THE morning paper’s account of Mrs. Trenton’s lecture came in for discussion at the breakfast table and Mrs. Durland read aloud the society column’s report of Miss Reynolds’s dinner. The names of the guests were not given, an omission which Mrs. Durland thought singular, but which evoked from Ethel the comment that the people who had countenanced Mrs. Trenton merely to please Miss Reynolds probably had asked to have their names suppressed. Durland, deprived of his paper, which Mrs. Durland and Ethel were clinging to in violation of his long-established rights, asked Grace whether Trenton was in town.
“Mrs. Trenton said she had hoped to see him here, but I don’t know anything about it, daddy,” she replied carelessly, though the possibility of Trenton’s coming to Indianapolis in response to his wife’s summons was now uppermost in her thoughts.
She eagerly opened the letter from him which awaited her at the store. It was a hasty lead-pencil scrawl and said that he was leaving that night for Indianapolis to see Mrs. Trenton, who was lecturing there and had asked for a meeting. The summons was most inopportune as his work in Syracuse was not completed and it would be necessary for him to return as quickly as possible. “But I’ll see you, of course, if only for a moment,” he concluded.
The note served only to revive with keener malevolence the jealousy that she had vanquished the previous night. Trenton had never written so brusquely before; perhaps his wife’s demand for an interview had alarmed him. She stabbed herself with the thought that this woman had the right to demand interviews with him whenever she pleased.
In the search for consolation she asked Irene to go to lunch with her. To her relief, Irene, having already formed at long range her opinion of Mrs. Trenton, asked only a few questions about the dinner.
“Having seen Mary you will understand Ward better,” Irene remarked, after her curiosity had been satisfied as to what the women wore and she had suggested that the meeting with Atwood under Miss Reynolds’s roof might lead to something.
“Ward’s coming here to see her; he may be in town now,” said Grace, not in the least interested in Atwood. “She told us at dinner she hadn’t seen her husband for she didn’t know how long and had been wiring to try to locate him. What do you make of that, Irene? Do you suppose——”
“I’d suppose nothing! You can’t tell what women of that sort think or what they’ll do. But you can be pretty sure they’ll do something foolish every chance they get. Don’t you worry about her; you can trust Ward to take care of you no matter what her ladyship knows or guesses about him. If Ward loves you as I think he does he’ll go clear down the line for you.”
“Do you think that,—do you really mean that,” asked Grace tremulously.
“Of course I mean it! Look here, my dear! Seeing that woman has made you nervous. If you’d asked my advice in advance I’d have told you not to go. But now that you went and gone and done it the sooner you forget the whole business the better.”
“Irene, I simply had to go! I was simply dying of curiosity and jealousy. Can’t you understand that? You needn’t tell me I ought to be ashamed of myself for going; I know well enough I ought to be.”
“Cut it out, old dear! I’d probably have done the same thing myself if I’d been in your place. Why, Grace, the first time Mrs. Kemp appeared on my floor after I began playing around with Tommy, I nearly broke my neck to wait on her. You ought to feel better now you’ve seen the woman. I heard some of our valued customers talking about the lecture this morning and they all knocked. It’s her money they listen to, not her ideas. She’s no rival of yours, my dear. But, speaking of rivals, I’ve been keeping something from you. Good old John Moore has called on me twice lately and I went to a movie with him Saturday night. Honest, I did! Don’t faint, but I actually broke a date with Tommy to see a picture with your old college chum! Go on and scold me!”
“Why, Irene, I’m awfully pleased. John liked you from the first time you met.”
“Well, he oughtn’t to! Really it would be a lot better if you’d warn him against me. He’s so square himself that he refuses to believe anything mean of anybody; and if he should fall in love with me—or worse—if I’d get a case on him——”
She shook her head and compressed her lips to indicate the dire possibilities of either predicament.
“Why not?” Grace demanded.
“Don’t be silly; you know why not,” Irene replied. “He thinks I’m straight and you know I’m—well, you know what you know. And I just wouldn’t fool that man! If I did I’d be punished for it and I’d deserve to be.”
“Why, Irene!” exclaimed Grace. “I believe you’re already in love with him.”
