The Eddy: A Novel of To-day

  CHAPTER VIII

  Laura glanced wistfully at Blythe's riding clothes.

  "I suppose you come here in that apparel to tantalize me, knowing thatmy odious, ogreish medical man has absolutely forbidden me to ride forthe present," she said to him in mock reproach. "There is nothing in theleast subtle about that doctor man. He wants to buy my horse. That's whyhe has forbidden me to ride. But I am going to thwart him by turningScamp over to Louise. You ride, of course, dear?"

  Louise smiled her gratitude. She had become a finished rider as a younggirl during the periods when her mother would abandon her improvidentlife in the city and retire to the country to enable her incomepartially to catch up with her expenditures.

  "I've been trying the most ambitious horse I ever saw," said Blythe,very much the wholesome, out-of-doors looking man, dropping into achair. "If I buy him--and I'm going to think that over carefully--Ithink I shall call him The Climber. He was very keen to accompany me upin the elevator, but the man on guard at the door wouldn't have it.Would you have minded my fetching him up, Laura? He has the trueartistic sense, too. He tried all he knew to climb that statue of BobbieBurns in the Park. Wouldn't it have been a victory for Art if he hadsucceeded in demolishing that bronze libel on Burns? Then he wanted towalk--prance, I mean--into the car of some people I stopped to pass thetime of day with. Curious psychological study, that horse. I can'timagine where he acquired his mounting social ambition, for he's aboutone-half wild horse of the pampas and the other half Wyoming cayuse."

  "Louise," suggested Laura, who had been meditating during Blythe'sraillery, "would you care for a ride now?" Blythe's eyes lighted up atthe words. "I must have some excuse, you see, for driving the two of youaway, for my dressmaker is moaning piteously over the 'phone for me totry some things on, and I'll have to go. Scamp has been eating his headoff for a fortnight, but he'll behave, I'm sure. And my habit, boots,everything, will fit you perfectly."

  Before Laura had finished Blythe was at the telephone, directing Laura'sstableman to send Scamp around and Laura was guiding Louise to herdressing room to put her into the hands of her maid for the change intoLaura's riding things. Half an hour later Louise, well-mounted on thebreedy-looking, over-rested but tractable enough Scamp, was on the Parkbridle-path alongside Blythe, who rode the mettlesome cob he hadmaligned with the stigma of cayuse.

  The two horses, adaptable striders, trotted teamwise for a while, Louiseand Blythe silently giving themselves over to the enjoyment of theeager, tingling air and the brilliant sunshine. They reined up to crossthe carriage road and for a while after that, by a sort of tacitunderstanding, they reduced their horses' pace to a brisk walk.

  It is a bromidic truism, but it is none the less true, that it is onlypossible for a woman to be wholly at her ease in the presence of the manin whom she is not "interested." Louise, as she rode at Blythe's sidethrough the bright vistas of bare, interlacing branches, perhaps wouldhave shrunk from being judged by the mildly accusatory terms of such anaxiom; nevertheless, alone with this man, she was wonderingly consciousof being possessed by a speech-cancelling diffidence, a restraint not somuch superimposed as involuntarily felt, that was wholly unusual withher in the presence of anyone else. She caught herself, not withoutflushing when she became aware of her own purpose, in the act ofpermitting her horse to drop a pace behind in order that she might befree to glance at Blythe's rugged profile and the shapeliness of hishead for an instant; for she was beginning to discover that it wasoddly difficult for her to meet his frank, direct, generally cheerfulgaze. This was, of course, from no lack of candor, but, on the contrary,because she was beginning to fear betrayal through her excessive naturalcandor. It would have been impossible for her to name any other humanbeing with whom she would have preferred to be riding through the sunnyPark on this afternoon; yet this knowledge did not efface the other factthat she was not at her ease with him. She endeavored, in vaguelywondering about this, to assure herself that it was because of certainrevelations which she intended to make to Blythe concerning happeningsto herself since last she had seen him; but her inner frankness informedher that she was merely searching for a pretext for her slightlyprovoking diffidence.

  Blythe was the first to break the silence.

  "'On a hazy, brilliant afternoon in February, 1754, a solitary horsemanmight have been seen--'" he began to quote, smiling, in a sing-song way,as from the inevitable beginning of an antique novel. Louise laughed.

