CHAPTER IX

BACK IN NEW HAMPSHIRE

BETTY was driving alone through one of the less crowded parts of Concord. She had been into the country and was now on her way home again. Not very often did she go out alone, but she had not felt in a mood for company and had purposely gotten away by herself.

A week had pa.s.sed since her midnight talk with Anthony and there was still a coldness between them. Each day Betty had expected her husband to declare that he had changed his mind in regard to finding a position for John Everett and would do as she asked. Yet so far he had not even referred to the subject.

On her way home Betty considered that she had better stop and tell Meg how she had failed in influence with her husband, notwithstanding she could not decide just what she should do or say. Meg would not understand and might believe that she had made no real effort for John's sake. Yet she could not be such a coward as to leave her old friends in suspense. Since Anthony would do nothing to help, it was better that John Everett should know, so that he might find another occupation.

They were pa.s.sing through a quiet street shaded by magnificent old maple trees that were now bare except for a few cl.u.s.tering brown leaves, when Mrs. Graham leaned over to speak to her coachman and the man drew in his horses. The next moment her attention was attracted by seeing some one on the sidewalk pause and lift his hat to her. Betty had returned the bow before she actually recognized John Everett. Then he took two or three steps forward and held out his hand.

"I was just going to see Meg," Betty explained, blushing and wishing that she could escape the confession that lay before her. If John should question her now she felt she might have a sudden panic of embarra.s.sment. Of course she could think up some excuse for Anthony's unkindness; she might even offer the same excuse he had made to her. Yet the fact that he had declined to do what she so much desired would remain the same.

But John Everett was smiling in the most ordinary fashion.

"I wonder, Mrs. Graham, if you will not let me ride along with you, if you are going to Meg's. I am on the way home myself."

Then in a short while Betty had forgotten her worry and was having the same agreeable talk of old times that she had enjoyed the week before.

Moreover, it was John Everett who relieved her from her chagrin.

"By the way," he began, just as they were about to arrive at Mrs. Jack Emmet's house, "please don't worry, Mrs. Graham, or Betty, if I may call you by the old name, about asking your husband to fix me up with a position in his office. I know the new Governor is being overwhelmed with office seekers. I have been lucky enough to secure something to do with my brother-in-law, Jack Emmet, and ex-Governor Peyton. They have a new business scheme on hand in which they think I may be useful."

Of course, Betty could not utter her thanksgiving aloud, although she repeated it very fervently to herself. So, after all, she need not confess to other people Anthony's lack of consideration. It was enough that she should be carrying the hurt feeling about inside her own heart.

Instead, she merely murmured something or other that was not clear, about the Governor's having been so very busy recently and having some special annoyance in his affairs. She was by no means certain of just what she said at the moment nor how she explained the situation, but fortunately John Everett did not appear to be particularly interested in the subject.

Meg was not at home when they arrived, but instead of saying good-bye, John suggested that he should drive back to her own home with Betty. It had been years since they had seen each other, except the other evening, and there was so much to talk about.

Then John explained that he had taken a small house in Concord and that his father was soon coming to live with him. b.u.mps would continue with his course at Cornell for this winter anyhow. So, after all, there were uses in this world even for old bachelors, he ended smilingly.

It was Betty, however, who suggested that they should go and see this house, although John told her it was a good deal out of her way. Yet it was a beautiful warm November afternoon and would not be dark for another hour. Somehow Betty did not feel that she wanted to go home at once. Faith had gone for a walk with Kenneth Helm, Angel had a half holiday and was spending the afternoon with the children. She and Bettina had a wonderful secret game that they played together in a room by themselves, where no one else had ever been allowed to come. There was no prospect of Anthony's returning home for some time, so the Governor's splendid mansion would seem big and empty to the Governor's wife for an hour or so more at any rate.

There was a caretaker in the little white house with green shutters, who was anxious to show Mrs. Graham and Mr. Everett every detail of it. The house was to be let furnished and yet it seemed to have been peculiarly fitted for old Professor Everett's needs. It was pleasant for Betty to imagine the sweet-tempered, learned old man here with John and near his daughter Meg. He had been living alone in Woodford ever since his younger son, Horace, departed for college. Somehow Betty felt that it would be pleasant for her also to have the old gentleman living so near by. He had been a devoted friend of Mr. Ashton's, whom she had certainly loved even more than an own father.

"I shall be running in here very often to see Professor Everett and tell him the things that trouble me, just as Meg and I used to do when we were little girls," Betty remarked to her companion. "He was the one person who never by any possible chance believed that Meg or I could ever be in fault."

"I'm sure he will always be overjoyed to see you," John Everett replied.

"Only it is a little difficult for me to imagine Mrs. Anthony Graham ever having anything to trouble her."

As the November evenings grew dark so soon, it was almost dusk when Betty at length entered her own home after saying good-bye to her friend, who had insisted on walking back to his sister's house instead of allowing the coachman to drive him.

Going into her private sitting room, Betty was surprised to find that Anthony had come home and was sitting there pretending to read. But most undeniably he looked cross.

"I thought we were going to have a drive and tea together, Betty," he remarked reproachfully. "Where in the world have you been? No one seemed to know. I should think you would leave word where you are going, so that if anything happened to the children or to me the servants would know where to find you."

Actually Anthony was reproaching her in a perfectly unreasonable fashion! Betty could hardly believe her ears, it was so unlike him. Was he going to turn into the dictatorial type of husband after all these years of married life when he had been so altogether different?

