Part 41 (2/2)

”To visit us, mother? Oh, tell me all about it,” Suzanna cried.

”She wants to take you and Maizie and Peter to the seash.o.r.e for a whole month. There, Suzanna! What do you think of that?”

Suzanna stood absolutely still. Then exclaimed: ”To the seash.o.r.e, mother! Why--I don't think I can stand the joy of it. Oh, mother, I'm too happy!”

CHAPTER XXIII

TO THE SEASh.o.r.e

Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett sat in her own perfectly appointed room one morning in late June. She sat quietly, hands folded. She could hear Graham, her son, downstairs beneath her window talking to David and Daphne. She caught disconnected words. They floated to her broken like meaningless flakes of snow.

She had just returned from her call on Mrs. Procter, that impulsive call made on the wings of an impulsive, quixotic thought. There still remained sharp in her memory the picture of the little home; the busy mother, was.h.i.+ng out small woolen garments. She had gone unconsciously prepared to patronize and had returned completely shorn of her feeling of superiority. In truth, a little envy for that sweet-faced mother was in her heart.

From the time when her husband's mother died, she had not been happy.

Pursuits that hitherto had satisfied her altogether lost their power.

New values were slowly born in her. Still possessing a degree of sensibility not killed by her false life, she had been by the att.i.tude of her husband and her son, able to see herself clearly. Both had been dependent upon her in a measure for their happiness, and she had failed them. Their reaction had hurt her bitterly.

She had tried in the past two years to make amends, but some hurts heal slowly. Perhaps it was hard for her husband and son to realize that she was trying to make amends. In any event, each went his separate way, a household divided. Early in the morning had come the thought of the seash.o.r.e and she had wasted no time in seeking the little home. And now its atmosphere filled her mind.

She heard Daphne's young voice, and a sudden rare pity filled her for the motherless child, her gardener's daughter. She would ask Daphne, too.

She went to seek David, and as she came upon him spading a flower bed, the two children with him, a station carriage stopped before the big iron gates and her husband alighted. He had been away on one of his long trips and was now returning home, unheralded, unexpected.

He came quickly down the path and stopped short at sight of his wife. ”I did not think to find you here,” he said.

She did not answer at once. He looked closer at her. ”You look a bit f.a.gged,” he said, uncertainly. Perhaps he felt a softer appeal about her which took him back to their young days together.

”I am a little tired,” she said.

”I thought you intended to spend the summer in the East,” he went on.

”Strangely, Bartlett Villa held more fascination for me than any other place. I returned here a week ago,” she hesitated before continuing. ”I obeyed a whim this morning and invited the Procter children to accompany Graham and me to the seash.o.r.e to spend a month.”

He looked at her incredulously. ”I--I don't understand,” he said.

She returned his gaze, then suddenly she turned from him and hastened back to the house. Many emotions bit at her, among them anger with her husband for his difficulty in believing she had done something which would mean, some trouble to her; which in the days just behind she would have designated as impossible, or ”boring.”

After a moment he followed her and overtook her as she reached the small side room where Suzanna had once sat telling of the poor people who had been burned out of their homes. She knew he was near her, but she gave no heed. Instead she flung herself down in a near chair and buried her face in her hands.

He stood, looking down at her in silence. At last he let his hand fall gently on her shoulder.

”Ina,” he said, softly.

She looked up at him.

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