But Jack spared both her sister and friend this ordeal. Instead, she wrote a very sweet letter to her husband, asking his pardon for what she was doing and confessing that she had no right not to have spoken of her intention to him again. But would he see that she must do what she believed to be right, and that Bryan might not be able to wait while they continued to argue the question?

She left the letter on Frank's bureau.

Not finding Jack in the library that evening, where she usually awaited his return home, Frank had gone directly upstairs, and when she was also not in her room, he entered his apartment. The letter caught his attention at once, but even then Lord Kent had no faintest idea of what Jack's letter contained. He supposed she had gone out on some errand and had written to explain that she might be late.

When he had finished reading, he quietly tore her letter into small bits and flung the pieces upon the fire.

Afterwards, going downstairs to dinner, he said to Olive and Frieda.

"Jack has written me a note telling me that she has gone to France. You both probably know I did not wish her to go. Please let us not speak of this matter again."

And though there was really nothing in what Frank said, neither Olive nor Frieda liked his expression or manner.

CHAPTER XII

NO QUARTER

DURING the time of Jack's absence, Frank Kent pa.s.sed through a strange state of mind, one which he did not himself understand. He was both angry and miserable. Resentment against another human being is always folly, since one suffers as much, if not more than the other person.

However, Frank did not answer a single one of Jack's letters, although she managed to write him several times, telling of her safe arrival, of the kindness which had been shown her along the way, and of Captain MacDonnell's recognition of her and his pleasure in finding an old friend near him. Jack also wrote that there was hope of his partial recovery, but that he would probably be unable to fight again. She would be able to tell more on her return home.

Two weeks after the day of her departure, Jack came back to Kent House.

She had telegraphed when she reached British soil so that her family knew when to expect her. Frank was not at home when she arrived, so she saw her children and Olive and Frieda first. Then, after dressing for dinner, she went down into the library alone to wait for her husband.

Jack was very tired from the strain of her trip and from the sights she had witnessed in the past fourteen days. She felt as if she were entering a new world in coming back tonight to her home in the peaceful Kentish country. Whatever human beings might be suffering inwardly, there were at least no changes in the tranquillity of the blue hills and the gentle, mist-veiled English landscape.

It had required an effort for Jack to dress, but she did not know in what spirit Frank would meet her and did not wish to have him think she was too much exhausted by the experience which she had wilfully chosen for herself. She feared that Frank was still aggrieved, because of his not having written or sent her a message of any kind, and yet she rather hoped the reunion with her and the news she brought back would soften him.

Partly because of her fatigue, partly because it seemed impossible to wear gay clothes after those days and nights in the hospital, Jack had put on a black satin gown which she had had some time. It was made simply as her evening clothes always were, but the black tulle which covered it was caught with jet ornaments on each shoulder and loosely belted in at the waist, falling in beautiful lines to her feet. At her belt Jack wore a golden rose which the old gardener had brought up to the house as a special offering. The rose had bloomed that morning in one of the greenhouses. Jack's hair was coiled closely about her small head, and she had less color than usual.

She was resting in one of the big library chairs with her eyes closed, when she heard her husband enter the hall, and after making some inquiry, move toward the library door.

At this she rose up at once and ran forward with her arms outstretched to meet him, her face glowing with happiness.

"Oh, Frank, I am so glad to be at home again. It has all been so distressing. Poor Bryan is going to get well, but I fear he will hate it when he does, for he may never walk again. He does not know this yet."

Frank turned his eyes so that he could not see Jack's beauty nor appreciate her warm sweetness so close beside him.

"I am horribly sorry for Bryan," he replied. But he made no effort to kiss Jack or to express the least pleasure in her return. Instead, he walked away a few steps and began taking off his overcoat, which he had not removed before.

"You are still angry with me, Frank?" Jack queried, though the question was scarcely a necessary one. "You have not yet seen that I had the right to judge for myself in this thing about Bryan? After all, what possible wrong have I done? And I did give Bryan pleasure; he does not dream, of course, that I went to him without your consent."

Although Frank still remained silent, Jack's sweetness did not desert her. She followed after him, in spite of the fact that he had turned his back upon her.

"After all, Frank, even if you do continue to disapprove of me and to think I did wrong to disobey you, won't you make friends with me? Please say I'm forgiven?"

At this Jack smiled and stood with her hands clasped together against the soft, black folds of her dress.

