CHAPTER XII
FOR three days and nights I wandered over the ruins of my life, back and forth, helpless, almost driven mad by the horror of it; and then at last Dr. Maynard came. I had not realised that he had been out of town. I had been so stunned by Alec's announcement that I had not missed him. He had been down to Baltimore for three days attending some sort of a medical conference and I had not known that he had been outside of Hilton.
Dr. Maynard and I were as good friends as ever now. Three whole months had passed since that Christmas Day when he discovered my sofa-pillow on his desk, and I had come to the conclusion that he had been merely surprised into his queer behaviour that day. He had never shown a scrap of the same emotion since. I remember the very next time I saw him he had dropped that newly acquired gravity of his. Somehow I had been disappointed. When he referred to my pillow in his old natural, jovial way, I had been hurt. "I tell you what," he had said, "I feel like an undergraduate again. Nice girl like Lucy Vars making me a pillow for my room! Won't you come to my Class-Day?" he had laughed. It was I who had flushed then. I managed to throw back some sort of a careless rejoinder, but I tell you, I didn't waste any more madly happy moments on Dr. Maynard. Grey-haired old bachelor! He was old enough to be my uncle anyhow! We had resumed our automobile rides just as naturally as if he'd never acted queerly at all. We took up our jolly repartee, returned to our old plane of good-comradeship, exactly as if I had never seen him gaze at my picture, and heard his voice tremble when he told me I had made his Christmas the very happiest in his life. I didn't care. I was glad of it. I had never wanted Dr. Maynard for a lover! But I wanted him for a friend.
I don't believe I quite appreciated how much I wanted him, until he came back from Baltimore and discovered me wandering about my ruins like a maniac. When I found myself bundled up in Father's old ulster, again beside him in his automobile, flashing through the cool night air, a great wave of relief ran over me. Dr. Maynard has seen me through so much trouble, brought me safely over so many difficulties, that it was a comfort just to sit beside him in silence. When we had reached a good clear stretch of road, he settled down comfortably behind the wheel.
"Now go ahead," he said heartily; "the whole story, please," and I knew that Alec had broken his news to him.
"Well," I started in, "since you've been gone, there's been a dreadful earthquake around here." (Dr. Maynard and I adore to talk in similes.) "My house has been smashed up, and I'm a pitiful refugee. I am cold and hungry and without a home."
"I've come with supplies," laughed Dr. Maynard, taking it up delightfully. "I'm a little late, but I've brought bread and meat and a tent, and want you to crawl in and warm up."
"I can't live with her, Dr. Maynard. I can't!" I broke out, too heart-sick to play with similes any more. "I hate her and I can't help it. She's taken Alec away, she's pushed herself into my dear father's business, and there's no place for me, as I can see, anywhere."
"Tell me all about it," said Dr. Maynard, and I related every single word of my whole pitiful story, growing sorrier and sorrier for myself as I went along, and finally at the end breaking down completely, repeating my old time-worn phrase, "I can't live with her. I can't, can't!" I covered my face with both hands. There were tears trickling down my cheeks.