“Well, hardly that,” Irene replied reflectively, “but I’ve got one of the symptoms. I’m going to quit my evil ways and chuck Tommy! Old sackcloth and ashes stuff! I ought to have let him go when we had the row about that girl in Chicago. You know, Grace, we’re always hearing about the influence of a good woman, but, my dear, it’s nothing to what a good man can do! I suppose,” she went on in her large philosophic manner, “it’s because really fine men are so scarce that when you do spot one you just naturally feel like prostrating yourself in the dust before him. When I began lotus-eating with Tommy I thought I’d never weary of the food, but John’s given me an appetite for corn bread and cabbage! Just what will you take for your interest in John?”
“I never could have loved John and he’s never thought of me in that way,” Grace replied seriously. “But, Irene, for his friendship I wouldn’t take a million dollars.”
“Of course you wouldn’t! And just for his respect and confidence, I’d—”
Grace marvelled to see tears in Irene’s eyes.
The hour spent with Irene served at least to change the current of Grace’s thoughts. There were other girl friends for whom she had a warm liking but Irene continued to hold first place in her affections. The girl’s poise and serenity, her flashes of wisdom, made her increasingly fascinating. And there was a charm in her very unaccountableness. That the luxury-loving Irene, who had so recently spoken of marriage as only a means of attaining comfort and ease, should tolerate the attentions of a young countryman who stood at the threshold of one of the most difficult professions was all but incredible. But this was no more puzzling than the attraction John apparently found in Irene.
By the middle of the afternoon Grace was again enmeshed in a network of doubt and apprehension. Trenton was making a journey for the express purpose of meeting his wife; he had probably reached Indianapolis at noon and gone at once to Miss Reynolds’s to see her. Grace’s imagination was playing cruel tricks upon her; she pictured the meeting between Trenton and his wife in a hundred ways. He would kiss her, perhaps take her into his arms; and after their long separation it was possible that both might experience a reawakening of the early passion that had died in them. Grace, seeking the lowest depths of humility, knew herself only as Number Eighteen at Shipley’s, a girl to be played with and cast aside by another woman’s husband whenever it pleased him to be done with her. In her self-abasement she recalled Irene’s oft-reiterated declaration about Kemp, that she admired his brains and was fond of him but never deceived herself with the idea that she loved him. This was the wiser way. Grace lashed herself pitilessly for her folly in giving her love so unreservedly when the result could bring nothing but unhappiness. Her love and trust wavered like sunlight struggling to penetrate a field of cloud.
She was standing near the entrance to the ready-to-wear department, inattentive and listless, when the rattle of the elevator door roused her and Trenton stepped out. At the sight of him the blood rushed to her heart till it seemed for a moment that she would die of joy at the sight of him.
He saw her at once and walked quickly toward her. He had never before seemed so handsome and distinguished. His step had the elasticity of youth, and there was a happy light in his eyes as he took her hand. This was the first time he had sought her at Shipley’s and she assumed that his coming meant that he had seized the only possible moment to see her.
“We can’t talk here, of course; I’ve got Kemp’s car and I can explain things as we ride,” he said. “Can you get excused for the rest of the day?”
Miss Boardman, busily marking price tags, gave the permission with an absent-minded nod and Grace hurried back to report that she was free and would get her wraps and meet him at the main entrance.
When they were in Kemp’s limousine Trenton ordered Craig to drive straight north, without mentioning a destination. There was no hint of trouble in his clear steady eyes. His air of perfect self-confidence, of knowing exactly what he was about, restored her faith. She loved him and she was proud that she loved him.
“Please don’t be frightened!” he began, clasping her hand when they were clear of the down-town traffic. “I’ve just seen Mrs. Trenton. She wired me for an appointment to discuss some of her personal business matters. As she’s going further West lecturing it was as convenient to see her here as anywhere else. So I came here and have already seen her at Miss Reynolds’s. It took some time to go over her investments and explain some changes I had made in them. When that was finished she suddenly asked about that letter I wrote to her last fall from St. Louis. That settled the question as to whether she ever got it.”
“Yes, I remember,” Grace replied faintly.
In spite of his cheerfulness she was sure that he was leading up to some disagreeable disclosure and involuntarily she drew away her hand.