In fact, she had not yet appreciated the extent of Frank's anger against her, nor the unbending quality of his nature. Though they had been married a number of years, this was the first serious difficulty between them. Jack had too great an admiration for her husband, too deep a belief in him, to think that he could continue to sulk and to hurt her through a kind of stupid obstinacy.

And for a single instant Frank did hesitate, but the next he made up his mind that unless Jack was made to realize the extent of his displeasure she would probably never yield to him again. He honestly believed that he had the right to be the master in his own family.

"I presume, Jack, that you consider it a very simple matter for me to say I forgive you and to overlook your utter disregard of my wishes, and your deception in the matter. But I cannot see the thing in that light.

You have not only wounded me, but you have made me ridiculous. To say I forgive you, or feel as I did before would not be the truth."

"Very well, Frank," Jack answered quietly and went out of the room.

A little later she came down to dinner, revealing no sign of what had taken place between herself and her husband and hoping that Frieda and Olive would not guess that she was still unforgiven. Frank's manner was perfectly polite and they talked freely of Captain MacDonnell and of the tragedy of his recovering only to find his work as a soldier ended.

Afterwards, Jack excused herself early in the evening, because, of course, she had every reason to feel weary.

But even if Frieda and Olive did not grasp the situation at once, they could not continue to remain long in ignorance, for Jack and Frank did not return to their old intimacy and devotion.

But, as the days went on, this was, perhaps, as much Jack's fault as her husband's.

Never before had she ever made an overture to any human being who had not responded. Moreover, she could not tell Frank that she was sorry for what she had done, for she was not sorry, nor did she regret her own action. She was merely disillusioned concerning her husband.

Always Jack had said that she had more of the Indian in her than Olive ever had, in spite of Olive's upbringing. By this she meant that for one thing she could hide better the things that hurt her. Yet in a way she was difficult for anyone to approach on an intimate subject at this time, certainly neither Olive nor Frieda made any mention that they saw her continuing trouble with Frank.

Unconsciously Jack held her head up before people unfailingly. No outsider would have guessed at any change. Only those who cared for her deeply realized how she was hurt by Frank's att.i.tude.

Several times it occurred to Frank that perhaps he and Jack were making a mistake to allow their estrangement to go on too long. The next time his wife asked his pardon Lord Kent had concluded to forgive her.

Moreover, he and Frieda had an interview which annoyed and amused him, but which he did not forget then, or ever afterwards.

It was one Sunday afternoon in early March, an unexpected spring-like day, and he and Frieda were taking a motor ride together. They had only one small car on the estate, having sent the large one to be turned into an ambulance.

After their midday dinner Frank had found himself in need of diversion, Olive and Jack having explained that they were going to see a friend who was ill. And as a matter of fact Frieda diverted Frank from serious affairs more than any other grown up person he knew and consequently he fell in readily with her suggestion for the ride. He had not the faintest idea that she was not in a friendly mood toward him, for Frieda had wisely concealed the fact, although in reality she was thoroughly enraged.

It seemed to her that Frank's treatment of Jack was almost unpardonable.

It is true that she, perhaps, had rather an exaggerated opinion of her sister's virtues, but then Jack had been a kind of mother to her always.

Although they quarreled a little now and then, as most sisters do, it was beyond Frieda's comprehension that anyone could believe Jack would wilfully do wrong, or be forced to suffer the consequences. Moreover, what Frieda still thought of as her own "misfortune" made her particularly "touchy" at present.

However, she and Frank started off cheerfully, Frank admiring an especially pretty bright blue motor coat and small close fitting blue silk hat, which Frieda had purchased in New York a few days before sailing. Nevertheless Frieda had already planned to have a talk with Frank before their return and only awaited the proper opportunity.

She was quiet at first, allowing her brother-in-law to tell her stories about the country and his neighbors, stories in which she was really not much interested. But Frieda smiled and answered, "yes and no," at the proper times, and this was what Frank really wished. Most men would rather talk intimately to women than to other men and Frank had missed his long hours of conversation with Jack more than he appreciated.

Yet Frieda's inattention finally forced itself upon his notice, so that her brother-in-law turned and smiled at her.

"What are you thinking about, Frieda? Certainly not of what I just said to you."

Frieda turned her large blue eyes with their heavy golden lashes half veiling them toward her companion.

"Still I was thinking of you, Frank," she answered, smiling, "and that is the attention men like best, isn't it?"