“I can’t talk about Papa, John. I thought we weren’t going to discuss the past, Mamma.” Lucy’s tone was strained.
“She wasn’t accusing anyone.” John drew Lucy to the lounge beside him. “Don’t be so touchy,” and he put his arm around her and kissed her forehead.
Lucy began to smooth back his disheveled hair.
“Cooing doves,” murmured Nannie, smiling. “I certainly hope it will always be so with you.” She put her hand to her eyes. “My life has turned into nothing but unhappiness—nothing but a tragedy—that is if it had not been for the friendship and understanding of—the person whom neither of you know—” She stopped.
“Poor Nannie!” John reached and took her hand.
“I want some affection, too,” she pleaded, pressing his hand. John drew her from her chair and down to the lounge, so that he was between her and Lucy.
“You will be happy here with us and forget your trouble. We must go out more, Lucy, now that Nannie is here. It will take her mind off the past and keep her from dwelling on it.”
Lucy gently disengaged herself from John’s embrace and rose.
“Where are you going, Lucy?” he asked.
“I forgot to count the clothes. The washerwoman is coming for them early in the morning.”
“Poor Lucy! She don’t realize that this is your only time to relax, John. I could easily have counted the clothes before dinner if she had told me about it,” remarked Nannie when she and John were alone.
After some time Lucy was heard ascending the stairs and John called out, “Why don’t you come in here, Lucy?”
“I am going to bed early,” she answered. “I’ve a lot to do tomorrow. Is there anything I can do for you, Mamma? You know where everything is, don’t you?”
“Why of course I do,” responded her mother, coming out into the hall. “I can look after myself. I don’t want you to ever worry about me. Kiss me good night.” Lucy leaned over the balustrade and kissed her.
“I hope you rest well. You’ve been working too hard. I’m glad I’m here to help you now. I used to think when we were separated how much you needed my care. Poor Mother often spoke of it. You must get strong again.”
“I’ll be up in a little while,” called John.
Lucy undressed herself and lay down. The murmur of the voices of her mother and her husband came to her faintly. She lay and thought.
When John came to bed he supposed her to be asleep, and tiptoed about the room, undressing in silence without a light and getting into bed with the greatest gentleness to avoid waking her. Before reclining on his pillow he leaned over her and saw her eyes wide open.
“Why, Lucy, I thought you had gone to bye-bye,” he said, and, lying down, took her in his arms.
She drew away from him.
“Why, Lucy, what’s the matter?” he asked in a hurt tone.
She made no answer but he could feel that she was silently sobbing. He took her in his arms again. This time she did not resist.
“Tell me what it is, darling,” he pleaded.
“Oh, John, do you want anybody but me?” She wept.
“Of course I don’t,” he returned vehemently. “What made you think that?”
“I don’t know,” she answered evasively, vaguely comforted by his ardent denial.
“Was that what you were crying about?” he asked.
“No.”
“Well, what was it? Won’t you tell me, sweetheart?”
“Oh, John, it wasn’t anything—except I’m—so tired.”
“I know you must be,” he whispered. “It’s been an exciting day for you. But now that Nannie’s here she can take a lot of things off your hands. It will make things easier for you. You poor little girl, you have had to work so hard, and you aren’t strong.”
“I don’t think so, John.”
“Don’t think what?”
“That she will make it easier.”
He considered a minute.
“Lucy.”
“Yes?”
“Were you crying because I stayed and talked with Nannie instead of coming upstairs with you?”
“No—not that alone. I—”
He caught her tightly to him.
“You dear, sweet, foolish, jealous little thing,” he whispered, laughing. “The idea! Why you precious darling, I was only trying to be nice to your mother on her first day for your sake. Lucy, don’t you ever, ever dream for a second that anyone could take your place for a tiny instant. Why, sweetheart, I love you. I only like other people.”
Lucy kissed him.
Soon they were asleep in each other’s arms.
IV
Mrs. Merwent’s maiden name was Anna Lockhart. She was born in a southern state, of a family that was considered to be aristocratic and distinguished. None of its members had ever accomplished anything noteworthy, but they had lived a long time in Russellville, there were a large number of them, and they had usually raised sugar and cotton instead of corn and tobacco.
Her earliest memories were of a large, square, white house with a front porch supported by Corinthian pillars, a long driveway lined with great trees on either side, and much display of lavish hospitality.
From early childhood her whims were gratified and it never occurred to her that the numerous things given to her, the clothes, the pony, the negress who nursed her, the rings and brooches, were not a part of her own charm and importance.
Her first pleasure was to attract attention; whether by doing things that earned her the name of “Tomboy,” by being able to show dresses and ribbons finer than her playmates, or by any other device her ingenuity could discover.
She liked negroes because they were obsequious, and she was saucy to white children supposed not to be her social equals whom, in imitation of her elders, she designated as “trash.”
Anna, or Nannie as she was called, delighted in showing her power, and was relentless in exacting notice and recognition of her position. She stuck pins into the arms of Aunt Martha, her nurse, while the old negress was dressing her; she stepped on
