“I appreciate so much your doing this,” she said earnestly.
“My goodness! What are friends for!” Mrs. Hamilton laughed, trying to draw John into the conversation.
After a quarter of an hour had elapsed Lucy walked into the hall and called, “We’re waiting, Mamma.”
“Wait a minute, Lucy. You hurry me so I can’t half dress,” Nannie shouted back.
When she finally appeared she wore a grey and green evening gown, a grey opera cloak, and grey satin slippers.
She greeted plainly garbed Mrs. Hamilton with unusual geniality.
“We really ought to have a machine to go in!” John exclaimed when he saw Nannie.
“Oh, no,” said Nannie cheerfully. “We’ll get through all right—although it’s dear of you to think of such things, John.”
When they were seated in the train John said, “Jim is going, too. He thought he couldn’t leave his work but I persuaded him.”
“Did you tell him we were all coming?” queried Nannie.
“Oh, yes,” John answered.
Jim, in evening clothes, met them at the station.
“You go ahead with Lucy,” he suggested to John, after greetings were exchanged. “You’ve got the tickets.”
“No. You go with Lucy,” said John, “and I’ll come on with Nannie.”
By the time they reached the theatre and entered their box the overture was ending. The curtain rose as they seated themselves.
“Now, didn’t you like it?” Nannie asked Lucy as the curtain fell on the final tableau of the first act.
“I certainly didn’t like that song,” returned Lucy.
“What song? The one about the butterfly?”
“No. The other one, ‘What Would Robinson Crusoe Have Done?’.”
“Why, I thought it was cute.”
“It was vulgar.”
“Why, I didn’t think of it’s being vulgar till you spoke of it just now.” Nannie smiled at John.
“It sure was,” said Jim, rising. “May I go and smoke?” he asked Lucy.
“Yes,” she replied.
“And I, too,” said John.
“You sure can, John,” smiled Nannie.
“Didn’t you think the dresses in that yachting scene were just grand?” she continued when the men had left her and Lucy alone.
“Yes,” agreed Lucy absently.
Nannie began to study the audience through her opera glass.
“Why, there’s Miss Powell!” she ejaculated in a pleased tone. “She’s bowing to us. Don’t you see her, Lucy?”
“No,” answered Lucy, barely glancing in the direction her mother indicated.
Nothing more was said until John and Jim appeared.
“Now let’s go and have a little supper,” John proposed when the performance was at an end.
“That will be delightful!” cried Nannie, clapping her hands.
Lucy looked at John.
“We’ll get home so late,” she objected, “and Mrs. Hamilton can’t leave until we get back.”
“Darn Mrs. Hamilton!” he declared. “She’s probably carried Dimmie over to her house and there’s plenty of time before the last train.”
“I don’t want any supper,” persisted Lucy.
“Oh, come on, Lucy!” said John with his newly acquired querulousness. “What do you want to spoil everything for?”
“But I’d rather not,” Lucy insisted.
“Why?”
“Well, I have a headache, for one thing.”
“All right,” acquiesced Nannie, in the tone of a patient martyr. “Let’s go home then.”
“It’s a shame!” John asserted. “Your evening will be spoiled, Nannie.”
“Oh, my pleasure don’t matter, John. If Lucy would rather not it’s all right.”
“I’ll take Lucy home and you two can stay,” interrupted Jim in a rather aggressive tone.
“Oh, no,” refused Mrs. Merwent. “You needn’t do that. We’ll go.”
“I’m not very strong for eating at this hour myself,” Jim continued, “and I don’t mind seeing Lucy home a bit.”
“Well, all right, Jim—if you don’t mind,” agreed John, helping Nannie with her opera cloak.
In the foyer they met Miss Powell, in an elegant black décolleté gown, and an opera cloak of old rose.
“Why, how do you do, Mrs. Merwent!” She came up to Nannie and shook hands. “I’m so glad to see you.” Then, turning to John and Lucy, “Mr. Winter, Mrs. Winter.”
“You know Mr. Sprague, Miss Powell,” said Lucy.
“Why, yes. How do you do, Mr. Sprague?” She turned to Nannie again.
“How are you enjoying your stay in Chicago by this time, Mrs. Merwent?”
“Oh, very much, thank you,” replied Nannie.
“You are looking so well,” Miss Powell pursued. “I declare I’m jealous. No one would ever dream of taking you for Mrs. Winter’s mother.”
“Thank you,” cooed Nannie once more.
“Won’t you have some supper with us?” John invited. “We’ll see you safely home afterwards.”
“Oh, no, thank you very much. My brother is waiting for me. I must run!” And with a smile and handshake, Miss Powell was gone.
“Come on, Lucy,” urged Jim, taking her arm. The two left the theatre, John and Nannie going in the opposite direction, toward a fashionable restaurant.
Jim and Lucy were both very quiet in the car that took them toward Rosedene. It was moonlight outside. Jim scrutinized Lucy’s profile a long while as she stared through the window, but he said nothing. When they had alighted at their station and walked to the house, even after the door was unlocked, Jim delayed a little on the porch, as if hoping that Lucy would invite him in. But she did not.
It was very still down the street. Rosedene seemed to be asleep. On the side of the house toward the country stretched the dim, misty vista of a meadow, with here and there real estate agents’ sign boards looming like crucified ghosts. The air had a tang of cold that belied the promise of the summer which, according to the calendar, was already upon them.
“Thank you so much for bringing me home,” was all Lucy said.
“Thank you for letting me,” he responded. “You know I would thank you for letting me do more, Lucy.”
“I know, Jim.” Her tone was frank and friendly.
“Lucy—”
“What, Jim?”
“Oh, well—nothing. Goodbye,” and he held out his hand.
Lucy put hers in it. His clasp was unwontedly warm. As he turned away and she went into the hall she felt her fingers tingle.
Mrs. Hamilton had remained upstairs near Dimmie and when Lucy entered the bedroom was seated in a rocking chair with her eyes closed wearily. She started and looked up.
“I’m so sorry!” Lucy began feelingly, but
