“I don’t think I am babyish, John, and I don’t think I am merely pouting over a fancied slight. And as you can’t see how things are, and have asked me, I will tell you.”
John’s eyes swerved a little.
“I don’t say mother is consciously trying to come between us, John. She doesn’t think things through sufficiently for that. But unless you and I can understand each other, she will ruin our home.”
“I don’t know what you are driving at, Lucy. Nannie said it began with some trifling misunderstanding about the servant.”
“It isn’t anything in particular. Oh, John, can’t you see?”
“I sure can’t. I’m blest if I can figure out any reason for all this tragic stuff. I didn’t take any stock at first in what Nannie said, that you had always been jealous of her, ever since you grew up, but I’ll swear it looks a little like it.”
Lucy regarded him in silence, her face drawn.
“What are you going to do about it? Are you going to keep on like this? You can’t put your mother in the street. She’s got no place to go. Your cousin has written her practically saying right out that she doesn’t want her.”
“No. That’s true,” Lucy almost moaned. “She has no place to go! Oh, John, what has changed you so? If we could only stand together in this!”
“Stand together in what?” John’s voice and manner were increasingly impatient. “You’re the one who has changed. You talk and act as if Nannie were a villainess in a melodrama, and yet you can’t state a single thing she has done. I’m getting about at the end of my forbearance.”
“So am I,” echoed Lucy, as though mentioning an unimportant fact.
“So far as I can see, Nannie has done absolutely nothing, and you are the one to blame for getting things into this beautiful mess.” John’s voice was like that of a judge, cold and impersonal.
Tears sprang to Lucy’s eyes.
“Oh, but she has, John. I am not to blame. Oh, why can’t you see through her! Look at our home. Look at us. See how everything is changed. Even Jim sees it. He realizes—” Lucy bit her lip.
“Yes, that’s probably the great trouble. Jim Sprague is more sympathetic than I am!”
“Oh, don’t, John,” pleaded Lucy, her eyes darkening.
“Yes. Nannie has been unfortunate enough to object to your showing so much interest in him. I had never thought anything about it, but it certainly explains—”
Lucy sprang to her feet.
“Be careful what you say,” she commanded.
“Well, be careful what you do,” he retorted weakly, his eyes falling before hers.
Lucy left him standing there.
John and Nannie again sat down to dinner alone, talking in low tones. Dimmie came into the room while they were having soup and Nannie lifted her brows to John significantly.
“Tell the new servant to give you your dinner out in the kitchen. Your mother’s not coming down,” John told the child.
Dimmie hesitated, looking very much disappointed.
“Run along. That’s a good boy, Jimmie,” Nannie urged, smiling at him.
He turned on his heel and went out. A few minutes later he could be heard ascending the stairs to his mother’s room.
“Do you know, John, dear,” said Nannie after the child had gone, “that I sometimes think that Lucy is getting into an abnormal state. She is so melancholy and sensitive.”
“It certainly begins to look like it,” admitted John.
“If that is true, we must both be patient with her,” added Nannie.
John did not reply.
“That is one reason I hate so terribly to think of leaving you,” she remarked after a pause.
“Leaving us?” John glanced up quickly.
“I—I told you how I felt about Professor Walsh’s letter.” Nannie’s voice was unsteady and she stared at her plate.
“Nannie!” John leaned forward earnestly and laid his hand on hers where it rested on the table. “I want you to cut that nonsense out! Do you hear me?”
Nannie lifted her eyes.
“But, John—” she began.
“Don’t you ever talk of leaving us,” he interrupted. “It’s as you say. Lucy is in an abnormal state. She needs you to put some sanity into her. This is your home for as long as you will—for as long as you live—” John’s voice broke.
Nannie smiled uneasily. The two gazed at one another in silence.
“Thank you, dear John,” said Nannie, averting her face.
John withdrew his hand.
There was another long pause.
“Will you pass me the spinach, John, dear,” Nannie requested in a tone different from that in which she had previously spoken.
On the succeeding morning Nannie rose early to eat with John. Lucy dressed Dimmie for kindergarten and sent him downstairs but she herself did not appear for breakfast.
John had hardly reached the office when the telephone rang.
“Miss Storms wants to speak to you, John,” said Jim, who had answered the call.
John took up the receiver.
“Good morning, Miss Storms.”
“Good morning, John. How did you leave Lucy this morning?”
“Oh, she’s all right,” he responded after a moment’s hesitation.
“I didn’t call up the house because I fancy Mrs. Merwent feels I am a sort of female Machiavelli.” Miss Storms laughed slightly. “I want to ask a favor, John. I am all tied up with engagements and can’t get down to your office. Can you come in for a few minutes this afternoon? I want to speak with you about something very important.”
John thought an instant.
“Yes,” he acceded.
“Could you come about four o’clock?”
“All right. Goodbye.” And he hung up the receiver.
Jim was silent all morning and seemed to be pondering something. When the two went out to luncheon together he unburdened himself.
“John, don’t you think Lucy is looking badly?” he demanded suddenly.
“I hadn’t noticed it,” John answered shortly.
“She’s thinner and paler and looks terribly worried,” Jim persisted.
John stared at his plate and made no reply. Jim was not to be discouraged.
“See here, John. You and I have been pretty close together ever since we were small kids—and I doubt if there’s anyone in the world who has the welfare of you and Lucy more at heart than I have.”
