GRACE was keenly disappointed at receiving no letter from Trenton the next day. She canvassed all possible explanations of this first lapse in their correspondence. Whatever might be the cause she decided not to write until she heard from him again. She passed an unhappy morning and was relieved when Irene asked her to go to lunch. It was possible that Irene might have some news of Trenton, as he and Kemp were constantly in touch with each other.
“Tell me I look perfectly all right—just as though nothing had happened,” Irene remarked when they had given their order.
“Well, if you want to know, you’re just a trifle paler than usual; but I’d never have noticed it. What’s the trouble?”
Irene answered by holding out her left hand.
“The emerald is no more! Oh, I haven’t sent it back! I’ve just stuck it down in the bottom of a drawer with a lot of other old junk. It’s all over, my dear.”
“You and Tommy have quit!” Grace exclaimed.
“Finished, quit—whatever you like. You’ll remember I told you such things can’t last. Please don’t think I wasn’t prepared! But to a certain extent Tommy did fool me. I thought he really cared for me and I won’t deny that I thought a lot of him.”
“This is certainly a surprise,” Grace remarked, noting signs of dejection in the usually placid Irene that had previously escaped her.
“Well, I got a line on him a few days ago. It’s a small world and things have a way of getting round.”
Irene spoke as one whose philosophy is quite equal to any demand that may be made upon it. She dilated upon the general perfidy of man as though her personal disappointment was negligible and only to be mentioned for purposes of illustration. She continued in this vein so long that Grace began to fear she was not to learn just what had happened to shatter Irene’s faith in Kemp.
“Let’s consider all the male species dead and buried! I’m dying of curiosity. Just what happened to you and Tommy?”
“He lied to me, that’s all; and I found him out.”
“That’s too bad; I’m ever so sorry,” Grace replied, not knowing whether Irene sought consolation for the loss of her lover or wanted to be congratulated on her prescience in foreseeing the inevitable end of the affair.
“Oh, it’s all right with me! But I can’t deny that when it came it was a jar. You see Tommy’s mighty good fun and awfully clever. I learned a lot from Tommy; he used to tell me everything. I’ll wager he’s sorry now he told me a lot of most intimate things, about people and business and even his family affairs; but they’re safe, I’d never betray his confidence even if he has gone back on me.”
“Of course not; you’d never do that,” Grace assented, and saw that Irene was pleased by this testimony to her high-mindedness. “Maybe there’s some mistake about it. Of course you’ll give Tommy a chance to explain.”
“Oh, I gave him the chance all right enough. It was over the telephone and, my dear, you should have heard him gasp when I put it up to him!”
“Go on and tell me what Tommy did or let’s stop talking about it!”
“I’m going to tell you. You and Minnie Lawton are the only people I could tell. I’ve been meeting Tommy at Minnie’s apartment and she has to know why I’m not going there any more. Tommy’s always told me I was the only one—that old, old story! Well, a certain person—he didn’t know I knew Tommy—was asking me about him the other day. He said he’d seen Tommy in Chicago with a very nifty girl he seemed to be chummy with. He saw them together last Saturday night. Now, Tommy had a date with me for Saturday evening but he told me Friday he was going to Chicago unexpectedly with his wife for the opera. He didn’t take his wife to Chicago—I easily found that out. Tommy went to Chi all right enough but not to hear Mary Garden. So, there’s the end of our little romance.”
“What did Tommy have to say for himself?”
“What could he say!” Irene exclaimed disdainfully. “He wanted to see me of course; said he could explain everything, but I said good-bye very sweetly and hung up on him. I’d like to see him explain a thing like that! I suppose he thought he’d send me a box of candy and everything would be lovely. I’m a good deal of a fool, my dear, but hardly to that extent.”
“I shouldn’t just pick you out to try putting anything over on.”
“They’re all alike!” Irene resumed, ignoring Grace’s tribute to her perspicacity. “Men expect women to take everything. Poor Tommy! If he doesn’t stop drinking he’s going to die real quick one of these days. I guess he didn’t like my lecturing him so much. You know I was interested in all his plans—he’s no end ambitious and he used to invite my little hints and suggestions; not that I really know about machinery or finance, but I suppose I have got a business head.”
