title: The wife decides : a novel
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Wj^-^Vrm?&) - vO C3 * ^rU ^ \ *<' * %>*sZav*f o 0 o %. 0 , % *"'* /s'**'* V°“ V s " *»*•, •„ , *v «'stfgb.'.%. v, .%Wa’' ^ % *v .- jigas - ^ ^ ^ /h ° ■*> «■* ■ ,$ •%. - *> d *. - ^ ' er ^ ' a qv y s s .\ O 'o„v* aG^ K * dG * v 1 8 * rv V t - 0 N c >? <*U .a^ V 1 <S> C > * ^rv ' T. /• > sy ^ T *r ^ v * r *> < 1 ^ * « <?*- Vc •* o *5* A’ .o. , ' V ' ° - k * ° A' ^ 'V. S <\ jiO iir jv^ c 0 * 0 * ^ A' « v 1 * « r*0 r H s *P iT* V v /V^z-, ^ 0 * ^rS^V^v Vr V \\ * J£//V%L f ^ N r\^ '•q. * ' 1 ' ° 0 ‘ ^ r tf ft *. - a*' ^^£41^'. * v s *'‘°'.^ ^ Z" 9 ' % %$ “ ’ ’ A <<- * <vT> _ i oV ^. '•W^' \ A cr x, < * ' » * s s A , o » c. A * A\ ,o v » c -~ R + ^ A ,#' ' /,u,< 0 ^ The WIFE DECIDES A NOVEL V By SYDNEY WHARTON w Illustrations By JOSEPH CUMMINGS CHASE Frontispiece By J. KNOWLES HARE, Jr. ' G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Copyright, 1911, By G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY CONTENTS Book One CHAPTER PAGE I. Nora’s Arrival 9 II. Over the Teacups 15 III. The Truth from Leslie 22 IV. Nora Perplexes Edith 30 V. A Visit is Made 38 VI. Nora Thinks It Over 47 VII. A Second Meeting 52 VIII. An Informal Luncheon 59 IX. Edith Ponders 70 X. An Amazing Marriage 77 XI. A Debatable Point 87 XII. Nora’s Friends are Worried 94 XIII. The Children’s Hour 102 XIV. Love versus Letters no XV. Sheeda Talks 117 XVI. Mrs. Wayne Acts for the Best 123 XVII. The Rift in the Lute 131 XVIII. The Wife Decides 137 XIX. The Divorce Mill 144 CONTENTS Book Two CHAPTER PAGE I. An Earthly Paradise 1 5 1 II. Love and Marriage 160 III. News from Home 168 IV. Wanda Makes a Friend in Druce. 178 V. A Woman of the World 188 VI. Druce Thinks about Work 199 VII. Nora Reviews the Situation 206 VIII. A Tiny Ripple 214 IX. Wanda Writes a Letter 224 X. She’s Only a Child 234 XI. Druce Begs the Question 243 XII. Druce in San Francisco 253 XIII. Miss Jessica Discourses 262 XIV. Mrs. McAllister tries to Write Again 270 XV. Why Did She Do It? 278 XVI. Working Under Pressure 288 XVII. Settling the Question 297 XVIII. THE WIFE DECIDES BOOK ONE THE SOWING I nora's arrival Edith Malcolm was one of the chosen few of the idle rich, who worked at her profession of author- ship for sheer love of it. Unlike most people, she religiously believed in cultivating the rare gifts that God had given her. Her mother died when she was a child, and then she became her father’s companion and mainstay. Some two years ago, at his death, he left her sole mistress at ‘Gleneyrie,’ his magnificent estate on the Hudson. During a part of her father’s life, it was their custom to move into New York for the winter; their summers were spent either at Newport, or else in traveling abroad. But now, all was changed, and Edith found herself enabled to continue her literary work without interruption. As she re-read the yellow slip, announcing the 10 THE WIFE DECIDES arrival of Nora Sherwood, she wondered whether this new element in her life would prevent her from enjoying the same degree of liberty as before. Miss Malcolm looked at the clock on the mantel- piece, by which she had been standing; then her glance rested momentarily on the cheerful wood fire burning below, idly considering the dancing flames, and realizing how pleasant their warmth was, for the first chill of autumn was in the air. She had still ten minutes before the dog-cart would arrive, so she leisurely continued her way across the room. It was lined with shelves, containing books of reference; there was, too, a substantial desk, in picturesque disarray, and though the room was al- most monastic in its severity, the one feminine touch disclosed itself in a cheval glass, which one could not help thinking was rather out of place. As she passed within range of this, she paused instinctively, and critically examined her reflection. The inevitable, mysterious adjustment of her fur toque followed; then, a pulling out and re-settling of hatpins, a deft touch to her veil, a smoothing down of the waistline, and a studied turn which brought a three-quarter view of her trim figure into a better light; all this made her realize that there was something in a French cut after all : which goes THE WIFE DECIDES ii to prove that Miss Malcolm was delightfully femi- nine and altogether charming, besides being a clever woman of the world and a well-known literary light. Satisfied with a final survey, she seated herself at her desk, placing the folded telegram under one of the leather corners of the blotter. Putting down her small bag beside her, she gazed abstractedly across the room, her thoughts upon Nora Sher- wood. Soon her mind turned