“Oh, little son, little son!” she moaned again and again.
Soon Dimmie slipped to the floor and began to play with her work box, while she remained in the same position, utterly exhausted.
“It’s past time for you to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s, dear,” she observed finally, looking at the alarm clock on the table by the bed, and, at the same time, rising.
She brushed his hair and brought his hat from the wardrobe.
“Kiss Mother.”
Dimmie obeyed, then clattered down the stairs.
Once alone, Lucy rearranged her hair carefully, put on a fresh house dress, and descended to the living room.
John was walking up and down when Lucy appeared. They could hear Nannie in the dining room instructing Katy regarding luncheon. The windows were open and the breeze that stirred the curtains smelled of the rain and of some aromatic weed that grew high and thick in the adjoining meadow.
“You’ll miss your train, John,” Lucy suggested gently as she entered the room. She had regained her usual composure.
John consulted his watch.
“It’s gone long ago,” he replied moodily.
“Well, you can catch the next one if you start at once.” Lucy picked up the small clock that stood beside Nannie’s metronome on the piano. “Go on,” she continued as he hesitated. “There’s no need for your staying.”
“Well, Lucy, if you’re going to do things like this at a moment’s notice, how can I—?”
“I’m not going to do anything more,” she returned calmly. “Go on to the office. You needn’t worry about me any more.”
“Well, if I was certain that you—”
“You can be certain,” assured Lucy quickly.
“Well, goodbye, then.” John moved slowly toward the hall.
“Goodbye, John,” Lucy answered.
The front door had scarcely closed after him when Nannie came in from the dining room.
“I was just giving Katy orders about luncheon, Lucy,” remarked Nannie suavely, “but of course if you want something different you can tell her and it will be all right.”
“It’s all right as it is, Mamma,” said Lucy.
Mrs. Merwent raised her eyebrows.
“Well! I’m glad you’ve started to call me by my right name.” Lucy did not speak and Nannie continued virtuously. “It’s just as you say about luncheon, Lucy. You are the mistress. I’m sure I don’t want to do or say anything that will make unpleasantness. John has enough to worry about without us disagreeing. I wish we could get along without so many misunderstandings, Lucy. I’m sure I do my part.”
“I wish so too, Mamma.” Lucy’s tone was free from irritation or sarcasm.
“Well, Lucy, maybe we can from now on. I know nobody tries harder or wants more to have things pleasant than I do.”
“Did you notice where my mending was put, Mamma?” Lucy inquired after a moment in the same propitiatory manner.
“Wait a minute. I think it’s under that flower stand.” Nannie brightened appreciably. “Did you find it?” she called back, on her way to the kitchen.
“Oh, yes. Here it is.” Lucy gave a trembling sigh and seated herself.
At almost the same moment that Lucy took up her sewing Jim was walking slowly down the boulevard, his fists in his coat pockets and his eyes fixed on the ground.
He did not notice Miss Storms’s car until it was drawn up to the kerb beside him, almost within reach.
She opened the door and leaned out.
“Get in, Jim. I want to talk to you a little,” she called. Jim obeyed without a word.
“Where were you going?” she asked, shaking hands with him.
“Nowhere in particular,” he answered.
Miss Storms gave an order through the speaking trumpet to her chauffeur, and the car started slowly.
“Jim, you’re a good boy,” she began.
“I’d rather have you think so than almost anyone,” he replied with a slight smile.
“But you’re not very deep,” she continued, smiling back at him.
“That’s no news,” he returned.
“I’ve been thinking of Lucy night and day lately. It’s up to you to straighten this thing out, Jim. I’ve tried and I can’t.”
Jim stared at the passing vehicles for several moments before he spoke.
“I know what you mean, Miss Storms. It’s no go. I’ve tried too, and only balled things all up.” He looked straight at her an instant, then glanced away once more, coloring painfully.
“But I’m helpless, Jim.”
“So am I.”
“Just wait a second.” Miss Storms touched his sleeve with her gloved fingers. “It isn’t just that Lucy’s mother thinks I’ve aided and abetted Ellen Low in stealing her husband. The trouble is that I’m not a man.”
Jim’s smile was wry.
“Being a man wouldn’t help you any, Miss Storms.” He fumbled a tassel on the window curtain at his side. “I’ve tried to help Lucy all I could—and John,” he added.
Miss Storms scrutinized him with kindly eyes. He grew red to his hair.
“You poor boy!” she said at length, squeezing his hand. “Do you know, I’m inclined to fall in love with you myself.”
“Miss Storms,” he stammered, “that is—I’m afraid you don’t—”
“I’m afraid I do.” She contradicted him affectionately, releasing him and turning to the window. “Do you want to smoke?” she resumed abruptly.
“I’m afraid I’ll contaminate your cushions and curtains,” he objected.
“I wish they never had anything worse than you and your pipe around them!” Her expression was whimsical.
Jim lit his pipe.
“You’re a bad strategist, Jim,” she went on. “What is needed is attack and not defence. And Jim,” she laid her hand on his arm again, “we must save things as they are.”
“I understand.” He nodded. “You needn’t be afraid of me now.” He did not see the pity in her eyes at the “now.” “I don’t know what more I can do—either good or harm,” he supplemented.
“You can do everything—nearly.”
“I don’t see what you mean, Miss Storms.”
The ironical lines about her mouth deepened.
“Nobody sees,” she retorted almost impatiently. “That’s just it. Jim, I want you to memorize something. It may do you good.”
“What is it?” Jim looked puzzled.
Miss Storms held up one finger as though speaking
