The Cut-Glass Bowl
There was a rough stone age and a smooth stone age and a bronzeage, and many years afterward a cut-glass age. In the cut-glassage, when young ladies had persuaded young men with long, curlymustaches to marry them, they sat down several months afterwardand wrote thank-you notes for all sorts of cut-glasspresents--punch-bowls, finger-bowls, dinner-glasses,wine-glasses, ice-cream dishes, bonbon dishes, decanters, andvases--for, though cut glass was nothing new in the nineties, itwas then especially busy reflecting the dazzling light of fashionfrom the Back Bay to the fastnesses of the Middle West.After the wedding the punch-bowls were arranged in the sideboardwith the big bowl in the centre; the glasses were set up in thechina-closet; the candlesticks were put at both ends ofthings--and then the struggle for existence began. The bonbondish lost its little handle and became a pin-tray upstairs; apromenading cat knocked the little bowl off the sideboard, andthe hired girl chipped the middle-sized one with the sugar-dish;then the wine-glasses succumbed to leg fractures, and even thedinner-glasses disappeared one by one like the ten littleniggers, the last one ending up, scarred and maimed as atooth-brush holder among other shabby genteels on the bathroomshelf. But by the time all this had happened the cut-glass agewas over, anyway.It was well past its first glory on the day the curious Mrs.Roger Fairboalt came to see the beautiful Mrs. Harold Piper."My dear," said the curious Mrs. Roger Fairboalt, "I LOVE yourhouse. I think it's QUITE artistic.""I'm SO glad," said the beautiful Mrs. Harold Piper, lightsappearing in her young, dark eyes; "and you MUST come often. I'malmost ALWAYS alone in the afternoon."Mrs. Fairboalt would have liked to remark that she didn't believethis at all and couldn't see how she'd be expected to--it wasall over town that Mr. Freddy Gedney had been dropping in on Mrs.Piper five afternoons a week for the past six months. Mrs.Fairboalt was at that ripe age where she distrusted all beautifulwomen---"I love the dining-room MOST," she said, "all that MARVELLOUSchina, and that HUGE cut-glass bowl."Mrs. Piper laughed, so prettily that Mrs. Fairboalt's lingeringreservations about the Freddy Gedney story quite vanished."Oh, that big bowl!" Mrs. Piper's mouth forming the words was avivid rose petal. "There's a story about that bowl---""Oh---""You remember young Carleton Canby? Well, he was very attentiveat one time, and the night I told him I was going to marryHarold, seven years ago in ninety-two, he drew himself way up andsaid: 'Evylyn, I'm going to give a present that's as hard as youare and as beautiful and as empty and as easy to see through.'He frightened me a little--his eyes were so black. I thought hewas going to deed me a haunted house or something that wouldexplode when you opened it. That bowl came, and of course it'sbeautiful. Its diameter or circumference or something is two anda half feet--or perhaps it's three and a half. Anyway, thesideboard is really too small for it; it sticks way out.""My DEAR, wasn't that ODD! And he left town about then didn'the?" Mrs. Fairboalt was scribbling italicized notes on hermemory--"hard, beautiful, empty, and easy to see through.""Yes, he went West--or South--or somewhere," answered Mrs. Piper,radiating that divine vagueness that helps to lift beauty out oftime.Mrs. Fairboalt drew on her gloves, approving the effect oflargeness given by the open sweep from the spacious music-roomthrough the library, disclosing a part of the dining-room beyond.It was really the nicest smaller house in town, and Mrs. Piperhad talked of moving to a larger one on Devereaux Avenue. HaroldPiper must be COINING money.As she turned into the sidewalk under the gathering autumn duskshe assumed that disapproving, faintly unpleasant expression thatalmost all successful women of forty wear on the street.If _I_ were Harold Piper, she thought, I'd spend a LITTLE lesstime on business and a little more time at home. Some FRIENDshould speak to him.But if Mrs. Fairboalt had considered it a successful afternoonshe would have named it a triumph had she waited two minuteslonger. For while she was still a black receding figure a hundredyards down the street, a very good-looking distraught young manturned up the walk to the Piper house. Mrs. Piper answered thedoor-bell herself, and with a rather dismayed expression led himquickly into the library."I had to see you," he began wildly; "your note played the devilwith me. Did Harold frighten you into this?"She shook her head."I'm through, Fred," she said slowly, and her lips had neverlooked to him so much like tearings from a rose. "He came homelast night sick with it. Jessie Piper's sense of duty