“You certainly have, Irene. You’ll have a big business of your own some day or a wonderful position in New York. You could easily swing our department now.”
“I suppose I might, but I’ve almost decided to get married. Oh, don’t jump! I mean when I see a good chance. Now that I’m done with Tommy the idea doesn’t seem so bad. Perhaps,” she added, “perhaps we’re not fair to marriage! There may be something in it after all.”
“There are still people who think so,” said Grace, impelled to laughter by Irene’s gravity.
“Oh, I suppose we’ve got to recognize it! How’s Ward these days? Still roaming the world?”
“In New York the last I heard of him, and terribly busy.”
“Do you know, there’s something pathetic about Ward Trenton,” said Irene. “There’s something away back in his mind that he tries to hide even from himself! You know what I mean? It’s his wife, I suppose. I saw her picture in a magazine not so long ago and meant to show it to you. She’s not at all the frump you’d expect from her being an author and lecturer, but quite handsome and smartly got up. It’s certainly queer that a woman like that who has scads of money and a real man for a husband won’t stay at her own fireside, but has to trot around showing herself off. And Ward’s fascinating; those quiet self-contained men are always fascinating. And they certainly keep you guessing as to what they think. Take poor Tommy; once he’s away from business he’s got to be amused. But Ward’s different. That man does a lot of solid thinking even when he’s out to play.”
“He’s kind, he’s awfully kind,” Grace murmured.
With the Cummings’s episode and its very obvious lesson still playing through her thoughts Grace eagerly welcomed Irene’s praise of Trenton, feeling the need of just the assurances her friend was giving her as to his fine qualities, which attained a new dignity in view of Kemp’s inconstancy.
“Ward’s perfectly splendid,” Irene continued as though fearing she hadn’t done Trenton full justice. “I’ve never had any illusions about Tommy; I always knew I’d have to pass him up some day. But don’t let me shake your faith in dear old Ward. He won’t lie to you; he’d tell the truth if it ruined him.”
“You really think that?” asked Grace with a slight quaver in her voice which the watchful Irene did not miss.
“Of course I think it! But with two people as intense in your different ways as you and Ward, you’re likely to hurt each other terribly. I’ve been awfully careful what I’ve said to you, Grace, about—well—about going the limit with Ward. But I can see you’re not just throwing yourself at his head. And Ward, if I know him, is not going to expect you to.”
“Oh, he’s fine!” said Grace, averting her eyes. “No one could be finer, but——”
“Yes, my dear; there’s that but we always bring up against! I won’t say a word about Tommy and me. Of course I never loved Tommy but I thought he was a good fellow and on the level; and it was exciting while it lasted. That’s what catches a lot of girls who go in for such little affairs as mine with Tommy. It’s the excitement of doing something they know’s dead wrong and bound to end in a smash-up.”
As Grace was eating little and seemed dispirited, Irene recurred to Trenton.
“Ward would never be satisfied just to play around with a girl, knowing that whenever he got tired he’d chuck her and pick up another. I’m saying this because I know he fell for you hard that very first night you met; it was a clear case of love at first sight with you two. I’m not just kidding you; you know as well as I do you’re different from other girls. You’ve got brains and poise. Not that you weren’t always a lot of fun and a good pal,—I never knew a girl who was as much fun to play with. But you’ve always kept your self-respect and held your head high. Ward likes that in you because he’s that sort himself.”
“I wish I could believe you’re right but, Irene, sometimes I don’t feel I know myself at all! When I quit college I was full of self-conceit and thought I had a strong grip on myself. I was going to test out life—find out everything in my own way. But there are times when I get scared. I thought it would be fun to drift along for awhile, just trying myself out and I was sure I could stop whenever I pleased and settle on something. But I’m not doing it! What’s the matter with me anyhow?” she demanded mournfully.
“You’re in love! Don’t you think I haven’t been watching the awful symptoms. You’ve got a real case!”
“Do you really mean that? Would you really know?” asked Grace eagerly.
“Would I know? I could see it with my eyes shut. And I can see it’s troubling you. These are things we’ve all got to settle for ourselves, my dear. And from what I know of Ward I’ll wager he’s taking it just as hard as you are. He’s married and he knows just what the whole thing means. I’d be disappointed in him if he didn’t give you a good chance to drop him now even though he suffered terribly. And he’s of the kind who do suffer all right.”
