VIII

ES, I'm in," Bessie John murmured to the echo of the maid's retreating footsteps, "but why in the world didn't you say I was out? Why don't you always say 'out' to Aunt Blanche? But one has to pay more for servants who can do that with the proper air. I wonder why? You'd think it was an easy accomplishment to acquire. Stella did it beautifully-she never made a mistake but she wouldn't do a thing for the twinnies when Nurse was out, and she wanted her wages raised every month. A social sense below stairs comes very high. Nurse's social sense is all we can afford. I have to go without one, myself, to pay for hers. As for you, darling"-Philip John was in the room, watching her idly as she prepared herself to descend-"you never had one, did you? Yours are the manners of the original theocracy. A Levite who married into one of the Lost Tribes. Shocking!"

she is. But, you see, when you're about, she dimly discerns the sty. So she doesn't let herself go. And she's no fun at all unless she does. If I've got to see her, I want to get comedy out of it."

Mrs. John, still reluctant, lingered a little on the threshold.

"Why did you back her up, Bess?" The question was an anachronism; it referred to events of nearly a year before, when the Johns and at least one other had been very uncomfortable in Mr. Reid's office. But Bessie John had always known it would some day be asked, and she took time to answer it.

"I didn't, Philip. She backed me up. Which is a very different matter."

Then she went, for she did not care to discuss it further now. Bessie John had been miraculously preserved, at that time, from a serious disagreement with her husband; preserved, as she piously acknowledged to herself, by the startling intervention of Walter Leaven. He had driven them all violently forth from any participation in Miss Wheaton's affairs, had taken over the whole situation him

"I don't blame you for not wanting to see that dreadful old woman," he offered genially. "Want me to come down and help?"

"You don't help, Pilly-Winky." She shrugged her shoulders. 'Aunt Blanche is afraid of you. She knows you're a Christian, and that you know she isn't. I mean, theology aside, you're the real thing; and, if you ask my opinion, I don't believe Aunt Blanche will get a look-in on the Day of Judgment."

hour need positively never have been. He would permit no "subscriptions" even from the Johns or Mrs. Williston; and this information had been passed on to them so quickly by Mr. Reid that Bessie had never had to quarrel with her husband over the amount. No one knew, not even John, how grateful Bessie was to be relieved of such a necessity. She did not call Leaven a saint, but she was not far from thinking him an angel. He had seemed to intervene, that is, supernaturally. Thanks to Leaven, they had only come to the brink of quarrelling; they had never had really to begin. Neither of them had ever been anxious to; and, as far as she could see, they never, never would have to, now.

Bessie was dressed in black, and she and Mrs. Williston sat sombrely opposite each other in the sea-captain's front parlor.

"I should have thought they did their best." Bessie knew the reply was not the right one; but she was annoyed that Aunt Blanche should have turned up on one of Philip's rare days of freedom.

Mrs. John's tone had been colorless enough, but Mrs. Williston scented prejudice in it. Irony she was incapable of recognizing-which may have been why Bessie John kept up the intimacy. With prices where they were, a wife and mother had to take her pleasure where she could get it cheapest.

"Bessie, I don't believe you know what I have to bear. I have no complaint to make I am not a complaining person but I am sensitive, and to have my most serious advice disregarded, completely disregarded . . .” Her handkerchief came out of her bag.

"Oh... they seem so courteous, Aunt Blanche." Her vivid memories of that slavish household forced the speech from her.

"Is this generation ever courteous? But, of course, I make allowances for that. I do not complain, I tell you-you will never find me complaining-but it is hard not to be loved by one's own. I pray you may never have it to bear." She shook her head, as if she had the vision of basely ungrateful grown-up twins. "They respect me, but I do not feel I have their confidence. I have to ask questions. . . Sometimes I wonder if all I have done for them has been in vain. Have you ever noticed that the most unselfish persons get the least gratitude?"

"Yes, often." Bessie's voice was quite empty of irony this time.

