“I’m sure I’m not trying to get up a fight, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie snapped. “I was simply asking your view. I don’t think anybody can say I like quarrels.”
“I don’t either, Mrs. Merwent, and I don’t think we are going to quarrel.” Jim spoke as though dismissing the subject.
“Well, I don’t care to quarrel either,” John’s cheeks were flushed, “but I must say that I reserve the right to hold my own opinions on the subject, and do not care to be dismissed as though I were impertinent in daring to express them.”
“What’s the matter with you, John?” Jim looked straight at his partner. “I don’t object to your having your opinion on this or any other subject, but I suppose I may have mine too.”
“Well, please don’t call mine medieval,” retorted John.
“As I am at your table and you choose the occasion to read me a lesson in manners,” Jim flushed also, “I will of course not presume to question any further opinion of yours.”
“Here! You two men frighten me,” protested Mrs. Merwent, laughing forcedly. “Let’s change the subject. What shall we talk about—golf?”
“I don’t play golf, Mrs. Merwent.” Jim drank some water.
“Oh, dear!” Nannie made a gesture of despair. “What shall we discuss then? Lucy, you know lots of things to talk about. You suggest something.”
“It makes no difference to me what you talk about,” stated Lucy enigmatically.
Jim glanced at her in surprise. She did not seem to notice his troubled eyes.
“Wasn’t that a terrible scandal about Mrs. Farnsworth?” Nannie ventured again. She addressed Jim as before. “Don’t you think her husband ought to get a divorce?”
“I don’t know much about it,” he answered.
“Why, the papers have been full of it.”
“I have only seen the headlines. I didn’t read the details.”
The conversation lagged during the remainder of the meal, John hardly speaking, and Lucy saying not a word.
As Katy brought in the dessert Nannie whispered to John, “I made the pudding.”
“It’s fine,” John whispered back.
When they rose Mrs. Merwent and John went into the living room at once, and sat without a light talking in low tones.
“Did you notice how strangely Lucy acts even with Mr. Sprague?” Nannie glanced toward the door as she spoke.
“He’s enough to make anybody act strangely,” was John’s irritated response.
“He is, John, dear, and you were so wonderfully patient with him. But Lucy is sick. There’s no doubt about that. Mentally sick, I mean. Oh, John, I do so want to help you out of this terrible situation!”
He pressed her hand.
“You help me every time you breathe, God knows, Nannie,” he asserted feelingly.
Lucy and Jim were silent in the dining room. Contrary to his custom, Jim was not smoking.
“Lucy, are you offended with me?” he asked at length.
“No, Jim,” was the reply.
“What’s the matter?”
Tears started to Lucy’s eyes and she shook her head.
“I can’t tell you, Jim,” she said in a low tone, after a pause.
Jim’s eyes were deep as he watched her pale face and quivering lips.
“I would do anything, Lucy, anything—to help you.”
“Thank you, Jim. I know you would.”
“Won’t you let me try?” he began.
She shook her head.
“No, Jim. It’s no use. Nobody can help anybody. I—I—” The tears stood in her eyes again.
“Lucy,” Jim’s voice was tense, “if you knew how much I—prize your friendship—how much I—”
“Don’t—Jim—” She spoke under her breath.
Nothing was said by either for several minutes. The murmur of John’s and Nannie’s voices continued in the living room.
“I’m going.” Jim rose and held out his hand.
Lucy placed hers in it. His clasp was warmer and longer than it had ever been before.
“Lucy, if you need me—that is if I—” His voice trembled but his eyes sought hers insistently. “If you need me,” he repeated, and paused.
“Thank you, Jim.”
“Tell Dimmie goodbye for me.”
He went out without saying good night to John and Nannie. Lucy did not go to the door with him.
“Excuse me,” Mrs. Merwent called from the living room after a time. “I’m coming in.” She did not show herself immediately.
Lucy made no reply, and Nannie approached the door and looked in.
“Why, where is Mr. Sprague?” she inquired.
“He has gone home.” Lucy’s expression was hostile. “And if he were here, you need not insult us both by warning us that you were coming.”
“Why, Lucy, I only thought—”
“You only thought something vile, as usual,” Lucy interrupted.
“What right have you got to say such a thing as that to me?”
“You have given me the right to say far worse things to you. You are not in a position to defend yourself from anything I care to say.” Lucy’s tone was hard. Nannie could not meet her daughter’s eyes.
“What do you mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Merwent angrily.
“You know very well what I mean,” declared Lucy evenly, rising and starting toward the hall.
John appeared on the threshold.
“Where’s Jim?” he questioned.
“He’s gone home,” Nannie informed him.
“Well, what did he sneak out without saying a word for?”
Lucy’s eyes glinted, but she only said, “You’d better ask him. I don’t know.”
Dimmie ran in from the kitchen.
“Mamma! Mrs. Hamilton wants—” he began.
“Come to bed. You can tell me upstairs.” Lucy caught the child’s hand.
The two went out.
“John, what in the world do you suppose is the matter with Lucy? She treats me terribly.”
“I’m damned if I know!” exclaimed John fiercely. “I’m sick of it.”
“I don’t know what’s to become of us if she keeps on like this,” Nannie continued.
“Well, I know what will become of me if it goes on much longer!” His tone was eloquent.
“Now, John,” Mrs. Merwent placed her hand on the sleeve of his coat. “For my sake, John. I have suffered so much for Lucy already.” Tears seemed near.
“I’ll sit tight and do the best I can, Nannie, but as much as you’ve done for me, there are some things I can’t bear.”
Nannie sighed.
“I’ve noticed that every time she sees Mr. Sprague she’s worse,” she remarked significantly a moment later.
She and John stood looking into each other’s faces.
“Poor John.” She took one of his hands
