“I’d like to wear crepe myself,” said Jane. “I loved Mrs. Lester.”
“She was a grand old matriarch,” said Isabel, rising with a sigh. “Still, she was over eighty. Muriel knew she couldn’t live forever. Queer, isn’t it, that Bert should outlive her—in the state he’s been in for the last five years?”
“How is Papa?” asked Jane, rising in her turn.
“Oh, much better. His cold is almost gone. Dr. Bancroft says he can go to the funeral.”
“Not up to Graceland?” said Jane, with a glance at the February sleet storm that was silvering the garden. “In this weather?”
“I don’t know about Graceland,” said Isabel, “but, anyway, the church. They’ve asked him to be an honorary pallbearer.”
“Of course,” said Jane. “I suppose he was Mrs. Lester’s oldest friend. He was awfully fond of her.”
“Well, everyone was,” said Isabel. “But I’m not going to let Belle go into mourning.”
“Black for the funeral,” urged Jane pacifically.
“Of course,” said Isabel. “That’s only decent.” She turned toward the door. “How is Cicily feeling today?”
“Very well,” said Jane. “She’s in town at the concert.”
“They go everywhere, don’t they?” said Isabel. “They don’t care how they look.”
“I think that’s fine,” said Jane.
“But it’s funny,” said Isabel. “Last Friday night at the Casino I heard Cicily telling Billy Winter that she had engaged a room at the Lying-in Hospital. I spoke to her about that. I didn’t quite like it.”
“They take it all as a matter of course,” said Jane.
“I know,” said Isabel. “But to a young bachelor—”
“I’m sure he didn’t mind,” said Jane.
“He didn’t,” said Isabel. “But I thought he should have.”
“It’s a different generation, old girl,” said Jane.
II
Last week it had been a bad cold. The morning after Mrs. Lester’s funeral it had turned into bronchitis. Yesterday it was a touch of pneumonia. Today—
Jane stood in the doorway of Mr. Ward’s library, holding a great sheaf of budding Ophelia roses, looking anxiously into Isabel’s worried eyes.
“I’m glad you came in, Jane,” said Isabel soberly.
“Of course I came in,” said Jane. She walked quietly across the room to her father’s desk and put her flowers down on the two days’ accumulation of mail that waited for him, propped up against the brass humidor. Then she turned again to face Isabel.
“I just can’t realize it,” she said. “Day before yesterday I was talking to him, here in this room.”
“I’m glad you came while Dr. Bancroft was here.” Isabel’s voice was as worried as her eyes. “He’s upstairs with Mamma.”
“How’s Mamma taking it?” asked Jane.
“Oh—she’s fine,” said Isabel. “She always is, you know, when there’s anything really the matter. She didn’t leave Papa’s bedside all night. I don’t think she got a wink of sleep. Minnie’s been awful.”
“Awful?” questioned Jane.
“About the trained nurse. She just took one look at her and turned ugly. You know how Minnie is.”
“She’s very capable,” said Jane. “And she adores us all.”
“Yes,” said Isabel, “but she likes to run the whole show herself. Mamma’s been very silly about Minnie. She’s let her think she was indispensable.”
“She pretty nearly is,” sighed Jane. “She’s not really acting up, is she?”
“Oh, no,” said Isabel. “She’s just terribly gloomy. Goes around, you know, with a tremendous chip on her shoulder. She does what the nurse tells her to, but she does it grudgingly. She looks as if she’d like to say, ‘Don’t blame me if it rains!’ ”
“Does it bother Mamma?” asked Jane.
“Of course it does,” said Isabel. “You know she always has Minnie’s attitude on her mind.”
“It’s ridiculous,” said Jane, “at a time like this!”
“Of course it is,” said Isabel. Both women turned at the sound of a step in the hall.
“There’s the doctor now,” said Jane, picking up her roses.
Mrs. Ward entered the room, followed by Dr. Bancroft. She had on her grey silk dinner dress. Jane realized that she could not have changed it since the night before. Her face looked terribly worn and weary and worried. She had taken off the black velvet ribbon she always wore about her throat in the evening. In the slight V-shaped décollétage of the grey silk dress the cords of her neck, freed from the restraining band, hung in slack, yellow furrows. There were great brown circles under her tired eyes. Dr. Bancroft, brisk and immaculate in his blue serge morning suit, looked extremely clean and clever and competent beside her.
“Jane!” said Mrs. Ward. “I didn’t know you’d come.” Her face quivered, a trifle emotionally, at the sight of the roses. She kissed her younger daughter.
“How is he?” Jane’s eyes sought the doctor’s.
“Fine!” said Dr. Bancroft briskly. “In excellent shape, all things considered.”
“Is the second lung affected?” asked Jane.
“Just one tiny spot,” said Dr. Bancroft very cheerfully.
“Can I see him?” asked Jane. “Can I take him these roses?”
“Certainly,” said Dr. Bancroft. “But don’t try to talk to him.”
“He’s very drowsy,” said Mrs. Ward.
“He’s tired,” said Dr. Bancroft. “His system’s been putting up a big fight all night. His vitality is amazing for a man of his age.” He smiled pleasantly at Mrs. Ward. “Now, don’t worry. What he needs is rest. Miss Coulter will order the oxygen. You’d better lie down yourself, this morning, Mrs. Ward. You look all in.” He turned from the doorway and met Minnie on the threshold. She glanced at him inimically. Minnie looked all in, too. But very gloomy.
“Get a nap, yourself, Minnie,” smiled Dr. Bancroft. “There is nothing you can do.”
“I’ll not nap,” said Minnie briefly.
“I’ll drop in again after luncheon,” said the doctor casually. “And, by the way, Mrs. Ward—I’m sending up a second nurse for the night work.”
“A second—nurse?” faltered Mrs. Ward.
Jane and Isabel looked into each other’s eyes.
“Just to spare you,” said Dr. Bancroft. “You must save your strength.” He smiled pleasantly at Jane and Isabel. “Good morning.” He brushed by Minnie’s outraged figure and was gone.
Jane stood a moment in silence, fingering her roses. Her father had pneumonia—double pneumonia. And all because of