But that is not what I came to talk about," Mrs. Williston went on. "I feel it my duty to go and see Cordelia Wheaton. You know she is very ill. I have purposely kept away for a good many weeks. When she first came back, I meant to see her often. I thought that the countenance of an old friend might be welcome. Especially an old friend who,

if I do say it, has kept the respect of a modest and godly circle. I said to myself: 'Blanche Williston, isn't it your duty to go over into Macedonia and help?' It wasn't easy. I have grown used to working with sympathetic Christian souls-our board meetings are more like prayer-meetings, Bessie, than mere business occasions. But I said: perhaps it is too pleasant for me, too easy where I am; perhaps I ought to go into the outer darkness and find Cordelia. And I tried. I made my sacrifices. I refused the chairmanship of the executive committee of our new church auxiliary to the Liberian Religious Aid, because I felt that at any time of the day or night I might be called on to wrestle for Cordelia's soul. . . . And besides, Bessie"-she bent forward, almost whispering-"I said to myself: that poor misguided creature shall know that there is one respectable woman who does not avoid her; who goes to her, as a friend, in broad daylight."

"But what do you mean, Aunt Blanche?" Mrs. John had not seen Mrs. Williston for some time, to be sure, but certainly it would take decades to brew a scandal about poor, broken Cordelia Wheaton.

"Why, surely you knew, Bessie. Miss Bean would have taken her in, I believe, if she had been well paid. They could have done light housekeeping somewhere. It was what I originally suggested, if you remember. I don't know how long it would have lasted, but it would have been a step in the right direction. But Cordelia's evil genius stepped in and took her to himself. Surely you knew, Bessie -if you did not, you have been very remiss-that for three months Cordelia has been living with Mr. Leaven."

"Oh, that!" Bessie John gave a light sigh of disappointment. "Why, naturally I've known that, ever since it happened. I thought you were talking about a scandal. 'Why have you got such big teeth, grandmother?'"

Mrs. Williston glared at her silently. "It's out of 'Red Riding Hood,' Aunt Blanche." Bessie grew impatient. mean, I honestly thought for a minute that Miss Wheaton had given you some reason to be shocked. I didn't know but she had thrown a bronze Buddha at you."

"Do you mean to tell me, Bessie John, that you think Cordelia Wheaton should live with a man she is not married to?" Mrs. John regarded her caller with open mouth. Then she began to giggle. The giggle grew on her, turned to an hysterical laugh. It was a moment or two before she could speak. Mrs. Williston had never recovered from the glare, and now the glare showed signs of intensifying itself. Bessie John put up a hand to plead for silence until she was fit to speak.

"Why-why-Aunt Blanche!" she cried feebly. "Do you mean to tell me that you think there is anything shocking in that? Why, they're both on the edge of the grave.'

"So am I on the edge of the grave, as you so politely put it, Bessie. But I think you would be shocked if I went to live with Walter Leaven."

Mrs. John's newly won gravity forsook her. She giggled again. "So I should, Aunt Blanche. Awfully shocked. Í should think you were Messalina, no less. You must admit that, when you've appeared to hate him so many years, it would give rise to the gravest suspicions -clandestine meetings no longer to be borne: all that sort of thing. I should get out a warrant at once and hurry you off to do light housekeeping with old Miss Bean.'

"You have a very unpleasant vein of humor, Bessie."

"So I have. So I have. Forgive me, Aunt Blanche." Mrs. John wiped her eyes in sign of contrition. "But I think it would dry up without you. . . . Only, seriously, why can't you put all that silly stuff out of your head?"

Mrs. Williston's reply was unexpectedly mild. "I don't say there is anything wrong, Bessie. I sincerely hope there isn't. But I do not believe in defying the laws of God and man. I should suppose they were both past the temptations of youth. But what reason is there, except human perversity, for their not marrying?"

"About a hundred, I should imagine, Aunt Blanche. In the first place, it would look so silly. In the second, there's Miss Wheaton's religion, isn't there? And in the third place, who in the world

knows or cares? I think it's quite delightful of them."

"I shouldn't have expected you to find three immoral reasons for defending them, Bessie."

Mrs. John shook herself together and spoke seriously. "I'm not immoral, as you well know. I merely think it's awfully unimportant. Miss Wheaton weighs three hundred pounds, and she's slowly dying. As for Mr. Leaven, he's not a man, in that sense: he's a very well executed bronze. I think it's too bad of you to worry. It's just because they have so little, either of them, to do with the world, the flesh, and the devil that they are so touching. For I find them touching. So does Philip, even more than I do. And Phil is six times as moral as any of us. Cheer up! I know you've taken a perverted sort of pleasure in thinking how unconventional they are, but a woman of your worldly experience knows there's nothing in it. I wouldn't bother with Miss Wheaton, if I were you. I'd go for Liberia with both hands and both feet. I dare say it does shock you a little"

she relented to that extent "but you've really only to put your mind on it to see that there are other things that need your mind more."