was to muchfor her, so she went down to his office and told him. He was hurtand--oh, I can't help seeing it his way, Fred. He says we've beenclub gossip all summer and he didn't know it, and now heunderstands snatches of conversation he's caught and veiled hintspeople have dropped about me. He's mighty angry, Fred, and heloves me and I love him-- rather."Gedney nodded slowly and half closed his eyes."Yes," he said "yes, my trouble's like yours. I can see otherpeople's points of view too plainly." His gray eyes met her darkones frankly. "The blessed thing's over. My God, Evylyn, I'vebeen sitting down at the office all day looking at the outside ofyour letter, and looking at it and looking at it---""You've got to go, Fred," she said steadily, and the slightemphasis of hurry in her voice was a new thrust for him. "I gavehim my word of honor I wouldn't see you. I know just how far Ican go with Harold, and being here with you this evening is oneof the things I can't do."They were still standing, and as she spoke she made a littlemovement toward the door. Gedney looked at her miserably, trying,here at the end, to treasure up a last picture of her--and thensuddenly both of them were stiffened into marble at the sound ofsteps on the walk outside. Instantly her arm reached out graspingthe lapel of his coat --half urged, half swung him through thebig door into the dark dining-room."I'll make him go up-stairs," she whispered close to his ear;"don't move till you hear him on the stairs. Then go out thefront way."Then he was alone listening as she greeted her husband in thehall.Harold Piper was thirty-six, nine years older than his wife. Hewas handsome--with marginal notes: these being eyes that were tooclose together, and a certain woodenness when his face was inrepose. His attitude toward this Gedney matter was typical of allhis attitudes. He had told Evylyn that he considered the subjectclosed and would never reproach her nor allude to it in anyform; and he told himself that this was rather a big way oflooking at it--that she was not a little impressed. Yet, like allmen who are preoccupied with their own broadness, he wasexceptionally narrow.He greeted Evylyn with emphasized cordiality this evening."You'll have to hurry and dress, Harold," she said eagerly;"we're going to the Bronsons'."He nodded."It doesn't take me long to dress, dear," and, his words trailingoff, he walked on into the library. Evylyn's heart clatteredloudly."Harold---" she began, with a little catch in her voice, andfollowed him in. He was lighting a cigarette. "You'll have tohurry, Harold," she finished, standing in the doorway."Why?" he asked a trifle impatiently; "you're not dressedyourself yet, Evie."He stretched out in a Morris chair and unfolded a newspaper. Witha sinking sensation Evylyn saw that this meant at least tenminutes--and Gedney was standing breathless in the next room.Supposing Harold decided that before be went upstairs he wanted adrink from the decanter on the sideboard. Then it occurred toher to forestall this contingency by bringing him the decanterand a glass. She dreaded calling his attention to the dining-roomin any way, but she couldn't risk the other chance.But at the same moment Harold rose and, throwing his paper down,came toward her."Evie, dear," he said, bending and putting his arms about her, "Ihope you're not thinking about last night---" She moved close tohim, trembling. "I know," he continued, "it was just animprudent friendship on your part. We all make mistakes."Evylyn hardly heard him. She was wondering if by sheer clingingto him she could draw him out and up the stairs. She thought ofplaying sick, asking to be carried up--unfortunately she knew hewould lay her on the couch and bring her whiskey.Suddenly her nervous tension moved up a last impossible notch.She had heard a very faint but quite unmistakable creak from thefloor of the dining room. Fred was trying to get out the backway.Then her heart took a flying leap as a hollow ringing note like agong echoed and re-echoed through the house. Gedney's arm hadstruck the big cut-glass bowl."What's that!" cried Harold. "Who's there?"She clung to him but he broke away, and the room seemed to crashabout her ears. She heard the pantry-door swing open, a scuffle,the rattle of a tin pan, and in wild despair she rushed into thekitchen and pulled up the gas. Her husband's arm slowly unwoundfrom Gedney's neck, and he stood there very still, first inamazement, then with pain dawning in his face."My golly!" he said in bewilderment, and then repeated: "MyGOLLY!"He turned as if to jump again at Gedney, stopped, his musclesvisibly relaxed, and he gave a bitter little laugh."You people--you people---" Evylyn's arms were around him and hereyes were