side. Their first weeks at the Byrdsnest--how happy they had beenthen, and how worshipfully he had looked at her the morning their son wasborn. All gone. She had another baby now, but he had never seen it--neverwould see it, she supposed. Her memory traveled on, flitting over thedark places and lingering at every sunny peak of their marriage journey. Their week in Vermont! How they had skated and danced together; how muchhe seemed to love her then! Even the day he sailed for France he seemedto care for her. "Why are we parting?" he had cried, kissing her. Yes, even then their marriage, for all the clouds upon it, had seemed real--she had never doubted in her inmost heart that they were each other's. 

With a stab of the old agony, Mary remembered the day she got his letteradmitting his relations with Felicity. The unbelievable breakdown of herwhole life! His easy, lightly made excuses. He, in whose arms she hadlain a hundred times, with whom she had first learnt the sacrament oflove, had given himself to another woman, had given all that most closeand sacred intimacy of love, and had written, "I cannot say with truththat I regret it. " How she had lived through the reading of those wordsshe did not know. Grief does not kill, or surely she would have died thathour. Her own strength, and the miracle of life within her, alone stayedher longing for death. It was ten months ago; she had lived down muchsince then, had schooled herself daily to forgetfulness; yet now againthe unutterable pang swept over her--the desolation of loss, and theincapacity to believe that such loss could be. 

She rebelled against the needlessness of it all now, as she had donethen, in those bitter days before her little Rosamond came to half-assuage her pain. 

Well, he had redeemed himself in a way. The day James Farraday came totell her that Stefan had enlisted, some part of her load was eased. Thefather of her children was not all ignoble. 

Mary mused on. How would it end? Would Stefan live? Should she--couldshe--ever see him again? She thanked God he was there, serving thecountry he loved. "The only thing he ever really loved, perhaps, " shethought. She supposed he would be killed--all that genius lost like somuch more of value that the world was scrapping to-day--and then it wouldall be quite gone--

Through the trees dropped the insistent sound of a baby's cry to itsmother. She rose; the heavy clouds of memory fell away. The past wasgone; she lived for the future, and the future was in her children. 

 * * * * *

The next morning Mary had just bathed the baby, and was settling her inher carriage, when the Sparrow, who, seated on the porch with Elliston, was engaged in cutting war maps from the papers and pasting them in anenormous scrapbook, gave a warning cough. 

"Here comes Mr. McEwan, " she whispered, in the hushed voice reserved byher simple type for allusions to the afflicted. 

"Oh, poor dear, " said Mary, hurrying across the lawn to meet him. Shefelt more than ever sympathetic toward him, for Mac's wife had died in aNew Hampshire sanitarium only a few weeks before, and all his hopes ofmending her poor broken spirit were at an end. Reaching the gate, shegave an involuntary cry. 

McEwan was stumbling toward her almost like a drunken man. His face wasred, his eyes bloodshot; a morning paper trailed loosely from his hand. 

"Mary, " he cried, "I came back from the station to see ye--hae ye heard, my girl?"

"Wallace!" she exclaimed, frightened, "what is it? What has happened?"She led him to a seat on the porch; he sank into it unresisting. MissMason pushed away her scrapbook, white-faced. 

"The Lusitania! They were na' saved, Mary. There's o'er a thousand gone. O'er a hundred Americans--hundreds of women and little bairns, Mary--likeyours--Canadian mithers and bairns going to be near their brave lads--babies, Mary. " And the big fellow dropped his rough head on his arms andsobbed like a child. 

"Oh, Wallace; oh, Wallace!" whispered Mary, fairly wringing her hands;"it can't be! Over a thousand lost?"

"Aye, " he cried suddenly, bringing his heavy fist down with a crash onthe wicker table, "they drooned them like rats--God damn their bloodysouls. "

His face, crimson with rage and pity, worked uncontrollably. Mary coveredher eyes with her hands. The Sparrow sat petrified. The little Elliston, terrified by their strange aspects, burst into loud wails. 

"There, darling; there, mother's boy, " crooned Mary soothingly, pressingher wet cheek to his. 

"Little bairns like that, Mary, " McEwan repeated brokenly. Mary gatheredthe child close into her arms. They sat in stunned horror. 

"Weel, " said McEwan at last, more quietly. "I'll be going o'er to enlist. I would ha' gone long sine, but that me poor girl would ha' thocht I'ddesairted her. She doesna' need me now, and there's eno' left for thelad. Aye, this is me call. I was ay a slow man to wrath, Mary, but now ifI can but kill one German before I die--" His great fist clenched againon the table. 

"Oh, don't, dear man, don't, " whispered Mary, with trembling lips, layingher cool hand over his. "You're right; you must go. But don't feel soterribly. "

His grip relaxed; his big hand lay under hers quietly. 