  "Do you feel so lonesome as all that?" she asked him.

  "Not precisely lonesome," said Blythe, "but--well, a little detachedfrom the picture. Speaking of pictures, please try and steady yourselfin the saddle for a moment while I say something pretty. I have beenmentally browsing for a word to describe your profile. Now I have it. Itis 'intaglio.' The beauty of that word is that I almost think I knowwhat it means; and also it fits. The mountain has labored and broughtforth a mouse. I think that is the first compliment I ever made in mylife," and his reddening features testified to the truth of it.

  "Then I shall not deny that it pleases me," replied Louise, able now toturn her head and look at him without the unwonted stealthiness whichhad been puzzling her. "It is what numismatists would call a'first-minted' compliment, is it not?"

  "Don't ask me to analyze it, Louise, or it might come apart in my handsand I shouldn't be able to put it together again, being so new at thecraft," replied Blythe, whimsically. She found it very natural andagreeable that he should call her Louise; she had been conscious, intruth, of a deep-down little fear, now dissipated, that he might resumecalling her Miss Treharne. She felt that she would not have cared for"Miss Treharne" any more--from him.

  They fell silent again for a little while, during which Blythe, infectedby the furtiveness which had actuated Louise a little while before, onceslightly drew rein in order to steal an unobserved oblique glance atLouise's gleaming auburn hair, which refused to be confined under herthree-cornered Continental hat of felt, but moved in rebellious,slipping coils under the impact of the occasional gusts of wind; and hewanted, too, to get the effect of her cameo face outlined against apatch of unusually dark shrubbery slightly ahead of them. His plotting,however, was a dead failure. She caught him in the very article ofmaking this cribbed momentary inspection, and she laughed outright.

  "Draw alongside, please," she commanded, and he noticed for the firsttime the all but indistinguishable slant of her full eyes when they werepossessed by laughter. "You are not to criticize the fit of Laura'shabit on me, as of course you were doing."

  "Of course," said Blythe, more or less unconsciously delivering himselfof a white one. "Additionally, I was wondering--" He paused a bitabruptly.

  "Well?" inquired Louise.

  "You won't be annoyed?" said Blythe. "I was wondering just what you usedto think and do, and sing, and say, when, in your last-previousincarnation, Titian was spending all of his hours painting your face andhair."

  "Now," replied Louise, smiling, "you are showing a suspiciousproficiency for one who claims to have uttered his first compliment onlythree minutes ago. Annoyed? Why should I be? One might even becomeused, in the course of nineteen years, to the possession of green orblue or purple hair; so that I scarcely ever think of my ensanguinedlocks unless I am reminded of them."

  "I think," said Blythe, musingly, "that you have the gift ofcheerfulness."

  "Oh," replied Louise, purposely misunderstanding him, "it doesn't takesuch an inordinate amount of resignation, really, to tolerate one's ownred hair."

  "I deny that it is red," said Blythe, assuming an impressive judicialair. "In fact, to employ a perfectly useless legal term, I note anexception to that statement. It isn't red. It's--it's the tint of anafterglow; an afterglow that never was on land or sea."

  At that instant they emerged upon the open road, and a mounted policemanheld up a detaining hand, holding up a huge yellow-bodied car to enablethem to cross to where the bridle-path began again. Louise, crimsoning,saw her mother leaning back in the big car, Judd
beside her. Blythe,too, saw Mrs. Treharne--and her companion--and lifted his hat. Louisehad waved a hand at her mother; but it was a limp hand, and the sun hadsuddenly darkened for her. Blythe noticed her immediate abstraction. Heunderstood. He rode a trifle closer to her, in silence, for a while.Louise was gazing at the pommel of her saddle, and he observed thetremulousness about her lips.

  At a point where the path narrowed in passing a great boulder, Blythereined yet closer, and, reaching out, pressed for an instant her glovedguiding hand.

  "Don't worry, Louise--all of these things come right in time," he saidin a subdued tone, and as if they had already been speaking of thatwhich had caused her sudden distress. "Be sustained by that belief.Everything works out right in time. I venture to touch upon that whichpains you, not because we are to have a mere legal relationship, butbecause I am hoping that you view me as a friend. Do you?"

