Part 23 (1/2)
”No, no. Of course he didn't,” Cornish said earnestly. ”But Lord sakes--” he said again. He rose to walk about, found it impracticable and sat down.
”That's what Dwight don't want me to tell--he thinks it isn't true. He thinks--he didn't have any other wife. He thinks he wanted--” Lulu looked up at him.
”You see,” she said, ”Dwight thinks he didn't want me.”
”But why don't you make your--husband--I mean, why doesn't he write to Mr. Deacon here, and tell him the truth--” Cornish burst out.
Under this implied belief, she relaxed and into her face came its rare sweetness.
”He has written,” she said. ”The letter's there.”
He followed her look, scowled at the two letters.
”What'd he say?”
”Dwight don't like me to touch his mail. I'll have to wait till he comes back.”
”Lord sakes!” said Cornish.
This time he did rise and walk about. He wanted to say something, wanted it with pa.s.sion. He paused beside Lulu and stammered: ”You--you--you're too nice a girl to get a deal like this. Darned if you aren't.”
To her own complete surprise Lulu's eyes filled with tears, and she could not speak. She was by no means above self-sympathy.
”And there ain't,” said Cornish sorrowfully, ”there ain't a thing I can do.”
And yet he was doing much. He was gentle, he was listening, and on his face a frown of concern. His face continually surprised her, it was so fine and alive and near, by comparison with Ninian's loose-lipped, ruddy, impersonal look and Dwight's thin, high-boned hardness. All the time Cornish gave her something, instead of drawing upon her. Above all, he was there, and she could talk to him.
”It's--it's funny,” Lulu said. ”I'd be awful glad if I just _could_ know for sure that the other woman was alive--if I couldn't know she's dead.”
This surprising admission Cornish seemed to understand.
”Sure you would,” he said briefly.
”Cora Waters,” Lulu said. ”Cora Waters, of San Diego, California. And she never heard of me.”
”No,” Cornish admitted. They stared at each other as across some abyss.
In the doorway Mrs. Bett appeared.
”I sc.r.a.ped up everything,” she remarked, ”and left the dishes set.”
”That's right, mamma,” Lulu said. ”Come and sit down.”
Mrs. Bett entered with a leisurely air of doing the thing next expected of her.
”I don't hear any more playin' and singin',” she remarked. ”It sounded real nice.”
”We--we sung all I knew how to play, I guess, mamma.”
”I use' to play on the melodeon,” Mrs. Bett volunteered, and spread and examined her right hand.