to the girl’s mother, whose friend she had been through so many years of that unfortunate woman’s life. How well she remembered the day when Esther had come and confessed that she had deceived her husband, how he had found her out, refusing to pardon her, and begging Edith to stand by her ! Esther Sherwood, in bringing her unhappy story to a close, had said that her husband had promised to make her a substantial allowance, provided she left the country forever! Thus dismissed, the wretched wife had no alternative but to leave his house, taking the little girl with her, to which her father made no objection; indeed, he had never shown any love for the child, who had been left entirely to the mercies of governesses up to her twelfth year. Edith continued to be Esther’s friend during the 12 THE WIFE DECIDES years that followed, and many letters were received from Mrs. Sherwood from various small continen- tal towns. It was clear that though the unfortunate woman felt her degradation most keenly, her con* science made her realize the necessity of keeping her child in ignorance of the past. This decided her to place the young girl in a convent near Paris, where she remained until her twenty-fourth year. During this period, in desperation, Esther abandoned scenes where the principal events of her wretched life had been passed, only to begin in fresh fields a series of restless, feverish journeyings, trying to forget, until at last death mercifully claimed her. Mrs. Sherwood’s last letter before she died had ended with an appeal to her friend to take under her protection the child whom she insisted must be kept forever from all knowledge of her mother’s downfall. The promise was given, although Edith felt mor- ally certain that it would entail a sacrifice on her part, and now, with the orphaned daughter coming to make her home with Edith, she was seized with a sudden qualm of apprehension, which increased in intensity as the prospect of her new responsi- bilities drew nearer. Would she succeed? Would the girl respond? How would it all end? THE WIFE DECIDES 13 Just then she heard the wheels of the cart ap- proaching, so she was saved from further specula- tion. She gave a sigh of relief, for the horse she was to drive, being both young and fresh, would be a tangible battle to wage, instead of an imagin- ary encounter. A few minutes later, she was bowling along under the leafy bower formed by the interlacing of the buttonwood trees which outlined the driveway. Long before she reached the station, some three miles distant, she had brought the sturdy, young animal down to a more subdued gait, and smiled, drawing a long breath, partly of enjoyment, and partly of relief, for she was unaccustomed to de- feat, and — it had been hard work, this time. Shortly afterward, she was walking along the platform, awaiting the arrival of the train, her horse being held by the young son of the station- master. She had just time to nod a smiling greet- ing to him, when the whistle sounded, and the train came in. She scanned the faces of the descending passen- gers, and presently saw the figure of Miss Sher- wood coming toward her. Before she had time to ask herself why Nora was in grey, instead of the conventional black, the girl was by her side, and yielding to the impulse of the moment, she stepped 14 THE WIFE DECIDES forward. Taking her in her arms, she warmly kissed her. “I have not seen you for eight years — ” she said, and then, abruptly; ‘‘tea will be ready for us — we had best hurry !” The break in her sentence was not due to her anxiety for her usual cup of tea, but to an enigmat- ical expression, which she had surprised in the other’s eyes, and which, for once, she could not fathom. II OVER THE TEACUPS An half hour later, the two women were seated in the drawing-room, furtively studying each other across a well-appointed tea-table, but it was Nora who first lowered her eyes, her half smile going no further than the muscles at the corners of her mouth. Miss Malcolm, realizing that she had been gazing rather too directly at her friend, began to speak in her usual pleasant conversational tone. “I must confess, my dear,” she remarked, as if pursuing the tag end of some unspoken thought; “I hardly knew when to expect you — ” “Why not?” asked the other, opening her eyes a trifle wider than usual ; “Didn’t you get my tele- gram? I asked Cynthia to be sure to send it!” “Oh, yes!” answered Edith quickly; “but I meant — after your mother’s death.” “I understand,” exclaimed Nora; “but — I must tell you why I am not in mourning — I saw you no- ticed it — ” “Yes, Nora, I did, but naturally I didn’t think it would be in good taste — ” i6 THE WIFE