CHAPTER XIV
Edith's first winter in Mercer went pretty well; she was not fussy aboutwhat she had to eat; "I can always stoke on bread and butter," she said,cheerfully; and she was patient with the aging Bingo's yappingjealousies; "The smaller a dog is, the more jealous he is!" she said,with good-humored contempt; and she didn't mind Eleanor'sspeechlessness. "_I_ talk!" Edith said. But Maurice?... "I love him nextto father and mother," Edith thought; but, all the same, she didn't knowwhat to make of Maurice! He had very little to say to her--which madeher feel annoyingly young, and made him seem so old and stern thatsometimes she could hardly realize that he was the Maurice of thehenhouse, and the camp, and the squabbles. Instead, he was the Mauriceof that night on the river, the "Sir Walter Raleigh" Maurice! Once in awhile she was quite shy with him. "He's awfully handsome," she thought,and her eyes dreamed. "What a clod Johnny is, compared to him!" ... Asfor Eleanor, Edith, being as unobservant as most sixteen-year-old girls,saw only the lovely dark eyes and the beautiful brow under the ripple ofsoft black hair, Eleanor's sterile silences did not trouble her, and shenever knew that the traces of tears meant a helpless consciousness thatdinner had been a failure. The fact was, she never noticed Eleanor'slooks! She merely thought Maurice's wife was old, and didn't "get muchfun out of life--she just plays on the piano!" Edith thought. Pain ofmind or body was, to Edith--as probably it ought to be toYouth--unintelligible; so she had no sympathy. In fact, being sixteen,she had still the hard heart of a child.
It may have been the remembrance of Sir Walter Raleigh that made her,one night, burst into reminiscent questions:
"Maurice! Do you remember the time that boat upset, and that girl--allpainted, you know--flopped around in the water?"
Maurice said, briefly, why, yes; he believed he remembered.
"I remember that girl, too," Eleanor said; "Maurice told me about her."
"Well, what do you suppose?" Edith said; "I saw her to-day."
Maurice, pushing back his chair, got up and went into the little roomopening into the dining room, which they called the library. At hisdesk, his pen in his hand, his jaw set, he sat listening--listening!What in hell would she say next? What she said was harmless enough:
"Yes, I saw her. I was walking home, and on Maple Street who should Isee going into a house but this woman! She was lugging a flower pot, anda baby. And,--now, isn't this funny?--she sort of stumbled at the gate,_right by me_! And I grabbed her, and kept the child from falling; and Isaid--" In the library Maurice's face was white--"I said, 'Why, _I_ sawyou once--you're Miss Dale. Your boat upset,' And she said, 'You havethe advantage of me.' Of course she isn't a lady, you know."
Eleanor smiled, and called significantly to her husband, "Edith saysyour rescued friend isn't a 'lady,' Maurice!" He didn't answer, and sheadded to Edith, "No; she certainly isn't a lady! Darling," she calledagain; "do you suppose she's got married?"
To which he answered, "Where did I put those sheets of blotting paper,Eleanor?"
"Oh yes, she's married," Edith said, scraping her plate; "she told meher name was _Mrs_. Henry Dale. She couldn't seem to remember Mauricegiving her his coat, which I thought was rather funny in her, 'causeMaurice is so handsome you'd think she'd remember him. And I said he was'Mr. Curtis,' and she said she'd never heard the name. I got to talkingto her," ("I bet you did," Maurice thought, despairingly); "and she toldme that 'Jacky' had had the measles, and been awfully sick, but he wasall well now, and she'd taken him into Mercer to get him a cap."("What's Lily mean by bringing the Thing into town!" Jacky's father wassaying through set teeth.) "She was perfectly bursting with pride abouthim," Edith went on; "said he was 'a reg'lar rascal'! Isn't it queerthat I should meet her, after all these years?"
When Eleanor went into the library to hunt for the blotting paper, she,too, commented on the queerness of Edith's stumbling on the lady whowasn't a lady. "How small the world is!" said Eleanor. "Why, Maurice,here's the paper! Right before you!"
"Oh," said Maurice, "yes; thank you." He was saying to himself, "I mighthave known this kind of thing would happen!" He was consumed withanxiety to ask Edith some questions, but of course he had to be silent.To show even the slightest interest was impossible--and Edithvolunteered no further information, for that night Eleanor took occasionto intimate to her that "Mrs. Dale" must not be referred to. "You can'tspeak of that kind of person, you know."
"Why not?" Edith said.
"Well, she isn't--nice. She wasn't married. And Edith, it really isn'tgood taste to tell a man, right to his face, that he's handsome! I don'tthink any man likes flattery."
"You mean because I said Maurice was handsome? I didn't say it to hisface--he was in the library. And it isn't flattery to tell the truth. Heis! As for Mrs. Dale, she _is_ married; this little Jacky was her baby!She said so. He had the bluest eyes! I never saw such blue eyes--exceptMaurice's. 'Course she's not a lady; but I don't see what right you haveto say she isn't nice."
Eleanor, laughing, threw up despairing hands; "Edith, don't you know_anything_?"
"I know _everything_," Edith said, affronted; "I'm sixteen. Of course Iknow what you mean; but Mrs. Dale isn't--that. And," Edith ended, onthe spur of the moment, "and I'm going to see her sometime!" The underdog always appealed to Edith Houghton, and when Eleanor left her,appalled by her failure to instill proprieties into her, Edith wasdistinctly hot. "I'm not going to see her!" she told herself. "Iwouldn't think of such a thing. But I won't listen to Eleanor abusingher."
As for Eleanor, she confided her alarm to Maurice. "She mustn't go tosee that woman!"
His instant horrified agreement was a satisfaction to her: "Of _course_not!"
"She won't listen to _me_," Eleanor complained; "you'll have to tell hershe mustn't."
"I will," he said, grimly.
And the very next day he did. He happened (as it seemed) to start forhis office just as Edith started for school, so they walked alongtogether.
"Edith," he said, the moment they were clear of his own doorway andEleanor's ears; "that Mrs. Dale; I'd keep away from her, if I were you."
"Goodness!" said Edith; "did you suppose I was going to fall into herarms? Why should I have anything to do with her?"
"Eleanor said you said--"
"Oh, I just said that because Eleanor was down on her, and that made memad. I couldn't go and see her, if I was dying to--'cause I don't knowwhere she lives--unless it was that house she was going into? Do youknow, Maurice?"
"Great Scott! How should I know where she lives?"
"'Course not," said Edith.
But it was many days before Maurice's alarm quieted down sufficiently tolet him drift back into the furtive security of knowing that neitherEdith nor Eleanor could, by any possibility, get on Lily's track. "And,besides, Lily's too good a sport to give anything away. Pretty neat inher to 'forget' that coat! But she ought to be careful not to forget herhusband's name!--it seems to be Henry, now."
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