CHAPTER XV
FATE AND BILLY COPELAND
When Nan left Copeland the night of the Kinney party she promised to call him the next day. As telephoning from home was hazardous, she made an excuse for going downtown and called from a department store. Copeland was not in, and she repeated her call several times without reaching him. Copeland, if she had known it, was in the directors’ room at the Western National, discussing his affairs with the president.
She had a superstitious awe of petty frustrations of her plans and hopes. The Celt in her was alert for signs and miraculous interventions. It occurred to her that perhaps the angels of light or darkness were bent upon interfering; the idea kindled her imagination.
In the street she ran into Fanny Copeland. To meet Billy’s former wife, just when she was trying to perfect plans for marrying Billy, was altogether dismaying.
“You dear child, I’m so glad to see you!” cried Fanny, taking both Nan’s hands. “I was just wondering whether I had time to run up to the house. How is Mr. Farley?”
“Papa hasn’t been quite so well,” Nan answered; “but it’s only a slight cold. I had to come downtown on an errand,” she explained.
She experienced once more a feeling of self-consciousness, of unreality, in meeting Fanny face to face: within a day or two she might be another Mrs. Copeland! And yet Billy had once loved this woman, undeniably; and she had loved him—she might, for all Nan knew, still love him. She envied the little woman her equanimity, her poise, her good cheer. If she were only like that, instead of the wobbly weather-vane she knew herself to be! Why hadn’t she a firm grip on life instead of a succession of fatuous clutches at nothing! Nan wished, as she had wished a thousand times, that troublesome problems would not rise up to vex her.
The Farley chauffeur had run his machine to the sidewalk to pick her up.
“I hope your father will be better soon,” said Fanny. “Give him my love, won’t you?”
Nan’s eyes followed her as the car got under way.