"I could envy you, Wallace, being able to go. It's hard for us who haveto stay here, just waiting. My poor sister has lost her husband already, and I don't know whether mine is alive or dead. And now you're going!Elliston's pet uncle!" She smiled at him affectionately through hertears. 

"I'll write you if I hear aught about the Foreign Legion, Mary, " he said, under his breath. 

She pressed his hand in gratitude. "When shall you go?" she asked. 

"By the next boat. "

"Go by the American Line. "

His jaw set grimly. "Aye, I will. They shall no torpedo me till I've hadae shot at them!"

Mary rose. "Now, Wallace, you are to stay and lunch with us. You must letus make much of the latest family hero while we have him. Eh, Sparrow?"

"Yes, " nodded Miss Mason emphatically, "I've hated the British ever sincethe Revolution--I and my parents and my grandparents--but I guess I'mwith them, and those that fight for them, from now on. "

II

On the Monday following the sinking of the Lusitania, James Farradayreceived a letter from the American Hospital in Paris, written in Frenchin a shaky hand, and signed Adolph Jensen. 

New York was still strained and breathless from Saturday's horror. Mensat idle in their offices reading edition after edition of the papers, rage mounting in their hearts. Flags were at half mast. Little work wasbeing done anywhere save at the newspaper offices, which were keyed tothe highest pitch. Farraday's office was hushed. Those members of hisstaff who were responsible for The Child at Home--largely women, allpicked for their knowledge of child life--were the worst demoralized. Howthink of children's play-time stories when those little bodies were beingbrought into Queenstown harbor? Farraday himself, the efficient, theconcentrated, sat absent-mindedly reading the papers, or drumming a slow, ceaseless tap with his fingers upon the desk. The general gloom wasenhanced by their knowledge that Mac, their dear absurd Mac, was going. But they were all proud of him. 

By two o'clock Farraday had read all the news twice over, and Adolph'sletter three times. 

Telephoning for his car to meet him, he left the office and caught anearly afternoon train home. He drove straight to the Byrdsnest and foundMary alone in the sitting room. 

She rose swiftly and pressed his hand:

"Oh, my dear friend, " she murmured, "isn't it terrible?"

He nodded. "Sit down, Mary, my dear girl. " He spoke very quietly, unconsciously calling her by name for the first time. "I have somethingto tell you. "

She turned white. 

"No, " he said quickly, "he isn't dead. "

She sat down, trembling. 

"I have a letter from Adolph Jensen. They are both wounded, and in theAmerican Hospital in Paris. The Foreign Legion has suffered heavily. Jensen is convalescent, and returns to the front. He was beside yourhusband in the trench. It was a shell. Byrd was hit in the back. My dearchild--" he stopped for a moment. "Mary--"

"Go on, " she whispered through stiff lips. 

"He is paralyzed, my dear, from the hips down. "

She stared at him. 

"Oh, no, James--oh, no, James--oh, no!" she whispered, over and over. 

"Yes, my poor child. He is quite convalescent, and going about the wardsin a wheeled chair. But he will never be able to walk again. "

"Why, " said Mary, wonderingly, "he never used to be still--he always ran, and skipped, like a child. " Her breast heaved. "He always ran, James--"she began to cry--the tears rolled down her cheeks--she ran quickly outof the room, sobbing. 

James waited in silence, smoking a pipe, his face set in lines ofinexpressible sadness. In half an hour she returned. Her eyes wereswollen, but she was calm again. 

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long, " she said, with a pitifulattempt at a smile. "Please read me the letter, will you?"

James read the French text. Stefan had been so brave in the trenches, always kept up a good heart. He used to sing to the others. A shell hadstruck the trench; they were nearly all killed or wounded. Stefan knew hewould walk no more, but he was still so brave, with a smile for everyone. He was drawing, too, wonderful pencil drawings of the front. Adolphthought they were much more wonderful than anything he had ever done. Allthe nurses and wounded asked for them. Adolph would be going back in amonth. He ventured to ask Mr. Farraday to lay the affair before Mrs. Byrd. Stefan had no money, and no one to take care of him when he leftthe hospital. He, Adolph, would do all that was possible, but he was surethat his friend should go home. Stefan often, very often, spoke of hiswife to Adolph. He wore a ring of hers. Would Mr. Farraday use his goodoffices?

James folded the letter and looked at Mary. 

"I must go and fetch him, " she said simply. 

