Then, as Frieda burst into tears at the allusion, Jack had to draw her small sister back into her room from the doorway, and do what she could to apologize and console her.

She felt rather a hypocrite, too, because after all Frieda was not so far wrong in some of her suppositions, and she had had no right to pretend to superiority.

There was at this time no danger to pa.s.senger vessels through submarines, so that it was arranged for the travelers to leave for the United States early in April that they might spend the spring at the Rainbow Ranch.

Olive was anxious to go. She had not intended remaining in England so long, and wished to take up some course of study at home, to return later when she might make herself more useful.

Jack was torn between her desire to make a visit to her own home, to get away for a breath of freedom and the chance to decide what she ought to do in the future when Frank opposed her right to decide important issues for herself and the thought that, perhaps, Frieda was right and that she was not playing fair in leaving her husband at so trying a time. But Frank had not opposed her going, had really said he thought it might be a good thing, and she did not know whether he meant this from her standpoint or from his own. It might be that Frank also would enjoy a certain relief from the presence of a wife who would not trust his judgment. Certainly Frank's affection had never seemed the same since that time. He had been wonderfully good in agreeing to her new wish, but there were moments when, womanlike, Jack wondered if she would not have liked it better had he shown more opposition.

So there was only Frieda who unqualifiedly stormed against leaving. Of course she put it all on disapproving of her sister's action, but naturally her family wondered if the fact that Frieda wished to be near her husband, whom she believed to be fighting in France could have anything to do with her point of view. However, no one dared to make this suggestion to her. It would have done no good in any case since she would probably have promptly denied it.

However, Frieda would not remain in England without her sister and Jack was unwilling that she should. Nevertheless, insisting on maintaining the att.i.tude of an aggrieved character, Frieda separated herself from her own family whenever she could.

Twice a week for instance she went into Granchester to tea with Mrs.

Huggins. Frieda had a private reason for this. One day she had overlooked the fact that her own "Dame Quick" had not been her nurse or foster mother and had confided to the old woman some of the things which were troubling her. She did not want advice, what she wanted was to say those things aloud which she had been saying to herself, and she knew her old friend would simply listen and be kind to her. One might think she would have feared that the old woman, with her pa.s.sion for spreading news, would have gossiped about her, but Frieda knew better than this.

One afternoon, about ten days before their sailing time, Frieda started off alone to walk to Granchester. She was earlier than need be since Olive had asked her a question which had offended her and she had been irritable. She thought she had caught the suggestion of a lecture in her sister's expression and so had hurried off before Jack had a chance to speak.

Frieda recognized the fact that she was a little difficult to live with these days. But then she excused herself by saying that no one knew how worried and nervous she was. There were times when Frieda was afraid she might be losing her prettiness through worry, until her mirror rea.s.sured her. For Frieda understood her own appearance, just as she understood a great many things. She knew that Jack had developed into a beauty from a merely handsome girlhood and that she was only pretty. But she also realized that prettiness often makes more appeal, especially to men, than a higher type of loveliness. Therefore, Frieda had no idea of not preserving her own charms as long as she possibly could.

She walked slowly so as not to arrive too early and because she was enjoying the country more than she usually did. The quietness of the English landscape, its look of a carefully kept garden, appealed to Frieda more than the vastness of her own windswept western prairies. It was one of the many odd ironies of fate that Jack, who loved the prairies must live in England, while until lately Frieda's life had been cast at least on the edge of the western country.

The old English laborers pa.s.sing back and forth from their ploughing of the spring fields were almost the only persons she met.

When Frieda reached the little house at the edge of the village, of which Mrs. Huggins had once told her some story, she stopped for a moment without any particular motive.

She did not remember exactly what the story was, if she had ever known.

But the little house rather interested her. For one thing she had noticed every time she pa.s.sed, at no matter what hour, the blinds were always drawn halfway down.

The house was set in the middle of a small yard and had a little, low ivy covered stone fence surrounding it and a wooden gate. However, the front of the house was only a few yards from the street so that one could see it distinctly.

Frieda was not standing still, but was loitering a few feet from the gate, gazing absently toward the lower windows.

Then suddenly and certainly unexpectedly she heard a strange noise, a kind of m.u.f.fled roar. Then an explosion burst forth so that several panes of window gla.s.s broke and puffs of smoke blew out.

For an instant there appeared back of the window, and surrounded by the smoke like a cherubim among clouds, a face which Frieda did not really believe she saw. Yet of course she knew she did see it, or else was suddenly mad or dreaming.

As a matter of fact she had the sensation that she was taking part in a ridiculous and improbable detective story, of the kind one reads in the weekly magazines.