  "You must know that I do," said Louise, more moved than he could guess.The touch of his hand had strangely thrilled her. "If it were not foryou and Laura--" She paused, turning her head.

  "I know," said Blythe. "It is not a matter for volunteered advice. Butperhaps you have thought of some way in which I--we--can help you; makethe course smoother for you. Have you?"

  "No," replied Louise, simply. "There were some occurrences--some thingsthat happened last night--that I meant to tell you about. But I can'tnow. Laura will tell you. You must not be too angry when she tells you.The happenings were not the fault of my mother's; she----"

  "I can easily surmise that," Blythe helped her. "But, Louise, if you hadmeant to tell me these things yourself, what has altered yourdetermination? Perhaps, though," reflecting, "that isn't a fairquestion."

  "The unfairness--perhaps I should call it weakness--is on my side,"replied Louise. "I make very brave resolutions," smiling a littledetachedly, "as to the candor I am going to reveal to you when I meetyou; but when I am with you--" The sentence required no finishing.

  "There is no weakness in that," said Blythe. "Or, if there is, then Ithink my own weakness must be far greater than yours. There are manythings that I want to say to you and that I find it impossible to saywhen the opportunity comes. Several times, for example, I havefruitlessly struggled to say that I hope my guardianship over you willerect no barrier between us."

  "How could it?" asked Louise, meeting his eye.

  "It is just that," replied Blythe, "which I find it so difficult toexpress. I fear to venture too close to the quicksands. But I might aswell take the risk. I did not exactly mean to use the word 'barrier.'You make quite another appeal to me than as a ward to a guardian. Myimagination is far more involved than that. Perhaps I take a roundaboutmethod, Louise, of saying that, in spite of my approaching guardianship,I sometimes find myself presuming to hope that a time might come whenyou would be willing to accept my devotion as a man."

  "That time," quietly replied Louise, pretending to adjust her hat so asto screen her face with her arm, "has already come." She had no_penchant_ for evasiveness, and coquetry was apart from her; she spokewords that her heart brimmed to her lips.

  Blythe, his face transfigured, caught himself reeling a bit in hissaddle. Her words, so quietly and frankly spoken, had suddenly clearedwhat he had not hoped would be anything but a pathway of brambles. Heswayed so close to her that their faces almost touched, and for a mereinstant he was conscious of the fragrance of her pure breath, aware tothe core of him of an intoxicating propinquity of which he had not untilthat moment dreamed.

  "Perhaps I misunderstood you, Louise," he said, hoarse of a sudden,reining out and settling himself sidewise in his saddle so that he couldsee her. "It is impossible that I did not misunderstand you."

  Louise, gazing straight ahead, but with misty eyes, shook her head. Shehad no more words. And her silent negation told him, better than words,that he had not misunderstood her.

  They rode without speaking for the remainder of the way back to Laura's.Just before they drew up to the curb, where he was to assist her todismount, Blythe broke the long reverie that had pinioned them.

  "I only came to know the meaning of what is called 'the joy of living'an hour ago, Louise," Blythe said to her then.

  A moment later he was lifting her from her horse, and the sky swirledbefore his eyes as, for a rocketing instant, he held her in his strongarms and felt her warm breath (as of hyacinths, he thought) upon hisface. He rode away leading her horse, and their parting was of the eyesonly.

  Louise, a happy brooding expression on her face, walked in upon Laura,who was deeply snuggled on a many-pillowed couch, and sat down,pre-occupiedly tapping a gloved palm with her riding-crop, without aword.

  "Well, dear?" said Laura, glancing at her.

  Louise continued to tap-tap her palm with the crop, but she was devoidof words, it appeared.

  "Louise!" Laura suddenly sat up straight on the couch and directed astartled, accusatory, yet puzzledly-smiling gaze at the wistful,unseeing and silent girl in the riding habit.

  Louise turned her abstracted gaze upon Laura.

  "What is it, dear?" she asked. "You said something, didn't you?"

  Laura gazed at her with an absorbed smile for nearly a minute. Then shesettled back among the pillows.

  "No, sweetheart, I haven't said anything," she replied.

