Part 46 (2/2)

Hiram had won his daughter.

”We are going now,” said Ellen, coming from the stupor of shame and horror into which this volcanic disgorging of the secret minds and hearts of the Whitneys had plunged her. And the expression she fixed first upon Janet, then upon Ross, then upon Matilda, killed any disposition they might have had to try to detain her. As she and Adelaide went toward her carriage, Ross followed. Walking beside Adelaide, he began to protest in a low tone and with pa.s.sionate appeal against the verdict he could not but read in her face. ”It isn't fair, it isn't just!” he pleaded.

”Adelaide, hear me! Don't misjudge me. You know what your--your good opinion means to me.”

She took her mother's arm, and so drew farther away from him.

”Forgive me,” he begged. ”Janet put me out of my mind. It drove me mad to have her rob--_us_.”

At that ”us” Adelaide fixed her gaze on his for an instant. And what he saw in her eyes silenced him--silenced him on one subject forever.

He left for Chicago without seeing either his sister or his mother again. His impulse was to renounce to his mother his share of his father's estate. But one does not act hastily upon an impulse to give up nearly a million dollars. On reflection he decided against such expensive and futile generosity. If it would gain him Adelaide--then, yes. But when it would gain him nothing but the applause of people who in the same circ.u.mstances would not have had even the impulse to forego a million--”Mother's proper share will give her as much of an income as a woman needs at her age and alone,” reasoned he. ”Besides, she may marry again. And I must not forget that but for her Janet would never have got that dowry. She brought this upon herself. Her folly has cost me dearly enough. If I go away to live abroad or in New York--anywhere to be free of the Howlands--why I'll need all I've got properly to establish myself.”

Janet and her baby left on a later train for the East. Before going she tried to see her mother. Her mother had wronged her in thought, had slandered her in word; but Janet forgave her and n.o.bly wished her to have the consolation of knowing it. Mrs. Whitney, however, prevented the execution of this exalted purpose by refusing to answer the gentle persistent knocking and gentle appealing calls of ”Mother, mother dear!”

at her locked boudoir door.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE DOOR AJAR

Judge Torrey succeeded Whitney as chairman of the overseers of Tec.u.mseh and in the vacant trustees.h.i.+p of the Ranger bequest. Soon Dr. Hargrave, insisting that he was too old for the labors of the presidency of such a huge and varied inst.i.tution as the university had become, was made honorary president, and his son, still in Europe, was elected chairman of the faculty. Toward the middle of a fine afternoon in early September Dr.

Hargrave and his daughter-in-law drove to the railway station in the ancient and roomy phaeton which was to Saint X as much part of his personality as the aureole of glistening white hair that framed his majestic head, or as the great plaid shawl that had draped his big shoulders with their student stoop every winter day since anyone could remember. Despite his long exposure to the temptation to sink into the emasculate life of unapplied intellect, mere talker and writer, and to adopt that life's flabby ideals, he had remained the man of ideas, the man of action. His learning was all but universal, yet he had the rugged, direct vigor of the man of affairs. His was not the knowledge that enfeebles, but the knowledge that empowers. As his son, the new executive of the university--with the figure of a Greek athlete, with positive character, will as well as intellect, stamped upon his young face--appeared in the crowd, the onlookers had the sense that a ”somebody” had arrived. Dory's always was the air an active mind never fails to give; as Judge Torrey once said: ”You've only got to look at him to see he's the kind that does things, not the kind that tells how they used to be done or how they oughtn't to be done.” Now there was in his face and bearing the subtly but surely distinguis.h.i.+ng quality that comes only with the strength a man gets when his fellows acknowledge his leaders.h.i.+p, when he has seen the creations of his brain materialize in work accomplished. Every successful man has this look, and shows it according to his nature--the arrogant arrogantly; the well-balanced with tranquil unconsciousness.

As he moved toward his father and Adelaide, her heart swelled with pride in him, with pride in her share in him. Ever since the sending of the cablegram to recall him, she had been wondering what she would feel at sight of him. Now she forgot all about her once-beloved self-a.n.a.lysis.

She was simply proud of him, enormously proud; other men seemed trivial beside this personage. Also she was a little afraid; for, as their eyes met, it seemed to her that his look of recognition and greeting was not so ardent as she was accustomed to a.s.sociate with his features when turned toward her. But before she could be daunted by her misgiving it vanished; for he impetuously caught her in his arms and, utterly forgetting the onlookers, kissed her until every nerve in her body was tingling in the sweeping flame of that pa.s.sion which his parting caress had stirred to vague but troublesome restlessness. And she, too, forgot the crowd, and shyly, proudly gave as well as received; so there began to vibrate between them the spark that clears brains and hearts of the fogs and vapors and keeps them clear. And it was not a problem in psychology that was revealed to those admiring and envying spectators in the brilliant September suns.h.i.+ne, but a man and a woman in love in the way that has been ”the way of a man with a maid” from the beginning; in love, and each looking worthy of the other's love--he handsome in his blue serge, she beautiful in a light-brown fall dress with pale-gold facings, and the fluffy, feathery boa close round her fair young face.

Civilization has changed methods, but not essentials; it is still not what goes on in the minds of a man and woman that counts, but what goes on in their hearts and nerves.

The old doctor did not in the least mind the momentary neglect of himself. He had always a.s.sumed that his son and Del loved each other, there being every reason why they should and no reason why they shouldn't; he saw only the natural and the expected in this outburst which astonished and somewhat embarra.s.sed them with the partial return of the self-consciousness that had been their curse. He beamed on them from eyes undimmed by half a century of toil, as bright under his s.h.a.ggy white brows as the first spring flowers among the snows. As soon as he had Dory's hand and his apparent attention, he said: ”I hope you've been getting your address ready on the train, as I suggested in my telegram.”

”I've got it in my bag,” replied Dory.

In the phaeton Del sat between them and drove. Dory forgot the honors he had come home to receive; he had eyes and thoughts only for her, was impatient to be alone with her, to rea.s.sure himself of the meaning of the blushes that tinted her smooth white skin and the shy glances that stole toward him from the violet eyes under those long lashes of hers. Dr.

Hargrave resumed the subject that was to him paramount. ”You see, Theodore, your steamer's being nearly two days late brings you home just a day before the installation. You'll be delivering, your address at eleven to-morrow morning.”

”So I shall,” said Dory absently.

”You say it's ready. Hadn't you better let me get it type-written for you?”

Dory opened the bag at his feet, gave his father a roll of paper. ”Please look it over, and make any changes you like.”

Dr. Hargrave began the reading then and there. He had not finished the first paragraph when Dory interrupted with, ”Why, Del, you're pa.s.sing our turning.”

Del grew crimson. The doctor, without looking up or taking his mind off the address, said: ”Adelaide gave up Mrs. Dorsey's house several weeks ago. You are living with us.”

Dory glanced at her quickly and away. She said nothing. ”He'll understand,” thought she--and she was right.

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