DECIDES “To speak of it? Well — perhaps not,” mused Nora; “though I don’t suppose you understand. My training — the foreign view — it’s all so different, you see — ” “But — after only eight months — ” began Edith helplessly, and somewhat confusedly. “Yes, I know,” interposed the younger woman, with a touch of impatience; “but how could I be expected to feel the death of a — person I hardly knew ?” “Oh, my dear! You could have shown the con- ventional amount of respect!” suggested Edith gently. “Would that necessarily follow in this case ?” was the unexpected rejoinder, and then, as if she felt she had created a false impression; “I really knew her so very — slightly, when all is said and done. Be- sides,” she ended laconically; “you wouldn’t wish me to act a lie, would you?” “Of course not!” answered Edith mechanically, and was silent. She was beginning to grasp the difficulties of the trust she had undertaken, and recognized that there were to be no easy limitations. She watched her friend who had risen, and crossed the room. She reflected deeply, as a grace- ful, willowy figure outlined itself against the long, THE WIFE DECIDES 1 7 French window leading out to the red-tiled terrace. What would she not do for poor Esther’s child! Surely it should be easy to transfer to the daughter the loyalty she had once given the mother! At present there was a wide gulf which must be bridged before she and this young girl could meet on some common ground. Nora opened the window, and stepped out on the terrace, where she walked slowly up and down, stopping from time to time to admire the green slopes of velvety lawn that stretched down to the fringe of woods below. Edith, as she caught frag- mentary glimpses of her, wondered what was really in the girl’s mind. She looked up brightly, as Nora re-entered the room. “I have found you out, my friend. I took a peep at your workshop.” “Yes, I write,” said Edith, smiling at the trite expression; “what do you think of it?” “It struck me as a room that was intended purely for work — the room of a woman who was in earn- est!” “Yes, but — have you ever tried to write?” “Only a few trifles — they are hardly worth men- tioning — scraps I dashed off in the convent, but of course, one is so limited when every line — every i8 THE WIFE DECIDES word — has to be read by a sister. You see, I was frightfully repressed in my ideas, because I didn’t dare to say what I really felt.” “Of course, but — I should like to see some of your work, that is — if you have no objection.” “Thank you so much, but I’m afraid you’ll find my efforts ridiculously crude; besides, one’s life — in the world — must be so very different — I’ve had such a limited experience, but — I imagine it’s more — unconventional — ” “It is totally unlike the life you have lived in the convent; however,” Edith added, “one has to ad- just one’s standard to altered conditions.” “Oh, yes!” agreed the younger woman glibly, but Edith saw that she failed to grasp her mean- ing. “I know how hard it is — to understand — ” con- tinued Miss Malcolm hesitatingly. Nora detected an altogether different significance in the subtle modulation of her friend’s voice, and was quick to take advantage of it. “I see,” she urged; “I really do!” But Edith recognized the lack of absolute conviction in her companion’s inflection, and sighed gently. The entrance of a servant to remove the tea-tray was a welcome interruption, and made Miss Mal- colm realize that a rather prolonged silence had THE WIFE DECIDES 19 followed the ending of their somewhat fragment- ary conversation. “You mentioned Cynthia a few minutes ago,” she said; “who is she?” “She was a friend of the Mother Superior,” an- swered Nora; “and we took a fancy to each other. She asked me to travel with her, and she acted as my chaperone on the steamer coming over.” “I’m glad you managed so well,” smiled Edith, but went on; “My house was open to you at any time you wished to come, as 1 wrote you, but — I gave very little attention to the actual details of your journey home, I’m afraid.” “I didn’t give much thought to that either. You see, I’ve been accustomed to look after my- self — ” “I see, but — who is Cynthia?” repeated Edith; “you haven’t told me yet.” “She is a Mrs. Reynolds Wayne — she is about five years older than I am, and she comes from somewhere near Philadelphia. That’s all I can tell you about her, except that I like her.” “That always seems to me half the battle,” mused Edith ; “I am glad,” she continued more earnestly ; “that you were able to find a friend like Mrs. Wayne — it made your return to your native country more intimate — more of a real home-coming!” 