  * * * * *

  Judd prowled about his club that night in the humor of a savage, barkingat the club servants, growling at or turning his back upon cronies whoaddressed him civilly enough, and almost taking the head off one of themwho, noticing the baleful Judd mood, cheerfully inquired: "What is it,old chap--gout, liver, the market, or all three?" The market was in partresponsible; the entire "list" had gone against him persistently anddiabolically from opening to close. But the raking which Mrs. Treharnehad given him during their ride on account of his "daughtering" ofLouise on the night before was mainly responsible for the bubbling ragewhich he was taking no pains to conceal and which he was adding to byextraordinarily short-intervalled stops at the club buffet.

  And so he'd been hauled over the coals again on account of thathigh-and-mighty daughter of Tony's, had he? Judd reflected, his thoughtsswirling in an alcoholic seethe of self-sympathy. Well, he was gettingtired of that sort of thing--d----d tired of it. He hadn't had aminute's peace of his life on his visits at the house on the Drive sincethe arrival there of that toploftical, sulky, ridiculously haughtydaughter of Tony's. Haughty about what? Haughty for what reason? Whatlicense had she to be haughty--especially with him, Judd? Wasn't sheliving in his house? What the d----, then, did she mean by flouting him?Yes, Jesse had been right; she had flouted him since the first day she'dmet him. And that wasn't "coming to him;" he didn't deserve it.

  Didn't he fairly shower money upon her mother? Didn't her mother havehis signed blank checks to fill out at her own sweet will and option?Didn't he humor all of Tony's extravagances without ever a word ofcomplaint? Well, then! What the devil did Tony mean by snarling at himall the time about this daughter of hers that had come along and messedeverything up? Anyhow, why shouldn't he have called the young woman"daughter" if he felt like it? That wasn't going to kill her, was it? Hehad been drinking a little at the time, anyhow, and it was a slip of thetongue; but even if it hadn't been, what was the difference? What rightdid she have, anyhow, to look at him as if he were a woodtick? Hecouldn't understand what Jesse saw in her; she was good-looking, ofcourse, but when that was said all was said; she had an unthawabledisposition, hadn't she? And a porpoise's cold-bloodedness?

  But Jesse was entitled to his idiotic fancies; he, Judd, wasn't going tointerpose any obstacles in Jesse's way. She needed taming, and Jesse'sreputation as a tamer was established. Leaving all that aside, though,she wasn't going to stay around his house creating discord and givingher mother cherished opportunities to "open up" on him whenever she feltlike it. She would have to go somewhere else. He'd take care of her allright. He had no idea of absolutely turning her out; Tony wouldn't havethat, and, besides, the
re wasn't anything mean about him. But he wasn'tgoing to be flouted any longer; wouldn't have it; wouldn't endure it;wouldn't tolerate it. Fact was, he intended to have it out with Tonythat very night. He'd go over to the house on the Drive and get thething over with. No use in postponing it.

  HE'D GO OVER TO THE HOUSE ON THE DRIVE AND GET THE THINGOVER WITH.]

  Thus Judd, fuming, and already more than half drunk.

  "Get me a taxicab," he ordered a club servant, and, with a finallibation for the tightening of his resolution, he lumbered unsteadilyinto the taxicab and was catapulted to the house on Riverside Drive.

  The butler admitted him and smirked behind his back with thederisiveness of English servants in American households when he saw Juddhold out a miscalculating hand for the banister post and miss it by afoot, thereby almost going to his knees on the stairs. But he recoveredhis equilibrium, growling, and made his way into Mrs. Treharne's sittingroom. Heloise was there alone, reading a French comic weekly ofextraordinary pictorial frankness with such gusto that she did not evenrise when Judd partly fell into the room.

  Judd glared at her out of red eyes.

  "Why the devil don't you get to your feet when I come in here, youjabbering chimpanzee?" he inquired of the by no means flabbergastedHeloise. She had often seen Judd thus and she was used to his expletivesand his fondness for comparing her to the simian species on account ofher French tongue. "Where's your mistress?"

  "Madame has gone to the theatre," said Heloise, giving Judd a view of awide, unscreened French yawn.

  "Oh, Madame has, has she?" said Judd, apeing the maid's tone with adrunken disregard for even the most ordinary dignity. "What theatre?"

  Heloise shrugged.

