Part 11 (2/2)

He determined to proceed directly to Stephen Jannan, and put into motion at once the solving of his daughter's future. Never, he repeated, should Eunice fall again into the lax hands of Essie Scofield. Stephen would advise him shrewdly, taking advantage of the law, or skilfully overcoming its obstacles. He had unbounded faith in the power of money where Essie was concerned; at the same time he had no intention of laying himself open to endless extortion, threats, almost inevitable, ultimate scandal. What a bog he had strayed into, a quagmire reaching about him in every direction. He must discover firmer ground ahead, release from the act of that other man, his youth. The memory of the serene purity of Miss Brundon's office recurred to him like a breath from the open s.p.a.ces where he had first known the deep pleasure of an utter freedom of spirit.

Jasper Penny, revolving the complications of his position, made his way directly over the uneven sidewalk of Spruce Street to Fourth; there, pa.s.sing the high, narrow residences of Society Hill, he proceeded to Stephen's office, beyond Chestnut. It was in a square brick edifice of an earlier period, with a broad marble step and door and wide windows coped in scoured white stone. The lawyer's private chamber was bare, with snowy panelling and mahogany, the high sombre shelves of a calf-bound law library, a ponderous cabriolet table, st.u.r.dy, rush-seated Dutch chairs, and a Franklin stove with slender bra.s.s capitols and s.h.i.+ning hod.

”A chair, Jasper,” Stephen Jannan directed. ”You ought to know them, they came out of Myrtle Forge--some of old Gilbert's. Your mother gave them to me when she did over the house in this new French fancy.” Jasper Penny was momentarily at a loss for an adequate opening of the subject that had brought him there. Finally he plunged directly into his purpose. ”You must know, Stephen,” he said, ”that I am decidedly obligated to a Mrs. Scofield.” Jannan nodded shortly. ”The thing dragged on for a number of years, but is quite dead now; in fact, it has been for a considerable number of months. That, in itself, doesn't bother me; it is comparatively simple; but there is a child, a girl, Stephen.”

”I didn't know that,” the other acknowledged. ”It is an ugly difficulty.

Do you wish to legitimatize your--the child? There is marriage of course.”

”I have no intention of marrying Essie Scofield,” Jasper Penny said coldly. ”And I am almost certain she wouldn't consent if I had. I am quite willing to a.s.sume a proper responsibility; but there is a limit to my conception of that. There was never any serious question of marriage; there is none now. I simply wish to get complete control of Eunice; by adoption, perhaps; she is seven years old.”

”There are no laws of adoption, as such, in Pennsylvania,” Jannan told him. ”The only State with that provision is Louisiana; there, by an act of Legislature, the thing can be legalized. I could arrange it through correspondence, a certain residence within the State. It would be c.u.mbersome and expensive, but possible.” He paused, frowning. ”Devilish awkward,” he muttered; ”make a stench in a family such as ours.

However,” he added, ”a contract practically to the same effect can be drawn. This, with her consent, would be entirely binding on Mrs.

Scofield. If the child can write it would be well to have her signature on the deed. Bring them here; she should have counsel.”

”After that, I suppose, the name could be arranged.”

”Exactly. The child, of course, would have no legal status as your heir.

Anything she got would have to be willed direct.” The other nodded. It was all far more simple than he had hoped. He almost saw a definite lightening of the future. ”Is the girl with her mother now?” Jannan queried.

”I took her away yesterday,” Jasper Penny replied negligently. ”We went to the Circus, and at present she is at Miss Brandon's Academy.” He was surprised by the sudden concern on his cousin's handsome, florid countenance. ”By heaven, Jasper,” the lawyer exclaimed, ”am I to understand that you took a--well, an illegitimate child, to Miss Brundon, left her in the School? It's--it's incredible.”

”Why not?”

”If such a thing were known it would ruin Susan Brundon over night.

Haven't you a conception of how this is regarded? She would be stripped of pupils as if the place reeked of malignant fever. A most beastly egotistical and selfish act.”

”Never thought of that,” Jasper Penny admitted. He saw again the fine, sensitive face of Miss Brundon, presiding over the establishment that was like an emanation of her diffident and courageous spirit; the last person alive he would harm. And people were exactly as Stephen had said, particularly women. They would destroy Susan Brundon ruthlessly, without a moment's hesitation. He thought of her as suffering incalculably, betrayed by his implied lie; he saw her eyes stricken with pain, her hands twisting together.... He rose sharply.

”A blind, infernal fool!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, grasping his hat. ”I'm glad I saw you when I did. Put it right at once. Obliged, Stephen; come to you later about changing my will and the rest.”

He was in such haste to remove the danger of Eunice from Susan Brundon that not until he again stood at the door of the Academy did he realize what a difficult explanation lay before him. Unconsciously he had reached a point where he would do his utmost to avoid hurting her.

Already she occupied an unusual elevation in his thoughts, an unworldly plane bathed in a white radiance.

She was not in the office, but soon appeared, with a questioning gaze; and, he felt, an appealing lessening of her reserve. He hesitated, casting vainly about for an acceptable expression of his errand. Another lie, he thought, acutely distressed, must be necessary. ”I am extremely sorry, Miss Brandon,” he told her, ”but unexpected developments in the last hour make it necessary for me to remove Eunice from your school.”

A slow flush invaded her countenance lifted to meet his troubled gaze.

”Mr. Penny!” she exclaimed, in a faint dismay. ”Oh, I hope it is because of nothing--nothing derogatory you have heard. Please tell me directly--”

”Absolutely no,” he replied, his voice carrying a vibrating rea.s.surance.

”You are entirely without the need of recommendation, far beyond any unfavourable report. I am profoundly disturbed by causing you inconvenience, and I only hope to offer you sufficient apology; but I shall have to take Eunice away with me, at once.”

”Perhaps her mother can't bear separation.”

”It is not that,” he said grimly, a tangible hurt sharpening within; ”but something that cannot be gone into, with you.” She turned away immediately. ”I will send for her,” she replied. They stood facing but mutually avoiding each other's gaze while Eunice was being fetched.

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