We Three Part 5

"I'm hanged if I know," I said; "but what makes you think I got started?"

"I'd just put out the lights in the library when you came in. You stopped in front of the hall mirror, and said:

"Beautiful Evelyn Gray is dead Come and sit by her side an hour."

"I _didn't_," I exclaimed indignantly.

My father began to chuckle all over like Santa Claus in the Christmas poem.

"You mean beautiful Evelyn Hope, don't you?" I asked.

"Gray was the name."

"I'd like to know what _you_ were doing up so late?"

"Oh, we had a big night--three tables of bridge and one of poker. I sat up late to count my winnings."

"How much did you drop, as a matter of fact?"

"Only about eighty."

"Any twinges this morning?"

"No, sir. And a better appet.i.te than you've got."

"I doubt that."

And, indeed, we both ate very hearty breakfasts.

VII

If I thought that Lucy would be melancholy during her husband's absence I was mistaken. It was almost as if she had no husband. She was like some radiant schoolgirl home for the holidays. But I am pretty sure that Fulton missed her during every waking moment. He wrote to her at least twice a day and sent her many telegrams.

"He knows what a shocking memory I have," she explained; "and he's afraid that I'll forget him unless constantly reminded. Wouldn't it be funny if people only existed for us when they were actually present?

Some time I think I'm a little like that about people. Until I really fell in love, I always loved the boy that was on the spot."

"I've heard that you were an outrageous flirt."

"I didn't know my own mind. _That_ isn't flirting. And when a boy said he liked me, I was so pleased and flattered that I always said I liked him, too, and the minute he was out of sight, I'd find that I didn't."

A few days of hot sunshine had worked wonders with the jasmine. Here and there the bright golden trumpets were so ma.s.sed as to give an effect of bonfires; here and there a vine carried beauty and sweetness to the top of a tall tree, or festooning among the branches resembled a string of lights. The humming of bees was steady and insistent like the roar of far-off surf. And so strong was the mounting of the sap that already the twigs and branches of deciduous trees appeared as through a mist of green. The buds on the laurel, swollen and pink, looked like sugar decorations for wedding cakes. Flashes of brightest blue and scarlet told of birds recently arrived from still farther south. Lucy Fulton had just received a telegram from her husband, saying that in New York a blizzard was raging.

She was in one of her talkative moods. Her voice, clear and boyish and far-carrying, was so easy and pleasant to listen to that it didn't matter much what she said. Should I convey an erroneous impression and one derogatory to a charming companion if I said that she chattered along like a magpie? She talked about servants, and I gathered that she had never had any trouble with servants. And I thought, "Why should you, you who are so friendly, so frank, and so kind?" She gave me both sides of the argument about bare legs for children versus stockinged legs. She confessed to an immense pa.s.sion for so lowly a dish as stewed prunes, she memorialized upon dogs and horses that had belonged to her. I learned that her favorite story was the "Brushwood Boy," that her favorite poem was "The Last Ride Together," and that her favorite flower was Olea fragrans, the tea-olive (she really said its Latin name), whose waxy-white blossom is no bigger than the head of a pin, and whose fragrance is as that of a whole basketful of hot-house peaches.

Had I really and truly liked the teagown she wore the other night?

Would I cross my heart to that effect? Well, then, she had made it all herself in a day. If the worse came to the worst, if cartridges fell upon still more evil days, she would turn dressmaker, and become rich and famous. Wasn't it a pity that John had to work so hard, and miss so many lovely days?

"I think he'd be quite rich," she said, "if it wasn't for me. I was brought up to spend all the money I wanted to, and I don't seem able to stop. I know it isn't fair to John, and John says it isn't fair to the babies, and I make beautiful resolutions and forget all about them."

"But now that your husband has had to cut his salary in half, you'll simply have to be good, won't you?"

She admitted that now she would simply have to be good. And a moment later she was making plans for the dance that she was going to give at Wilc.o.x's.

"Why wouldn't it be a fine beginning of economy to cut that dance out?"

I asked. "Why not let me give it? I'm quite flush just now. It wouldn't hurt me a bit."

"I thrashed it all out with John," she said, "that same night after you'd gone. He told me to go ahead, and not disappoint myself. I didn't see why you shouldn't give a dance for me if you wanted to, and I wanted you to. But John wouldn't listen to that for a minute. I must say I couldn't see why, and I don't yet. It isn't like paying my dressmaker's bill, or giving me a pearl necklace. I said that. And he said no, it wasn't like that, but that it was a second cousin twice removed."

"I think he'd be mightily pleased if he came back and found that the price of this dance was still to his credit in that firm and excellent inst.i.tution, the Bank of Western Carolina."

"If we are really hard up," she said, "what does a few hundred dollars matter one way or the other?"

It seemed to me that I had done all that I could to save Fulton's money for him. I had the feeling that if I continued to preach economy I might get myself disliked, for already Lucy seemed to have lost something of her light-heartedness and vivacity.

"When do you give it?" I said. "Please ask me."

"I shall give it day after tomorrow night," she said; "and I shall ask everybody in Aiken."

I said that she insulted me, and then we laughed like two silly children, and light-heartedness and vivacity returned to her like two bright birds to a flowering bush. We planned the dance in full detail.

There was just time to get a famous quartette down from Washington.

She would have the rooms decorated with wagon-loads of jasmine. Once I had seen the expression of Hurry's face upon learning that there was to be chocolate ice cream for dessert. In planning her dance Lucy's face had just the same expression. When she was excited with happiness it seemed to me that she had the loveliest face I had ever seen.

We rode until dusk, but I could not accept her invitation for tea or a drink, because my mother was expecting some people over from Augusta and I had promised to come home. The people's motor, however, had broken down, and I found my mother all alone, presiding at a tea table that almost groaned with good things to eat.

"What have you been doing?" she asked.

"I've been riding--as you see. I've been riding with Mrs. Fulton."

"Again? It seems to me you ride with her every day. You must find her fascinating, or you wouldn't do it."

"You read me like a book, mother. I certainly wouldn't. But don't you think fascinating is rather a strong word? She's the most easy-going and engaging little person in the world, but fascinating . . .?

Fascination suggests the effect of paint and fixed smiles and lights and spangles upon old men with bald heads, the effect of the wily serpent upon the guileless bird."

"Aiken," said my mother, "is such a very small place."

"It isn't like you to beat about the bush. Why not say frankly that if I keep on I'll end by making Lucy Fulton conspicuous?"

"Very well," smiled my mother (very gently), "that's just what I do say."

"Aiken," I said, "can go hang. If two people like to ride together, for no worse reason than that they like riding and are good friends, what earthly business is it of Aiken's? People make me sick. That's a bromide, but it's a good one. As for Lucy Fulton, I really like her a lot, and she really amuses me, but if I knew that I was never to see her again in this world, I'd lose no sleep over it. Why, they are the original happy married pair. Just think he's away from home for the first time since they were married. They make love to each other openly, right under your very nose, so that it's downright embarra.s.sing. Latterly I've had a meal ticket at their house, and seeing them together with their babies, and noting all the peace and trustfulness and lovingness of it, has opened my eyes (that were so firmly shut) to the possibilities and beauties of matrimony."

"At any rate," said my mother, "you haven't talked yourself entirely out."

"Well, you see, I was a listener today. Part of the time I was lectured on the empty life I lead, and then I was almost persuaded that I ought to fall in love with Evelyn Gray, and she with me. I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Fulton bullied us into it before she got through."