Arthur was still engaged in an important case at the capital and could not be present at the wedding.
“I am sorry I can not be there,” his letter read. “All the advice I can give you, Lucy, is don’t let your mother intrude on your happiness.”
John sent an invitation to his parents, but Dr. Winter, a clergyman, was old and in ill health, and was not able to bear the double strain of the journey and the cold weather. Mrs. Winter, a kindly sentimental lady who would never have thought of leaving her husband, sent tearful regrets, and bemoaned the fact that John and Lucy did not come to the home town and so make it possible for Dr. Winter himself to officiate at the wedding of his only son.
In the end only Jim Sprague and Miss Storms witnessed the quiet affair. These two had liked each other since the day of their first meeting. Miss Storms’ interest in Jim had risen from the fact that he was John’s business associate and intimate. Later she gave him her friendship for his own sake and often referred to him affectionately as “our Jim.” There was an unanalysable and very subtle comprehension between the two, though Miss Storms remained quite as kindly aloof from him in her manner as she did with John and Lucy; and Jim, as in all his relations, was ungiven to self-revealing speech.
“Well, Jim, Lucy has good taste in friends as well as in husbands,” Miss Storms remarked, smiling at him with quizzical complaisance when the wedding ceremony was over. “I hate all the immodest fol-de-lol of church weddings,” she went on, changing the subject, “but it is a shame that anything as pretty as Lucy in those new togs should be wasted on the desert air. For you and I don’t count.”
While she was speaking Lucy came up. Miss Storms took her hand.
“Well, dear?”
Lucy’s eyes swam with tears. She clasped Miss Storms’ hand in both her own and squeezed it impulsively. Miss Storms kissed her forehead.
“I’m jealous, child,” the older woman declared.
“So am I,” John laughed.
“Neither of you need be.” Lucy smiled unsteadily.
“What about you, Jim?” Miss Storms turned to the other guest.
“I’ve always been jealous of John,” Jim answered, flushing a little as he spoke.
Arthur and Mrs. Low, for reasons best known to themselves, were not married in Chicago as expected, but at the state capital where Arthur’s new practice had begun to flourish. When the notice of the wedding was copied by the Russellville Weekly Clarion, another outburst of gossip occurred, but, as neither of them returned to the place after their marriage, it did not disturb them. Arthur made two visits to Chicago, and on one of these, not long after Dimmie’s birth, he spent a night at Rosedene. Here he met Jim Sprague for whom he afterward expressed a strong liking.
Nannie had no means of escape from the public attention attracted to herself and her interests, and the wounds to her vanity were keenly felt. The protest of her self-esteem was her conspicuous appearance in frequented places with Professor Walsh. Again Russellville talked, but not for long. Nannie’s persistent recklessness of opinion in this matter palled. She ceased to be a popular object of criticism. Events settled into the routine that is characteristic of small communities.
The years glided by without any outward change in Nannie’s life. Of Arthur’s doings, she knew nothing except an occasional hint. Mrs. Lockhart had issued an ultimatum on Lucy’s marriage by forbidding any further relation with such an undutiful daughter, and Nannie, overawed by the old lady and more or less dependent on her, dared not disobey.
Professor Walsh was often at the “big house” and, chiefly through his universally acknowledged friendship with the Sheldons, was yearly becoming more and more a power in the community. He paid much special and flattering attention to Mrs. Lockhart, who was rapidly growing deaf and would otherwise have been lonely.
Although the professor’s interest in Nannie was tacitly recognized by the family, Mrs. Lockhart employed all the ingenuity of a jealous and neglected old woman to curb impatience on the part of her niece and nephew, while Professor Walsh, who was already receiving for nothing the benefits that Nannie represented, constantly abetted the old lady’s wiles in so subtle a manner that Nannie hardly realized her own position.
After four years of this regime Mrs. Lockhart died, and Nannie was left in “Cousin Minnie’s” house with no one upon whom she could persuade herself she had the semblance of a claim. “Cousin Minnie” herself, on whom seemed to have descended Mrs. Lockhart’s mantle of decision, soon banished any doubts that Nannie may have had regarding her status in the “big house.”
“When are you going to marry Professor Walsh?” she asked Nannie abruptly one day not long after Mrs. Lockhart’s death.
“Why—I never said I was going to marry him,” responded Nannie with a demurely girlish giggle.
“Well, everybody has been expecting you to for the last three or four years, and if you don’t intend to you will please not give people further reason to gossip about you while you are in my house. The best people have dropped you for it and I don’t care to be included.”
“Why, Cousin Minnie—” began Nannie, tearful in an instant.
“Where do you get so many good clothes?” “Cousin Minnie” interrupted.
“Why—why—” Nannie faltered. But “Cousin Minnie” did not remain to discuss the matter.
This, and a number of similar happenings, led Nannie to consider her position seriously, and she made a surreptitious pilgrimage to consult her oracle, Professor Walsh, regarding her future.
“We can not marry for another year, at least, Anna,” said he didactically. Nannie’s eyes opened wide at this.
“Of course, Edward,” she acquiesced dutifully.
“Could you not visit your daughter for a while?” he suggested. “As a rule it is not best to remain too long with one relative.”
Nannie swallowed hard, as the recollection of her letter on the occasion of Lucy’s marriage came
