“I shall always think,” remarked Mrs. Durland expansively, “that if the Cummings hadn’t moved away when they did Bob and Grace might—well, I always thought he liked you particularly, Grace, and you were fond of him. Of course, he’s five years older, but when you were still in high school and he was in Yale he always came to see you and took you places when he was home. But when they moved away everything changed.”
“Oh, that didn’t amount to anything, mother,” Grace replied carelessly. “He was always shy as a boy and I suppose he still is. After they moved away he didn’t know the girls out there so he hung on to me for a while. He just used me to cover up his diffidence among strange young people at country club dances, and other places where he didn’t know many people. When he got acquainted out there he didn’t need me any more.”
“It would be like Hetty Cummings to tell him he’d better cut his West End friends,” said Mrs. Durland tartly. “Even back in Rangerton she was always setting up to be better than most folks. It must have been in their minds when they moved away that they were going to force your father out of the business and burn all the old bridges.”
“The canal bridge,” remarked Grace with a little laugh which the others ignored.
“Now, Allie,” said Durland in mild protest, “they didn’t force me out. It was losing my stock in the company that put me out.”
“It was merciless,” said Ethel, her voice rising, “Cummings took advantage of you. He always knew you were not a business man. Everything he’s got came through your genius.”
“I guess he thought my genius was worn out,—and he may be right about it,” said Durland.
“Don’t be so foolish, daddy,” said Grace gently. “Any day you may have an inspiration that will be worth a lot of money.”
“It’s always possible, of course,” said Mrs. Durland with a little sigh susceptible of the interpretation that she had no great confidence in her husband’s further inspirations. “Ethel,” she continued, “tell Grace about your work.”
“Yes, please do, sis,” said Grace.