20 THE WIFE DECIDES Miss Sherwood, instead of replying at once, laughed lightly, remarking that that, aspect of the case had never struck her before. “I loved the few months traveling we had to- gether so much,” she said; “in fact, it was delight- ful to go about with her — she was so charming — so well-informed, — so different from, well — my mother, for instance.” Miss Malcolm glanced sharply at her friend. “It is pleasant to find a congenial friend,” she said dryly; “especially for an ocean voyage.” “I didn’t see much of Cynthia — she was sea-sick most of the way,” answered Nora smiling in her peculiar fashion. “That was a pity, wasn’t it, for you must have been lonely — unless you were sick too.” “No, I wasn’t — and I managed — to have a very good time.” This time Miss Malcolm was not mis- taken. There was something in the girl’s tone that clearly indicated a mystery, and a palpable attempt at concealment. Was the girl as open as she had at first seemed, or could there be anything which would have to be discovered — ferreted out ? “Yes,” she replied tentatively, feeling the neces- sity of proceeding cautiously. “I make friends easily, you see — I have the gift pf being able to gauge a person the minute I meet THE WIFE DECIDES 21 him,” continued Miss Sherwood; “it’s a very con- venient thing to be able to do.” “Unless one makes a mistake. Then, I think it would be apt to be disastrous.” “Oh, what an idea! That would be too awful!” exclaimed Nora with a light laugh, and a pretended shudder. “It might be well to remember that you are not infallible,” remarked Edith, and they both laughed; “But it’s hardly necessary to remind you of that.” “It’s very good of you to tell me my faults!” murmured the other sighing gently; “but, by the way, I had almost forgotten — I expect — a man to come to see me — about tea-time — to-morrow. Have you any objection?” “Not at all! I wish you to feel at home here, and to invite any one you want,” answered Edith, rising. “Who is he?” Nora Sherwood rose too, and faced her friend. “It’s Leslie Griswold!” she said, her eyes refus- ing to meet Edith’s; “do you know him?” “Yes! I know all about him — ” answered Miss Malcolm ; “but — what is this man to you ? He is — ” “Oh! I know all about him too,” announced Nora; “because, I’m — engaged to him — that’s all!” She tossed her head, and laughed, but Edith gazed at her in horrified astonishment. Ill THE TRUTH FROM LESLIE “I have a story to tell you !” said Leslie abruptly. “Yes — go on!” answered Nora; “what is it?” The two were sitting side by side on a bench in the grounds of ‘Gleneyrie,’ the next afternoon. “It’s about a woman,” continued Leslie gravely; “and the causes which brought about her illness.” “What was her name?” “Her name — Lucy!” replied Leslie quietly; “and I am telling you her story, because you must know it. Will you listen to me — will you hear me out — until the end?” “Why, yes! But I don’t understand — ” “You will understand all when I have finished.” And Nora wondered why his voice quavered slight- iy- “She was married at the age of twenty-two to a man a few years her senior,” continued Griswold steadily. “She had been ill — very ill when her child was born — and the child died after only a week’s THE WIFE DECIDES 23 illness. The woman’s miraculous recovery sur- prised even the doctor, but the shock was too much for her, and — she has been helplessly insane — until recently — very recently. “Sometimes she has been calmer, at others sub- ject to violent attacks, and then it has been neces- sary to keep her forcibly under restraint until the fearful paroxysms were over. “During the past year she has seemed to get worse, her fits of insanity have increased in inten- sity, and her health has become more and more precarious. The nurses had been told by the doc- tors that the unfortunate woman would never be better, and finally they decided that the last struggle was not far off, when the end would come in coma and — death.” Leslie’s voice sank to a minor key, but presently straightening himself by an effort, he continued his narrative. “One day a sudden and unexpected movement on the part of the patient caused the nurse on duty, Miss Hill, to rise and move toward the bed. She bent over and saw that the woman’s eyelids were quivering, and that her long, lean fingers were pick- ing feverishly at, the bed-quilt. She turned away to press the electric button at the side of the mantel- piece, this being the signal agreed upon when the 24 THE WIFE DECIDES nurse in attendance considered her patient at the point of dissolution.” “Why are you telling me this story?” broke in Nora, her voice trembling. “Be patient, dear!” answered Leslie gently; “and let me go on — I must tell you