pleading with him frantically, but he pushed her awayand sank dazed into a kitchen chair, his face like porcelain."You've been doing things to me, Evylyn. Why, you little devil!You little DEVIL!"She had never felt so sorry for him; she had never loved him somuch."It wasn't her fault," said Gedney rather humbly. "I just came."But Piper shook his head, and his expression when he stared upwas as if some physical accident had jarred his mind into atemporary inability to function. His eyes, grown suddenlypitiful, struck a deep, unsounded chord in Evylyn--andsimultaneously a furious anger surged in her. She felt hereyelids burning; she stamped her foot violently; her handsscurried nervously over the table as if searching for a weapon,and then she flung herself wildly at Gedney."Get out!" she screamed, dark eves blazing, little fists beatinghelplessly on his outstretched arm. "You did this! Get out ofhere--get out--get OUT! GET OUT!"
IIConcerning Mrs. Harold Piper at thirty-five, opinion wasdivided--women said she was still handsome; men said she waspretty no longer. And this was probably because the qualities inher beauty that women had feared and men had followed hadvanished. Her eyes were still as large and as dark and as sad,but the mystery had departed; their sadness was no longereternal, only human, and she had developed a habit, when she wasstartled or annoyed, of twitching her brows together and blinkingseveral times. Her mouth also had lost: the red had receded andthe faint down-turning of its corners when she smiled, that hadadded to the sadness of the eyes and been vaguely mocking andbeautiful, was quite gone. When she smiled now the corners of herlips turned up. Back in the days when she revelled in her ownbeauty Evylyn had enjoyed that smile of hers--she had accentuatedit. When she stopped accentuating it, it faded out and the lastof her mystery with it.Evylyn had ceased accentuating her smile within a month after theFreddy Gedney affair. Externally things had gone an very much asthey had before. But in those few minutes during which she haddiscovered how much she loved her husband, Evylyn had realized howindelibly she had hurt him. For a month she struggled againstaching silences, wild reproaches and accusations--she pled withhim, made quiet, pitiful little love to him, and he laughed ather bitterly--and then she, too, slipped gradually into silenceand a shadowy, impenetrable barrier dropped between them. Thesurge of love that had risen in her she lavished on Donald, herlittle boy, realizing him almost wonderingly as a part of herlife.The next year a piling up of mutual interests andresponsibilities and some stray flicker from the past broughthusband and wife together again--but after a rather patheticflood of passion Evylyn realized that her great opportunity wasgone. There simply wasn't anything left. She might have beenyouth and love for both--but that time of silence had slowlydried up the springs of affection and her own desire to drinkagain of them was dead.She began for the first time to seek women friends, to preferbooks she had read before, to sew a little where she could watchher two children to whom she was devoted. She worried aboutlittle things--if she saw crumbs on the dinner-table her minddrifted off the conversation: she was receding gradually intomiddle age.Her thirty-fifth birthday had been an exceptionally busy one, forthey were entertaining on short notice that night, as she stoodin her bedroom window in the late afternoon she discovered thatshe was quite tired. Ten years before she would have lain downand slept, but now she had a feeling that things needed watching:maids were cleaning down-stairs, bric-a-brac was all over thefloor, and there were sure to be grocery-men that had to betalked to imperatively--and then there was a letter to writeDonald, who was fourteen and in his first year away at school.She had nearly decided to lie down, nevertheless, when she hearda sudden familiar signal from little Julie down-stairs. Shecompressed her lips, her brows twitched together, and sheblinked."Julie!" she called."Ah-h-h-ow!" prolonged Julie plaintively. Then the voice ofHilda, the second maid, floated up the stairs."She cut herself a little, Mis' Piper."Evylyn flew to her sewing-basket, rummaged until she found a tornhandkerchief, and hurried downstairs. In a moment Julie wascrying in her arms as she searched for the cut, faint,disparaging evidences of which appeared on Julie's dress."My THU-umb!" explained Julie. "Oh-h-h-h, t'urts.""It was the bowl here, the he one," said Hilda apologetically."It was waitin' on the floor while I polished the sideboard, andJulie come along an' went to foolin' with it. She yust scratchherself."Evylyn frowned heavily at