Yet without hesitating, or feeling the proper amount of uncertainty, or fear, Frieda jerked open the little wooden gate and rushed up the path to the front door of the house.

There at least she did stop to give the bell a fierce pull, but she might have rushed in had she supposed the door unlocked.

However, the next second a little white faced maid appeared at the door, and Frieda simply swept by her. The door of the room, where she had seen the apparition, was on the left side of the hall and without knocking she opened this. Just how Frieda would have explained her own behavior had she made a mistake did not trouble her.

But she had not made a mistake. There standing in the centre of the room and still somewhat surrounded by smoke and with the blood coming from an injury to his hand, stood the person whose face Frieda believed she had seen through the broken window. No, she did not really believe she had seen it, though of course she knew she had.

[Ill.u.s.tration: I a.s.sURE YOU I HAVE OFFICIAL PERMISSION]

"Are you a deserter, Henry, hiding from justice?" Frieda demanded scathingly, and still following the example of the method employed in detective stories, since her experience was so exactly of the same kind.

"I most certainly am not, my dear," Professor Russell answered firmly, but still somewhat apologetically.

"I was slightly wounded soon after my arrival at the front. But I also found that my scientific knowledge could be of more service than my abilities as a soldier. So I came back to England and have been experimenting with gas bombs with that in mind. I a.s.sure you I have official permission."

"Then why have you been hiding and why did you come down here?"

Professor Russell looked at Frieda and smiled slowly.

"You are the answer to both those questions, Frieda."

Unexpectedly Frieda's blue eyes filled with tears.

"I don't see how you can say that, Henry, when you have never even tried to see me, or to let me know what had become of you. You knew I was suffering horribly for fear you might be hurt or dead or something and you wouldn't write me."

Professor Russell's lips twitched at the thought of his being blamed for not writing after the worst had happened to him. But he made no other sign.

"You are mistaken, I have seen you, my dear, many a time when you have pa.s.sed this window and at least I have had the satisfaction of realizing you were well and happy."

"But I am neither," Frieda protested. "Besides I don't understand how you knew, unless, unless--do you mean Frank and Jack were both aware that you were here and never told me? They preferred I should suffer. I shall never forgive either of them, never." And Frieda drew herself up, very stately and very injured. But in truth her lips were trembling.

"You are not to blame your sister or brother, Frieda," Professor Russell interrupted. "They have simply done what I asked, what I required of them. You came over to England to be rid of my presence. I had neither the desire nor the right to thrust myself upon you."

"Then I don't see why you didn't go and live somewhere else," Frieda remarked petulantly. But at the same instant she sank down into a chair.

"I do wish, Henry, you would give me some tea. You seem to have an extraordinary looking little girl to look after you. And I feel very much overcome from the shock of hearing an explosion outside a strange house and then seeing your face floating in s.p.a.ce on the inside.

Moreover, if you are so extraordinarily scientific I should think you would know enough to go and wash that gas bomb out of your hand."

This time Professor Russell openly laughed.

"It is scarcely a gas bomb inside my hand, Frieda. One of the chemicals simply went slightly wrong."

But Frieda had closed her eyes and dropped her head back and really looked so pale that her husband hurried out after his small maid and the tea things.

The moment he had disappeared however she opened her eyes again.

"I am going to take Henry Russell back to the United States with me in ten days," she remarked aloud, but in a very small whisper. "I don't know how I am going to manage him or the British Government, but I am going to, somehow. I thought I was bored with Henry and I was and I'll probably be again. But I suppose all women are bored with the men they live with sometimes. Anyhow, I had to think I had lost Henry to know I wanted to keep him. He does get a little upset now and then when I want my own way all the time, but really under the same circ.u.mstances I don't suppose any other man would be half so nice to me as Henry is. Besides, oh well, I believe I'm pretty fond of him."

When Professor Russell returned, Frieda again managed to have her eyes closed and she really was upset by the events of the past few moments, as was to be expected.

Therefore she seemed very languid while Professor Russell and his little maid set out the tea things. She did offer faintly to help, observing that her husband had full use of only one hand. But as it was his left hand and he insisted on getting along alone, she permitted it, even to the actually pouring and handing her of the first cup of tea.

Later he took a seat in a chair opposite her.

The unfortunate thing with Frieda was that she seldom could control her appet.i.te, had never been able to since her chocolate drop days. So she concluded she had best begin her plan of procedure early.

"I don't see how Jack and Frank could have told you I was well, Henry,"

she said plaintively. "I don't suppose you have noticed but I have lost a good many pounds."