all!” “How oddly you say that!” murmured Nora solemnly. “The eyes of the woman were now open, for the nurse had hastened back to the bedside, the weak voice of her patient having made her retrace her steps. She noticed that the expression of the eyes was calm, and that the usual glitter had gone. She could not understand it. What could have hap- pened? Was this the clearing of the tired brain before death claimed its own, or what could it be?” “Who was this woman, Leslie?” “I shall tell you — in a few minutes. I want to end my story — before — I forget it. She called to the nurse, and 9aid that she wished to say some- thing to her. The nurse, who saw that her patient was absolutely normal, was only too anxious to lis- ten, so drawing up a chair, seated herself by the bedside. From what Miss Hill told me, the con- versation between them ran in this way. Lucy be- gan to speak, and told the nurse that she had been very ill — for years perhaps, but that now she was THE WIFE DECIDES 25 better. She continued to say that her mind had been clouded, that she had been violent — when she had wanted to hurt some one — she couldn’t re- member who, but — that she had been crazy to kill him. Now all was changed. She confessed that she had loved her husband, but that she had felt there was a difference in his love for her from what she felt for him. After a spasm of pain, the poor woman went on to say, that after her baby was born, she had been very ill, and that when she re- covered, she learned of the child’s death. That was the beginning of it all, for after that, she couldn’t remember clearly, but now, the sense of unreality was gone, and she knew that she was get- ting better. She was weak, at least the body was, but her mind was clear. It was then that she re- quested the nurse to send for the doctors.” “And — what was their verdict?” asked Nora, hardly conscious that she had spoken aloud. “That she would recover absolutely — unless something totally unforeseen should occur!” Nora was silent. Presently she looked up into Leslie’s troubled eyes. “Who was this woman, dear?” “God forgive me! She was — she is my — wife!” As the voice of the man ceased speaking, Nora suddenly seemed unconscious of the lovely walks 26 THE WIFE DECIDES through which they had strolled during the after- noon, of the statuary at various points, of the flowers and shrubs, of the soft, springy turf, and the song of birds; everything had faded from her mind, save the fact that she was standing alone, for surely the man must have been removed, torn away from her, for now the two were as far apart as the poles. As if from a great distance, a voice made itself heard, which still could force her to listen to its pleading. “You see how it is, my darling !” it murmured appealingly; “when the poor soul returned from the dark shadows to what was worse than death — I did what I could — I saw that she received proper care — I could do no more. As time passed my life grew into a condition of routine — the details of my wife’s illness interested me less and less, until I felt that my marriage had never been — that I was ac- tually free — free to love again — to begin my life anew — to make a fresh start. It was then that I met you. Ah! try to understand and — forgive! Before I sailed for home, I heard on the highest authority that my poor wife’s days were numbered, indeed, I honestly believed I should hear that she was dead when I arrived in New York. Then it was that I spoke to you — then that you listened AS IF FROM A GREAT DISTANCE A VOICE MADE ITSELF HEARD. Page 26. THE WIFE DECIDES 27 and — answered. This is the truth, as God is my Judge — or else I could not have said to you all that I did — from the fulness of my heart! You under- stand, don’t you?” ‘‘Yes, I understand!” but the answering tone was so soulless that the man turned to his companion, as if to speak. The hopeless misery in the girl’s eyes stopped him, though the words were trembling for utterance on his white lips. He had loved her but he had never realized how much, and until now, he had never guessed how much she loved him. He knew what it cost him to give her up, and the pain that was hers! It was cruel — unbearable ! Nora rose slowly and painfully, leaning against the bench for support, one arm stretched along its back, the other hanging like a dead weight at her side. “I said I understood, and — I do understand!” Leslie listened almost without breathing, for he knew that he was about to hear what was final. “I cannot blame you, and — I forgive you — from my heart. What else could you have done? The fault was not yours. It was ordained that this should happen — long before we both were born.” The