“It might be better,” said Grace soberly, “if I didn’t see him again!”
“You’re going to be unhappy if you do that. You’d both be unhappy. Of course, there’s his wife. He’d be likely to think of her pride and dignity,—chivalry and all that sort of stuff. And if he got a divorce and married you the whole business might be unpleasant. You’re not the sort of girl who could go through a thing like that without suffering terribly. It’s something for you to think about, my dear!”
In spite of her trouble with Kemp, Irene was eating a substantial luncheon. There were times when Grace felt an aversion for Irene. The most sacred relationships of life the girl treated with a cold cynicism that affected Grace disagreeably. She was pondering the sordidness of Irene’s liaison with Kemp. The lofty condescension with which Irene spoke of him amused Grace only mildly.
“Wouldn’t it be grand,” Irene continued, “to be made love to—I mean by some one who really knew how! Somebody who’d approach you as though you were a queen and stand in terrible awe of you! The trouble with all us women nowadays is that we’re too easy. The next time a man shows any symptoms of being interested in me I’m going to be the coy little girl, I can tell you! Oh, I’m not thinking of Tommy”—her lip curled—“I mean where the man really respects you first of all. I tell you, Grace, I’m pretty well fed up on this new woman stuff. Believe me, I’m staying home with mother these nights knitting a sweater for father, and Sunday I’m going to put on a big apron and bake a cake—honest, I am! Women do better as a domestic animal like the common or fireside cat.”
“You don’t really think that!” Grace exclaimed.
“Oh, I know Grace, you’re all for our glorious independence and fighting in the ranks shoulder to shoulder with the men. But the trouble is we can’t fight with them; we’re fighting against them every hour of the day! My dear, there’s a curse on us—the curse of sex! There’s absolutely no ducking it. You may talk all you like about equality and how men and women meet in business and the woman is the equal of the man. All right! She may have just as good a head as the man she’s dealing with but if she still has home-grown teeth and her face isn’t painful to look at sex is all mixed up in the figures. You can’t get away from it.”
“But, Irene——!”
“Oh, I saw you sell a woman a coat yesterday—that old girl from up in the bushes whose husband came along to keep her from blowing his bank roll, and it was the man you sold that rag to, not the woman. Sex! You’re a pretty girl, you know, and he spent twice what he’d let her blow on herself if it hadn’t been for your blandishments. And when I go down to New York on a buying jaunt the polite gentlemen in our line buy me expensive dinners and take me in swift taxies to the theatre and to supper and to snappy dance places afterwards. That’s sex! If the store sends a man down there the same birds buy him a quick lunch and that’s all. But a woman’s different! Sex, my dear, sex!”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as that!” Grace protested. “I want to be considered as a human being first and as a woman afterwards. I don’t mind saying that there have been times lately when I’ve wished I could see things as mother does, but I can’t. There’s no use trying to live backwards. I just couldn’t stay in a house all the time and cook and sew and darn for a husband; I’d go crazy!”
“Well, the home life listens good to me right now!” replied Irene with a sigh. “No; this is my turn to pay the check. By the way, did you notice that woman I waited on this morning—the dish-face with too much paint and pearl earrings as big as your fist—well,” she broke off abruptly—“here’s a happy surprise! If I’m not mistaken here’s the tall sycamore of Raccoon Creek!”
“What on earth are you talking about—a raccoon with pearl earrings?”
“No; a certain party just coming in the door. Looks like your old college chum who took you to the football game.”
Grace turned to find John Moore bearing down upon their table.
“You will excuse me, won’t you?” he exclaimed radiantly as he shook hands. “Oh, I remember Miss Kirby; ashamed of myself if I didn’t. Well, Grace, they told me you were up here at lunch so I thought I’d take a chance. Hope you’ve got a minute. I came to town on particular business. Sold an Airedale pup and brought him up to make special delivery.”
“You have a kennel, Mr. Moore?” asked Irene. “I adore Airedales.”
