I
The morning paper’s account of Mrs. Trenton’s lecture came in for discussion at the breakfast table and Mrs. Durland read aloud the society column’s report of Miss Reynolds’s dinner. The names of the guests were not given, an omission which Mrs. Durland thought singular, but which evoked from Ethel the comment that the people who had countenanced Mrs. Trenton merely to please Miss Reynolds probably had asked to have their names suppressed. Durland, deprived of his paper, which Mrs. Durland and Ethel were clinging to in violation of his long-established rights, asked Grace whether Trenton was in town.
“Mrs. Trenton said she had hoped to see him here, but I don’t know anything about it, daddy,” she replied carelessly, though the possibility of Trenton’s coming to Indianapolis in response to his wife’s summons was now uppermost in her thoughts.
She eagerly opened the letter from him which awaited her at the store. It was a hasty lead-pencil scrawl and said that he was leaving that night for Indianapolis to see Mrs. Trenton, who was lecturing there and had asked for a meeting. The summons was most inopportune as his work in Syracuse was not completed and it would be necessary for him to return as quickly as possible. “But I’ll see you, of course, if only for a moment,” he concluded.
The note served only to revive with keener malevolence the jealousy that she had vanquished the previous night. Trenton had never written so brusquely before; perhaps his wife’s demand for an interview had alarmed him. She stabbed herself with the thought that this woman had the right to demand interviews with him whenever she pleased.
In the search for consolation she asked Irene to go to lunch with her. To her relief, Irene, having already formed at long range her opinion of Mrs. Trenton, asked only a few questions about the dinner.
“Having seen Mary you will understand Ward better,” Irene remarked, after her curiosity had been satisfied as to what the women wore and she had suggested that the meeting with Atwood under Miss Reynolds’s roof might lead to something.
“Ward’s coming here to see her; he may be in town now,” said Grace, not in the least interested in Atwood. “She told us at dinner she hadn’t seen her husband for she didn’t know how long and had been wiring to try to locate him. What do you make of that, Irene? Do you suppose——”
“I’d suppose nothing! You can’t tell what women of that sort think or what they’ll do. But you can be pretty sure they’ll do something foolish every chance they get. Don’t you worry about her; you can trust Ward to take care of you no matter what her ladyship knows or guesses about him. If Ward loves you as I think he does he’ll go clear down the line for you.”
“Do you think that,—do you really mean that,” asked Grace tremulously.
“Of course I mean it! Look here, my dear! Seeing that woman has made you nervous. If you’d asked my advice in advance I’d have told you not to go. But now that you went and gone and done it the sooner you forget the whole business the better.”
“Irene, I simply had to go! I was simply dying of curiosity and jealousy. Can’t you understand that? You needn’t tell me I ought to be ashamed of myself for going; I know well enough I ought to be.”
“Cut it out, old dear! I’d probably have done the same thing myself if I’d been in your place. Why, Grace, the first time Mrs. Kemp appeared on my floor after I began playing around with Tommy, I nearly broke my neck to wait on her. You ought to feel better now you’ve seen the woman. I heard some of our valued customers talking about the lecture this morning and they all knocked. It’s her money they listen to, not her ideas. She’s no rival of yours, my dear. But, speaking of rivals, I’ve been keeping something from you. Good old John Moore has called on me twice lately and I went to a movie with him Saturday night. Honest, I did! Don’t faint, but I actually broke a date with Tommy to see a picture with your old college chum! Go on and scold me!”
“Why, Irene, I’m awfully pleased. John liked you from the first time you met.”
“Well, he oughtn’t to! Really it would be a lot better if you’d warn him against me. He’s so square himself that he refuses to believe anything mean of anybody; and if he should fall in love with me—or worse—if I’d get a case on him——”
She shook her head and compressed her lips to indicate the dire possibilities of either predicament.
“Why not?” Grace demanded.
“Don’t be silly; you know why not,” Irene replied. “He thinks I’m straight and you know I’m—well, you know what you know. And I just wouldn’t fool that man! If I did I’d be punished for it and I’d deserve to be.”
“Why, Irene!” exclaimed Grace. “I believe you’re already in love with him.”
“Well, hardly that,” Irene replied reflectively, “but I’ve got one of the symptoms. I’m going to quit my evil ways and chuck Tommy! Old sackcloth and ashes stuff! I ought to have let him go when we had the row about that girl in Chicago. You know, Grace, we’re always hearing about the influence of a good woman, but, my dear, it’s nothing to what a good man can do! I suppose,” she went on in her large philosophic manner, “it’s because really fine men are so scarce that when you do spot one you just naturally feel like prostrating yourself in the dust before him. When I began lotus-eating with Tommy I thought I’d never weary of the food, but John’s given me an appetite for corn bread and cabbage! Just what will you take for your interest in John?”
“I never could have loved John and he’s never thought of me in that way,” Grace replied seriously. “But, Irene, for his friendship I wouldn’t take a million dollars.”
“Of course you wouldn’t! And just for his respect and confidence, I’d—”
Grace marvelled to see tears in Irene’s eyes.
The hour spent with Irene served at least to change the current of Grace’s thoughts. There were other girl friends for whom she had a warm liking but Irene continued to hold first place in her affections. The girl’s poise and serenity, her flashes of wisdom, made her increasingly fascinating. And there was a charm in her very unaccountableness. That the luxury-loving Irene, who had so recently spoken of marriage as only a means of attaining comfort and ease, should tolerate the attentions of a young countryman who stood at the threshold of one of the most difficult professions was all but incredible. But this was no more puzzling than the attraction John apparently found in Irene.