“It’s all right, dear,” he went on reassuringly. “She said she knew we’d been drifting further apart for a long time and that she wasn’t surprised by my letter. She hadn’t acknowledged it because she was waiting for a chance to see me to talk it out. She seemed rather amused. She has a way of being amused at things. And now—don’t jump!” he caught her hand and clasped it tight. “She was always a woman of surprises—she said she wanted to see the girl I had mentioned—but not in a disagreeable way at all. If you knew her you’d understand.”
“That’s it—I do understand,” Grace replied slowly. “I was at the dinner Miss Reynolds gave for her last night. I ought to have asked you if it was all right to go—but I was afraid you’d say no—and—and I had to see her.” Her voice broke in a sob, but lifting her head she hurried on. “I was jealous—terribly jealous—and something tells me that—that—we are—near the end.”
“Please, dear; don’t give way to foolish fears!” he implored. “I’m glad you went to the dinner; that was all right and I want to hear all about it later. Having seen Mrs. Trenton you ought to know that her request is quite characteristic. Don’t you see that she’s curious about you, just as you were about her! I really think she means to be kind to me. It’s unusual of course, but—Mrs. Trenton is a very unusual woman!”
Grace looked at him in a kind of dumb wonder.
“You—you told her my name—” she faltered.
“No; certainly not! You weren’t mentioned. I think she assumed that the girl I wrote her about lived in St. Louis. She was rather taken aback when I said she lived here.”
“And you told her you’d produce me—exhibit me for her criticism? Ward, what can you be thinking of; what can you think of me to ask such a thing? I suppose you told her everything?”
“Why Grace, this isn’t like you! You’re taking it all too seriously. Mrs. Trenton has no cause to think anything except that I’ve met you and fallen in love with you. You must be reasonable, dear,” he went on patiently. “She knows nothing and has no right to assume—what we’d rather she didn’t. It’s just a whim of hers. If I thought she wouldn’t treat you as one lady should treat another I wouldn’t ask you to go. It will be the most formal call—no chance for anything unpleasant, even if she wanted to be disagreeable.”
“She could be very disagreeable. I didn’t like her; I didn’t like her at all! It seems to me sheer folly to put myself in her way unnecessarily.”
“I tell you it will be all right!” he protested. “She will be surprised, of course, to find that she has already met you. You know I wouldn’t cause you the slightest embarrassment or pain for the world.”
For a moment she pondered, her confidence in him and her wish to accede to his wishes struggling against suspicion and jealousy.
“You’re sure this isn’t a trick—a trap?” she asked.
“Of course not, dear! How can you think such a thing? Mrs. Trenton really has a sense of humor; and she’s a woman of the world. Besides she has no ground whatever for attacking you; I can’t imagine her doing that in any circumstances. I’m just meeting her wish to see a girl I told her I admire. But—I count more than I dare say on the result. I want to give her a chance to practice what she preaches!”
“Well,” said Grace, searching his eyes with a long gaze, “I’ll go since you insist, but I think it’s foolish. It’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of! But she can’t do more than murder me.”
“She can’t do more than approve of you!” he cried and ordered Craig to drive to Miss Reynolds’s.
Mrs. Trenton was immediately visible, writing at a small table in the living room, when they were ushered into the reception parlor. She wore a pair of shell-rimmed library glasses, and it occurred to Grace that the blank stare that had been so disconcerting the previous night was probably attributable to some defect of vision. She did not lift her head when the maid spoke to her but nodded and went on writing for several minutes. Then she laid aside the glasses and walked unhurriedly to the door.
“Ah, Ward, back again!”
“I believe you’ve met Miss Durland, May,” said Trenton.
“Yes; of course,” she replied with a smile of recognition that faded instantly. “It’s nice of you to come, Miss Durland. I didn’t know last night that you were acquainted with Mr. Trenton. Dear Miss Reynolds didn’t mention it or I should, of course——”
She broke off in her odd way, her gaze wandering. Her indifference was an achievement in itself, a masterly thing. She wore a blue house gown of an exquisite simplicity. A string of crystal beads hung about her neck and she put her hand to them frequently as though to make sure they were there. As she sank into a chair her long figure relaxed into graceful lines. She was much more composed than at the dinner, with a languorous composure that might have been donned for the occasion like a garment. She reminded Grace of those portraits of women done by fashionable painters which satisfy the artistic sense without conveying a sense of reality.