Hilda, and twisting Julie decisively inher lap, began tearing strips of the handkerchief."Now--let's see it, dear."Julie held it up and Evelyn pounced."There!"Julie surveyed her swathed thumb doubtfully. She crooked it; itwaggled. A pleased, interested look appeared in her tear-stainedface. She sniffled and waggled it again."You PRECIOUS!" cried Evylyn and kissed her, but before she leftthe room she levelled another frown at Hilda. Careless! Servantsall that way nowadays. If she could get a good Irishwoman-- butyou couldn't any more--and these Swedes---At five o'clock Harold arrived and, coming up to her room,threatened in a suspiciously jovial tone to kiss her thirty-fivetimes for her birthday. Evylyn resisted."You've been drinking," she said shortly, and then addedqualitatively, "a little. You know I loathe the smell of it.""Evie," he said after a pause, seating himself in a chair by thewindow, "I can tell you something now. I guess you've knownthings haven't beep going quite right down-town."She was standing at the window combing her hair, but at thesewords she turned and looked at him."How do you mean? You've always said there was room for more thanone wholesale hardware house in town." Her voice expressed somealarm."There WAS," said Harold significantly, "but this Clarence Ahearnis a smart man.""I was surprised when you said he was coming to dinner.""Evie," he went on, with another slap at his knee, "after Januaryfirst 'The Clarence Ahearn Company' becomes 'The Ahearn, PiperCompany'--and 'Piper Brothers' as a company ceases toexist."Evylyn was startled. The sound of his name in second place wassomehow hostile to her; still he appeared jubilant."I don't understand, Harold.""Well, Evie, Ahearn has been fooling around with Marx. If thosetwo had combined we'd have been the little fellow, strugglingalong, picking up smaller orders, hanging back on risks. It's aquestion of capital, Evie, and 'Ahearn and Marx' would have hadthe business just like 'Ahearn and Piper' is going to now." Hepaused and coughed and a little cloud of whiskey floated up toher nostrils. "Tell you the truth, Evie, I've suspected thatAhearn's wife had something to do with it. Ambitious little lady,I'm told. Guess she knew the Marxes couldn't help her muchhere.""Is she--common?" asked Evie."Never met her, I'm sure--but I don't doubt it. Clarence Ahearn'sname's been up at the Country Club five months--no actiontaken." He waved his hand disparagingly. "Ahearn and I had lunchtogether to-day and just about clinched it, so I thought it'd benice to have him and his wife up to-night--just have nine, mostlyfamily. After all, it's a big thing for me, and of course we'llhave to see something of them, Evie.""Yes," said Evie thoughtfully, "I suppose we will."Evylyn was not disturbed over the social end of it--but the ideaof "Piper Brothers" becoming "The Ahearn, Piper Company" startledher. It seemed like going down in the world.Half an hour later, as she began to dress for dinner, she heardhis voice from down-stairs."Oh, Evie, come down!"She went out into the hall and called over the banister:"What is it?""I want you to help me make some of that punch before dinner. "Hurriedly rehooking her dress, she descended the stairs and foundhim grouping the essentials on the dining-room table. She wentto the sideboard and, lifting one of the bowls, carried itover."Oh, no," he protested, "let's use the big one. There'll beAhearn and his wife and you and I and Milton, that's five, andTom and Jessie, that's seven: and your sister and Joe Ambler,that's nine. You don't know how quick that stuff goes when YOUmake it.""We'll use this bowl," she insisted. "It'll hold plenty. You knowhow Tom is."Tom Lowrie, husband to Jessie, Harold's first cousin, was ratherinclined to finish anything in a liquid way that he began.Harold shook his head."Don't be foolish. That one holds only about three quarts andthere's nine of us, and the servants'll want some--and it isn'tstrong punch. It's so much more cheerful to have a lot, Evie; wedon't have to drink all of it.""I say the small one."Again he shook his head obstinately."No; be reasonable.""I AM reasonable," she said shortly. "I don't want any drunkenmen in the house.""Who said you did?""Then use the small bowl.""Now, Evie---"He grasped the smaller bowl to lift it back. Instantly her handswere on it, holding it down. There was a momentary struggle, andthen, with a little exasperated grunt, he raised his side,slipped it from her fingers, and carried it to the sideboard.She looked at him and tried to make her expression contemptuous,but he only laughed. Acknowledging her defeat but disclaiming allfuture interest in the punch, she left the room.
