she spoke.

“And you won’t talk any more about this confounded Professor Walsh?” John spread out the envelope and looked at it.

“I must write to him and acknowledge the check,” Nannie protested, accepting the letter which he held out.

“But you’ll tear this one up?”

Nannie tore the paper in two and replaced the fragments in her dress.

“I thought you didn’t want me here any longer, John,” she murmured, averting her face.

“And that’s what you wrote him?” John was too full for further utterance.

“I told him I was coming back soon,” she admitted.

“Nannie!” John gasped reproachfully.

She touched his hand again. He caught her fingers and clasped them, but his expression was still hurt.

“You mustn’t be angry with me, John, dear!” she begged, lifting her face to his.

“I can’t be angry with you very long, but if you do that again⁠—!”

“I won’t, John! I⁠—I⁠—” With an effort that looked heroic Nannie tried to rise but sank back in her chair. “I’m still so faint,” she apologised almost inaudibly.

“Don’t move, Nannie. I’ll get you the wine,” and John hurried to the pantry, returning with a glass and a bottle. “Take a good stiff drink,” he urged, pouring some of the liquor into the tumbler as he spoke.

She made a wry face as she sipped it.

“You are so good, John. I feel better now.”

“So do I,” said John.

“While Lucy is so morbid we must try to cooperate, John.” She lowered her voice again.

“You’re right, Nannie,” he agreed with conviction.

When Lucy entered the room a few moments later John and Mrs. Merwent were talking as though there had never been a misunderstanding between them.

XXIV

On Monday morning Nannie was descending the stairs when the telephone on the landing rang and she stopped to answer it.

“Is this Mrs. Winter?” a voice responded to her “hello.”

“Who is this speaking?” interrupted Nannie.

“It’s Miss Storms. Is that you, Lucy?”

Nannie hesitated a second.

“No. This is Mrs. Merwent. Mrs. Winter is upstairs. Is there anything I could tell her?”

“If you wouldn’t mind asking her to step to the phone I should be so obliged,” said Miss Storms.

“Oh, very well. Wait a minute. Hold the wire.” And Nannie went into the kitchen.

“That woman wants to speak to you on the phone,” she told Lucy. “It must be something very private as she insisted on your coming to the phone yourself. I told her you were busy.”

Lucy turned from the table where she was mixing cake batter.

“Whom do you mean? Miss Storms?” she asked.

“Of course. Who else!” Nannie replied impatiently.

Lucy went into the hall and, mounting to the landing, picked up the receiver.

“Good morning, Miss Storms,” she called.

“I’m sorry to bring you downstairs, but I wanted to speak to you personally, Lucy,” began Miss Storms.

“Why, I wasn’t upstairs,” Lucy explained.

“Well⁠—” and Miss Storms paused, “anyway I’ve some news for you. Your father is here, and his wife. I wondered if you would like to see them here. Can you come and have a cup of tea with us this afternoon?”

“Oh, thank you. Of course I’ll come. When did they get in?”

“Last night. Well, we’ll expect you, dear.”

“What time?”

“We’ll have tea about four o’clock, but you come as early as you can and stay as long as you can. Goodbye till afternoon.”

“Goodbye,” answered Lucy, “and thank you so much.”

Nannie had been listening.

“What did she want?” was demanded of Lucy as soon as she hung up the receiver.

“She wants me to take tea with her this afternoon.”

“Who is that you asked when they arrived? Some friends of hers she wants you to meet?”

“Yes,” returned Lucy, not knowing what else to say.

“She didn’t say anything about me?” pursued Nannie.

“No,” responded Lucy, relieved.

“Well, she doesn’t have to invite me if she doesn’t want to. I’m sure I’m not dying to have anything to do with either her or her friends. Of course it makes no difference to you whether your mother is given the cold shoulder or not. You go running after her just the same. Well, I don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference to me. She needn’t think I give it a single thought. I wouldn’t go to her teas if she begged me to, and I shouldn’t think you would either after the way she’s treated me. First, she puts that Mrs. Low up to making trouble between me and your father, and then she tries to ignore me. But all she has to do is to crook her finger, and you go tagging after her. I should think you’d have more pride about you than that, Lucy.”

“But, Mother⁠—” expostulated Lucy.

“Oh, well, don’t mind me. Go on. I’m used to being ignored and humiliated. I can forgive and forget, but little credit do I get for it. Anybody is better than I am, in your eyes. Go on. Go to your tea. I’ll find someone who thinks I’m worth looking at. I was going down town with Miss Powell this afternoon anyway.” And Nannie sat down to her as yet untouched breakfast.


Lucy had just returned from her visit and was removing her hat and gloves before the hall mirror when John entered. She turned to face him and greeted him expectantly.

“Hello,” he answered sulkily.

“I’ve been to Miss Storms’,” Lucy volunteered.

“Oh, I know all about your Miss Storms!” John told her. “Where’s Nannie?” He glanced about inquiringly.

“She’s upstairs.” Lucy’s tone had become as distant as his own.

“I don’t think your father ought to have come to Chicago while Nannie was here,” he began, speaking in a low voice, but with some heat.

“What do you mean, John? I didn’t know you knew they were here.”

“Miss Storms brought them by the office in her machine. She said she had just driven you to the station. I don’t think you ought to have gone under the circumstances.” His speech became louder.

“Why?” demanded Lucy, looking at him.

“Out of consideration for Nannie, of course.”

“What would you have done?”

“I should have told Miss Storms.”

“Told her that I wouldn’t see my own father? I couldn’t do that, John. He’s

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