smile. Mr. and Mrs. Duroy went with them to her house. Andre, however, walked into the yard. She went to the side door because she had her bicycle. Mr. and Mrs. Duroy were waiting at the curb. As Jane was getting out her key, he pulled her quickly into the vestibule.
'Good-night,' said Andre, taking her in his arms.
*Good-night,' she breathed, against his Hps.
*I'll come — to-morrow afternoon — to see your father.*
*Oh, Andre,' she whispered fearfully.
'You're mine,' said Andre, 'and I'll never give you up.'
Jane unlocked the door.
'Good-night,' she said again, and smiled up at him. He blew her a Utde kiss. She slipped into the hall. He vanished, down the path. Jane closed the door and stood a moment, quite still, leaning against the panels. 'I'm his,' she thought. 'He'll never give me up.' It was very late. The family were all in bed. Jane turned out the back hall light. 'He loves me,' she thought, as she crept up the stairs. 'Andr6 loves me.' She paused a moment by her mother's door. She tapped gendy on the wooden panels.
'I'm in,' said Jane. A sleepy murmur was the only reply. Then, 'Did you turn out tlie Ught?'
'Yes,' said Jane and went on down the hall. 'He loves me,' she thought, as she opened her bedroom door. 'Andre loves mc*
m
Jane came downstairs, next morning, a little late to breakfast. The family were all at the table. Isabel was talking of Robin Bridges. He had invited her to go to the theatre with Rosalie and Freddy Waters. As Rosahe and Freddy were engaged, Isabel thought it would be quite proper for the four of them to go alone. But her mother was standing firm.
*No,' she said. 'Not vdthout a married couple.'
Jane slipped silently into her seat and unfolded her napkin. It seemed very strange to hear her mother and Isabel, arguing just as usual, and to see her father buried, as always, in the morning 'Tribune,' and to realize that for them this golden morning was just like any other. For her it opened a new era. Jane felt a littie guilty as she hugged her happy secret to her heart. And very much frightened. And terribly excited.
Just after breakfast the telephone rang. Jane rushed to the pantry to answer it. Yes, it was Andre. His voice sounded just a little confused, but cheerful, too.
'Hello,' he said. 'How — how are you?'
*Oh — I'm fine,' said Jane. Her heart was beating fast.
'Happy?' said Andre.
*Oh — yes,' breathed Jane. That was all. It seemed to satisfy Andr^.
'When does your father come home?' asked Andre.
'Half-past five,' said Jane.
'Mother thinks,' said Andre, 'that I — I oughtn't to sec you again, until I speak to him.'
'What else does she think?' asked Jane anxiously.
'Well,' said Andr6, and his voice sounded just a little rueful. 'She — she thinks it's all right — now.*
•What did your father say?' asked Jane.
Andre's voice seemed to hesitate.
'He — he was awfully surprised,' he said. 'Much more surprised than Mother. But they — they understood — after I talked to them.'
'Andre,' said Jane miserably, 'they don't like it.'
'Oh, yes — they do,' said Andre uncertainly. 'At least
' Then with increasing confidence, 'They Hke you^
Jane. It's — it's just what they think ' He stopped-
'We're young,' said Jane.
*Yes,' said Andr^.
'Well — we are,' said Jane.
'Anyway,' said Andr6 cheerfully, 'Father said of course I must tell your father.'
There was a little pause.
'It's really all right,' said Andre.
Jane wished she could be sure of that.
'Well — good-bye,' said Jane. 'I'll see you this afternoon.'
A funny little sound clicked in Jane's ear.
'That was a kiss,' said Andre. 'Good-bye — dear.'
Jane hung up the receiver and pressed her forehead weakly against the mouthpiece. Dear Andr6 — darling Andr6. She was terribly frightened. Yet radiantly happy, through and through. She could hear his voice still, with that funny little break at the end. 'Good-bye — dear.' He did love her. She had said she would marry him. Marr^' — Andr^. But they were much too young. Her mother
Jane walked slowly up the stairs to her own bedroom and closed the door. She sat down at the window and looked out at the willow tree. It seemed only yesterday that she and Andre had climbed it. The remnants of their tree house — a few weatherbeaten planks — were still visible in its middle branches. She was going to marry Andr6. She was going to be his wife.