“I’ll say it’s a kennel!” John answered as he drew a chair from an adjoining table and seated himself. “Grace knows the place; an old barn, one of the professors let’s me use for taking care of his furnace. I’m selling off my pups now before I move to the great city. I’ll be lonesome without a dog when I come up after Christmas. When I went West last summer as an honest farm hand I had to leave my dogs for a darky to look after and I certainly did miss them. But I’ve got twenty-five dollars apiece for them,” he concluded, with a frank appeal for their approval.
He gave Grace the latest news of the university, explaining his items for Irene’s enlightenment. When Grace asked him about particular girls he protested that he had never heard of their existence. Grace was just kidding him, he said.
“The fact is, Miss Kirby, since Grace left the campus I haven’t seen any girls.”
“I can well believe it,” Irene replied. “With Grace gone there’s nothing left of the picture but the frame. She’s one in a million. You’ll look a long time before you find another girl like Grace Durland.”
“You’ve said something!” John affirmed, and pretending that Grace was not present he and Irene engaged in a lively discussion of Grace’s merits. With Irene this was of course only a device for flirting with John. John understood perfectly that she was flirting with him. As this went on John and Irene were taking careful note of each other. Two natures could not have been more truly antipodal. Grace was amused to see them at such pains to please each other. She interrupted them occasionally with a question as to some virtue attributed to her, which they feigned not to hear but answered indirectly.
He was already preparing for his removal to the city and wore a new suit and hat and carried a pair of tan gloves which obviously had not been worn. He struck his hat with them occasionally as he talked. John had always been quick to note little tricks of manner and speech and when they pleased him he frankly adopted them. His manner of playing with his gloves was imitated from a young instructor at the university who carried gloves with him everywhere, even into the class room, where he played with them as he heard recitations. John in his new raiment looked less like a countryman than Grace had thought possible. She recalled what a cynical senior had once said of him—that above the collar he looked like a signer of the Declaration of Independence but that the rest of him was strongly suggestive of the barnyard. His eyes missed nothing; he was too eager to get ahead in the world not to study his own imperfections and overcome them. Having impressed John with the idea that for the few minutes they spent together he was the only specimen of the male species in the world, Irene languidly glanced at her watch.
“Only ten minutes to get back, Grace. I’ll keep the wheels of commerce turning while you talk to Mr. Moore. Do forgive me, old things, for keeping you waiting.”
As she gathered up her purse and vanity box Moore protested that he and Grace had nothing to say to each other which she might not hear.
“Oh, don’t try that on me!” Irene replied, looking from one to the other meaningfully.
“If you leave us alone John will begin talking poetry,” said Grace. “Please wait, I don’t feel a bit like poetry today!”
“There, Miss Kirby; you see Grace doesn’t want to be alone with me! I’ll tell you what! I’m staying in town tonight and it would be fine if we could all go to a show together. There’s a picture I’ve read about—‘Mother Earth,’ they call it; said to give a fine idea of pioneer life. I guess we owe it to the folks who drove out the Indians and cleaned up the varmints to show ’em a little respect, and they say that picture’s a humdinger. If you don’t like the notion and there’s some other show——”
His eyes were bright with expectancy as he awaited their decision.
“You see,” he added with a broad smile, “now that I’ve sold my last pup and paid my debts I feel a little like celebrating.”
“Thank you ever so much, Mr. Moore,” said Irene, “but really, I——”
“Why, of course you can go, Irene,” exclaimed Grace, who had not missed Irene’s look of consternation when John suggested spending an evening viewing a movie illustrative of the sacrifices of the pioneers. However, Irene had quickly recovered from the shock and seemed to be seriously considering John’s invitation.
“I’ll be glad to go, thank you, John; but of course we must have Irene!”
“Certainly, we want Miss Kirby,” John declared.
“But if you hadn’t seen me here, Mr. Moore, you’d never have thought of asking me. You know you wouldn’t.”
“Honestly, I thought of it before I came into the store! Ever since that day you were so nice about letting Grace off to go to the game I’ve had a feeling I’d like to show you some trifling attention. I’ll take it as another favor if you’ll go.”
“Oh, if you put it that way, Mr. Moore, of course I accept,” said Irene. “I must skip; you stay, Grace, and arrange the little details.”