"Mrs. Byrd--Mary--I want you to let me go. Mac has offered to do itbefore enlisting, but I don't think your husband cared for Mac, and healways liked me. It wouldn't be fair to the baby for you to go, and itwould be very painful for you. But it will give me real happiness--thefirst thing I've been able to do in this awful business. "

"Oh, no, James, I couldn't let you. Your work--it is too muchaltogether. "

"The office can manage without me for three weeks. I want you to let medo this for you both--it's such a small thing. "

"I feel I ought to go, James, " she reiterated, "I ought to be there. "

"You can't take the baby--and she mustn't suffer, " he urged. "There willbe any amount of red tape. You really must let me go. "

They discussed it for some time, and at last she agreed, for the sake ofthe small Rosamond. She began to see, too, that there would be much forher to do at this end. With her racial habit of being coolest in anemergency, Mary found herself mentally reorganizing the régime of theByrdsnest, and rapidly reviewing one possible means after another ofensuring Stefan's comfort. She talked over her plans with James, andbefore he left that afternoon their arrangements were made. On one pointhe was obliged to give way. Stefan's money, which he had returned to Marybefore enlisting, was still intact, and she insisted it should be usedfor the expenses of the double journey. Enough would be left to carry outher plans at this end, and Stefan would know that he was in no sense anobject of charity. 

James, anxious as he was to help his friends in all ways, had to admitthat she was right. He was infinitely relieved that the necessity forpractical action had so completely steadied her. He knew now that shewould be almost too busy in the intervening weeks for distress. 

The next day James engaged his passage, sent a long cable to Adolph, andperformed prodigies of work at the office. By means of some wire-pullinghe and Mac succeeded in securing a cabin together on the next Americanliner out. 

Meanwhile, Mary began her campaign. At breakfast she expounded her plansto Miss Mason, who had received the news overnight. 

"You see, Sparrow, " she said, "we don't know how much quiet he will need, but we couldn't give him _any_ in this little cottage, with thebabies. So I shall fit up the studio--a big room for him, a small one forthe nurse, and a bath. The nurse will be the hardest part, for I'm surehe would rather have a man. The terrible helplessness"--her voicefaltered for a second--"would humiliate him before a woman. But it mustbe the right man, Sparrow, some one he can like--who won't jar him--andsome one we can afford to keep permanently. I've been thinking about itall night and, do you know, I have an idea. Do you remember my tellingyou about Adolph Jensen's brother?"

"The old one, who failed over here?"

"Yes. Stefan helped him, you know, and I'm sure he was awfully grateful. When the Berber shop changed hands in January, I wondered what wouldbecome of him; I believe Miss Berber was only using him out of kindness. It seems to me he might be just the person, if we could find him. "

"You're a smart girl, Mary, and as plucky as they make 'em, " nodded thespinster. 

"Oh, Sparrow, when I think of his helplessness! He, who always wantedwings!" Mary half choked. 

"Now, " said Miss Mason, rising briskly, "we've got to act, not think. Come along, child, and let's go over to the barn. " Gratefully Maryfollowed her. 

Enquiries at the now cheapened and popularized Berber studio elicitedJensen's old address, and Mary drove there in a taxi, only to find thathe had moved to an even poorer quarter of the city. She discovered hislodgings at last, in a slum on the lower east side. He was out, lookingfor a job, the landlady thought, but Mary left a note for him, with abill inside it, asking him to come out to Crab's Bay the next morning. She hurried back to Rosamond, and found that the excellent Sparrow hadalready held lively conferences with the village builders and plumbers. 

"I told 'em they'd get a bonus for finishing the job in three weeks, andI guess I got the whole outfit on the jump, " said she with satisfaction. "Though the dear Lord knows, " she added, "if the plumbers get through onschedule it'll be the first time in history. "

When Henrik Jensen arrived next day Mary took an instant liking to him. He was shabbier and more hopeless than ever, but his eyes were kind, hismouth gentle, and when she spoke of Stefan his face lighted up. 

She told him the story of the two friends, of his brother's wound andStefan's crippling, and saw that his eyes filled with tears. 

"He was wonderful to me, Mrs. Byrd, he gave me a chance. I was makinggood, too, till Miss Berber left and the whole scheme fell to pieces. I'mglad Adolph is with him; it was very gracious of you to let me hear aboutit. "

"Are you very busy now, Mr. Jensen?"

He smiled hopelessly. 

"Yes, very busy--looking for work. I'm down and out, Mrs. Byrd. "

She unfolded her scheme to him. Stefan would need some one near him nightand day. He would be miserable with a servant; he would--she knew--feelhis helplessness more keenly in the presence of a woman. She herselfcould help, but she had her work, and the children. Mr. Jensen would beone of the family. She could offer him a home, and a salary which shehoped would be sufficient for his needs--

"I have no needs, Mrs. Byrd, " he interrupted at this point, his eyesshining with eagerness. "Enough clothes for decency, that's all. If Icould be of some use to your husband, to my friend and Adolph's, I shouldask no more of life. I'm a hopeless failure, ma'am, and getting old--youdon't know what it is like to feel utterly useless. "

Mary listened to his gentle voice and watched his fine hands--hands usedto appraising delicate, beautiful things. The longer they talked, themore certain she felt that here was the ideal person, one bound to herhusband by ties of gratitude, and whose ministrations could not possiblyoffend him. 

