He returned appreciatively the pressure she gave it, then moved away.
“Are you going to bed so early?” she interrogated uneasily.
“No. I’m going to take a walk,” he answered. And the door slammed after him.
XXVII
Lucy rose early the following day, and when John and Nannie came downstairs they found her, pale and haggard, moving about the kitchen giving instructions to Katy.
“Now, Lucy,” objected Mrs. Merwent, “you shouldn’t do this. Dr. Hamilton said you were to have absolute rest.” Nannie herself looked fresh and immaculate. “If you don’t stop frowning like that,” she added, “nothing on earth will ever take the wrinkles out of your forehead.”
Without replying to her mother, Lucy finished her marketing list.
“Put breakfast on, Katy,” she said to the servant.
“Yes, you may put breakfast on, Katy,” repeated Mrs. Merwent. “Mr. Winter is waiting.”
“Yes, Miss Nannie. Right dis minute,” replied the negress with alacrity.
The postman’s whistle blew and, as Katy was busy with the dishes, Nannie went to the door. She returned with a letter in her hand.
“I suppose your father has some more insults to heap on me,” she observed acridly, as she gave the envelope to Lucy.
Lucy glanced at it and recognized Mr. Merwent’s handwriting. She left the room.
“Oh, don’t be afraid! I’m not going to ask you what’s in it!” Nannie called after her in a trembling voice.
John was reading the morning paper in the living room and Dimmie was out of doors, so when Lucy mounted the stairs the upper floor was deserted. She entered her bedroom and, locking the door, seated herself weakly on the edge of her bed. She opened the letter.
“Dear Daughter,” it began. “We leave in the morning as I expected. Ellen and I had hoped to see you and the boy once more before our departure, but Miss Storms learned through your husband that you were not coming again, and also that you were not well. I can understand that your nerves have been nearly ruined and imagine your condition.
“It seems strange that peace loving people like you and me and Ellen should be forced to quarrel with each other. I do not blame you (you will say I have no right to do so), nor is it my place to comment on the attitude your husband has taken. Sufficient to say that he has accepted your mother’s assessment of values in family matters.
“I know that you wish to remain neutral, but I have learned to my own sorrow the impossibility of a neutral peace where your mother is concerned. It seems to me, as things are, that the kindest thing Ellen and I can do in your interest is to do nothing and consider ourselves entirely out of the matter.
“Remember, Lucy, no matter what you may think of me, that I blame you in nothing, and that I try to regard your husband’s hostility to us with as much detachment as is in accord with my respect and affection for Ellen and the right I feel to demand that respect from others.
“Kiss the little boy for us both. We hope from our hearts that your indisposition is not serious. You know the cure. Ellen, in particular, regrets the impossible circumstances, etc. But why say more of that?
Lucy sat for some time with the letter in her hand. When she finally rose it was to begin to dress for the street.
A little later she descended the stairs, wearing her hat and carrying her gloves and purse. Nannie and John were breakfasting when she entered the dining room and took her place at the table.
“You’re not going out this morning, are you, Lucy?” Nannie inquired, staring at her daughter’s apparel. “You know the doctor said you were to keep quiet.”
“Yes, I’m going out,” Lucy told her.
“Now, Lucy, you ought not to disobey the doctor’s orders. You will be much better quiet here at home.”
Lucy did not reply.
“Where are you going?” Mrs. Merwent persisted.
“I’m going down town.”
“Are you going shopping?”
“No.”
“Well, I don’t think you ought to go. Do you, John?”
“What I think is of little consequence in this house,” answered John. He scanned the newspaper at his elbow as he spoke.
“Didn’t you say last night that you were going to Benton Harbor again today, John?” Nannie asked somewhat irrelevantly, glancing sharply at Lucy’s face.
“Yes.” John picked up his paper.
“And you won’t be back till night?” she pursued with her eyes still on Lucy’s profile.
“No.” John went on reading.
“Well, I’m certain Lucy ought not to go.” Nannie returned to the first topic with seeming carelessness.
Though Lucy had scarcely tasted her breakfast she rose and, taking up her purse and gloves, went upstairs again. She did not take Dimmie to Mrs. Hamilton’s until her husband and mother had gone to the station.
Dr. Hamilton, after a sleepless night with a bad patient, was sitting with his wife at the table finishing a late breakfast, when Lucy and Dimmie came in.
“I thought you were taking the rest cure,” the doctor greeted Lucy jocularly. He got up and lifted Stella from her high chair beside him. The little girl flew enthusiastically to welcome Dimmie.
“I am.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.
“How is your mother? She ought to have used her influence to keep you at home today,” Dr. Hamilton resumed.
“Mrs. Merwent is very well, thank you.” Lucy stooped to kiss Stella.
“I hope you’ve come to spend the day,” suggested Mrs. Hamilton cordially.
“No. I’m going down town,” replied Lucy.
“I don’t know about that,” objected the doctor doubtfully.
“Please don’t, Dr. Hamilton,” Lucy protested quickly.
He glanced at her keenly.
“I think perhaps going out a little may do you good,” he conceded after a moment.
Lucy had seated herself in a bow window commanding the street. Soon she saw Nannie returning from the station.
“When does the train leave, Doctor?” Lucy asked.
“In eight minutes,” he informed her, after consulting his watch.
“Well, then, I’ll be going.” Lucy rose and shook hands.
“Come over whenever you can and bring Dimmie and stay
