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

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

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

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

d.i.c.ky frowned impatiently:

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

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

Gorman was making over her sister's intimate studio a.s.sociation with my husband.

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

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

Whether it was the result of my own irritability or not I do not know, but d.i.c.ky seemed to grow more indifferent and absent-minded each day.

He was not irritable with me, he simply had the air of a man absorbed in some pursuit and indifferent to everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," sighed Mrs. Hoch, rocking vigorously as she spoke, "everybody knows I'm no gossip. I believe if you can't say nothing good about n.o.body, you should keep your mouth shut, but I says to Celie as soon as I heard this, 'Celie,' says I, 'it's our duty to tell that poor thing what we know.'"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"d.i.c.ky! d.i.c.ky! d.i.c.ky!" I moaned. "Have I really lost you?"

Of course I knew better than to believe the statement of the elopement. I had seen and heard enough of village life to realize how the slightest circ.u.mstance was magnified by the community loafers.

That d.i.c.ky and the girl took the same train, going and coming from the city, was a fact borne out by my own observations. I had remarked d.i.c.ky's regularity in catching the 8:21 in the mornings, something so opposed to his usual unpunctual habits, and wondered why. Now I had the solution.

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

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

By the time I had gained control of myself once more, d.i.c.ky came home.

"Letter for you," he said, "from the office of your old princ.i.p.al."

He tossed it into my lap, eyeing it and me curiously. I knew that his desire to know what was in it had made him remember to give it to me.

His mother, who had opened her door at his step, came forward eagerly.

I opened the letter, to find an offer of my old school position. My princ.i.p.al wrote that the woman who was appointed to the position had been suddenly taken ill and could not possibly fill it. He asked me to write him my decision at once, as it was within a few days of the opening of the school.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXV

PLAYING THE GAME

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

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