“How long has it been in?” inquired Lucy.
“Oh, I haven’t timed it, but one edge is getting brown already.”
“Katy will know when it’s done.” Lucy spoke with a visible effort.
“I’m afraid to trust her judgment,” Nannie objected. “I’m so anxious for it to be just perfect.”
“I’ll go and see,” said Lucy, rising.
“Now I didn’t mean for you to go,” protested Mrs. Merwent. “I just wanted your opinion, that was all.”
Lucy started into the hall.
“Lucy, come back,” besought Nannie, following her. “You know Dr. Hamilton ordered that you should be perfectly quiet. Don’t go, Lucy.” They were at the head of the stairs. “Well, Lucy, if you will go, remember that I didn’t ask you to, and did all I could to keep you from it.”
“Why, where is it?” she inquired agitatedly as Lucy reached the kitchen and opened the door of the empty oven.
“I done tuk it out, Miss Nannie. H’it’s in de pantry,” explained Katy.
“What did you mean by touching my pudding, Katy?” Nannie demanded.
“Shucks! H’it ’ud ’a bin all spiled if I hadn’t,” Katy expostulated respectfully, bringing the pudding out for inspection.
“It’s just right,” decided Lucy, examining it carefully.
“I’m so glad,” announced Nannie with a sigh. “I should have felt awfully if it hadn’t been just perfect.”
Lucy turned to enter the dining room.
“Now, Lucy, you must go right back to bed,” said her mother. “You shouldn’t have come down at all.”
Lucy went through the dining room into the living room without replying.
“Please go back to bed,” pleaded Nannie, following her.
“No. I’m going to sit up a while,” answered Lucy.
“Well, if you’re sure it won’t hurt you, but remember I didn’t want you to. Shall we eat some of the pudding now?”
“I don’t care for any, thank you.”
“Just taste it. I can hardly wait to see if it’s good or not.”
“Why don’t you try it?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t eat any unless you did.”
Lucy drummed nervously on the arms of the chair she sat in.
“Do you remember how we used to send out and get oysters—?” Nannie began suddenly.
Lucy rose.
“Lucy!” exclaimed Mrs. Merwent, following her daughter who was leaving the room.
In the hall Lucy put on her raincoat and took an umbrella from the stand.
“Where are you going?” asked her mother.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Wait a minute. Don’t go! Please don’t!” But Lucy had passed through the door.
When she returned from her outing it was nearly sunset. The rain was over and a dim, yellow-green light shone on everything.
Nannie met her in the hall.
“Now, Lucy,” Mrs. Merwent’s voice was reproachful, “you are going to be sick for all this.”
“On the contrary, I feel much better.” Lucy’s appearance supported her assertion.
“Well, change your clothes at any rate,” Nannie advised.
“I think I will put on dry shoes and stockings,” agreed Lucy.
It was almost time to close the office, on the same evening, when there was a knock at the outer door and it was slightly opened.
“Come in,” John called. He was alone, Jim having left him to keep an engagement with the firm of Layard’s in the next street.
Miss Storms walked into the room.
“Well, John, I see you are alone,” she observed, hesitating just inside the door.
“Good evening, Miss Storms. Won’t you sit down?” he answered distantly, rising and making a motion toward the coat which he had removed some time before.
“Don’t bother about that coat. I shan’t stay,” she interrupted, smiling kindly.
But John put on the coat.
“Ellen and Arthur are leaving in the morning. They had hoped Lucy would be in today—though she said yesterday that she didn’t think it would be possible.” Miss Storms paused. “As there seems to be no way for them to communicate with her—” she paused again with significant emphasis, raising her eyebrows but continuing to smile in the same manner, “I have brought this parcel from them. It is for Dimmie. His grandfather promised him a watch.”
John did not speak at once and the two stared at one another. His face grew red and sullen under the enigmatic inquiry of her expression.
She laid the parcel on the desk. Still John said nothing.
“If it is possible for Lucy to get in in the morning—” she began again.
“Lucy is sick in bed,” John informed her shortly.
“Oh! I’m sorry. Poor child! What is—it isn’t anything serious, is it?”
“No. Only an attack of nerves.”
Miss Storms continued to gaze at John, and he partially averted his face, fingering some papers on the desk beside him.
“John,” interrogated Miss Storms, making a step forward, “isn’t there anything to be done?”
He glanced up quickly and his hand on the paper shook.
“No,” he said, looking at Miss Storms almost defiantly, “I don’t see that there is. Not so long as Mr. Merwent and—his wife insist on thrusting their attention where it’s not wanted.”
“Oh?” Miss Storms lifted her eyebrows again and bit her lip. She continued to regard John with an expression that was a mixture of rather bitter humor and bafflement.
“Perhaps you’d rather not deliver my message?”
John frowned slightly.
“I’ll deliver it, Miss Storms. I’m not the one to settle Lucy’s attitude toward her father.”
“Well, I certainly hope the dear child is stronger than she looks. I’ll send over here tomorrow to inquire after her.” Miss Storms declared with insistent good humor. “Goodbye.”
Smiling rather impersonally, she nodded to John and went out.
John walked to the window and stood staring into the rain, and he did not hear Jim when he came in a few minutes later, his umbrella dripping and his shoulders wet.
When Miss Storms reached home she told Merwent and his wife of her visit.
“Well, I’m sorry,” Arthur said slowly, shaking his head as he spoke. “It means that I have lost my daughter. I don’t wonder that she’s sick, poor girl. I could see that she was nearly frantic yesterday. I’ll write to her.” Then his voice grew bitter. “Of all the fiends in human form—!” Ellen laid her hand on his arm. He was silent.
“I don’t think I’ll ever call myself