“You forget, May, that I haven’t met Miss Reynolds,” Trenton remarked to her; but she ignored him.
“You are—what do you say—a Hoosier, Miss Durland?” she asked, her gaze falling as if by chance upon Grace.
“Oh, yes, I’m a native.” Grace answered with a faint smile; but her courage was ebbing. She hated Mrs. Trenton. She tried to think of something amusing to add to her confession that she was a native Indianian but the atmosphere of the room was not conducive to brilliancy. To make conversation Trenton reminded his wife that they had once met a certain senator from Indiana at White Sulphur Springs.
A “yes” charged with all the apathy that can be conveyed by the rising inflexion, was the only reply that was evoked by this attempt to link Indiana to large affairs of state. Trenton asked Grace whether Indiana had ever produced more than one president, and she tried to ease her discomfiture by replying that the state had rather specialized in vice-presidents.
“Oh, that!” remarked Mrs. Trenton. “How very droll! I suppose the Indiana school teacher has a frightful time instilling in the young Hoosier mind the names of all your vice-presidents. Do they pay teachers well in Indiana?”
“Not so well as farther West, I believe,” Grace answered; “but I know little about it.”
“That’s the next thing I’m going to take up. I’m having data collected now,” Mrs. Trenton said with more spirit than she had before manifested.
“That’s fine, May,” said Trenton cordially. “That’s a work worth doing.”
“You’d really approve of that, Ward?” she asked. “You haven’t always been so indulgent of my whims.”
Grace, increasingly uncomfortable, started when Mrs. Trenton addressed her directly.
“Miss Durland, if you see too much of Mr. Trenton you will find him a singularly unreasonable person. But,” with a shrug, “all men have the ancient conceit of their sex superiority.”
She had drawled the “if you see too much” in a manner to give the phrase a peculiar insinuating emphasis. Grace caught its significance at once and her cheeks burned; but she was less angry at the woman than at Trenton, whose face betrayed no resentment. She rose and walked to the door.
“Dear me, don’t run away!” Mrs. Trenton exclaimed. “Miss Reynolds will be back shortly. She was called away to some hospital—I think it was—to see a friend. Do wait. There will be tea, I think.”
Trenton was on his feet. No man’s mind is ever quite so agile or discerning as a woman’s. He had just caught up with the phrase that had angered Grace.
“I have kept my word,” he said, rising and addressing his wife directly. “When I promised you that if I ever met a woman I felt I could care for I would tell you, I was in earnest. At your own suggestion and in perfect good faith I asked Miss Durland to come here.”
“My dear Ward! You were always a man of your word!” she said with a hint of mockery in her voice. “I assure you that I’m delighted to meet Miss Durland. She’s very charming, really.”
“I don’t intend that you shall forget yourself!” he said sharply. “Your conduct since you came into this room has been contemptible!”
“I’m most contrite! Do forgive me, Miss Durland.”
She lay back in her chair in a pose of exaggerated ease and lazily turned her head to look at Grace.
“I assume,” she said, “that you are my chosen successor, and I can’t complain of my husband’s taste. You are very handsome and I can see how your youth would appeal to him, but—there are things I must consider. Please wait”—Grace had laid her hand on the door,—“I may as well say it all now. I’ve probably led Ward to think that if such an emergency as this arose I’d free him and bid him Godspeed. But, you see, confronted with the fact, I find it necessary to think a little of myself. One must, you know, and I’m horribly selfish. It would never do to give my critics a chance to take a fling at me as a woman whose marriage is a failure. You can see for yourself, Miss Durland, how my position would be weakened if I were a divorcee. Much as I hate to disappoint you—it would never do—really it would not!”
“Just what are you assuming, Mrs. Trenton?” demanded Grace, meeting the gaze of the older woman.
“We needn’t discuss that now!” interrupted Trenton peremptorily.
