“A million of them ... but only one, now.” She pursed her lips with strigine solemnity. The kiss was a rite—not to be taken frivolously. “I have to tell you about it. I don’t think it was half bad—for a kid like me. It didn’t look as if it would work, when I started in. But if you are in as tight a pinch as that, you have to jump where there looks like an opening. Then I had to see it through. There wasn’t any chance to back out.” The sentence was somewhat chaotic, but the meaning was plain.
“When we started in the house, I let mamma and Lary get clear inside the hall. Then I pulled papa back and whispered in his ear—that Eileen was over at Mrs. Nims’ and for him not to let on that he missed her. He asked me why, and I told him that if he was any sport at all, he’d do as I said, and not ask any questions. And what do you think, Lady Judith ... he was game! Mamma threw out one hook after another, to make him ask where Eileen was. And every time he turned and looked at me—and I gave him the most awful glances, behind my napkin. The only thing he could think of, right quick, was getting made treasurer of the college trustees. And I don’t know why mamma didn’t smell something, because it isn’t the least bit like my daddy to boast.”
“And then the storm may have helped.”
“Yes, papa said that was sent by Divine Providence. It gave me a chance to explain to him—while mamma was chasing all over the house, putting down windows, and screaming at Drusilla as if the house was on fire. I told him that mamma was mad as a wet hen—and just bound and determined to start something, with him ... and he mustn’t fall for it. Lady Judith, I wish my daddy had more sand. He choked up—like he was about to cry—and said he didn’t know what was wrong with mamma. He tried every way to please her and make her happy. He asked me if I knew why she was so cross all the time ... and I fibbed an awful fib. I told him Dr. Schubert said she had rocks in her liver and that would make a saint cross.”
Her eyes danced with roguish mirth, then fell. When she raised them again to the woman’s face, they were full of obstinate purpose.
“I guess it was a sin and God will punish me. Well, let Him ... if He feels that way about it. I’d take a whipping any day, to keep my daddy from getting one. If your soul is so nice that you can’t fib once in a while, to help a fellow out of trouble—” She battled with the futility of language to convey the situation as she perceived it. “Still, I wouldn’t want you to think it was wrong ... telling a story, to keep some one out of a scolding—some one that never did a mean thing in his whole life. Do you—do you think it is?”
“You darling!” Aching arms encircled her. “I don’t know how to answer you. We both know that it is wrong, in the abstract, to tell lies.”
“Yes, but I never tell them in the abstract. It’s only when there isn’t any other way.” The explanation threatened to assume the solemnity of a lecture on pragmatism. “I have wanted to tell you—ever since Lary said I was a conscienceless fibber. It’s one thing I can’t make him understand, and he knows everything else without being told. When you want a thing to be a certain way, and it isn’t that way at all, you can’t use the facts. They don’t fit. And what good does it do—to keep saying a thing over, the way you don’t want it to be?”
“A popular religion was founded on that premise, dearie.”
“What I’m talking about hasn’t got anything to do with religion. Bob used to say, ‘A lie is an abomination in the sight of the Lord, and a very present help in time of trouble.’ But I would never fib to keep myself out of trouble. You have to save them ... till there’s something important. If I hadn’t told Lary you didn’t like the apricot lamp shade, he wouldn’t have thought of going over to call on you—till Syd Schubert or some other man fell in love with you.”