“I must get cleaned up before they come!” She rose and settled her apron more precisely, then began to clear away the dishes and brush the crumbs from the cloth.
Jim took out his pipe and filled it.
“Maybe your mother won’t have had breakfast,” he said.
Lucy shook her head.
“John is going to take her some place in town. It would make it too late for her to wait until she got out here.”
Jim rose to help with the remaining plates.
“You go on with something else,” he insisted. “I can finish these things in a jiffy.”
“No, you can’t!” Lucy motioned him away. “You must go on with the work you brought in the portfolio. John said he found you hard at it when he went after you yesterday evening.”
“All right, Lucy. Just as you say. I’m making some calculations on our new contract.” Jim moved toward the next room.
“I won’t disturb you in there but you’d better shut Dimmie out,” Lucy called after him.
“I’m nearly through with the estimates.” Jim turned in the doorway. Lucy had stopped her work and was gazing out the window with an abstraction unusual to her.
“You don’t see them?”
Lucy shook her head, her profile half averted.
“Lucy—you’re not crying?” Jim’s voice showed astonishment and more feeling than he commonly expressed. He had never before seen Lucy in tears.
She faced him, smiling uncertainly.
“Jim, I try so hard to be just to everybody!” she explained irrelevantly.
“Nothing infuriates people like receiving justice, Lucy.”
She glanced at him appreciatively.
“You can put things into words, Jim. When I was a little girl I used to think and think, trying to explain things to myself.” Her voice trailed off. “I know Mamma’ll want me to blame Papa, Jim, and I can’t.”
An automobile horn was heard outside and the sound of a machine stopping. Lucy started.
“Hello!” Jim turned to face Dimmie who ran into the room crying, “They’re here! They’re here!” and scurried out again.
Lucy seemed bewildered.
“Why the train never gets to Rosedene at this hour!”
Jim smiled encouragingly.
“Don’t borrow trouble, Lucy,” he said. “John’s brought your mother out in a machine. They can’t have made a very bad impression on each other.”
Lucy started for the hall but hesitated. There was the sound of a door opening and of several footsteps.
“Come right in, Nannie,” John’s voice was heard saying, and then, in direction to the chauffeur, “put the things inside.” In an instant John and Lucy’s mother entered the dining room followed by Dimmie who was unnoticed and looking rather rueful.
The new arrival, Mrs. Merwent, was petite, with quick undecided gestures. While giving an impression of prettiness and studied femininity, her features, with the exception of her eyes, were not remarkable. These eyes were the color of Lucy’s and unusually prominent. She was attired in a faultless traveling costume of a cut and shade too youthful for her, and she was conscientiously powdered, rouged, and penciled. She would have passed for thirty-odd years old among the unobservant.
She and Lucy regarded one another a moment in silence. They appeared not to know how to greet each other.
“Surprised you, did we?” John was almost boisterous.
Mrs. Merwent gave a tinkly nervous laugh.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me, Lucy?” she asked. Her lightness of manner was uncertain. Her eyes strayed over Lucy’s shoulder to Jim who leaned against the mantel shelf.
Lucy kissed her mother silently. Their lips barely brushed. In order to conceal her agitation Mrs. Merwent gave Lucy’s hair and shoulders meaningless pats.
“I’m glad you’ve come, Mamma.” Lucy’s voice was almost inaudible.
“Oh, dear, such a journey!” Mrs. Merwent twittered.
Lucy’s clear eyes looked at her mother steadfastly. John turned to Jim.
“Nannie, this is Jim Sprague, the best friend in the world, and the worst enemy.”
Jim came forward and shook hands.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” she said, smiling up at him. “I hope we’ll not be enemies.”
“No fear of it, Mrs. Merwent.” Jim smiled in reply.
“She says we must all call her Nannie, Jim,” broke in John. “That’s what everybody calls her.”
Jim bowed and smiled again.
Mrs. Merwent glanced first at Jim and then at her daughter.
“We thought you’d gone out,” she observed to Lucy.
Lucy answered quickly.
“I started for the door, but you came in so suddenly I didn’t get there in time. I didn’t expect you in an automobile, you know, and so didn’t pay any attention till you actually opened the door.”
“Were you upstairs?” John inquired.
“No, I was here,” returned Lucy.
Mrs. Merwent put her hand on her son-in-law’s arm.
“It’s all right,” she murmured; then to her daughter, “Now, Lucy, I think I’ll go up to my room, if you don’t mind, and make myself presentable after my journey.”
“Of course,” acquiesced Lucy. “Your things are in the hall, aren’t they? We’ll just—”
At this juncture Dimmie, who had slipped around to Lucy and hidden his face in her dress, began to cry. Lucy stooped down.
“What’s the matter, darling?” she inquired.
“She d—d—didn’t e—e—even—,” he sobbed.
“Why of course!” put in Mrs. Merwent. “How stupid of me! Come and kiss your Nannie now.”
Lucy pushed Dimmie forward.
“Come on.” He hung back.
“I’m afraid you’re a very sensitive little boy,” smiled Mrs. Merwent.
John frowned.
“Dimmie, kiss Nannie. What makes you act that way?”
“Don’t, John,” expostulated Mrs. Merwent. “It’s because I’m strange. He’ll be all right by-and-by.” Then, to the child, “Won’t you, Jimmie?”
Dimmie continued to cling to his mother’s hand and did not reply.
“Dimmie,” ordered John sternly, “answer Nannie.”
“Now, John,” put in Mrs. Merwent again, “let the poor child be. It’s such a trifle.”
“I’ll show you to your room now, Mamma,” Lucy offered quietly.
Mrs. Merwent glanced questioningly at John and then