Usually Betty's temper was gracious and sweet. Possibly if Anthony had approached her in his usual fashion at this moment they might have gotten over the feeling of estrangement that had come between them for the first time since their wedding. Moreover, the room was not brightly lighted, so that Betty did not notice how tired and worried Anthony looked. Of course, fatigue and worry explain almost any temporary unreasonableness on the part of human beings.

Quite casually Betty began to draw off her long gray suede gloves. She wore a beautiful gray coat and skirt and chinchilla furs and a hat with a single blue feather.

"Don't talk as if we lived in England and you were a kind of domestic tyrant, please, Anthony," she said lightly. "I am sorry, but I had no possible way of knowing that you were coming home from your office so much earlier than usual. You should have had some one telephone me. I have been having a very agreeable drive with John Everett. And, by the way, it was not worth while for me to have annoyed you by asking you to do me the favor of giving John something to do. He tells me he is going into business with Jack Emmet and ex-Governor Peyton." Then as she moved toward her own bedroom Betty was surprised and annoyed by another speech from her husband.

"I don't like the combination very well," he remarked quietly. "Neither Emmet nor Peyton have very good business reputations. They are going to try and get a shaky bill through the Legislature in the next month or so, I hear. But I suppose Everett knows his own affairs best."

As Betty had now disappeared, she did not hear Anthony's closing speech.

"I am sorry to have talked like a bear, dear. Won't you forgive me and let us be friends? I wish I could have fixed up things for Everett for your sake, but I could not feel that I had the right."

Moreover, the young Governor's back was unfortunately turned, so he did not appreciate that Betty had not heard him. He was under the impression that she had simply refused to pay any attention to his apology.

Well, he was too tired to discuss the matter any further for the present. He had several important decisions that must be made before morning and he and Betty and Faith and Kenneth Helm were to go to some big reception later in the evening.

CHAPTER X

LONELINESS

NEVER in her entire career had Polly O'Neill felt more depressed. She was, of course, accustomed to a very busy life filled with people and excitement. Nothing else is possible to an actor or actress, although Miss O'Neill had tried to keep her private life as quiet as possible.

But here in her little hotel about a mile or more from the celebrated Colorado Springs she was finding existence duller than she had bargained for. In the first place, on her arrival she had let it be known that she desired no callers or acquaintances. Her reason for giving up her work at the present time was that she was greatly in need of a rest cure, so visitors to the Springs had taken her at her word and Miss O'Neill had been left to recover her health unmolested. Now and then some unknown admirer had appeared at her hotel or sent books and flowers.

Nevertheless, she had so far made no acquaintances.

However, after several weeks of the wonderful, brilliant air, with nothing to do except sleep and write an occasional letter, Polly felt a good deal stronger. Yet she did not feel that she was well enough to return to Woodford, and today the news from home had been depressing.

You see, Mollie had never been told that her sister was ill and considered that if she only required rest it might as well be enjoyed at her own lovely big farm as among strangers in the West. So this morning her letter had urged Polly's return home and had also imparted a great variety of dispiriting reasons. In the first place, Mollie told at great length that Dan, who was Polly's favorite of her sister's children, was not in good health and that he was showing certain oddities of disposition which struck his aunt as very like her own. Indeed, she believed that neither her sister nor brother-in-law understood the delicate, difficult little fellow, and she would have liked to have been near enough to have helped him through a trying time. Then more disquieting had been Mollie's information about their mother, Mrs.

Wharton, who was beginning to show her age. Moreover, Mr. Wharton seemed somewhat depressed over his business affairs. Then finally the most mystifying and in a way disturbing of Mollie's statements had been her account of Betty Graham.

For several weeks there had been no line to Polly from her dearest friend, which in itself had made Polly vaguely uneasy. It was so unlike Betty ever to fail in her weekly letter which had always followed her friend to whatever part of the world she happened to be. But now Mollie announced that Betty had been on a visit to her mother, Mrs. Ashton, in Woodford, and that she had seemed entirely unlike herself. Instead of having a great deal to say she had been strangely quiet, almost sad.

Moreover, the new Governor's enemies were said to be making a tremendous effort to destroy his reputation and there was a great deal of talk going on about some matter which Mollie did not claim to understand.

Possibly Anthony's annoyances may have been worrying his wife.

Polly had been sitting alone on her small, private veranda which commanded a wonderful view of a rim of hills, when her sister's letter had been given her along with her other mail.

Before glancing at the other communications she had eagerly opened this.

But now she sat with the pages fluttering in her lap and her eyes filled with tears.

Naturally Mollie had not intended to be so depressing; people seldom do seem to realize just what effects their letters may produce. Often they write merely to relieve their own feelings and once having put down all the gloomy possibilities that worry them at the time, rise up and go cheerfully about their business with the evils forgotten.

So naturally it remains for the unfortunate recipient of the letter to become even more depressed than the writer had been.

Moreover, Polly really wanted desperately to go home. It had been many months since she had seen her own people, and though they often believed her to have less affection than other women, it was not in the least true. She had given up many things for her art and had sometimes seemed selfish and cold-blooded. But it wasn't fair that her sister, Mollie, always seemed to think that she had never desired a home of her own, babies and some one to care for her supremely, that she had never grown tired of the wandering life her stage career forced her to lead.