dull gray skies, a sobbing wind, and rain falling in monotonous regularity greeted the day following the testimony party. the contrast in temperature and condition was not cheerful, and as mary cary stood upon the porch looking down the road which led to yorkburg she shivered in the damp, cold air, then breathed deeply that her lungs might have their bath.
"it's between the twenty-four hours that all the changes in life come, i suppose, but a change like this makes yesterday seem ages ago. was it really /yesterday/ peggy and i ran like the king of france down hill and up again? and just last night we had that dear, queer, precious party?"
she sighed happily and began it walk up and down the porch. "it's too bad john and mr. fielding should happen to be here together. john despises mr. fielding. i don't wonder. when he shakes hands with me i'm so afraid he'll hear me shiver i hold my breath. and yet he's a very generous man. if i'd allow him he'd give me any amount needed for any object. i'd as soon allow him to give me poison as a check for library, or baths, or the asylum, or anything else in yorkburg. i'm sorry he's here, but i couldn't prevent his coming, not knowing he intended doing so until he arrived. and john just wrote day before yesterday he'd be here to-day. i haven't been very polite to mr. fielding, but he has no reason to expect me to be polite. i've told him i would never marry him and there wasn't the slightest use in coming here, but i might as well talk to the wind. if for him there's to be transmigration, he'll be a rubber ball next time. he's as persistent as john—that is, as john used to be. for nearly six months john has forgotten he ever wanted to marry me. i understand he and lily deford have become great friends. mrs. deford never loses an opportunity of telling me so."
she threw back her head and laughed. "lily deford! what on earth does he talk to her about? hand embroidery and silk stockings are lily's specialties, and she rarely gets beyond either in words or deeds. she's a pretty little powder puff, and i'd feel sorry for her if she wasn't so ma-ridden and spineless. but if john enjoys her—" she shut her eyes tight, a trick caught unconsciously from miss gibbie, then turned and went indoors. and in the hall hedwig heard her humming cheerfully as she put on raincoat and overshoes and made ready for a walk to town.
an hour later the meeting called in mr. moon's office to settle certain matters relating to the recent planting of trees was over, and, leaving the mills, mary cary turned into king street. the driving rain of the morning had slackened somewhat, but the street was deserted, the hour being that of yorkburg's dinner, and as she neared the upper end nothing was in sight but a stray dog whose wet tail flapped in dejected appeal for the door before which he stood to be opened.
"you poor thing!" she stooped and patted the shivering creature, "i've felt sometimes like you look, but i hope i'll never look like you feel." the door was opened, and with an extra flourish of tail and a yelp of gratitude the dog disappeared, and again she started up the street.
only the drip of the rain, the trickle of water in the gutters, and the flap of the torn awning in front of the drug store broke the sullen stillness, and then some distance ahead she saw a man and a woman, under an umbrella held close to their heads, coming slowly toward her. the slowness of their walk caught her attention, but the intentness of their talk made them unconscious of her approach, and not until she was quite near them was the umbrella held by the man lifted so that she could see who he was. she stopped suddenly as if hit, and in her face the color surged so hotly that the damp air stung.
"why, mary!" john maxwell's umbrella dropped to the ground, and with hat in his left hand he extended his right in frank joy at seeing her. "what in the world are you doing out on a day like this?"
"enjoying myself." the hand held eagerly toward her was barely touched. "how do you do, lily? are you out for fun, too?"
"oh no! i'm out for—" she turned helplessly to the man beside her. in his face the color had leaped as swiftly as it had in mary's, but in his it died as quickly as it came, and her cool greeting whitened it. "i came out to get some embroidery cotton number thirty-six from simcoe's and met mr. maxwell coming from the inn. he was—"
"fortunate to meet you. when did you get in, john? she asked the question as if for the time of day, opened her bag, took from it her handkerchief, and wiped her face. "i believe my umbrella leaks. my face is actually wet."
"i got in yesterday afternoon. i went by to see miss gibbie and heard she was spending the evening with you."
"so he came to see us. wasn't it good of him?" and lily, whose slow brain was confused by an undefined something she could not understand, looked first at one and then the other. "i wanted mam-ma to send for mr. brickhouse so we could play cards, but she wouldn't do it and went to bed by nine o'clock. mam-ma never will play cards with mr. maxwell; says he's too good a player. but won't you come in some evening while he's here, mary, and play with us? i'll get five more people and that will make two tables. mr. maxwell is going to stay some time."
"is he?" mary cary fastened the buttons of her left glove, then held her umbrella straight, as if to go on. "i'm sorry i can't come in for cards while he's here, but i don't care for cards." she laughed lightly and nodded. "too bad i've kept you standing in the rain. good-bye!" and she started off.
"hold on a minute, mary!" hat still in hand, john handed the umbrella to lily deford and took a few steps behind her. "what time are you going out this afternoon? i'll come by for you. may i stay to tea? i must see you this evening."
"must you?" she shook the rain off her umbrella. "i'm sorry, but i have an engagement this evening."
he looked at her as if not understanding. "you mean i can't come?"
his face flushed, and a quick frown swept over it.
her shoulders shrugged slightly, a movement she knew he disliked.
"if you perfer to so put it—that is what i mean."
his clear gray eyes were searching hers as if what he had heard was unbelievable. "your engagements must be very imperative. i have not seen you for nearly six months and naturally my time here must be short."
mary cary looked up, and the smile on her face was one he did not know. "short? i understood lily to say a minute ago you would be here some time."
"lily knows nothing about it."
"no?" again her eyebrows lifted. "she seemed to speak with authority. but whether she did or not, it is hardly kind to keep her standing in the rain. don't you think you had better go back to her?"