She rang up Mrs. Farraday, put the case to her, and obtained her offer ofa room to house Mr. Jensen while the repairs were making. She arrangedwith him to return next day with his belongings, and advanced a part ofhis salary for immediate expenses. Mary wanted him to come to her atonce, both out of sympathy for his wretched circumstances, and becauseshe wished thoroughly to know him before Stefan's return. 

Luckily, the Sparrow took to Jensen at once, so there was nothing to fearon that score. For the Sparrow was now a permanent part of Mary's life. She had a small independent income, but no home--her widowed sisterhaving gone west to live with a daughter--and she looked upon herself asthe appointed guardian of the Byrdsnest. Not only did she relieve Mary ofthe housekeeping, and help Lily with the household tasks, which sheadored, but she had practically taken the place of nurse to the children, leaving Mary hours of freedom for her work which would otherwise havebeen unattainable. 

The competency of the two friends achieved the impossible in the next fewweeks, as it had done on the memorable first day of Mary's housekeeping. Mr. Jensen, with his trained taste, was invaluable for shoppingexpeditions, going back and forth to the city with catalogues, samples, and orders. 

In a little over three weeks Stefan's old studio had been transformedinto a bed-sitting-room, with every comfort that an invalid could desire, and the further end of it had been partitioned into a bathroom and asmall bedroom for Mr. Jensen, with a separate outside entrance. 

"Oh, if only I had the new wing, " sighed Mary. 

"This will be even quieter for him, Mrs. Byrd, and the chair can bewheeled so quickly to the house, " replied Mr. Jensen. 

The back window of Mary's sitting room had been enlarged to glass doors, and from these a concrete path ran to the studio entrance. Mary plannedto make it a covered way after the summer. 

The day the wheeled chair arrived it was hard for her to keep back thetears. It was a beautifully made thing of springs, cushions, and rubbertires. It could be pushed, or hand-propelled by the occupant. It could belowered, heightened, or tilted. It was all that a chair could be--but howto picture Stefan in it, he of the lithe steps and quick, agilemovements, the sudden turns, and the swift, almost running walk? Herheart trembled with pity at the thought. 

They had already received an "all well" cable from Paris, and three weeksafter be had sailed, James telegraphed that they were starting. He hadwaited for the American line--he would have been gone a month. 

As the day of landing approached, Mary became intensely nervous. Shedecided not to meet the boat, and sent James a wireless to that effect. She could not see Stefan first among all those crowds; her instinct toldher that he, too, would not wish it. 

The ship docked on Saturday. The day before, the last touches had beenput to Stefan's quarters. They were as perfect as care and taste couldmake them. Early on Saturday morning Mr. Jensen started for the city, carrying a big bunch of roses--Mary's welcome to her husband. While theSparrow flew about the house gilding the lily of cleanliness, Mary, withElliston at her skirts, picked the flowers destined for Stefan's room. These she arranged in every available vase--the studio sang with them. Every now and then she would think of some trifle to beautify it further--a drawing from her sitting room--her oldest pewter plate for anotherashtray--a pine pillow from her bedroom. Elliston's fat legs became sotired with ceaselessly trotting back and forth behind her that he beganto cry with fatigue, and was put to bed for his nap. Rosamond waked, demanding dinner and amusement. 

The endless morning began to pass, and all this while Mary had notthought!

At lunch time James telephoned. They would be out by three o'clock. Stefan had stood the journey well, was delighted with the roses, and tosee Jensen. He was wonderfully brave and cheerful. 

Mary was trembling as she hung up the receiver. He was here, he was onthe way; and still, she had not thought!

Both children asleep, the last conceivable preparation made, Mary settledherself on the porch at last, to face what was coming. 

The Sparrow peeped out at her. 

"I guess you'd as soon be left alone, my dear, " she said, tactfully. 

"Yes, please, Sparrow, " Mary replied, with a nervous smile. The littlespinster slipped away. 

What did she feel for Stefan? Mary wondered. Pity, deep pity? Yes. Butthat she would feel for any wounded soldier. Admiration for his courage?That, too, any one of the war's million heroes could call forth. Determination to do her full duty by this stricken member of her family?Of course, she would have done that for any relative. Love? No. Mary feltno love for Stefan. That had died, nearly a year ago, died in agony andhumiliation. She could not feel that her lover, her husband, wasreturning to her. She waited only for a wounded man to whom she owed theduty of all kindness. 

