on the porch, where miss whitcom had been regaling her relations with, it must be admitted, a rather sensational account of how the inhabitants of tahulamaji had formerly been cannibals, the absence of lynndal barry was noticed.
"where is he?" asked the rev. needham, with a quick inward flash of nervousness.
louise was assailed by a great longing to come out, wildly and fully, with some superb flow of words which should ease the burden of her heart. it seemed urgent, in fact, that she explain his absence. aunt marjie braced herself for an expected scene. but just then the missing man put in an appearance. hilda preceded him up the steps. instead of crying out that her heart was breaking, louise felt suddenly an insane desire to laugh. hilda was leading lynndal back, as though to compensate for leading leslie off!
"well, well," began the rev. needham, with all the hospitable bluffness he could summon. "we were talking about you!"
"—wondering where you were," continued mrs. needham.
[pg 221]
"—fearing you might have embarked for the wicked city of beulah," marjory gaily carried it on, "where young men are not safe, and the song of the siren never dies away!"
the rev. needham looked startled, then rather grim, then again just vaguely uneasy. barry explained that he had been strolling in the woods.
"no danger of getting lost, at any rate," declared miss whitcom, "since the church advertises so efficiently!"
there promised to be a rather pained silence; but mrs. needham rose, smoothed down the front of her skirt, and announced that she must go and dress for dinner.
"ah, yes," lamented her sister cheerfully, "one must dress, even in the wilderness."
"oh, we don't really make anything of it, marjie. only it sort of rests you—to make a change."
"dress! isn't it absurd? yet how we dote on it! in this respect we aren't, after all, civilized to any dangerous degree. why, in tahulamaji—"
"marjie, there isn't a bit of use of your changing. you look lovely."
"thanks," replied her sister. "still, one must."
"we all do just as we please up here in the woods, you know."
"ah, but the men, the men," whispered miss whitcom with delicious vulgarity behind her hand. "and after all, we must have some regard for the conventions." her tone was just a little pointed.
[pg 222]
"yes, marjie, i suppose, in a way...." anna admitted.
"and then—there's the church," miss whitcom persisted, almost brutally whimsical.
"the church?"
"since it tries so very hard to keep abreast of the times—one might say, à la mode!"
the sisters went into the cottage. louise rose.
"i must dress too," she announced, crossing quickly to the door.
"i like that gown ever so much," said lynndal.
she turned and cast him a rueful glance. "thank you. but i really must change." she smiled faintly. the high colour had faded, and her eyes had lost their look of splendid wildness.
"wait for me!" cried hilda, making a tomboy dive for the door, and capturing her sister's waist, hanging on her affectionately as they went in together.
"at any rate, we don't have to dress," laughed the rev. needham quite jovially.
"you're sure? i'd begun to get rather scared. you see i didn't bring out anything...."
the minister laughed again. "no, the men up here are more sensible."
"what did miss whitcom mean," asked barry after a short pause, "when she spoke the way she did about the church?"
"the church, barry?"
"something about it being à la mode."
[pg 223]
"oh, i—the fact is, barry, i don't quite know myself. i'm sure she didn't mean anything in particular. that is, you see marjory has a kind of playful way of speaking.... you have to know her well to understand her."
"she seems like a very jolly sort."
"yes, yes. she's ever so jolly. sometimes i feel.... well, of course, every one has their times of being jollier than at other times, don't they?" there seemed something here appealing, a little pathetic, even—as though alfred needham, if he only could one day get his heels down, would turn out really very jolly himself.
the conversation was growing thin, a little vague. it was a relief to have the talk drift into other and more concrete channels.
"well," remarked barry, "just before i left for the east we got the final engineering report on the new san pedro reservoir. it looks pretty good to me."
"something to open up a whole new area?"
"yes, that's it. by building another dam—" and he explained the rather technical proposition.
"a good deal like the santa cruz, isn't it?" asked the minister.
"yes, a good deal like that. you can be pretty sure of the water near the source, but of course the farther downstream you go, the less dependable the flow is. sometimes there will be floods, and then again sometimes the bed will go entirely dry."
[pg 224]
"yes, yes," said the rev. needham meditatively, and almost as though in these fluxes of the arizona rivers he recognized a subtle resemblance to life's fluxes which kept him ever hopping. "let's see," he continued, "do i own anything just there, in the san pedro valley?"
"you certainly do," replied barry, and he drew a map out of his pocket, spread it on his knee, hitched his chair a little closer, and traced the needham holdings with his pencil. "this strip in cochise county—that little triangular patch there where pinal and pima join.... it ought to add quite a bit to your income, when the deal is really swung."
the rev. needham sighed appreciatively. "i wouldn't have any of these opportunities if it weren't for you being right there on the spot to look out for things."
"oh, i do what i can," said barry quietly. he folded up the map and put it away. "you see i'm very much interested in arizona—new settlers coming all the time—new homes under way...." his eyes were dimly wistful. "pretty soon we'll he getting another man in congress...."
"barry, do you suppose later on you'll be getting into politics?"