IIIAt seven-thirty, her cheeks glowing and her high-piled hairgleaming with a suspicion of brilliantine, Evylyn descended thestairs. Mrs. Ahearn, a little woman concealing a slightnervousness under red hair and an extreme Empire gown, greetedher volubly. Evelyn disliked her on the spot, but the husband sherather approved of. He had keen blue eyes and a natural gift ofpleasing people that might have made him, socially, had he not soobviously committed the blunder of marrying too early in hiscareer."I'm glad to know Piper's wife," he said simply. "It looks asthough your husband and I are going to see a lot of each other inthe future."She bowed, smiled graciously, and turned to greet the others:Milton Piper, Harold's quiet, unassertive younger brother; thetwo Lowries, Jessie and Tom; Irene, her own unmarried sister; andfinally Joe Ambler, a confirmed bachelor and Irene's perennialbeau.Harold led the way into dinner."We're having a punch evening," he announced jovially--Evylyn sawthat he had already sampled his concoction--"so there won't beany cocktails except the punch. It's m' wife's greatestachievement, Mrs. Ahearn; she'll give you the recipe if you wantit; but owing to a slight"--he caught his wife's eye and paused--"to a slight indisposition; I'm responsible for this batch.Here's how!"All through dinner there was punch, and Evylyn, noticing thatAhearn and Milton Piper and all the women were shaking theirheads negatively at the maid, knew she bad been right about thebowl; it was still half full. She resolved to caution Harolddirectly afterward, but when the women left the table Mrs. Ahearncornered her, and she found herself talking cities anddressmakers with a polite show of interest."We've moved around a lot," chattered Mrs. Ahearn, her red headnodding violently. "Oh, yes, we've never stayed so long in a townbefore--but I do hope we're here for good. I like it here; don'tyou?""Well, you see, I've always lived here, so, naturally---""Oh, that's true," said Mrs. Ahearn and laughed. Clarence alwaysused to tell me he had to have a wife he could come home to andsay: "Well, we're going to Chicago to-morrow to live, so packup."I got so I never expected to live ANYwhere." She laughed herlittle laugh again; Evylyn suspected that it was her societylaugh."Your husband is a very able man, I imagine.""Oh, yes," Mrs. Ahearn assured her eagerly. "He's brainy,Clarence is. Ideas and enthusiasm, you know. Finds out what hewants and then goes and gets it."Evylyn nodded. She was wondering if the men were still drinkingpunch back in the dining-room. Mrs. Ahearn's history keptunfolding jerkily, but Evylyn had ceased to listen. The firstodor of massed cigars began to drift in. It wasn't really a largehouse, she reflected; on an evening like this the librarysometimes grew blue with smoke, and next day one had to leave thewindows open for hours to air the heavy staleness out of thecurtains. Perhaps this partnership might . . . she began tospeculate on a new house . . .Mrs. Ahearn's voice drifted in on her:"I really would like the recipe if you have it written downsomewhere---"Then there was a sound of chairs in the dining-room and the menstrolled in. Evylyn saw at once that her worst fears wererealized. Harold's face was flushed and his words ran together atthe ends of sentences, while Tom Lowrie lurched when he walkedand narrowly missed Irene's lap when he tried to sink onto thecouch beside her. He sat there blinking dazedly at the company.Evylyn found herself blinking back at him, but she saw no humor init. Joe Ambler was smiling contentedly and purring on his cigar.Only Ahearn and Milton Piper seemed unaffected."It's a pretty fine town, Ahearn," said Ambler, "you'll findthat.""I've found it so," said Ahearn pleasantly."You find it more, Ahearn," said Harold, nodding emphatically "'fI've an'thin' do 'th it."He soared into a eulogy of the city, and Evylyn wondereduncomfortably if it bored every one as it bored her. Apparentlynot. They were all listening attentively. Evylyn broke in at thefirst gap."Where've you been living, Mr. Ahearn?" she asked interestedly.Then she remembered that Mrs. Ahearn had told her, but it didn'tmatter. Harold mustn't talk so much. He was such an ASS when he'dbeen drinking. But he plopped directly back in."Tell you, Ahearn. Firs' you wanna get a house up here on thehill. Get Stearne house or Ridgeway house. Wanna have it sopeople say: 'There's Ahearn house.' Solid, you know, tha's effec'it gives."Evylyn flushed. This didn't sound right at all. Still Ahearndidn't seem to notice anything amiss, only nodded gravely."Have you been looking---" But her words trailed off unheard asHarold's voice boomed on."Get house--tha's start. Then you get know people. Snobbish townfirst toward outsider, but not long--after know you. People likeyou"--he