“No, I’m not tired,” he answered without glancing at her. “Where’s Lucy?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied in a hurt tone of voice. “I suppose she is in her own room.”
John ascended the stairs without further conversation.
Left alone, Nannie examined her carefully groomed image in the hall mirror, and saw there a rather nonplussed face.
John entered the bedroom and found Lucy seated in a rocking chair crooning to Dimmie who was in her lap. The light in the room was dim, and her profile, as she bent over the child, was silhouetted against the glowing square of a western window.
“How do you feel, Lucy?” John asked, going over to her and hesitating awkwardly by her chair.
“I’m feeling all right. Why?” she returned, looking up quickly.
“Why—nothing. That is, I’ve been thinking that you haven’t looked very well of late. And you weren’t downstairs so I came up to see if anything was the matter.”
“Oh, thank you, John! I thought you—” Lucy could say no more. The tears began to roll down her cheeks.
“Thought what? You little goose!” His voice shook slightly but it had something of its old time tone of affectionate banter. “You’re all frazzled out nervously. That’s what’s the matter with you. I’ve been noticing for some time that you didn’t look well. Come on down to dinner and quit thinking about imaginary troubles.”
Lucy’s eyes were grateful. Her lips quivered a little.
“All right,” she answered, smiling with tears still on her lashes.
“Come on, Son,” invited John, lifting Dimmie to his shoulder. And the three descended the stairs.
Mrs. Merwent was sitting in the shadowy dining room without a light. John opened the electric switch.
“Kin I put de dinnah on?” asked Katy, emerging from the kitchen.
“Yes, Katy. I think everybody is ready at last,” responded Nannie, rising from her chair with reproachful dignity.
“Gee, but I’m hungry!” exclaimed John.
“Me, too!” chimed in Dimmie.
“How about you, Lucy?” laughed John.
“I think I am, too.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.
“Well, let’s eat.” John picked up his napkin. “The soup smells good.”
“It’s crawfish bisque,” Nannie put in quickly. “I had it made especially for you.”
“Can’t the rest of us have any?” asked Lucy with a slight attempt at pleasantry.
“I didn’t mean that,” observed Nannie acidly. “I only meant that I thought of John. He said the other day that he had never eaten any. But of course I might have expected that you would misunderstand me.”
“Now, Nannie,” expostulated John, “that was only an innocent joke. For heaven’s sake let’s not have another quarrel! I’d like a little peace.”
Mrs. Merwent’s eyes filled with tears.
“Well, I’ll go and—leave you in peace,” she sniffed, laying down her napkin and rising from the table.
“Well, what do you know about that!” ejaculated John after Nannie had left the room. “You two women will run me crazy. If it’s not one it’s the other.”
“John, I’m not to blame!” Lucy uttered this in the form of a statement but her tone was tremulously beseeching.
“I’m hanged if I know who’s to blame!” declared John petulantly. “All I’m certain of is that I’ve got about all I can stand of it.”
Katy rushed breathlessly into the room.
“Miss Lucy,” she wheezed, “I ’spec’s Miss Nannie am dretful sick. She am groanin’ an’ cryin’ pow’ful bad.”
John sprang to his feet.
“I wonder what’s the matter?” he exclaimed questioningly. “Why don’t you go and see, Lucy?” he added accusingly.
“She’s only angry, John,” answered Lucy, watching his face with anxiety.
Nannie’s moans could be heard.
“People don’t make sounds like that because they are angry,” retorted John. “If you’re not going upstairs, I am!”
Lucy rose.
She ascended the stairs to Nannie’s room. John followed her almost immediately, but remained in the hall outside the door.
“What is the matter, Mother?” Lucy inquired, approaching the bed where Nannie lay in an abandon of weeping, her face hidden by the pillows.
“Oh, go away! Go away!” cried Mrs. Merwent, breaking into a fresh paroxysm of sobs.
“Now, Mother, don’t act this way.” Lucy spoke as to a child. “Tell me what it is you’re crying about.”
“Oh, Lucy, is it—oh, it was John—oh, I can’t—” she moaned.
“What did he do?” insisted Lucy. “If you mean what he said at dinner, I don’t see anything to get into this state over.”
“It wasn’t that alone. It was when he came home. O-oh—” and Nannie lamented afresh.
“Mother,” ordered Lucy impatiently, seizing Mrs. Merwent’s shoulder as though with intent to shake her, “either stop crying or tell what you are crying about. You’ll drive everybody crazy. John is half distracted already, and nobody can do anything for you while you act like this.”
Nannie continued to weep, but less violently.
“Tell us what it is so we can do something, and let John go down and eat his dinner.”
“Is he upstairs?” inquired Nannie, glancing at the door.
“Yes, of course. He’s standing outside in the hall.”
Nannie redoubled her sobs and wails.
“Well, if you intend to keep on like this, I am going,” threatened Lucy, losing her temper.
“Oh, don’t go, Lucy! Please don’t go!” moaned Nannie.
“Well, then, stop acting as though you were dying, and say what you’re crying about.”
“Oh, you are so cruel,” sighed Nannie.
“Very well. I’m going.” Lucy moved toward the door.
“Come back! Come—back—and I—will tell—” Nannie entreated brokenly.
“Well?” Lucy returned to the bed.
Nannie seized her hand.
“It was when—he—came home. I—went to meet—him—and he—he was so cold and cross with me! I have just written to Professor Walsh—and told him—I couldn’t go—back to Russellville yet—and now—John—makes me feel like I ought—to have gone right away. O-oh!” and a fresh fit of weeping began.
“What did John say?”
“Why—why he—he hardly answered me—and—and—o-oh what have I done?” she wailed again in a storm of sobbing.
“I’m sure you misunderstood him, Mother. He was probably worried and tired. John is human like the rest of us, and you are foolish to make a mountain out of a mole hill.”
“No, I didn’t misunderstand him, Lucy,” persisted Mrs. Merwent, forgetting to cry. “He has never spoken to me in that way before.