"politics?" he laughed it away a little, yet at the same time clung to it, too. "oh—you never can tell." as a matter of fact, as louise could have told her father, the spring of a secret ambition had[pg 225] been touched. "just now there's too much to do, developing—opening up the country.... there are plans in the air for another big power plant near yuma. by the way, i can get you some shares there, if you like. as for politics...."
the rev. needham folded his arms with quiet pride. this was a man after his very heart. perhaps he would be a representative at washington some day. perhaps he would be governor some day. and in the meantime, here he was, coming right into the family! no, the rev. needham could not have been any prouder of a son.
upstairs all the ladies were in the midst of their toilettes. "o, world! o, life! o, time!"
"are you girls putting on low neck?" demanded miss whitcom in her shrill way.
"lou is," replied hilda. "she always dresses when there's anything to go to, but i never do." she sighed. "just think, aunt marjie, i haven't got a single low neck!"
"cheer up, little one!" the aunt called over the three-quarters partition. "your time's coming. i don't see—achu!—what you do about sunburn up here! achu!"
she was deluging her neck and face with powder. fortunately they were only going to a roast, and there wouldn't be much light, especially after the fire began to die down. then she started slightly and frowned. why on earth should one be concerned[pg 226] about a little sunburn? and yet—there was a thrill in the question, too. miss whitcom admitted she never would have been so concerned in the old days. these were new days. after all, barrett seemed the only reality there was left. yet there had seemed so many realities to begin with.
"louise, what's the matter?" whispered hilda, as she slipped a fresh jumper over her head and began tying its lace.
"what makes you think there's anything the matter?" asked her sister thickly.
"i know there is! you don't act like yourself at all. is it—is there something about you and mr. barry?"
louise's throat ached. she did not start, nor did she flush and cry out: "how did you guess?" her throat ached; it ached cruelly.
"lou, dear—tell me what's the matter!" implored hilda, throwing her arms around her sister, and laying her cheek against the other's shoulder a moment.
"i—i can't," faltered louise.
"yes, you can. i knew there was something!"
louise shook her head wretchedly.
"doesn't he seem the same?"
"don't, hilda!" she wriggled nervously.
"louise!"
"i—i...." she pushed herself free of an embrace which possessed, just now, no comfort. "please don't say anything more. you mustn't."
[pg 227]
"well, i won't, lou dear. only it makes me feel bad to see you look this way. and i know there's something the matter."
"no, there isn't," replied louise woodenly.
hilda discovered, far in an unfrequented corner of her own little special chest of drawers which had been moved in out of aunt marjie's way, a fine new scarf. it was a scarf she had never worn before. indeed, she had forgotten all about it. now she remembered it had been put away carefully, with the understanding that it was to be brought out for some very special occasion. her heart told her the golden hour had come. her heart was so full of news that it began singing.
"we're going to light mr. o'donnell through to the roast!"
"who?" asked louise. she spoke impulsively, as all the needhams were in the habit of speaking. had she thought a moment she would not have asked.
hilda told her, with a thrill of most abundant happiness. she hugged her happiness; she did not know what it cost her sister.
louise braced herself. the evening had to be got through somehow. but after tonight—then what? her father would be expecting lynndal to come to him to talk it over. and how terrible! would it, perhaps—her thoughts were flying helter-skelter—would it perhaps make some fatal difference in the western business? would lynndal[pg 228] continue to look after the interests, just as before? could any one reasonably expect the relations all around to remain quite what they had been?
remorse stole dully over her. she had come between her father and his friend. could he forgive her? and could her father? why had she done such a thing? but was it final? all those letters.... at length he was here ... had come so far ... and what had she done? in the morning she had gone to meet her lover. it had seemed fine and romantic. she had told leslie they must be only friends now. it had all appeared quite easy and rather delightful. then lynndal had come, and ... and then what? what was it that had happened? it had seemed to her that she could not give herself up....
if only she could have a sudden change of heart! one read of such things, now and then. if only she could rush joyously down to him, where he sat talking with her father, and tell him she did love him! but after all, she could only go on dressing, miserably dressing.
"do i look all right, lou?" asked hilda, much as louise had put the same question to her at dawn.
her sister told the plain truth in a syllable. yes. she certainly did. of course a jumper, even with so fine a new sash under its collar, wasn't quite as nice as low neck. but hilda was undeniably charming. louise felt a sudden elemental pang of jealousy.
hilda's heart was in a great flutter. she liked [pg 229]leslie ever so well. she didn't know any other boy she liked so well as leslie. have a care, little hilda. ah, have a care! your age protects you. but later, when you have substituted loving for liking, things will be different. when louise was your age she let harold gates kiss her a great many times. she let him put his arm around her, and when he had to leave her on account of the girl he had brought along with him to the picnic, she did not care—very much. or at least she did not care very long. but now see, hilda. your sister has become a woman. she has learned to love, and play quite fearlessly with love. but love is a terrible thing, and your sister is not very wise.
have a care, hilda! as you value what is precious and fine in life—beware! oh, hilda, beware, when the heart has matured, that you do not reap a whirlwind of ghosts....
