CHAPTER XIII
“PLEASE, Jim,” begged Rose Hubbell, “you will come with me today?”
She was proposing a walk in the country and Jim was demurring. It was Sunday in May and a beautiful day of golden greens which he had longed to share with Horatia. But Horatia had gone to a family dinner party at Aunt Caroline’s and refused to include him, because it was such a very family party “with antique aunts and uncles who’d watch us and speculate with the most indecent curiosity.” He was bored but disinclined to see Rose Hubbell. If he could not be with Horatia, he could get pleasure out of the thought of her anyway. But Mrs. Hubbell insisted.
“Please, Jim, don’t leave me alone today. It’s a bad anniversary for me. Let’s go for a long country walk and get all this sunshine. Will you?”
He remembered with a shock that it must be a bad anniversary for her. Just three years ago on just such a day, Jack Hubbell had shot the bottom out of his world. And hers too—and Jim’s own, for a while. The bitter reminiscence awakened a keen pity in him for her. Yes, he would go. He promised, and half an hour later was on his way to meet her at the station. They were to ride to the country and then start walking along the lake shore.
She was dressed simply and suitably in a short skirt and jacket and he saw at a glance that she had been weeping. Jim’s gallantry was always greater than his cynicism, and though he had had ample proof that Rose had not let her husband’s suicide blight her life, still this evidence of feeling on her part touched him and made him sorry for her and very kind. They rode along silently—she thoughtful and unwontedly sweet. He saw again in her the mood that had seemed such sweet spirituality and that had seemed to him to be her dominating mood when he had first known her. She was frail and her profile, turned to the light, was very wistful and drooped a little as it contemplated her past sorrows.
“Dear Jim,” she said softly, “I was a wretch to make you share my depression today. But when this time comes around all the gayety with which I can surround myself at other times falls flat. I have all I can do to keep from——” her voice trailed into silence and she stretched her hands forward on her lap, clasping them tightly. Jim said nothing. He had had previous dealings with hysterical women and had learned not to add either the fuel of comfort or of contradiction to their self-musings. And she said nothing more.
They dismounted at their little station. It was only a station house with a country road leading away into light woods, and the road was one which they knew led to a high bluff overlooking miles on miles of lake. Jim had often thought that he would like to bring Horatia here, but the place was too overclouded by certain memories.
“Do you remember the last time we were here?” she asked.
“Look here, Rose, I don’t think this is a wise place to come today. Let’s go back to town and go to supper some place. Or to a concert. This will only work you all up.”