girl’s voice had grown strained and weary, but she went bravely on. 28 THE WIFE DECIDES ‘*You must listen to me — you must not interrupt. Be merciful, and let me finish what I have to say! You never loved your wife, but — you did what you could for her — your duty. You are a good man !” The woman seemed overwhelmed by a sudden tenderness, but choked it in its inception, and con- tinued to speak a trifle more harshly. “You did your duty once — you must do it again! You must go back to your wife! You must give her that — tenderness which is — her due — to make up for the long period of darkness — to bring back to her — the happiness that was once — hers !” Nora’s voice was all at once tinged with a touch of impatience. “You must never let her know that you do not love her. It is your bounden duty — it is her right to have your love! I entreat you to do this — for my sake! Henceforth, dearest Leslie, we can be but memories — each to the other. Go ! I can’t en- dure any more!” She spoke in a whisper, and as her voice ceased, her head sank slowly, until it rested on her breast. Griswold sprang to his feet, his hands clenched tightly at his side. For one lingering moment he gazed at the woman he loved but had lost ; then he turned and walked swiftly away, not daring to look back, for fear his courage should fail him. THE WIFE DECIDES 29 For a space the girl did not move, then she stag- gered forward, as if she felt there must be some- thing still left undone — unfinished. She paused, until with a quick movement, she sank to her knees, burying her face in her outstretched arms, and broke into unrestrained weeping. IV NORA PERPLEXES EDITH Edith was forced to confess that she was com- pletely at sea in her estimate of Nora Sherwood’s character. First, because there had been a lack of spontaneity in the girl herself, and again, because of the frivolous touch Nora had given to the an- nouncement of her engagement. Edith had not had an opportunity of making further observations, for the day after, Nora had been busy superintending the unpacking of her trunks, and had given Edith the impression she wished to be alone in the afternoon. Miss Malcolm respected Nora’s wish for solitude, and was so occupied with her literary work, that she came in late for tea. She saw that two of the cups had been used, and lifting the teapot, discovered that it was almost empty. She rang the bell. When the servant brought the fresh tea, she told Edith that the young lady was somewhere about the grounds. Miss Malcolm thanked the maid, and finished her tea. She walked out on the terrace, looking in the THE WIFE DECIDES 3i direction of the woods, but thinking that Nora might still wish to be undisturbed, returned to her study to finish her work. Later on she was informed by her maid that Miss Sherwood had a headache, and had gone to bed. She sent her love to Miss Malcolm, and hoped to join her in the evening if she felt up to the ex- ertion of getting up. There was nothing to worry about — she was only tired from the long journey, and rest and quiet were all she needed. On the afternoon of, the second day, Nora not yet having made an appearance, Edith determined to investigate. She sent word that she would like to see her, but Nora’s maid who met her at the door told Edith that her mistress wished to rest a little while longer — that she felt better, and would come downstairs after dinner. When Edith had finished her coffee, she picked up a book to occupy herself while waiting for Nora, glanced over it, but being unable to fix her attention on it, tossed it aside impatiently. She got up and began to pace the room. She felt annoyed without having any definite cause for such an unusual emo- tion, except a rather vague sense that she was being baffled. Had Nora really been ill, or was there any other reason for her absence? 32 THE WIFE DECIDES She had said she would come down after dinner; it was after dinner, long after dinner now, and yet she did not come. What could be the matter ? She was determined to find out. She rang the bell, but thought it might be a mis- take to send a message by a servant. It might give rise to needless gossip, so she changed her mind, and bade the maid remove the tray. She waited until she had left the room before she made any further move. Then she crossed the room, and stood by the fire-place, her back to the door, and one slippered foot resting lightly on the bar of the fire-guard. Surely the coast was clear now! A rustling of silk made her turn. She caught a glimpse of her friend’s figure standing in the door- way, holding on the curtain. She saw that the girl was pale, and that her attitude was stiff and un- natural. Something