John was still silent.
“I’ve got something on my mind, John, and I hope you won’t be offended at what I say?” Jim hesitated questioningly. “I know you are in a hard place, and it’s a hard thing to say, but if you don’t do something radical, Lucy’s mother is going to play hell in your home.” Jim stopped and showed his embarrassment. “I hope you don’t think I’m meddling. I’ve thought a long time before saying anything, and I expect you’ve lost more sleep over it than I have.”
“No, I’m not offended,” said John, flushing, “but I don’t think you understand the situation. It’s evident enough that you don’t like her.”
“Don’t like Lucy?” Jim almost gasped. “Since when?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that you like Lucy,” returned John coldly.
Jim set down his stein and motioned the waiter to bring his check.
“I’m going down the street. I’ll be back to the office about three o’clock,” he volunteered, after paying the cashier, and he went off in a direction opposite to that taken by John.
John rang at Miss Storms’ apartment at four o’clock.
“Come in, John,” she invited, opening the door.
She was alone. The servant was not to be seen.
“I was just going to make some tea for myself. Sit down.” She indicated an easy chair.
“I don’t believe I care for any tea, thanks,” John said a little stiffly when she was ready to pour it.
“No? Well, you smoke then. This is an age of nerves.”
“I think I will, thank you.” John lighted a cigarette.
“That’s right.” Miss Storms sipped her tea. “I hope I didn’t interrupt any business this morning when I called you up. I saw Lucy day before yesterday, and she frightened me. I never saw her looking so worn and harassed. She said she was well, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”
“She has seemed nervous and—” John paused uncomfortably.
“Irritable?” suggested Miss Storms, smiling kindly.
“Yes, irritable,” admitted John, looking at his cigarette.
“Lucy is a dear girl,” Miss Storms remarked.
John smoked moodily.
“I was thinking yesterday about the time when she was here. I shall always remember it and what a privilege and pleasure it was to have her. I did so miss her when she left me. She met you at my first little party for her, didn’t she?”
John nodded his head.
“And then the day you were married—she looked radiant. You know an old maid loves to watch things she can’t have.” This was the first time Miss Storms had ever spoken intimately to John.
Without replying John lit another cigarette.
It was not Miss Storms’s way to be devious.
“I’m not asking you to confide in me, John,” she said, looking at him directly, “but something ought to be done.”
“There is nothing to confide, Miss Storms,” he answered, still distantly. “Lucy seems to have gotten a case of nerves lately, that’s all. I have about decided to have a doctor look her over. I’m sure I’m quite as interested in her health as you are.”
“Of course you are, more than I am,” agreed Miss Storms heartily, ignoring his tone, “but,” and her voice became grave, “I’m afraid you are the doctor, John.”
“I know you are fond of Lucy, Miss Storms,” returned John, nettled, “and I appreciate your interest. But if you think I am responsible for her state of mind you are mistaken.”
“If I had thought that I shouldn’t have asked you to come here,” was Miss Storms’s reply. “I know exactly who is to blame. And I realize that you are in almost as difficult a situation as Lucy. I have known a great deal of Mrs. Merwent for years.”
“From others,” put in John.
Miss Storms looked startled.
“Yes, from others,” she admitted, gazing curiously at him, “but certainly enough to understand some things.”
“You can discount most of what you hear from her enemies,” said John, coloring.
“Men are stronger on justice than women.” Miss Storm’s smile was a little bitter. “They can afford it better. But listen to my plan. Mrs. Merwent is fond of society and—well, admires rich people. Now I have some friends to whom I can get Miss Powell to introduce her, and they will invite her to their country place, and in general take her out of the way for a part of the summer at least. You and Lucy can—”
“I don’t see any need at all for any such thing, Miss Storms. You entirely misjudge Mrs. Merwent. She is as anxious about Lucy as—”
Miss Storms set down her cup.
“Have you seen the Art Loan Exhibition?” she inquired in a changed manner. “We have a fine showing of the younger Spanish schools, loaned from Madrid.”
“No,” said John, surprised.
“Well, you must take Lucy and Mrs. Merwent to see it. It’s really worth while.”
“I will,” promised John perfunctorily, rising with a dazed air.
“Must you go? Well, goodbye. It was good of you to come. Give my love to Lucy, and remember me to Jim Sprague. I haven’t seen him for a long time.”
They touched hands stiffly.
When John had gone, Miss Storms went into her bedroom and shook her fist at her reflection in the pier glass.
John walked toward the office with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground, a puzzled, abstracted expression on his face. He did not see Jim who came out of the office building as he reached it. Jim passed on down the street in the direction of Layard’s.
It had begun to drizzle. John went into the draughting room and closed some windows which had been left open. Then he sat down in front of his desk with his hat on.
Lucy’s picture in a leather easel frame confronted him. He took it up and studied the clear eyes and beautiful mouth. Resting his chin on his hand he remained so, frowning at the wall.
XXIII
John left the office earlier than usual and reached home before anyone expected him. Nannie had just completed her toilette, however, and she fluttered into the hall to meet him.
“Are