“It’s mighty nice of Miss Kirby to go,” John remarked as he resumed his seat after bowing Irene from the table. “And it must make things a lot easier for you to have a fine girl like that to work with. You can tell she knows her business. I guess nothing’s going to rattle her much!”
“What are you trying to do, John; make me jealous?” laughed Grace.
“Now Grace, you know——”
What would John think, Grace wondered—John of the high ideals and aspirations, if he knew that it was only because Irene had broken with a man whose mistress she had been and in consequence was disposed to take refuge in things wholly foreign to her nature and experience, that she had accepted an invitation to attend a picture show that celebrated the joys and sorrows of the pioneers!
It was settled that John should go home with her for supper and that they would meet Irene in the lobby of the theatre. Grace took occasion to caution John against mentioning Irene at home. Her mother and Ethel didn’t like Irene, she explained.
“I don’t see but she’s a pretty fine girl,” John replied. “And it makes a hit with me that she’s such a good friend of yours.”
“Of course I’m not going,” said Irene when Grace went back to her department. “I supposed you understood that.”
“I certainly didn’t. John wanted you or he wouldn’t have asked you. You know what you were saying about sex! Here’s a chance to prove you can forget it. Let’s assume John’s taking us to a movie merely because we’re charming and amusing persons; just as he might take a couple of young men.”
“Well I don’t care anything about going to a show right now when I’m wearing mourning for myself, but I’d just like to sit near that suitor of yours for an hour or two. He does me good.”
This was not like Irene, and Grace discounted heavily her friend’s admiration for John. It was merely that Irene was contrasting John with Kemp, in much the same spirit that she had praised Trenton at the lunch table.
“If he knew me for what I am he’d probably run like a scared rabbit,” said Irene, slipping a tape-line through her fingers. “I felt myself an awful fraud all the time I talked to him.”
“You can always rely on John to think the best of everybody and everything,” Grace replied. “He’s a mighty satisfactory sort of person. If I ever got into trouble I know John would stand by me.”
“I believe you’re right,” Irene returned. “A man with eyes like his is bound to be mighty square. But when I sat there kidding him about you I did feel awfully guilty and ashamed of myself. I was afraid those eyes might see too much!”
“Come out of the dark!” exclaimed Grace. “We’d better go to work. John’s going home to supper with me and we’ll meet you in the Pendennis lobby at a quarter before eight.”
The afternoon passed and still no letter from Trenton. Grace was glad that she had not told Irene how far Trenton had gone in declaring himself. Not even Irene should know how much she cared for Trenton. She indulged in the luxury of self-pity, picturing herself going through life with the remembrance of him like a wound in her heart that would never heal. And after summoning her courage to meet such a situation she was swept with a great tenderness as she thought of him, remembering the touch of his hand, his kiss on her lips.
When she called up her mother to say that she was bringing John home Mrs. Durland reminded her that this was the night Ethel had asked Mr. Haley to supper. Grace had been fully informed as to Mr. Haley’s acceptance of Ethel’s invitation but in her confused state of mind she had forgotten it. Haley was Ethel’s discovery and Grace had several times encountered him in the Durland parlor. Recently Ethel had been referring to the young man a little self-consciously by his first name. Osgood Haley was twenty-seven, a well appearing young man, who was a city salesman for a wholesale grocery firm. Mrs. Durland had satisfied herself by inquiries of an acquaintance in the town in which Haley had originated that he was of good family and he was thereupon made to feel at home in the Durland household.
Ethel had met him in her Sunday school where within a few weeks after taking a class of boys he had doubled its membership. It was his personality, Ethel said; and beyond question Haley had a great deal of personality. Among other items of Haley’s biography Ethel had acquainted the family with the fact that his interest in religion was due to the influence of a girl to whom he had been engaged but who died only a short time before the day appointed for their wedding. Ethel made a great deal of this. Haley’s devotion to the memory of the girl he had loved was very beautiful as Ethel described it, and Mrs. Durland said that such devotion was rare in these times.
Haley had brought to perfection a manner that not only had proved its efficacy in selling groceries but was equally impressive in the parlor. When he shook a hand he clung to it while he smiled into the face of its owner and uttered one of a number of cheerful remarks from a list with which he was fortified. These were applied with good judgment and went far toward convincing the person greeted that Mr. Haley was the possessor of some secret of happiness which he benevolently desired to communicate to all mankind.