At five o'clock Jane took up her stand in the parlor window to wait for her father. Isabel was out playing tennis, thank goodness, on the Superior Street courts. Her mother was in the kitchen superintending the solemn rites of the June jelly-making. You could smell the cooking currants all over the house. Presently Jane saw her father come around the corner In a moment he passed the parlor window. Jane leaned against the screen and watched him up the steps. He was whistling 'The Bowery' and looked a little warm but very
nice and carefree. Jane felt guilty again. She heard his key in the door,
Jane heard the door open and close and her father's quick step in the hall. She heard the click of his sailor hat as he dropped it on the bench beneath the hat-rack. Then his footsteps receded toward his library and were lost. Silence and the smell of cooking currants dominated the house once more.
She ought to go in, thought Jane, and — and talk to him She ought to break the ice for Andre. It would be terrible for Andre. She walked slowly toward the parlor door. At tlic entrance to the library she paused. Her father was seated at his desk, running through the afternoon mail.
'Come in, Kid,' he said.
Jane entered slowly. Her father went on opening letters. Jane stood beside the globe and looked down at him.
'What's the matter, Kid?' asked her father. 'You look as sober as a judge.'
'Nothing,' said Jane.
Her father threw some mail in the waste basket. Then he looked up again with a smile.
'Any one dead?' he inquired cheerfully.
'No,' said Jane.
'What's the trouble?' he asked. 'Been worrying about Bryn Mawr?'
'No,' said Jane. Bryn Mawr, indeed!
'Well — don't,' said her father. 'I'll see you get there.'
'Papa ' began Jane desperately, and stopped.
'Yes,' said her father.
'Papa,' said Jane again, 'I — I want you to hefp me.*
'All right,' said her father. 'I will.'
*I — I hope you will,' said Jane a litde desperately, then went on in a rush. 'I — I want you to understand. I want you
to remember that I — I'm not a — a child, any more. I want you to be good to Andr^. I want '
'Good to AndriT repeated her father. He looked very much astonished.
'Yes — good to Andre,' said Jane. And then the doorbell rang. She rushed incontinently from the room and halfway up the stair. Minnie was coming out of the pantry. Jane sat down, just above the first landing. Minnie opened the front door. Jane could see Andre quite distinctly, from the dark of the staircase. He couldn't see her.
*Is Mr. Ward in?' he asked. His voice sounded very brave and steady to Jane.
*Yes,' said Minnie and led him to the library door.
*Mr. Ward?' Jane heard him say, on the threshold. And then her father's voice. 'Come in, Andre.' She heard her father's footsteps. Andre vanished into the library. An unknown hand closed the door.
Jane sat quite still, crouched down beside the bannisters. She couldn't hear a thing. Not even the sound of muffled voices. It was dark on the staircase. The afternoon sunshine came slanting in, below, through the ground-glass panels of the front door. Little motes were dancing in it, up and down the hall. Jane clasped her hands and really prayed for Andre. She was praying to her father, she thought, though, not to God. Praying to her father, through that closed Hbrary door, to unders
tand, to reaUze, to be good to Andr^. The minutes slowly passed. It was so quiet she could hear the clock tick in the dining room.
Presently her mother came out through the pantry door. She had on a long white apron, stained with currant juice, and her hair was ruffled. She looked very flushed and pretty after an afternoon in the hot kitchen. But not very neat. She noticed Andre's hat on the hat-rack, immediately.
*Who is here, Minnie?' she called over her shoulder.
'Mr. Andr^,' said Minnie from the pantry.
'Where is he?' asked her mother.
'He asked for Mr. Ward,' said Minnie.
'For Mr. Ward?' said Jane's mother incredulously. Then after a pregnant pause, 'Where is he, now?'
'They're both in the library,' said Minnie.
Then Jane's mother perceived Jane. She looked her up and down as she sat crouched on the staircase.
'What does Andr6 want of your father?' she said.