  "What theatre?" Judd bawled at her.

  "How should one know?" inquired Heloise, disdainfully enough. "Madamedid not say."

  Judd plumped himself into a deep chair, cocked his evening hat at alittle more acute angle over his left ear, fumblingly loosened thebuttons of his overcoat, crossed his legs with grunting difficulty,removed his gloves, revealing the enormous diamond rings which he woreon the third finger of each freckled, pudgy hand; then glared at theunruffled Heloise again.

  "Is anybody at home?" he asked her.

  "Mademoiselle is here," replied Heloise. "But she is retiring and is notto be seen."

  "Oh, she's not to be seen, hey?" snarled Judd. "Who says she isn't to beseen? You?"

  Heloise shrugged again. She knew that her shrugs enraged him, but shewas a dauntless maid of France.

  "You tell her that I want to see her, understand?" ordered Judd,thickly. "Want to see her right here and right now."

  "Mademoiselle sent her maid out for the evening and left word that shewas not to be disturbed," protested Heloise.

  "I don't care a continental hang what word she left!" raged Judd. "Youtell her that I want to see her, here and now. You take that message toher or out you go, bag and baggage. I'm paying your wages."

  Heloise, bestowing upon him a parting shrug which was artisticallydesigned to inform him as to just how little she cared for him or his"wages," left the room and knocked upon Louise's sleeping-room door.

  Louise, in a negligee and with her hair rippling silkily over hershoulders, was preparing for sleep. The afternoon's reverie stillpossessed her. Musing dreams lingered in her eyes.

  She looked up, not surprised to see Heloise enter. The French maid,devoted to Louise from the beginning, often came in for a chat when hermistress was out, to the jealous concern of Louise's own maid. Now,however, Louise was struck with the light of wrath and disgust inHeloise's fire-darting, eloquent eyes.

  "What is it, Heloise?" she asked.

  Heloise broke into objurgation as to "zat Jood beast"--_cochon rouge_,she called him, explosively.

  "He demands that you come," she said to Louise. "He is not himself; thatis, he is himself; he is drunk."

  "But what does he want with me?" asked Louise, apprehensively. Heloisecould furnish her with no reply to that. "Of course I shall not seehim."

  Heloise, finger on lip, considered. She knew Judd exceedingly well, andshe was acquainted with his violence when in his cups. She knew that hewas quite capable of breaking in upon Louise's privacy if she did notrespond to his summons--even if he had to put his shoulder to her door.After a moment's reflection, Heloise advised Louise to go to him. Hecould not harm her, except perhaps with his tongue, and he would do thatanyhow if she refused to answer his summons; Heloise would be hoveringnear to see that he offered her no other harm. Louise, who had the giftof becoming deliberate and cool in emergent moments, decided to take themaid's advice. She dressed hastily and Heloise quickly tucked her hairup. She was very regal, very much in control of herself, when she sweptswiftly into her mother's sitting room and confronted Judd.

  Judd did not rise. Neither did he remove his rakishly-tilted hat. Hestill sat with crossed legs, and he was muttering hoarsely to himselfwhen Louise entered. When he heard her rustled entrance he dovetailedhis fingers on the lower portion of his evening shirt, twiddled histhumbs, and gazed at her through his red, drink-diminished eyes.

  "Oh, so you came, eh?" he wheezed, drily, continuing to regard her withhis bleary stare.

  "What is it you wish of me?" Louise asked him, meeting his gaze, butcontinuing to stand.

  "Oh, nothing in particular--nothing in particular," said Judd with theincoherency of intoxication. Quickly, though, he took a tone ofbrazenness. "You're going to sit down, ain't you? It doesn't cost anymore to sit down."

  "I shall stand," said Louise, immovable before him.

  "Oh, you'll stand, hey?" sneered Judd. "All right, stand. I sent for youbecause, in the first place, I wanted to see if you'd come or not. Andyou're here, ain't you?" this with an air of drunken triumph. Louisemade no reply.

  "Secondly," went on Judd, scowling over the drink-magnified memory ofhis wrongs, "I sent for you to ask you what in blazes you mean bycontinually stirring up rows and rough-houses between your mother andme? Hey? What's the answer?"