was amiss. A change had taken place, and — after Leslie Griswold’s visit! Had he told her the truth, and had she been made ill by it, or had Griswold merely been amusing himself with Nora, and had she found him out? Which was it? Nora came forward. Edith took her hand, and without a word led her to a chair by the fire. Miss Malcolm returned to her former place by the mantel-piece, and pillowing her chin in her hand, THE WIFE DECIDES 33 gazed thoughtfully down into the bed of glowing embers. Then she glanced timidly at Nora, but the girl’s lifeless expression troubled her, so she looked away again, and patiently waited for her to speak. Presently the girl raised her head, and began to speak, quickly, feverishly, as if she feared to be interrupted. “I have had a shock!” she said, twisting a ring aimlessly about on her finger ; “and I think it would comfort me to tell you about it.” She glanced up earnestly, but with a certain air of diffidence, as she pressed her lips convulsively together, but as she read assent in her friend’s eye, lowered her own, and continued to speak. “I told you the other day of my engagement — and since then, I have learned the truth, but — it was not Leslie’s fault — it was not his fault. I feel cer- tain you have known about his — wife — but what will be news to you is, that she has suddenly re- covered her reason — ” “What!” exclaimed Edith, for the moment stirred from her usual serenity; “Is it really true?” “Yes, and the doctors consider it a most mir- aculous cure.” “And — he came to tell you about it.” “Yes, he came to tell me about it. You have no 34 THE WIFE DECIDES idea what it cost him to say it, for he loved me very dearly — and I admired his courage more than I can express/’ “You love him — still?” asked Edith finally; “I am very sorry for you, dear! You have had your first bitter experience in life;” she murmured softly. “If there is anything I could do to lessen your grief, God knows I would do it!” “I thought I might rely upon you — I mean, I hoped you would have something to — suggest!” “What do you mean, my dear Nora? I am afraid I scarcely understand — ” “Why — just this!” broke in the other impetuous- ly, meeting her friend’s eyes for the first time; “I hoped you could — help me to — forget.” “Do you think anyone could do that?” inquired Edith, noticing a momentary return of the Sphinx- like expression which had puzzled her at their first meeting; “I’m afraid that would be an impossibility — unless you are deceiving yourself. But — if you are sincere — I might be able to help you — to take you — out of yourself.” “What do you mean by saying, ‘if you are sin- cere’?” Edith evaded giving a direct answer, for she was unprepared to cavil or argue the question at present. She preferred to sum up her impressions rather THE WIFE DECIDES 35 than to run the risk of committing a fatal error of judgment by going ahead too quickly. Here was a girl of apparent simplicity. This had been the first impression, until the question of Nora’s mother intruded itself. Then it was that she had weighed critically the girl’s character to see whether the delicate scales had shifted their posi- tion. For the moment she had come to the conclusion there was no appreciable change. The next step was to consider what effect her convent training had had on an evidently suscepti- ble nature. One thing was clear: such a life had taught the girl to differentiate, to analyze her in- dividual sensations, and therefore to bring them into too great prominence. It was a dangerous process ! Now a new phase had been added, which needed further and careful consideration. “I must confess I don’t understand your point of view,” she said, recognizing a subtle change in the girl; “and I think you do me an injustice when you put me in the position of appearing to doubt the truth of your assertions ! Have you any reason for doing so?” “No!” answered Nora enigmatically; “but I can only say that I am sorry. You are making it hard for me too — you are putting me in a false position 3 ^ THE WIFE DECIDES — when — I am really throwing myself on your mercy !” Edith could not help smiling, for Nora had sud- denly revealed herself as both feminine and delight- fully unsophisticated, for only a very young woman could have made such a speech. “My dear Nora!” she ventured; “I think that is unworthy of you. You are reversing the tables with a vengeance. I shall forget most of the things you have said, except that you have asked for my help. Now, in what way, may I be of service to you?” “I am glad you are willing to overlook my nasty show of temper — it is really very noble of you to do so. Why — my one thought was — that — this would be a