Part 30 (1/2)

”But--won't I _ever_ know?”

Mrs. Sheridan shrugged her broad shoulders and frowned slightly.

”That I can't say, my dear,” she said, gently. ”Some day I may be released from my bond, and then I'll be glad to tell you everything.”

”Perhaps Wolf will tell me he's nothing to me, now!” the girl continued, with childish temper.

”Wolf--and all of us--think that there's n.o.body like you,” the older woman said, tenderly. But Norma did not brighten. She went in a businesslike way to the stove, and glanced at the various bowls and saucepans in which dinner was baking and boiling, then sliced some stale bread neatly, put the shaved crusts in a special jar, and began to toast the slices with a charming precision.

”Change your mind and stay with us, Aunt Kate?” she said, lifelessly.

”No, dear, I'm going!” And Aunt Kate really did bundle herself into coat and rubber overshoes and woolly scarf again. ”November's coming in with a storm,” she predicted, glancing out at the darkness, where the wind was rus.h.i.+ng and howling drearily.

Norma did not answer. No mere rus.h.i.+ng of clouds and whirl of dry and colourless leaves could match the storm of disappointment that was beginning to rage in her own heart.

Yet she felt a pang of repentance, when cheerful Aunt Kate had tramped off in the dark, to Rose's house, which was five blocks away, and perhaps afterward to the desolate Barrys', and wished that she had put her arms about the big square shoulders, and her cheek against her aunt's cheek, and said that she was sorry to be unreasonable.

Rus.h.i.+ng to another extreme of unreason, she decided that she and Wolf must go see Rose to-night--and perhaps the Barrys, too--and cheer and solace them all. And Norma indulged in a little dream of herself nursing and cooking in the Barrys' six little cluttered rooms, and earning golden opinions from all the group. There was money, too; she had not used all of October's allowance, and to-morrow would find another big check at the bank.

Wolf interrupted by coming in so tired he could hardly move. He ate his dinner, yawned amiably in the kitchen while she cleared it away, and was so sound asleep at nine o'clock that Norma's bedside light and the rustling of the pages of her book, three feet away from his face, had no more effect upon him than if the three feet had been three hundred.

And then the bitter mood came back to her again; the bored, restless, impatient feeling that her life was a stupid affair. And deep in her heart the sense of hurt and humiliation grew and spread; the thought that she was not of the charmed circle of the Melroses, not secretly and romantically akin to them, she was merely the casual object of the old lady's fantastic sense of obligation. Aunt Kate, who had never said what was untrue--who, Norma and her children firmly believed, could not say what was untrue--had taken away, once and for all, the veil of mystery and romance that had wrapped Norma for three exciting years.

For Leslie, and Katrina, and Mary Bishop, perhaps, travel and the thrill of foreign sh.o.r.es or European courts. But for Wolf Sheridan's wife, this small, orderly, charming house on the edge of the New Jersey woods, and the laundry to think of every Monday, and the two-days' ordering to remember every Sat.u.r.day, as long as the world went round!

For a few days Norma really suffered in spirit, then the natural healthy current of her life reestablished itself, and she philosophically determined to make the best of the matter. If she was not Aunt Annie's daughter and Leslie's cousin, she was at least their friend. They--even unsuspecting of any strange relations.h.i.+p--had always been kind to her.

And Aunt Marianna and Aunt Alice had been definitely affectionate, to say nothing of Chris!

So one day, when she happened to be shopping in the winter briskness of the packed and brilliant Avenue, she telephoned Leslie at about the luncheon hour. Leslie when last they met had said that she would confidently expect Norma to run out and lunch with her some day--any day.

”Who is it?” Leslie's voice asked, irritably, when at last the telephone connection was established. ”Oh, _Norma_! Oh----? What is it?”

”Just wondering how you all were, and what the family news is,” Norma said, with an uncomfortable inclination to falter.

”I don't _hear_ you!” Leslie protested, impatiently. The insignificant inquiry did not seem to gain much by repet.i.tion, and Norma's cheeks burned in shame when Leslie followed it by a blank little pause.

”Oh--everyone's fine. The baby wasn't well, but she's all right now.”

Another slight pause, then Norma said:

”She must be adorable--I'd like to see her.”

”She's not here now,” Leslie answered, quickly.

”I've been shopping,” Norma said. ”Any chance that you could come down town and lunch with me?”

”No, I really couldn't, to-day!” Leslie answered, lightly and promptly.

A moment later Norma said good-bye. She walked away from the telephone booth with her face burning, and her heart beating quickly with anger and resentment.