Suddenly, her heart shook with fear. What if she were unable to show himmore than pity, more than kindness? What if he, stricken, helpless, should feel her lack of warmth, and tenderness, should feel himself astranger here in this his only refuge? Oh, no, no! She must do betterthan that. She must act a part. He must feel himself cared for, wanted. Surely he, who had lost everything, could ask so much for old love'ssake? . .. But if she could not give it? Terror assailed her, the terror ofgiving pain; for she knew that of all women she was least capable ofinsincerity. "I don't know how to act, " she cried to herself, pitifully. 

A car honked in the lane. They were here. She jumped up and ran to thegate, wheeling the waiting chair outside it. Farraday's big car roundedthe bend--three men sat in the tonneau. Seeing them, Mary ran suddenlyback inside the gate; her eyes fell, she dared not look. 

The car had stopped. Through half-raised lids she saw James alight. Thechauffeur ran to the chair. Jensen stood up in the car, and some one waslifted from it. The chair wheeled about and came toward her. It wasthrough the gate--it was only a yard away. 

"Mary, " said a voice. She looked up. 

There was the well-known face, strangely young, the eyes large andshadowed. There was his smile, eager, and very anxious now. There werehis hands, those finely nervous hands. They lay on a rug, beneath whichwere the once swift limbs that could never move again. He was all hersnow. His wings were broken, and, broken, he was returning to the nest. 

"Mary!"

She made one step forward. Stooping, she gathered his head to her breast, that breast where, loverlike, it had lain a hundred times. Her arms heldhim close, her tears ran down upon his hair. 

"My boy!" she cried. 

Here was no lover, no husband to be forgiven. Cradled upon her heartthere lay only her first, her most wayward, and her best loved child. 

III

Mary never told Stefan of those nightmare moments before his arrival. From the instant that her deepest passion, the maternal, had answered tohis need, she knew neither doubt nor unhappiness. 

She settled down to the task of creating by her labor and love a homewhere her three dependents and her three faithful helpmates could findthe maximum of happiness and peace. 

The life of the Byrdsnest centered about Stefan; every one thought firstof him and his needs. Next in order of consideration came Ellie andlittle Rosamond. Then Lily had to be remembered. She must not beoverworked; she must take enough time off. Henrik, too, must not be over-conscientious. He must allow Mary to relieve him often enough. As for theSparrow, she must not wear herself out flying in three directions atonce. She must not tire her eyes learning typewriting. But at this pointMary's commands were apt to be met with contempt. 

"Now, Mary Byrd, " the Sparrow would chirp truculently, "you 'tend to yourbusiness, and let me 'tend to mine. Anybody would think that we were allto save ourselves in this house but you. As for my typing, it's funny ifI can't save you something on those miserable stenographers' bills. "

Mary was wonderfully happy in these days--happier in a sense than she hadever been, for she had found, beyond all question, the full work forhands to do. And to her love for her children there was added not merelyher maternal tenderness for Stefan, but a deep and growing admiration. 

For Stefan was changed not only in the body, but in the spirit. Everybodyremarked it. The fierce fires of war seemed to have burnt away his oldconfident egotism. In giving himself to France he had found more than hehad lost; for, by a strange paradox, in the midst of death he had foundbelief in life. 

"Mary, my beautiful, " he said to her one day in September, as he workedat an adjustable drawing board which swung across his knees, "did youever wonder why all my old pictures used to be of rapid movement, nearlyall of running or flying?"

"Yes, dearest, I used to try often to think out the significance of it. "

They were in the studio. Mary had just dropped her pencil after a coupleof hours' work on a new serial she was writing. She often worked now inStefan's room. He was busy with a series of drawings of the war. He hadtried different media--pastel, ink, pencils, and chalks--to see whichwere the easiest for sedentary work. 

"It's good-bye to oils, " he had said, "I couldn't paint a foot from thecanvas. "

Now he was using a mixture of chalk and charcoal, and was in the act offinishing the sixth drawing of his series. The big doors of the barn wereopened wide to the sunny lawn, gay with a riot of multicolored dahlias. 

"It's odd, " said Stefan, pushing away his board and turning the wheels ofhis chair so that he faced the brilliant stillness of the garden, "but Iseem never to have understood my work till now. I used always to paintflight partly because it was beautiful in itself but also, I think, withsome hazy notion that swift creatures could always escape from theugliness of life. "

Mary came and sat by him, taking his hand. 

