First there was just a moment of overwhelming happiness, with her father’s arms about her, and Maud stretching out her dear formless lips for a kiss, and Ted with his near-sighted eyes full of welcome behind their bright-looking glasses, and the incorrigible voice of Aunt Alice rushing pell-mell down the stairs. Stella felt as though she could not endure the almost terrible happiness, while it lasted. And then—
Well, she slumped down into a chair and told them about her husband. She spoke of him tensely, yet her voice was not clouded with blame. She cried a little. And then she was in her father’s arms again, and all he could say was: “Stella—Stella....”
After that life settled down in the house. Stella gradually took up her old duties, quietly and gratefully; yet she could not quite believe, sometimes, that the long, long horror was forever still. Her nights at first were troubled, even terrible; and by day, she never smiled.
Jerome fell easily into the way of dropping in to spend an evening. He held them all breathless with his multiple adventures, though the darker phases were not touched upon.
At first he and Stella were but little alone together. He had become, it would seem, just a good comfortable friend of the family, and his tongue was always gayest when they were all assembled in the cosy back parlour. She felt his aloofness, as she had felt it first on that far-off night in the temple, though it was warmer now, and somehow less oppressively personal. Yet this way, to Stella, it seemed an even harder thing to face. His unfailing cheerfulness and that most amazing worldly nonchalance seemed thrusting their destinies ever farther and farther apart. Her tragedy seemed indeed complete. Had he really fallen in love with Elsa? she asked herself. And the answer was always the same, patiently, inevitably: “It would be like that. It would have to be.”
One evening, however, a curious change came. Jerome and Stella were sitting out together on the front steps. He had been gay as usual an hour ago in the back parlour; but now, here in the thoughtful dark, seemed sunk in a deep realm of reverie. As a matter of fact, Jerome was busy with far-flung conjecture. There was a good deal to plan—his whole life, for that matter, which, at his age, represented a contract of no mean proportions. The Mediterranean project was definitely on, and in two weeks Jerome would depart for Tripoli—and the Lord knew what! It was immensely exciting. It seemed the dawn of a real career for him.
He had been perhaps a little more worldly than usual tonight; but now his mood seemed to warm and soften. “Stella,” he began, then hesitated, and ended by reaching out and taking her hand. He held it a long time in silence.
At last he began to speak, his voice a little husky with new emotion. Stella felt her heart respond in a dumb, incredulous way. But he had said only a few words when an unexpected interruption occurred.