"i think i had." he looked down, and then again in her baffling eyes. "you haven't on your overshoes. your feet are soaking wet."
she too looked down. "i started out with them. guess i left them in mr. moon's office. are you sure lily has on hers?"
"i don't know whether she has or not. lily can take care of her own feet."
"and i of mine. standing on wet ground isn't good for them.
good-bye!" and with a half-nod she walked on up the street.
what was it? what was the matter with her? her blood was pounding through heart and brain, and the damp air on her face only added to its burning. in her eyes was an angry light, and she bit her lips lest they make movements of the words which sprang to them.
"got here yesterday! didn't come out, didn't telephone, spent the evening at the defords', and with lily the first thing this morning. wants to see me this evening!" her head went up. "i guess not. his time will probably be short. with me it will certainly be short. what did he come for if only to stay a little while?" in her face indignation faded into incredulity and her lips curved. "to see the little powder puff, i suppose! well, he can see her. i'll certainly not take his time. for nearly six months it has pleased him to stay away, to write scraps of letters at long intervals, to send nothing, do nothing that he used to do. and now he comes back and expects me to receive him with outstretched arms. he expects wrong!"
she reached the moon's gate, hesitated, and walked on. lunch was to be taken with them, but the sudden transition from expected sensations to the unexpected made it best to stay in the cold air a while longer, and without a look toward the house she passed it hurriedly.
what was the matter with john? for ten years he had been the friend who never failed—the friend to whom she could always turn and know what to find; the one to whom subconsciously all things were referred, and who, without always agreeing with her, always stood by her. what was the matter with him?
walking as if to catch a train, and yet without looking where she was going, she turned into pelham place and neared miss gibbie's house. her eyes were upon it in indecision, and not seeing the puddle of water ahead, she stepped into it and splashed well with mud the low shoes and thin stockings she was wearing. the sudden chill provoked her, and she looked down at her wet feet.
"of course he saw i had on no overshoes. he always sees the things
i leave off and don't do and thinks i'm nothing but a child.
suppose i am! what business is it of his whether i wear overshoes
or not? what business is it of his what i do or where i go or what
i say? we are nothing to each other!"
the thought stopped her. for a moment she shivered in the damp, penetrating wind, then hurriedly passed miss gibbie's house. she would not go in. no one must see her until she grew calmer. but what was she angry about? she didn't know, only—only for weeks she had been looking forward to john's coming. she had expected him the first of october, but the month passed and he had not come. then came a hurried note merely saying he would reach yorkburg on the thirtieth, and the vague unrest of past days faded. she hadn't been as nice to john as she ought to have been, had taken too much as a matter of course perhaps, but this time she was going to be really very good. there were many things to talk over, and she wanted, too, to hear about his trip. she had visited norway, but the stay was short, and she would like to go again. she had honestly intended to be very nice, and only a few hours ago she had talked with hedwig about supper, deciding on the things john liked best. and now—
she laughed, and for the first time in her life her laughter had a bitter tinge.
"good-morning! the girl worth while is the girl who can smile, when the rain—"
she looked up. the man in front of her was blocking her way. he touched his hat, but did not lift it, and at sight of him she frowned. there were times when she loathed horatio fielding.
"good-morning!" her tone was short, then, a sudden thought occurring, she changed it. "you evidently like to walk in the rain as much as i do. suppose you come out to tea to-night. i was going to telephone, but this will save time." she started to pass on. "we have tea at seven."
"i'll be there. in front of your fire is the place for me. but can't i walk with you? you seem in an awful hurry this morning."
"i am. have an engagement. will see you to-night." and as if to escape what was unendurable she hurried on, and again turned into king street.
"two stories in half an hour is doing well for one who hates a lie as nothing on earth is hated," she said under her breath, holding the umbrella close down over her head. "a little more time and you may lie without effort. you told john you had an engagement. i thought i did, with him. and you had no more idea of telephoning mr. fielding before you saw him than of telephoning the—i'd much rather telephone the latter. he'd certainly be more entertaining and far more polished. it isn't mr. fielding's dulness that is so unpardonable, but his horrible cocksureness and insufferable assurance. he doesn't eat with his knife, but only from obvious restraint, and in an unguarded moment he'll do it yet. he could never be convinced that if a woman had fine clothes and carriages and bejewelled fingers and throat that she could wish for something else. to him a woman is property." she drew in her breath. "after a visit from him i need prayers and want incense. and i've asked him to eat john's supper to-night!"
the wind had changed, and the rain, coming down in heavy, shifting sheets, beat upon her umbrella with such force that only with difficulty could it be held. her feet were wet, loose strands of hair, damp and breeze-blown, brushed in irritating tappings across her face, and as she again neared mrs. moon's house she knew she must go in.
sarah sue had seen her coming, and the door was opened when she reached it. "what in the world made you go by here half an hour ago instead of coming in?" she asked, taking the umbrella and helping off with the raincoat. "i knocked on the window and called you, but you didn't hear. aren't your shoes wet? soaking! come right on up to my room and put your feet on my fender and get them good and hot. my slippers and stockings are too big, but you can keep them on until yours are dry. i don't understand why you didn't come in first."
sarah sue led the way up-stairs, followed by mary cary, who had submitted to comments and questions and the off-taking of wraps without reply, but halfway up the steps she stopped and turned back.
"a package was left here for you just now," she said. "i'd better give it to you before i forget." she took up the bundle on the hall-table and came back with it.
"what is it?" mary's voice was indifferent as she broke the wrapping; then as she saw the writing on it she frowned. "it's nothing—just my overshoes." she threw them down the steps and under the table from which sarah sue had taken them.