“No; I suppose you’d have to confer privately with Miss Durland before reaching a conclusion. But, I suggest, Miss Durland, for the sake of your own happiness, that you avoid, if, indeed, the warning isn’t too late, forming any—what do we call such—”
“That will do! Stop right there!” Trenton interrupted.
Grace had swung round from the door, and stood, her lips parted and with something of the look of an angry, hurt child in her eyes. It seemed to her that she was an unwilling eavesdropper, hearing words not intended for her ears, but without the power to escape. Then she heard Trenton’s voice.
“You’d better go, Grace,” he said quietly. “Craig is waiting. He will take you home.”
Grace closed the door after her and paused in the dim hall. A nightmare numbness had seized her; and she found herself wondering whether she could reach the outer door; it seemed remote, unattainable. She steadied herself against the newel, remembering an accident in childhood that had left her dazed and nauseated. Trenton had told her to go; at his wife’s bidding he was sending her away and it wasn’t necessary for him to dismiss her like that!
She felt herself precipitated into a measureless oblivion; nothing good or beautiful ever had been or would be. He had told her to go; that was all; and like a grieved and heartbroken child she resented being sent away. In her distress she was incapable of crediting him with the kindness that had prompted him to bid her leave.
She was startled by a quick step on the walk outside, followed by the click of the lock, and the door, flung open, revealed Miss Reynolds.
“Why, Grace, I had no idea—why, child! What’s the matter? You’re as white as a sheet!”
“I must go,” said Grace in a whisper, withdrawing the hand Miss Reynolds had clasped. The door remained open and the world, a fantastically distorted world, lay outside. With slow steps she passed her bewildered friend, saying in the tone of one muttering in an unhappy dream:
“I must go! He told me to go.”
“He—who?”
The astonished Miss Reynolds, who at first thought Grace was playing a joke of some kind, watched her pass slowly down the walk to the gate and enter the waiting car. She went out upon the steps, uncertain what to do and caught a last glimpse of Grace’s face, her eyes set straight ahead, as the machine bore her away.
The thought of remaining at home was unbearable, and after supper Grace telephoned Irene to ask whether she was free for the evening.
“Tommy said something about taking a drive and I’m going over to Minnie’s to meet him. You come right along. I saw Ward snatch you out of the store. Pretty cool, I call it! Tommy said he was going back East at seven, so you’re a widow once more!”
Grace left the house with her father, who was spending all his evenings at Kemp’s plant. To all questions at home as to the progress of his motor Durland replied that he guessed it would be all right. On the street-car he told Grace he was anxious to see Trenton; there were difficulties as to the motor that he wished to discuss with him. He said he had written, asking an interview as soon as possible, but that Trenton had not replied. Grace answered that she knew nothing about him and her heart sank as she remembered that Trenton was no longer a part of her life and that in the future he would come and go and she would never be the wiser.
It was all over and she faced the task of convincing herself that her love for him had been a delusion, a mere episode to be forgotten as quickly as possible. She left her father at Washington street, cheerily wishing him good luck, and took a car that ran past Minnie’s door.
Irene was alone and, in a new gown of coppergreen crepe that enhanced the gold in her hair, might have posed as the spirit of spring. Minnie had remained down town, she explained, and Tommy was not expected until nine.
“What’s happened?” she demanded. “I know something’s doing or you wouldn’t have called me up from home.”
Grace took off her coat, hung it over the back of a chair and flung herself down on the couch.
“Console me a little, Irene,—but not too much—I’ve seen Ward for the last time.”
“His wife make a row?” Irene inquired.
“Yes, he took me to see her and she——”
“He took you to see her! Grace Durland, what are you talking about?”
“Just that!” and Grace, no longer able to restrain herself, burst into tears.
“You poor baby!”
Irene jumped up and thrust a pillow back of Grace’s head and sat down beside her. “Tell me about it if you want to, but not unless you feel like it, honey.”
“I’ve simply got to tell you, Irene. Oh——!”
“Grace Durland, don’t be silly! You know I’d die for you!”
She listened in patient silence while Grace told with minute detail and many tears the story of her interview with Mrs. Trenton.
“I loved him; I still love him, Irene!” she moaned pitifully when she had finished. “And it had to end like that!”