Jane didn't reply.
'Jane!' said Jane's mother.
Jane stared at her in silence.
'What does this mean?' said Jane's mother.
'Oh, Mamma!' pleaded Jane, suddenly finding her voice. 'Please — please don't — spoil it. Let liim talk to Papa! Oh, Mamma '
Without another word, regardless alike of Jane's imploring entreaties and her own currant-stained apron, Mrs. Ward opened the library door. She closed it after her. Jane sat quite still, for several minutes, in horror. Then she heard her mother's voice raised in incredulous indignation behind the closed door.
*1 never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life! John, you haven't been listening to them? Andre — it — it's perfectly absurd '
Jane waited to hear no more. She flung herself hotly down the stairs and burst in at the library door.
Her father was sitting very quietly in a leather armchair and Andr6 was erect at his side. Her mother stood in the centre of the room, her flushed, indignant face turned toward the men before her. She looked quickly at Jane.
'Jane, leave the room,' she said.
*I won't,' said Jane. And closed the door behind her. Her father held out his hand.
'Come here, Kid,' he said. Jane rushed to his side. She looked quickly up at Andr^. She hoped her heart was in her eyes. Andre smiled steadily dov/n at her. He looked shaken, however.
Jane ' began her mother again.
'Lizzie,' said her father, and there was a note in his voice Jane had never heard before. 'Leave this to me.'
Her mother, with compressed Ups, sank down in the other armchair. Her father pressed Jane's hand very kindly.
'Kid,' he said gently. 'You know this won't do.*
^What won't do?' cried Jane in desperation.
Her father still held her hand.
'You —you and Andre can't — get married.'
'Why not?' flashed Jane.
'Because you're children,^ said her father. It was terribly true.
*I don't care!' said Jane.
'Well, I do,' said her father. 'And so does your mother. And so do Andre's parents. He very honestly told me that. And so does Andre, really. Andre doesn't want to persuade you to do anything that isn't right — that won't bring you happiness '
Happiness! Jane threw a tearful glance at Andre. He looked very proud and stern, standing there before her father. He gave her a tremulous smile.
'Papa,' said Jane, 'I know I'd be happy with Andre '
'Don't talk Uke that!' cried her mother sharply. But her father silenced her.
'You think so now. Kid,' he said kindly. 'But you can't tell. You don't know anything about it, either of you. Andre's nineteen years old. He's got five or six years of education
ahead of him, on his own say-so, before he can be any kind oi a sculptor. You were seventeen last month. You've known Andre for four years and you've never said three words to any other boy. You canU know your own mind and he can't know his, either. Five or six years from now, you might both understand what you were talking about. Andre's going to France next week, to live. He's a Frenchman and that's where he belongs. You've got to stay here with your mother and mc and grow up into a woman before you talk about marrying any one.'
'I — I don't have to — marry him,' said Jane faindy. 'I just want to — to promise that I will when we're old enough. I just want '
*Jane,' said her mother very reasonably, 'we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We don't have to think of that now.*
'I just — want to — wait for him,' faltered Jane. Then, with a flash of spirit, 'You can't help my waiting!'
*Of course not,' said her father pacifically. 'But no promises, Andr6, on either side.'
'And no letters,' put in her mother. Jane's father shook his head at her, but she insisted. 'No, John. No letters until Jane's twenty-one. You must promise that, Andre. I won't have her tied down to any understanding.'
'I guess that's right, Andre,' said Jane's father soberly. 'You'd better promise.'
Jane and Andre exchanged a glance of despair. There was a brief pause.
'How about it, my boy?' said Jane's father.
'I — I promise,* said Andre huskily.
Jane's mother gave a sigh of reUef. She had the situation in hand now.
*I think you had better go, Andr6,' she said very kindly.
'Can I see Jane again?' Andr6 asked.
*I think you'd better not,' said Jane's mother. *It would only be painful.'
'Then I'd like — I'd like ' said Andre steadily, 'to say
good-bye to her now.*
'Of course,' said Jane's father, very promptly rising. 'Come, Lizzie.'
Jane's mother looked very reluctant to leave the room.