Ethel having gone home early to prepare some special dishes for her guest, came in flushed from the kitchen just as Haley arrived with Grace and John, who had met him on the street-car. Mr. Durland had meekly submitted to investiture in a white shirt in honor of the occasion. He had confused Haley with a young man from Rangerton who sometimes visited the family. When he had been set straight on this point they went to the table where the talk opened promisingly.
Haley needed no encouragement to talk; he was a born talker. He was abundantly supplied with anecdotes, drawn from his experience as a salesman, which proved that a cheery and optimistic spirit will overcome all obstacles. John provoked him to renewed efforts by insisting that theoretically the position of the pessimist is sound. Haley would have none of this. He had found, he declared, that hope is infectious and he derived the liveliest satisfaction from his success in overcoming the prejudice and reluctance of difficult customers.
“You two boys make a splendid team,” remarked Mrs. Durland. “I suppose you don’t know many people here, John.”
“Only frat brothers and boys who’ve graduated from the University since I’ve been there. There’s quite a bunch of them, too, for I’ve been plugging around the sacred groves of academe a long time.”
“I suppose you’ll be so busy when you move to town you’ll have to limit your social life,” said Ethel. “But we all need outside interests. Osgood has been here a year but it was some time before he found just what he needed.”
Haley rose to this promptly by saying that being received in a home like the Durland’s was the pleasantest thing that had ever happened to him.
“Of course, John,” Ethel continued, “you will find a church connection helpful. I hope you will hear Dr. Ridgley before handing in your letter anywhere else.”
“By all means,” said Haley. “I tried several churches before I finally settled on Dr. Ridgley’s. He’s helped me over a lot of hard places just by a word or two. It just occurs to me, Ethel, that John,” (Haley was already calling Moore by his first name) “would enjoy Mr. Forman’s bible class. They’re all business and professional men and Mr. Forman is a thorough Bible student. If I didn’t enjoy my boys so much I’d certainly never miss a Sunday morning with Mr. Forman.”
“You see, John, we’re trying to fix everything up for you,” said Mrs. Durland, turning a sympathetic glance upon Moore.
Grace was unable to recall that she had ever heard John speak of churches, though in their walks about Bloomington he had discussed religion in general terms. She doubted whether, with his many engrossing employments, he had been a diligent church-goer.
“Don’t let them crowd you, John,” she said, seeing that he hesitated to commit himself.
“I’m not a church member,” he said diffidently. “I suppose I’m hardly what you’d call a believer; at least I don’t believe all you’re supposed to believe if you subscribe to a creed. I hope I’m not shocking you folks but it always seems to me there’s something stifling about a church. When I was a boy on the home farm and all the neighbors met at the country church every Sunday, I always hated to go in; it seemed a lot cheerfuller outside. I suppose if I got right down to it I’d say I believe in a great power that I haven’t any name for, that moves the world. It’s bigger than any church, and it works in all of us whether we go to church or not. I suppose if you got down to bed rock you’d call me an agnostic. But I’m strong for whatever any church does to help people live right. When it comes to believing a lot of things I can’t square with reason I just can’t do it.”
“That’s about my own idea,” ventured Mr. Durland, who had been bending over his plate with his usual stolid silence.
“We’re not so far apart, John,” said Mrs. Durland, anxious to avert the deliverance which she saw from the tense look in Ethel’s face was imminent. “We all see things differently these days and I think it better not to discuss the subject. It’s far too personal.”
“I don’t see how you can say such a thing, mother,” said Ethel, with painstaking enunciation. “I think it our solemn duty to discuss matters that affect our souls. If there ever comes a time when I can’t believe in God I want to die! I don’t see how any one can live without the hope of a better world than this. Without that nothing would be worth while.”
“Please don’t think I want to destroy any one’s faith,” John replied. “But for myself I try to keep tight hold of the idea that it’s a part of our job to make that better world right here. And if we do that and there is a better place after death I don’t believe anybody’s going to be kept out of it for not believing what he can’t.”
“John,” began Haley with a deprecatory smile, “that’s