“I don’t intend to leave my child!” she retorted.
John gazed at her in silence, his face paling. When he spoke again his manner was conciliatory.
“Lucy! Lucy, you don’t know what you are saying.”
“Yes, I do. I know precisely what I am saying.”
“Lucy,” John was on the defensive now. “I can’t understand what has changed you so. I’m not accusing you of anything in regard to Jim Sprague, but it’s natural that I shouldn’t want you to get yourself talked about. You used to think I was always right, but now you seem almost to despise me.” His voice quivered a little. “Let’s talk things over, Lucy, and not go on like this.” The last words were almost beseeching.
“Very well, John, if you really want to talk over matters and are ready to see things squarely, I am ready, too, but if not, I have made up my mind and know exactly what I shall do.”
John sat down again and tried to light a cigarette, but his hand shook so that he desisted and put the cigarette in his pocket.
“What is it, Lucy?” he asked at length.
“Well, in the first place, my mother must leave here.”
“Now, Lucy,” he began querulously, “I knew you were going to say that. Why you should be so prejudiced and so vindictive against Nannie is beyond me. What earthly reason is there for putting her in the street—for she’s got no place to go if she leaves here!”
“If you hadn’t flattered her and influenced her she would probably have been married by now.”
“Lucy!” John was horror stricken. “Married to that—!” He could not find a word to express his feelings. “You are absolutely without heart, Lucy,” he protested.
“Well, if you insist on her staying,” cried Lucy, rising from her chair, “I will apply for a divorce and the custody of my child and will name my mother as correspondent in the case!”
“Lucy!” articulated John. “You’re crazy!”
“No, I’m not crazy,” she went on tensely. “That’s a dozen times you’ve told me I was since she came, but I’m not. You are the one who is crazy, and if you can’t come to your senses in any other way, I’ll bring you to them right now.”
“You wouldn’t dare do such a thing, Lucy! Why, it’s ridiculous,” John argued. “How could you prove such a fantastic joke? Where are your witnesses?” John grew almost hysterical. “You’re crazy, Lucy!”
“You’ll find out I’m sane.” Lucy’s calm was ominous. “There are witnesses enough to prove what she is—my father, Miss Storms, Jim Sprague, the Hamiltons, the two servants we’ve had, and plenty in Russellville. If you think it’s a joke, John Winter, you just go on and find out who the joke is on. Everybody but you sees through her contemptible tricks. I won’t stand it!” she continued wildly. “I’ll go right now. I’m going to kindergarten to get Dimmie. Oh, to think that I ever thought I loved such a pitiable excuse for a man! Let me get away from the sight of you! I hate you! I despise you! I—I—oh! How can I say what I feel for you! Get out of my way!” and she started swiftly for the hall door.
John caught hold of her hand.
“Don’t touch me again—ever—ever!” she almost screamed, wrenching herself free.
“Lucy, Lucy—please—how can you say such things!” John was cowed. He regarded her pleadingly. Tears were in his eyes.
Lucy stood pale and defiant, her eyes shining as if with exaltation.
“Then choose this instant between me and my mother!” she commanded hotly.
“I will, Lucy—I will. If you think best for her to go, I won’t say anything more. But, Lucy—”
“There are no ’buts’ about it,” interrupted Lucy remorselessly.
“I don’t mean that I want her to stay,” explained John hastily, “but you hurt me so when you say such awful things. You have told me a thousand times how you looked up to me, and now, after what you have said, I can never feel that you respect me.” He appeared almost ridiculously like a small boy.
“You’ve hurt me, John, for a long time, and that’s why I said them,” Lucy replied more gently.
John sat down in a chair and buried his face in his hands. Suddenly he began to sob, his shoulders heaving and the tears dripping through his fingers. Lucy hesitated and then came slowly up to him and laid her hand on his hair.
“Don’t, John,” she entreated in a soft, almost maternal tone.
“You’ve hurt—me—so,” he faltered abjectly, his voice choked.
“Have I, John? Poor boy! Oh, John, why couldn’t you see without all this?” she whispered wistfully.
“Lucy—” John reached up and put his arm around her. “Lucy—you didn’t mean all those things you said about—about—me—about my being—only an excuse for a man, and about—despising me?” He still kept one hand over his eyes.
Lucy hesitated an instant.
“No—John. I don’t think I really meant them,” she admitted.
John reached for his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
“And you didn’t mean that you hated me?” He pulled her down to his knee. “You still love me, don’t you, Lucy?”
“Yes, John, I still love you.”
They sat several minutes in silence.
“Now I’m going down to the office.” He lifted Lucy up gently and rose from his chair.
She followed him to the hall.
“Goodbye,” he said. He took up his hat and held out his arms. She came into them and he kissed her forehead as of old.
“Goodbye, dear. Come home as early as you can.” Lucy smiled at him as he went down the steps.
She watched him as he halted in the gateway to light a cigarette.
XXIX
John entered the office and, after hesitating slightly, greeted Jim rather ungraciously. Jim’s reply was scarcely audible. Their eyes met for an instant but each showed that he was anxious to avoid the other’s gaze. They exchanged a few necessary remarks. Jim held out the photograph of a lately completed house. His hand was unsteady as he called John’s attention to the picture. John barely glanced at it.