'I don't hke this,' she said.
'Mrs. Ward,' said Andre, 'you can trust me.'
Jane's father threw him an admiring glance. He fairly pushed her mother from the room. He closed the door behind them. Jane turned to gaze at Andre.
'Andre,' she said breathlessly, 'what — what can we do?'
'We can wait,' said Andre. 'And we can think of each other.'
'Andre,' said Jane earnestly, 'did — did your father and mother talk like that, too?'
'They didn't talk hke that — but they thought the same things. I — I could see them thinking.'
'They didn't — hke it?'
'They like you,' said Andre. 'Father said you were a girl in a thousand.'
'Well, then ?' said Jane.
'Mother thought I was much too young and she thought I ought to be able to support a wife before I asked a girl to marry me. She thought it was pretty rotten — my asking you. And Father — well, Father had always expected me to marry in France, of course. And we're — we're all Cathohcs. That doesn't mean much to me, but it does to him. But when I told them how — how I felt about you — well, they said — all
right I could try my luck with your father. I — didn't
have much. Though he was awfully decent. I haven't a leg
to stand on, of course. I can^t support you and I — I've got to go to France — you — you — understand that, Jane — I've got to go — to study, you know, if I'm ever going to amount to anything. Father and Mother both said that. I couldn't do anything here. I — I guess I don't sound like much of a son-in-law '
'But, Andre,' said Jane, 'do you mean — do you mean that there's nothing, absolutely nothing, that we can do?'
'Well,* said Andre, 'what is there?' What was there, indeed?
'I — I shouldn't have asked you,' said Andre.
*Oh, Andre!' cried Jane. 'You must never think that!'
'Why not?' said Andre,
'You made me so happy,' said Jane simply.
Andre took a quick step toward her. Then he stopped. He remembered.
'Oh, Jane!' he said, and dropped down on the sofa. 'Jane
— my love!' He buried liis face in his hands.
Jane sank down on her knees beside him. She pulled his hands away from his face. Andre was crying. She took him in her arms.
&n
bsp; 'Andre,' she said breathlessly, 'Andrei' She looked eagerly up at him.
*I — I promised your mother,' he said huskily.
*I didn't promise any one!' cried Jane desperately. 'Andre
— you must kiss me good-bye!'
He took her in his arms. His Hps met hers. The world was lost again. But this time Jane knew that it was really there, pressing close about them, menacing them, parting them, saying they were — young. She shpped from his embrace. She rose to her feet. Andre stood up, too, and held out his hands. She seized them in her own. He stooped to kiss her fingers.
'Good-bye,' he said.
go Years of Grace
*Andre/ she said, 'I'll always *
He managed a wavering smile.
*No promises,' he said. 'Just thoughts.'
'All my thoughts!' said Jane. He stumbled toward the door. On the threshold he turned again.
'Good-bye,* he said.
'Andre!' cried Jane. 'I — I can't bear it!' She heard her father's voice in the hall.
'I'm sorry, Andre. You — you've behaved so well, both of you.' Their steps died down the passage. Jane heard the front door open and close. She rushed to the window. Andr6 was walking, furiously fast, up Pine Street. At the corner he turned to look back. She waved wildly. She kissed her hand. He smiled again, very bravely. Then turned and vanished. Jane flung herself face downward on the sofa. The mark of Andre's elbow was still on the pillow. She buried her face in it passionately. She heard her father enter the room. He walked slowly over to the sofa.
'Little Jane,' he said, 'don't cry like that.'
Jane only buried her face the deeper. There was a little pause,
'Kid,' said her father, 'you're so young that you don't know that you'll get over it. You get over everything.'
Jane thought that was a horrible philosophy. She heard her father moving about a little helplessly. Then he bent over and touched her shoulder.
'I'll see you go to Bryn Mawr,' he said, 'with Agnes.*
'Oh, let me alone!' cried Jane. 'Just — let — me — alone!' She heard her father turn and walk quietly out of the room. Jane put both her arms tightly around Andre's pillow. She was sobbing as if her heart would break. She thought it was breaking.
Years of Grace Page 8