Mrs. Williston gathered up her furs for departure. "I came to ask if you wouldn't call on Cordelia with me," she began, "but I don't think you are in the mood to go."

"No, I couldn't go with you to-day. I will sometime, perhaps. But I want to say one thing.' She leaned forward. "If you go and insult that poor old lady, you'll be doing a very unkind thing. I truly hope you won't. I believe she's hardly aware of this world at all. Don't you go poking it in her face." She put a caressing tone into her voice that redeemed her speech from impertinence.

"It is always the business of a Christian woman- began Mrs. Williston.

Mrs. John stood up and folded her arms, looking down on her visitor. "Umph! Let's get rid of this," she muttered. "Aunt Blanche, answer me one question. Why didn't you make some protest when Mr. Reid first told you? That was the time to stop it-before it had happened. You didn't say a word,

then, about the laws either of God or of man."

"I was bewildered, Bessie. I was hurt that my advice was scorned. For the moment I was helpless."

“You were relieved, Aunt Blanche." The words came quietly, like a verdict. "We all were, for we were all in the same boat. You were so glad to be ordered off the premises that you didn't dare open your lips for fear they would say 'Thank God!' It's only now-now that you know that Walter Leaven wouldn't let one of us touch Cordelia Wheaton if he had to poison us on the threshold-that you let yourself think of such things. If you really think them, you ought to move heaven and earth to take her away. Nothing would induce you to take her away, even if she'd come. Therefore you ought to be silent. I don't blame you for being willing to leave her where she is, but as long as you do you'll have to let scandal alone."

"I will offer to take her away, if you think that right." Mrs. Williston was spurred to self-defense.

Mrs. John shook her head. "Too cheap and easy, Aunt Blanche. She's going to die where she is. You wouldn't offer if you thought they'd listen to you. No: that doesn't let you out. It's got to stop." "Do you think I would spread such a thing?"

"Wouldn't trust you a bit, my dear," (Bessie's voice was honey, with a taint of aloes) "if you once got the bit in your teeth. But I think you'll presently see that you'd only get yourself laughed ator perhaps very, very severely criticised." Then Bessie John condescended to imitate the augurs. "Aunt Blanche, Walter Leaven has saved all our faces. You and I may know we were right; but he is making it possible for us to look pretty. Don't spoil it."

"I don't feel pretty-letting one of my oldest friends do such an extraordinary thing. It is bound to reflect on me, when people come to realize. For I shall always keep up with Cordelia," she finished austerely.

"You are brave, Aunt Blanche. You trust in God and keep your powder dry, don't you?" Bessie asked irrelevantly. "But whether you think you look pretty

or not, I can tell you that you would have looked downright ugly if Miss Wheaton were starving on Miss Bean's light housekeeping. So should I. And I'm very grateful for not having to look ugly. We should have had perfectly good consciences, both of us; but it is very pleasant to have Walter Leaven preserve our complexions as well."

Mrs. Williston so obviously made no headway with the metaphor that Mrs. John changed the subject.

"It's perfectly all right, so long as you don't mix up in it," she declared. "Of course, it will be a great relief when Miss Wheaton dies

"Bessie!" Mrs. Williston was on very intimate terms with death in the abstract, but she was incapable of mentioning the demise of an individual save with proper deprecation.

"Well, won't it? When she's got to suffer as she probably has? Do you suppose it's very gay for her or for him, either? Oh, well, let's not discuss it further. . I really can't go with you to-day, Aunt Blanche. But I'll pay my respects some time along. The twins have had whooping-cough, you know. I've been very much occupied at home."

Mrs. Williston rose. "I shouldn't have wanted you in any case, Bessie. Not after the light way you have been talking. You didn't talk that way about your friend-the little artist-girl."

"Oh, Julie Fort? No, I didn't. But there's all the difference in the world, you see. Miss Wheaton has done nothing. The very idea is too grotesque. Only your Gothic mind could harbor it. Whereas, Julie has done everything."

"Is all her money gone?" Mrs. Williston hovered ghoulishly on the threshold. "So I heard. The man she ran off with had a little, I believe."

"Are they married? Was there a child?"

But Bessie John's patience was outworn. "No, there was no child. I heard that they had quarrelled. I heard a lot of horrid things. I don't want to discuss Julie, Aunt Blanche. It's all too unpleasant.'

"Does Cordelia know?" The ghoul would not go.

"Why should she? And if you tell her"