  There was no answer. Louise, literally numb from the vulgar violence ofthe man, was bereft of speech. She faced him with her fingers tightlylaced behind her back, and her face had grown very pale.

  "That's what I want to find out from you," went on Judd, uncrossing hislegs so that he could lean forward in his chair and wag an emphasizingfinger at her. "And there are some other things I want to find out fromyou. One of 'em is why the devil you think you're licensed to treatme--_me!_--as if I were a flunkey?"

  Louise retained her frozen attitude. She had the feeling of one beingblown upon by icy blasts. Even had there seemed to be any need for herto make reply, she could not have done so.

  "You've got a tongue, haven't you?" demanded Judd, her silence adding tothe rage into which he was deliberately lashing himself. "Don't you tryyour infernal haughty airs on me any more, young woman. I won't tolerateit. I don't have to tolerate it. Didn't they teach you manners atschool? If they didn't, by God, I'll know the reason why! I paid 'em toteach you manners!"

  Involuntarily Louise pressed her hands to her temples, for she feltsuddenly faint. But she conquered the faintness. The utterincredibleness of his words seemed to nerve her.

  "What do you mean by that?" she asked him, her voice sounding in herears like that of someone else.

  "Mean?" raged Judd, gripping the arms of his chair and half rising."What do I mean? I mean what I say. I paid the people who educated you,or pretended to educate you, to drill some manners into you. And now I'mgoing to take a whole lot of pains to find out why they took my moneyunder false pretenses!"

  "Are you not beside yourself?" asked Louise quietly enough, though herthoughts were in a vortex. "Am I to understand that you really expect meto believe that you paid for my education?"

  Judd flopped back into his chair and stared hard at her. Then he brokeinto a short, jarring laugh.

  "Will you listen to that?" he croaked, looking around the room as ifaddressing an invisible jury. Then, loweri
ng his head and glowering uponLouise, he went on: "Am I to understand that you are pretending that youdon't _know_ that I paid for your education?"

  "I did not know it," said Louise in so low a tone that she could hardlyhear herself.

  "Am I to understand," brutally went on Judd, now entirely out ofhimself, "that you are pretending not to know that I've been shovellingout money for you for nearly five years--ever since you were inpigtails? D'ye mean to stand there, with your damned outlandishhaughtiness, and tell me that you don't know that every hairpin, everypair of shoes, every frippery or furbelow that you've owned in thattime, hasn't been settled for by me? That you don't know that the roofover your head and the bed you've slept in has been paid for by me? Thatyou don't know that the clothes that you've got on your back right thisminute were bought for you by me?"

  It was the cruelest moment in the girl's life. Her senses were reeling.But, by an effort of pure will, of supreme concentration, she musteredher strength to withstand the shock.

  "I did not know these things," she replied in a voice that sounded inher own ears like a mere distant echo. "They are true? I was not told.Until this moment I had always supposed that my education andmaintenance were paid for out of funds from--" She could not mention thename of her father in the presence of this drink-inflamed brute;--"fromother sources."

  "Not by a damned sight," roared Judd, relentless, paying no attention tothe girl's drawn features and trembling lips. "I know what you'regetting at. But you're wrong. There haven't been any 'funds from othersources,' as you call it, disbursed for you for nearly five years. Andthat's easy to explain, too. I wouldn't have any 'funds from othersources' dribbling along to an establishment I was maintaining. That'swhy I chucked what you call the 'funds from other sources' back into thesender's teeth."

  Louise, under the impact of that final cowardly blow, might have fallenprone had not her mother, eyes alight with mingled rage and compassion,swept into the room at that instant and gently pushed her daughter intoa chair just as Louise felt that her knees were giving way beneath her.Mrs. Treharne, standing stunned in the hall upon coming in, had heardJudd's last few sentences; and she judged from them what he had beensaying before her return.

  Judd's jaw fell when he saw Mrs. Treharne, for the moment imperious inher anger and her solicitude for her daughter, sweep into the room inher trailing furs. But, after an instant, he brought his twisted teethtogether with a snap and gazed at her with drunken dauntlessness. It wasone of Judd's hours when he was too far gone to think of surrenderingeven to her.

  "What have you done, you unspeakable brute?" Mrs. Treharne asked him,her voice trembling, as she stood facing him, one hand on Louise'sshoulder.