"It seems to me, " he went on, "that I spent my life flying from what Ithought was ugly. I always refused to face realities, Mary, unless theywere pleasant. I fled even from the great reality of our marriage becauseit meant responsibilities and monotony, and they seemed ugly things tome. And now, Mary, " he smiled, "now that I can never shoulderresponsibilities again, and am condemned to lifelong monotony"--shepressed his hand--"neither seems ugly any more. The truth is, I thought Ifled to get away from things, and it was really to get away from myself. Now that I've seen such horrors, such awful suffering, and suchunbelievable sacrifice, I have something to think about so much more realthan my vain, egotistical self. I know what my work is now, somethingmuch better than just creating beauty. I gave my body to France--that wasnothing. But now I have to give her my soul--I have to try and make it avoice to tell the world a little of what she has done. Am I too vain, dearest, in thinking that these really say something big?"

He nodded toward his first five drawings, which hung in a row on thewall. 

"Oh, Stefan, you know what I think of them, " she said, her eyes shining. 

"Would you mind pinning up the new one, Mary, so that we can see them alltogether?"

She rose and, unfastening the drawing from its board, pinned it besidethe others. Then she turned his chair to face them, and they both lookedsilently at the pictures. 

They were drawings of the French lines, and the peasant life behind them. Dead soldiers, old women by a grave, young mothers following the plow--men tense, just before action. The subjects were already familiar enoughthrough the work of war correspondents and photographers, but thetreatment was that of a great artist. The soul of a nation was there--which is always so much greater than the soul of an individual. Thedrawings were not of men and women, but of one of the world's greatestraces at the moment of its transfiguration. 

For the twentieth time Mary's eyes moistened as she looked at them. 

The shadows began to lengthen. Shouts came from the slope, and presentlyEllie's sturdy form appeared through the trees, followed by the somewhatdisheveled Sparrow carrying Rosamond, who was smiting her shoulder andcrowing loudly. 

"I'll come and help you in a few minutes, Sparrow, " Mary called, as theprocession crossed the lawn, her face beaming love upon it. 

"Can you spare the few minutes, dear?" Stefan asked, watching her. 

"Yes, indeed, they won't need me yet. "

The light was quite golden now; the dahlias seemed on fire under it. 

"Mary, " said Stefan, "I've been thinking a lot about you lately. "

"Have you, dear?"

"Yes, I never tried to understand you in the old days. I had never metyour sort of woman before, and didn't trouble to think about you exceptas a beautiful being to love. I was too busy thinking about myself, " hesmiled. "I wondered, without understanding it, where you got yourstrength, why everything you touched seemed to turn to order andhelpfulness under your hands. I think now it is because you are always sotrue to life--to the things life really means. Every one always approvesand upholds you, because in you the race itself is expressed, not merelyone of its sports, as with me. "

She looked a little puzzled. "Do you mean, dearest, because I havechildren?"

"No, Beautiful, any one can do that. I mean because you have in perfectbalance and control all the qualities that should be passed on tochildren, if the race is to be happy. You are so divinely normal, Mary, that's what it is, and yet you are not dull. "

"Oh, I'm afraid I am, " smiled Mary, "rather a bromide, in fact. "

He shook his head, with his old brilliant smile. 

"No, dearest, nobody as beautiful and as vital as you can be dull to anyone who is not out of tune with life. I used to be that, so I'm afraid Ithought you so, now and then. "

"I know you did, " she laughed, "and I thought you fearfully erratic. "

He laughed back. They had both passed the stage in which the truth haspower to hurt. 

"I remember Mr. Gunther talking to me a little as you have been doing, "she recalled, "when he came to model me. I don't quite understand eitherof you. I think you're just foolishly prejudiced in my favor because youadmire me. "

"What about the Farradays, and Constance, and the Sparrow and Lily andHenrik and McEwan and the Havens and Madame Corriani and--"

"Oh, stop!" she laughed, covering his mouth with her hand. 

"And even in Paris, " he concluded, holding the hand, "Adolph, and--yes, and Felicity Berber. Are they all 'prejudiced in your favor'?"

"Why do you include the last named?" she asked, rather low. It was thefirst time Felicity had been spoken of between them. 

"She threw me over, Mary, the hour she discovered how it was with you, "he said quietly. 

"That was rather decent of her. I'm glad you told me that, " she answeredafter a pause. 

"All this brings me to what I really want to say, " he continued, stillholding her hand in his. "You are so alive, you _are_ life; and yetyou're chained to a half-dead man. "

"Oh, don't, dearest, " she whispered, deeply distressed. 

"Yes, let me finish. I shan't last very long, my dear--two or threeyears, perhaps--long enough to say what I must about France. I want youto go on living to the full. I want you to marry again, Mary, and havemore beautiful, strong children. "

"Oh, darling, don't! Don't speak of such things, " she begged, her lipstrembling. 