good time — I mean would you feel like looking over some of my work, and you could tell me if you think I could ever succeed in — litera- ture?” “I shall be very glad to do so,” answered Edith, and she wondered whether the girl’s request was sincere. “That is settled then,” interjected Nora; “of course, I don’t want to interfere with your own work, but what hour could you give me to- morrow ?” “After tea, if that will suit you.” THE WIFE DECIDES 37 “You have been very kind, Edith!” said Nora, “and you have really succeeded in changing my point of view already, which is all I can expect for the present.” “Good-night!” echoed Edith, and smiled. As Nora turned and crossed the room, Miss Malcolm noticed that the girl’s carriage had re- gained its elasticity. She admitted that there was a certain peculiar grace about the young girl which give her an alluring, most seductive charm. As she considered this, she reluctantly made up her mind that this element was more purely physic- al than subtle, and then she sighed. But — she thought, until Nora is conscious of this dangerous power, there was nothing to fear. It would be Edith’s task to keep her in ignorance of it. V A VISIT IS MADE Eliot Gordon was a genial elderly gentleman of the old school. Because of a great interest in gardening which they had enjoyed in common for a number of years, Edith had endeared herself to the old man, and often drove over to interchange ideas with him on this mutually fascinating pursuit. Her knowledge of the artistic side being finer than his, he found her advice invaluable, as he knew more about purely material questions involved, such as in the present case, the preparing of beds for actual planting. He was smoking a pipe reflectively, his eyes rov- ing from the bed he had just finished raking to the box of assorted bulbs and back again. If she were only here now to help him decide ! A young man in golfing costume approached the outer edge of another bed nearby, but Mr. Gordon had his back turned, and he did not hear him, for his footsteps were noiseless on the lawn. A low laugh made the elder man look around THE WIFE DECIDES 39 impatiently. When he saw that it was his nephew, he resumed his work without any comment, for that mocking sound jarred on his nerves. He knelt again by the box of bulbs, puffing furiously, as he did so. “How much do you pay for those bulbs ?” in- quired Bradford Hoyt, his expression changing from amusement to one of shrewdness. Eliot Gordon told him, but did not look in his nephew’s direction. “I shouldn’t think it would pay,” was the dry comment; “it seems to me a very poor investment!” “I can quite understand that, but can’t you ever consider anything except from the point of view of cold cash?” “No. When I buy a thing, I don’t pay any more for it than I can help, and when I sell anything, I get all I can out of the other fellow.” “Yes, that’s your way, I know!” rejoined Gor- don, as he held up and examined an early Peony bulb; “and yet — you know as much if not more about business than anyone I ever knew!” “Considering I have practically devoted my life to it, it doesn’t seem strange that I should have learned a thing or two, and — it’s not often that I get fooled.” “I’d be willing to bet there isn’t a man who could 4 o THE WIFE DECIDES do that,” said his uncle as he looked about for his trowel. As a matter of fact he was proud of his nephew’s keen business acumen, but true to his principles, he added : “There does seem to be another side to the question — don’t you think so?” “Enjoyment and art, I suppose? Yes, I don’t deny that,” agreed Hoyt; “only I haven’t had time to think about any nonsense of that kind. Those things don’t pay!” “Perhaps not! But — that’s the very reason I chose you as my man of business; and, that reminds me — what were you able to do about those steel shares ?” “I was just going to tell you about th^m. Well, I got them all right, and I put them away in your box—” “Good enough!” exclaimed his uncle; “you’re a wonder !” “Am I? You’d have to say so, if you’d seen the stroke of business I pulled off about fifteen minutes later!” said Bradford, with a self-satisfied smile. “You see, I sold those shares to Billy Truesdale, who was buying for Bacon’s account. He tried to make out that I had withdrawn my offer, but I held him to the bargain, though he wriggled and squirmed a good deal. I was just in time, for the THE WIFE DECIDES 4i next minute, one of the brokers for the Colgate group jumped into the game, and brought up the price to within one fifth of your price limit. The best of the joke was that I cleared five thousand dollars on the transaction !” Eliot Gordon looked up and laughed heartily. 