  Louise looked up at her mother.

  "He has been telling me, mother, what I now believe to be the truth,"she said; "that I am indebted to him for my schooling, my maintenance,my--" She could not go on.

  Mrs. Treharne's eyes blazed.

  "You low cad--you vulgar coward!" she fairly hissed at Judd.

  But Judd, for once, would have none of that. He rose unsteadily to hisfeet and stood swaying before her.

  "No more of that from you!" he thundered, the veins of his foreheadstanding out purplishly. "I know what I've said, and I stand for it!Don't you try to come that bullyragging business over me--I'm allthrough standing for that! You can do as you please, go as far as youlike. But this is my house--don't you ever forget that! See that youremember it every minute from this time on, will you?" and with aparting glare he strode to the door, tramped down the stairs, and wentout, pulling the door after him with a crash.

  Mrs. Treharne, herself used to such scenes with Judd, but hideouslyconscious of what a horror this one must have been to an inexperiencedgirl less than three months away from the serene atmosphere of school,sat upon an arm of Louise's chair and began to stroke her daughter'shair.

  "But why did you never tell me, mother?" asked Louise after a longsilence.

  "BUT, WHY DID YOU NEVER TELL ME, MOTHER?"]

  Mrs. Treharne, on the defensive, tried to devise excuses, but they werevery feeble ones. She had not wanted to worry Louise by telling her; thegirl had been too young to be told while at school, and, since herreturn, she had not had the courage to tell her; it would have done nogood to tell her at any rate, would it? And so on.

  After a while Louise rose.

  "I can't stay here, mother," she said. "I am going at once."

  "That is absurd," her mother replied, flutteringly. "It is aftermidnight. You must not be hasty, dear. He had been drinking. Men arebeasts when they drink. It will all pass over," she added weakly.

  "No, it cannot pass over," said Louise in a wearied tone. "I am going. Icould not remain here another hour. You must not ask me to. It isimpossible."

  "But, my child," cried Mrs. Treharne, beginning to dab at her eyes, "itis out of the question--unheard of! There is no reason for it. Thesethings happen everywhere. You must face life as it is, not as you havebeen dreaming it to be. Sleep with me tonight and think it over. You'llview it all differently in the morning."

  "I am going now, mother," replied Louise, and her mother knew then thatthe girl's decision was unalterable.

  "But where are you going at this hour of the night, child?" she asked,now weeping outright.

  "To Laura's," said Louise. Saying it, she was swept by a sudden wave offeeling. "Mother," she went on in a broken voice, "come with me, won'tyou? Let us go together. I want to be with you all the time. I want tolive with you only. I need you. We can be so happy together, just byourselves! We can get a pretty little place somewhere and be happytogether, just you and I. And I have been so unhappy, so miserable,here! Won't you come with me--come now?"

  A beautiful hour had struck for that mother, had she but known it.

  But she released herself from Louise's arms and shook her head, all thetime dabbing, dabbing at her eyes with her little wad of a lacehandkerchief.

  "Don't ask me such an absurd thing, Louise," she replied. "Of course Ican't do anything so outlandishly foolish."

  "Then I must go alone, dear," said Louise, bitter disappointmentplacarded on her drawn face. "I wanted to be always with you. I nevermeant to leave you. But I can't stay now. Won't you come, mother?"

  Mrs. Treharne shook her head and sobbed. Louise gazed commiseratingly atthe weak, tempestuously-crying little woman, and then went to her rooms.She called Laura on the telephone.

  "I am coming to you now, Laura," she said.

  "You mean tonight, dear?" inquired Laura in her caressing contralto,refraining, with the wisdom of a woman of experience, from givingutterance to any astonishment.

  "Yes, at once," said Laura. "I shall take a taxicab and be there withinthe half hour."

  "I shall be waiting, dear," replied Laura.

  Louise, in hat and coat, bent over her mother, who had thrown herselfweeping on a couch, and sought to soothe her. But her mother had onlywild, broken reproaches for her for going away "so foolishly, sounnecessarily," and Louise saw that her efforts to calm her were futile.So she bent over and kissed her mother's tear-wet face, then walked downthe stairs and out of the house to the waiting taxicab. She never putfoot in the house on the Drive again.