"I've finished, Beautiful. That's all I wanted to say. Just for you toremember, " he smiled. 

Her arms went round him. "You're bad, " she whispered, "I shan'tremember. "

"Here comes Henrik, " he replied. "Run in to your babies. "

He watched her swinging steps as, after a farewell kiss, she sped downthe little path. 

IV

Stefan's moods were not always calm. He had his hours of fiercerebellion, when he felt he could not endure another moment with hisdeadened carcass; when, without life, it seemed so much better to die. Hehad days of passionate longing for the world, for love, for everything hehad lost. Mary fell into the habit of borrowing the Farradays' car whenshe saw such a mood approaching, and sending Stefan for long drivesalone. The rushing flight seldom failed to carry him beyond the reach ofhis black mood. Returning, he would plunge into work, and the next daywould find him calm and smiling once again. He suffered much pain fromhis back, but this he bore with admirable patience. 

"It's nothing, " he would say, "compared to the black devils. "

Stefan's courage was enormously fortified by the success of his drawings, which created little less than a sensation. Reproductions of themappeared for some weeks in The Household Review, and were recopiedeverywhere. The originals were exhibited by Constantine in November. 

 "Here, " wrote one of the most distinguished critics in New York, himself a painter of repute, "we have work which outranks even Mr. Byrd's celebrated Danaë, and in my judgment far surpasses any of the artist's other achievements. I have watched the development of this young American genius with the keenest interest. I placed him in the first rank as a technichian, but his work--with the exception of the Danaë--appeared to me to lack substance and insight. It was brilliant, but too spectacular. Even his Danaë, though on a surprising inspirational plane, had a quality high rather than profound, I doubted if Mr. Byrd had the stuff of which great art is made, but after seeing his war drawings, I confess myself mistaken. If I were to sum up my impression of them I should say that on the battlefield Mr. Byrd has discovered the one thing his work lacked--soul. "

Stefan read this eulogy with a humorous grin. 

"I expect the fellow's right, " he said. "I don't think my soul was asstrong on wings in the old days as my brush was. Without joking, though, "he went on, suddenly grave, "I don't know if there is such a thing as asoul, but if there is, such splendid ones were being spilled out therethat I think, perhaps, Mary, I may have picked a bit of one up. "

"Dearest, " said Mary, with a kiss of comprehension, "I'm so proud of you. You are great, a great artist, and a great spirit. " And she kissed himagain, her eyes shining. 

If the Byrdsnest was proud in November of its distinguished head, itpositively bristled with importance in December, when Constantinetelephoned that the trustees of the Metropolitan were negotiating forStefan's whole series. This possibility had already been spoken of in thepress, though the family had not dared hope too much from the suggestion. 

The Museum bought the drawings, and Stefan took his place as one ofAmerica's great artists. 

"Mary, I'm so glad I can be useful again, as well as ornamental, " hegrinned, presenting to her with a flourish a delightfully substantialcheque. 

His courage, and his happiness in his success, were an increasing joy toMary. She blossomed in her pride of him, and the old glowing look cameback to her face. 

Only one thing--besides her anxiety for his health--troubled her. Withall his tenderness to her, and his renewed love, he still remained astranger to his children. He seemed proud of their healthy beauty, andglad of Mary's happiness in them; but their nearness bored and tired him, and they, quick to perceive this, became hopelessly unresponsive in hispresence. Ellie would back solemnly away from the approaching chair, andRosamond would hang mute upon her mother's shoulder. "It's strange, "Mary said to the Sparrow, who was quick to notice any failure toappreciate her adored charges; "they're his own, and yet he hasn't thekey to them. I suppose it's because he's a genius, and too far apart fromordinary people to understand just little human babies. "

The thought stirred faintly the memory of her old wound. 

V

That Christmas, for the first time in its history, the Byrdsnest heldhigh festival. House and studio were decorated, and in the afternoonthere was a Christmas-tree party for all the old friends and theirchildren. 

The dining-room had been closed since the night before in order tofacilitate Santa Clans' midnight spiritings. 

When all the guests had arrived, and Stefan had been wheeled in from thestudio, the mysterious door was at last thrown open, revealing the treein all its glory, rooted in a floor of glittering snow, with its topmoststar scraping the ceiling. 

With shouts the older children surrounded it; Ellie followed more slowly, awed by such splendor; and Rosamond crept after, drawn irresistibly by ahundred glittering lures. 

Crawling from guest to guest, her tiny hands clutching toys as big asherself, her dark eyes brilliant, her small red mouth emitting coos ofrapture, she enchanted the men, and drew positive tears of delight fromConstance. 

"Oh, Walter!" she cried, shaking her son with viciousness, "how could youhave been so monotonous as to be born a boy?"

