We Three Part 26

"Because he's been so unhappy in it. He says unless his whole mind is made over we'll never come to Aiken again."

She drew a long breath, and her eyes roved among the great pine trees on either side of the road as if she wished to impress them forever upon her memory.

"I love it all so much," she said simply.

"I'm so sorry," I said; "and it means that I won't ever be coming back for more than a minute. And I love it, too."

"We're to spend the summer in Stamford to be near the works.

_Stamford_!"

"You'll find lots of people to like, and bully sailing and swimming."

"And bully spells of white-hot, damp weather, and bully big mosquitoes."

"It ought to be cheap."

"Very cheap."

Then we both laughed. Then we were silent.

"Tell me," I said, "how is the great compromise working?"

"I don't know. I told him how I'd made up my mind to stick by the s.h.i.+p, so that there wouldn't be any scandal, or anything to break up his home, or hurt the children, and how I was going to be better about money, and he said, 'Very well, Lucy, we'll try it for a while, but I don't think compromises are much good.' He wants me to do all I'm trying to do, and be his wife too. I thought he'd--Oh, I thought he'd be pleased and grateful--instead of that he tries to be cold to me, and is very sharp and stern."

"It takes time to settle down to any new modus vivendi."

"Well," she cried, "I'm not doing it because I want to, am I? I'm only doing it for his sake. I'm doing every blessed thing I _can_ to save the situation; and if there are things I simply _can't_ do--why he ought to be generous and understand. Oh, I know it isn't going to work! And all the time when he isn't being cold and stern, he--he's trying to make me love him again, and come back to him. And right in the middle of that he'll fly into a rage, and say that I ought to be _compelled_ to behave like a rational human being."

"But he wouldn't compel you to do anything you didn't want to do, Lucy.

Trust him for that."

"I don't know. He's so different from the way he used to be.

Sometimes I'm afraid. Sometimes I am afraid to be alone in the same house with him. If I didn't have you to back me up, and give me strength I'd--but it can't last long. I know it can't. And I don't know that it's worth trying."

"You are still fond of him, Lucy?"

"And sorry for him, Oh, so sorry. But fondness and sorrow aren't everything."

"It will be better when he has the new contract to occupy him, and keep him away. It won't be an all-day affair then. And all the time you and I'll be meeting to talk things over, and borrow strength to go on with. It isn't easy for me either, dear. And of course, if after trial we find it won't work, why then it will be our duty to ourselves to cut the Gordian knot."

She turned toward me and we looked into each other's eyes for a long time.

"I've given him all I can," she said. "It isn't enough. It never will be enough. Oh, if there are knots to be cut, let's cut 'em and have done with it."

I dropped my reins, and leaning wide, took her in my arms and kissed her many times.

"We are romantic children," I said, "to think that there could be any other way. G.o.d bless you, my darling, we'll cut all the knots, and begin life all over again, and always be together."

She became then wonderfully cheerful and excited, and riding always at a walk, no longer on roads, but through the deep woods, we made our plans for the future.

Nothing was to be said to John until we were in a bigger place than Aiken. The bigger the place the smaller the scandal. I offered (with grave misgivings) to do the telling; but Lucy would not have it so.

"It's his right," she said, "to know from me." John having been told, would, we felt sure from what we knew of his character, be willing to do the right thing. It wasn't as if he had been dishonored in any way.

He would even be grateful to us for having been strong-minded and aboveboard. It would hurt him terribly. Yes, but a sudden final hurt was better than the lingering sickness from which he was now suffering.

There would, of course, be no question of alimony. My father, much as he might disapprove of the whole affair, was not only fond of me, but fond of Lucy, and he would see us through.

It would take a long while to get a divorce. That was the darkest cloud on the horizon. But we must face that cheerfully; our reward would be all the greater when it came.

That John would be unwilling to give up Lucy even when he knew that she loved someone else never occurred to us. He belonged to that cla.s.s of men whose code is to give the women all the best of everything. He was too fond of Lucy to wish to see her hurt. And if he wouldn't give her a divorce, hurt she would be, for in that unlikely event we were determined to jump on the nearest steamer and sail away for parts unknown.

"Why not come in?" said Lucy, when we had finished our ride. "You haven't been near the house for days, so it won't be very noticeable."

"All right," I said, "for a minute."

It was between dusk and dark. The lights had not been turned on in the hall. The opportunity seemed rare and sweet. We stood for one brief fleeting moment closely enlaced--and swiftly separated, and stood breathing fast, and listening.

Lucy was the first to make up her mind.

She stepped swiftly to the dining-room door and flung it open. She was in time to see the trim shoulders and white cap of a servant disappearing from the dining-room into the pantry.

"Who was it?"

"My new waitress."

"Hilda?"

Lucy smiled grimly. "She'll leave tomorrow."

"Don't discharge her. She might tell. Perhaps she didn't see."

I joined Lucy in the dining-room, closed the door, knelt and looked back into the hall through the keyhole.

"Could she see?"

I rose to my feet and nodded.

"He mustn't hear from anyone but me," said Lucy. "I'll speak to her."

But Hilda was not in the pantry.

"I don't think she'll tell," I said, "and after all what does it matter? Let's take a chance."

Mentally I resolved to communicate with Hilda at the earliest possible moment, and to use whatever influence I had upon her. So I was no sooner in my room at home than I took the receiver from my private telephone and gave the number of the Fultons' house. After an interval I heard Hilda's voice.

"It's Mr. Mannering, Hilda."

"Yes, sir."

"I want to see you about something important."