IV
Nickie was lying on the bed, flat on her back, without a pillow, her eyes resolutely closed, in a stern effort to rest. That morning, just as she was saying good-by—very willingly—to the cantankerous old lady with a broken arm whom she had been attending for three weeks, Dr. Lucas had telephoned and told her that he wanted her for night duty on a pneumonia case. It was a bad case, and she had a bad night ahead of her. She must rest now; but she couldn’t. This wasn’t rest.
She heard the key turned in the latch, and the front door opened quietly.
“Hello, Mac!” she called.
But it was not Miss McCarty who answered. It was Pem.
“You home, Nickie?” she said. “That’s nice.”
She came into the bedroom. Nickie sat up and stared at her with wide eyes.
“For Pete’s sake!” she exclaimed. “What’s the meaning of all this, Pem?”
“I don’t know,” replied Pem slowly. She had taken off her hat and coat, and was looking at herself in the glass—at her carefully dressed hair, the artful touch of color in her cheeks, the new frock of navy twill with red leather buttons. “I look rather nice, don’t I, Nickie?”
“Yes,” said Nickie, “stunning; but—well, I suppose I’m not used to it. But what’s the reason, Pem?”
Pem’s explanation did not satisfy her. Pem said that her patient was a wealthy young woman suffering from a mild form of melancholia. She had to be diverted, and—
“I had to look halfway decent, going about with her,” said Pem. “She wanted me to.”
“Finished now?” Nickie asked.
“No—it may last for months; but I often get an afternoon off when her sister comes to stay with her. She likes me to clear out sometimes, so that she can tell her sister how awful I am.”
“Doesn’t she like you, Pem?”
“Oh, pretty well; but she doesn’t really like anybody but herself. That’s what’s the matter with her. She’s got everything on earth—money, and friends, and a wonderful husband. Lend me some of your powder, Nickie?”
“Powder? Going out again now, Pem?”
Pem nodded.
“Who with?”
“With a man,” said Pem, laughing. “Don’t faint!”
“Of course it’s not my business,” observed Nickie, “but it—it isn’t the husband, is it?”
She waited a long time for an answer.
“I wish you’d tell me, Pem. I always tell you things.”
Pem turned and looked at her steadily.
“No, you don’t, Nickie,” she said; “not always.”
Nickie looked back at her friend quite as steadily.
“I do,” she said. “I tell you anything that really matters. You see, Pem, the reason I am asking this is because I thought you were rather gone on Arthur Caswell. You see, I’ve known him for a long while, so I—”
Pem turned to open the bureau drawer, and to take out a pair of white gloves and a handkerchief.
“I’ll tell you something, Nickie,” she said in a curt, cool voice. “He would never have looked at me that night if I had been my real self. I acted like a fool, and that’s what he liked. That’s what every one likes. After he’d gone, everything seemed tame and flat, and I felt so lonely that I couldn’t stand it. I’m going to keep on being a fool, Nickie. I’m going to make people like me. I’m going to live, and enjoy myself!”
“All right,” said Nickie; “but what about Arthur Caswell?”
“He’ll never come back.”
“Yes, he will.[Pg 144]”
“If he does, then—but he won’t. I’m not going to waste my life—or what’s left of it.”
“If I was going to waste any lives,” said Nickie, “I’d rather waste my own than any one else’s.”
Pem was astounded.
“What’s the matter with you?” she demanded. “Are you trying to preach to me, Nickie? It was you who started the whole thing—always pestering me to go to parties.”
“I never went out with a married man in my life,” said Nickie; “and I never would, either.”
“That’s a little too much, after that last party!” returned Pem scornfully. “You wouldn’t go out with a married man, but you don’t mind three fellows who’ve been drinking!”
“How do you know I didn’t mind?” cried Nickie, jumping up. “Just let me tell you, Pem—I knew Arthur Caswell’s people in Halifax. His father’s a strict Presbyterian. I know what he’d think about that, and I’d have stopped Arthur, too, if—”
Pem was about to make a sharp retort, but she changed her mind in time. Going over to Nickie, she put her arms about her friend.
“I’m sorry, little pal,” she said gently. “I didn’t mean to.”
Nickie gave her a rough little hug.
“All right, Pem,” she said. “I know! But, Pem, for my sake, please don’t go out with this man. You’ll be sorry for it—awfully sorry. It’s not like you. Don’t do it, Pem!”
“You don’t understand, Nickie. He’s a wonderful man, so honorable—”
“He’s not honorable if he goes out with you behind his wife’s back.”
“How can he help it, when she’s turned her back on him for good? She’s horrible to him. Nobody else would have put up with her as he has. He is honorable, Nickie; he’s a gentleman through and through. He’s so lonely—you don’t know what that is, but I do. He’s longing and longing for women to be nice and friendly to him. If his wife was ever halfway decent to him—”
She stopped short, because the doorbell had rung.
“There he is,” she said. “Nickie, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I wish you’d see him and talk to him. Then you’d understand. Open the door and talk to him while I’m getting ready.”
Nickie hesitated for a moment.
“All right!” she said, then. “I’ll talk to him!”
Without even troubling to smooth her unruly hair, off she went, down the passage. In a moment she was back.
“Pem,” she cried, “Arthur Caswell is here!”
They stared at each other in a sort of dismay, both speechless for a time.
“I’ll take him out, quick,” said Pem. “When Mr. Blanchard comes, tell him something—anything. I’ll see you later, Nickie. I’ll stop here before I go back to Mr. Blanchard’s.”
“All right,” Nickie said again.
When Pem had gone, she closed the bedroom door after her; but she didn’t even try to rest now.