“If you want my opinion,” said Irene judicially, “I’ll say that Ward Trenton is a perfect nut—the final and consummate nut of the whole nut family! The idea that he would take a girl like you—and you’re a good deal of a kid, my dear—to call on a woman like that wife of his, who’s an experienced worldly creature, and as much as tell her that he’s in love with you! It’s the limit!”
“But,” said Grace, quick to defend the moment Trenton was attacked, “he had every reason to believe she would be decent! She’d always let him think that if there was any one else she’d—she’d——”
“She’d hand him a transfer!” Irene laughed ironically. “Isn’t that just like poor old Ward! I tell you men are even as little babes where women are concerned. There isn’t a woman on earth who’d just calmly sit by and let another woman walk off with her husband even if she hated him like poison. It’s against nature, dearest. I can see how that woman would make the bluff, all right, but all she wanted was to see what you looked like and finding you young and beautiful she tried to make you feel like a counterfeit nickel. The trouble with Ward is that he’s so head over heels in love with you that he’s lost his mind. I wonder what happened after you skipped! I’ll bet it was some party! But don’t you believe he’s going to give you up—not Ward! Everything’s going to straighten out, honey. His telling you to go doesn’t mean a blessed thing! He just wanted to get you out of the scrap.”
“It means the end,” said Grace with a sigh that lost itself in a sob.
The bell tinkled and Grace ran away to remove the traces of tears from her face. When she reappeared Kemp greeted her with his usual raillery.
“I had only a word with Ward over the telephone,” he said. “He came out to see his wife and as he borrowed my limousine I guess he showed her the village sights. But, of course, you know more about that bird than I do, Grace. You couldn’t scare me up a drink, could you, Irene? Minnie’s got some stuff of mine concealed here somewhere. Just a spoonful—no? Grace, this girl is a cruel tyrant. She positively refuses to let me die a drunkard’s happy death.”
He evidently wasn’t aware that Grace had seen Trenton and Irene carefully kept the talk in safe channels. He had brought his roadster, not knowing that he was to find Grace at Minnie’s, but he insisted that the car carried three comfortably and he wouldn’t consider leaving her behind.
It was the same car in which Trenton had driven her into town after the night they spent together at The Shack. In spite of her attempts to forget, thoughts of him filled her mind like an implacable host of soldiery....
After a plunge into the country they swung back to town along the river.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Kemp suddenly. “There’s my little factory over there in the moonlight. Have you ever seen it, Grace? We’ll just dash in for a minute.”
“I wonder if father’s still there?” said Grace as they drove into the lighted yard.
“We’ll soon find out. That’s his workshop yonder where you see the bluish lights. I see O’Reilly’s light on in the main office. That fellow works too hard.”
“It’s a good thing somebody works around this place,” said Irene. “The world knows you don’t.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as that,” Kemp retorted, and led the way down a long aisle of one of the steel and glass units of the big plant. The moon diffused its mild radiance through the glass roof, as though mocking with a superior mystery the silent inert machinery.
The sound of voices became audible in a room partitioned off in one corner. The door was ajar and two men in overalls and jumpers were pondering a motor set up on a testing block.
The trio remained outside, watching the two intent, rapt figures. One Grace had recognized as her father; the other, she realized bewilderedly, was Ward Trenton. Trenton, unconscious that he was watched, raised his hand and Durland turned a switch. The hum of a motor filled the room; and Durland turned slowly from the motor to glance at Trenton. Trenton signalled to shut off the power and dropped upon his knees, peering into the machine. Durland took up a sheet of paper and from it answered the questions which Trenton shot at him in rapid succession.
“Let’s have the power again,” said Trenton. He rose, bent his ear to study the sound, turned to Durland and nodded.
“Let’s see what they’re up to,” said Kemp and shouted Trenton’s name. Grace drew back as the two men turned toward them, but Irene seized her arm.
“Don’t you dare run away!”
Trenton came toward them snatching off his blue mechanic’s cap. There was a smudge across his face and his hands were black from contact with the machinery.
“I didn’t really lie to you, Tommy: I meant to leave tonight but remembered that Mr. Durland wanted to see me, so here I am.”
They followed him to the testing block where Durland had remained, too engrossed to heed them.
“I’m glad you came just when you did,” said Trenton addre