After a time Mary noticed that Stefan was being tired by the hubbub, andsignaled an adjournment to the studio for tea and calm. The elderstrooped out; the children fell upon the viands; and Miss Mason caughtRosamond by the petticoat as she endeavored to creep out after Gunther, whose great size seemed to fascinate her. 

The sculptor had given Mary a bronze miniature of his now famous"Pioneers" group. It was a beautiful thing, and Constance and James wereanxious to know if other copies were to be obtained. 

"No, " Gunther answered them laconically, "I have only had three cast. Onethe President wished to have, the second is for myself, and Mrs. Byrd, asthe original of the woman, naturally has the third. "

"Couldn't you cast one or two more?" Constance pleaded. 

"No, " he replied, "I should not care to do so. "

Stefan examined the bronze with interest, his keen eyes traveling fromthe man's figure to the woman's. 

"It's very good of you both, " he said, looking from Gunther to Mary, witha trace of his old teasing smile. Mary blushed slightly. For some reasonwhich she did not analyze she was a trifle embarrassed at seeing herselfperpetuated in bronze as the companion of the sculptor. 

When the guests began to leave, Mary urged the Farradays to remain alittle longer. "It's only five o'clock, " she reminded them. 

Mrs. Farraday settled herself comfortably, and drew out her khaki-coloredknitting. James lit his pipe, and Stefan wheeled forward to the glow ofthe fire, fitting a cigarette into his new amber holder. 

"I have a letter from Wallace, " said James, "that I've been waiting toread you. Shall I do so now?"

"Oh, do!" exclaimed Mary, "we shall love to hear it. Wait a moment, though, while I fetch Rosamond--the Sparrow can't attend to them both atonce _and_ help Lily. "

She returned in a moment with the sleepy baby. 

"I'll have to put her to bed soon, " she said, settling into a low rockingchair, "but it isn't quite time yet. I suppose Jamie has heard hisfather's letter?"

"Oh, yes, " said James, "and has dozens of his own, too. "

"He's such a dear boy, " Mary continued, "he's playing like an angel withEllie in there, while the Sparrow flits. "

James unfolded Mac's closely written sheets, and read his latest accountsof the officers' training corps with which he had been for the last sixmonths, the gossip that filtered to them from the front, and hisexpectation of being soon gazetted to a Highland Regiment. 

 "The waiting is hard, but when once I get with our own lads in the trenches I'll be the happiest man alive, " wrote Mac. "Meanwhile, I think a lot of all you dear people. I'm more than happy in what you tell me of Byrd's success and of the bairns' and Mary's well being. Give them all my love and congratulations. "

James turned the last page, and paused. "I think that's about all, " hesaid. 

But it was not all. While the others sat silent for a minute, theirthoughts on the great struggle, Farraday's eyes ran again down that lastpage. 

 "Poor Byrd, " Mac wrote, "so you say he'll not last many years. Well, life would have broken him anyway, and it's grand he's found himself before the end. He's not the lasting kind, there's too much in him, and too little. She wins, after all, James; life won't cheat her as it has him. She is here just to be true to her instincts--to choose the finest mate for her nest-building. She'll marry again, though the dear woman doesn't know it, and would be horrified at the thought. But she will, and it won't be either of us--we are too much her kind. It will be some other brilliant egoist who will thrill her, grind her heart, and give her wonderful children. She is an instrument. As I think I once heard poor Byrd say, she is not merely an expression of life, she is life. "

James folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket. 

"Come, son, we must be going, " murmured Mrs. Farraday, putting up herknitting. 

"Rosamond is almost asleep, " smiled Mary. 

"Don't rise, my dear, " said the little lady, "we'll find our own way. "

"Good-bye, Farraday, " said Stefan, "and thank you for everything. "

Mary held out her hand to them both, and they slipped quietly out. 

"What a good day it has been, dearest. I hope you aren't too tired, " shesaid, as she rocked the drowsy baby. 

"No, Beautiful, only a little. "

He dropped his burnt-out cigarette into the ash-tray at his side. Therocker creaked rhythmically. 

"Mary, I want to draw Rosamond, " said Stefan thoughtfully. 

"Oh, do you, dearest? That _will_ be nice!" she exclaimed, her facebreaking into a smile of pleasure. 

"Yes. Do you know, I was watching the little thing this afternoon, whenGunther and all the others were playing with her. It's very strange--Inever noticed it before--but it came to me quite suddenly. She's exactlylike my mother. "

"Is she really?" Mary murmured, touched. 

"Yes, it's very wonderful. I felt suddenly, watching her eyes and smile, that my mother is not dead after all. Will you--" he seemed a littleembarrassed--"could you, do you think, without disturbing her, let mehold the baby for a little while?"

THE END