Part 26 (1/2)

Aunt Selina held service that morning. Jim said that he always had a prayer book, but that he couldn't find anything with so many people in the house. So Aunt Selina read some religious poetry out of the newspapers, and gave us a valuable talk on Deception versus Honesty, with me as the ill.u.s.tration.

Almost everybody took a nap after luncheon. I stayed in the den and read Ibsen, and felt very mournful. And after Hedda had shot herself, I lay down on the divan and cried a little--over Hedda; she was young and it was such a tragic ending--and then I fell asleep.

When I wakened Mr. Harbison was standing by the table, and he held my book in his hands. In view of the armed neutrality between us, I expected to see him bow to me curtly, turn on his heel and leave the room. Indeed, considering his state of mind the night before, I should hardly have been surprised if he had thrown Hedda at my head. (This is not a pun. I detest them.) But instead, when he heard me move he glanced over at me and even smiled a little.

”She wasn't worth it,” he said, indicating the book.

”Worth what?”

”Your tears. You were crying over it, weren't you?”

”She was very unhappy,” I a.s.serted indifferently. ”She was married and she loved some one else.”

”Do you really think she did?” he asked. ”And even so, was that a reason?”

”The other man cared for her; he may not have been able to help it.”

”But he knew that she was married,” he said virtuously, and then he caught my eye and he saw the a.n.a.logy instantly, for he colored hotly and put down the book.

”Most men argue that way,” I said. ”They argue by the book, and--they do as they like.”

He picked up a j.a.panese ivory paper weight from the table, and stood balancing it across his finger.

”You are perfectly right,” he said at last. ”I deserve it all. My grievance is at myself. Your--your beauty, and the fact that I thought you were unhappy, put me--beside myself. It is not an excuse; it is a weak explanation. I will not forget myself again.”

He was as abject as any one could have wished. It was my minute of triumph, but I can not pretend that I was happy. Evidently it had been only a pa.s.sing impulse. If he had really cared, now that he knew I was free, he would have forgotten himself again at once. Then a new explanation occurred to me. Suppose it had been Bella all the time, and the real shock had been to find that she had been married!

”The fault of the situation was really mine,” I said magnanimously; ”I quite blame myself. Only, you must believe one thing. You never furnished us any amus.e.m.e.nt.” I looked at him sidewise. ”The discovery that Bella and Jim were once married must have been a great shock.”

”It was a surprise,” he replied evenly. His voice and his eyes were inscrutable. He returned my glance steadily. It was infuriating to have gone half-way to meet him, as I had, and then to find him intrenched in his self-sufficiency again. I got up.

”It is unfortunate that our acquaintance has begun so unfavorably,” I remarked, preparing to pa.s.s him. ”Under other circ.u.mstances we might have been friends.”

”There is only one solace,” he said. ”When we do not have friends, we can not lose them.”

He opened the door to let me pa.s.s out, and as our eyes met, all the coldness died out of his. He held out his hand, but I was hurt. I refused to see it.

”Kit!” he said unsteadily. ”I--I'm an obstinate, pig-headed brute. I am sorry. Can't we be friends, after all?”

”'When we do not have friends we can not lose them,'” I replied with cool malice. And the next instant the door closed behind me.

It was that night that the really serious event of the quarantine occurred.

We were gathered in the library, and everybody was deadly dull. Aunt Selina said she had been reared to a strict observance of the Sabbath, and she refused to go to bed early. The cards and card tables were put away and every one sat around and quarreled and was generally nasty, except Bella and Jim, who had gone into the den just after dinner and firmly closed the door.

I think it was just after Max proposed to me. Yes, he proposed to me again that night. He said that Jim's illness had decided him; that any of us might take sick and die, shut in that contaminated atmosphere, and that if he did he wanted it all settled. And whether I took him or not he wanted me to remember him kindly if anything happened. I really hated to refuse him--he was in such deadly earnest. But it was quite unnecessary for him to have blamed his refusal, as he did, on Mr.

Harbison. I am sure I had refused him plenty of times before I had ever heard of the man. Yes, it was just after he proposed to me that Flannigan came to the door and called Mr. Harbison out into the hall.

Flannigan--like most of the people in the house--always went to Mr.

Harbison when there was anything to be done. He openly adored him, and--what was more--he did what Mr. Harbison ordered without a word, while the rest of us had to get down on our knees and beg.