indicated Ahearn and his wife with a sweepinggesture--"all right. Cordial as an'thin' once get by firstbarrer-bar- barrer--" He swallowed, and then said "barrier,"repeated it masterfully.Evylyn looked appealingly at her brother-in-law, but before hecould intercede a thick mumble had come crowding out of TomLowrie, hindered by the dead cigar which he gripped firmly withhis teeth."Huma uma ho huma ahdy um---""What?" demanded Harold earnestly.Resignedly and with difficulty Tom removed the cigar--that is, heremoved part of it, and then blew the remainder with a WHUTsound across the room, where it landed liquidly and limply inMrs. Ahearn's lap."Beg pardon," he mumbled, and rose with the vague intention ofgoing after it. Milton's hand on his coat collapsed him in time,and Mrs. Ahearn not ungracefully flounced the tobacco from herskirt to the floor, never once looking at it."I was sayin'," continued Tom thickly, "'fore 'at happened,"--hewaved his hand apologetically toward Mrs. Ahearn--"I was sayin' Iheard all truth that Country Club matter."Milton leaned and whispered something to him."Lemme 'lone," he said petulantly; "know what I'm doin'. 'Atswhat they came for."Evylyn sat there in a panic, trying to make her mouth form words.She saw her sister's sardonic expression and Mrs. Ahearn's faceturning a vivid red. Ahearn was looking down at his watch-chain,fingering it."I heard who's been keepin' y' out, an' he's not a bit better'nyou. I can fix whole damn thing up. Would've before, but I didn'tknow you. Harol' tol' me you felt bad about the thing---"Milton Piper rose suddenly and awkwardly to his feet. In a secondevery one was standing tensely and Milton was saying somethingvery hurriedly about having to go early, and the Ahearns werelistening with eager intentness. Then Mrs. Ahearn swallowed andturned with a forced smile toward Jessie. Evylyn saw Tom lurchforward and put his hand on Ahearns shoulder--and suddenly shewas listening to a new, anxious voice at her elbow, and, turning,found Hilda, the second maid."Please, Mis' Piper, I tank Yulie got her hand poisoned. It's allswole up and her cheeks is hot and she's moanin' an'groanin'---""Julie is?" Evylyn asked sharply. The party suddenly receded. Sheturned quickly, sought with her eyes for Mrs. Ahearn, slippedtoward her."If you'll excuse me, Mrs.--" She had momentarily forgotten thename, but she went right on: "My little girl's been taken sick.I'll be down when I can." She turned and ran quickly up thestairs, retaining a confused picture of rays of cigar smoke and aloud discussion in the centre of the room that seemed to bedeveloping into an argument.Switching on the light in the nursery, she found Julie tossingfeverishly and giving out odd little cries. She put her handagainst the cheeks. They were burning. With an exclamation shefollowed the arm down under the cover until she found the hand.Hilda was right. The whole thumb was swollen to the wrist and inthe centre was a little inflamed sore. Blood-poisoning! her mindcried in terror. The bandage had come off the cut and she'dgotten something in it. She'd cut it at three o'clock--it was nownearly eleven. Eight hours. Blood-poisoning couldn't possiblydevelop so soon.She rushed to the 'phone.Doctor Martin across the street was out. Doctor Foulke, theirfamily physician, didn't answer. She racked her brains and indesperation called her throat specialist, and bit her lipfuriously while he looked up the numbers of two physicians.During that interminable moment she thought she heard loud voicesdown-stairs--but she seemed to be in another world now. Afterfifteen minutes she located a physician who sounded angry andsulky at being called out of bed. She ran back to the nurseryand, looking at the hand, found it was somewhat moreswollen."Oh, God!" she cried, and kneeling beside the bed began smoothingback Julie's hair over and over. With a vague idea of gettingsome hot water, she rose and stared toward the door, but the laceof her dress caught in the bed-rail and she fell forward on herhands and knees. She struggled up and jerked frantically at thelace. The bed moved and Julie groaned. Then more quietly but withsuddenly fumbling fingers she found the pleat in front, tore thewhole pannier completely off, andrushed from the room.Out in the hall she heard a single loud, insistent voice, but asshe reached the head of the stairs it ceased and an outer doorbanged.The music-room came into view. Only Harold and Milton were there,the former leaning against a chair, his face very pale, hiscollar open, and his mouth moving loosely."What's the matter?"Milton looked at her anxiously."There was a little trouble---"Then Harold saw her and, straightening up with an effort, beganto speak."Sult m'own cousin m'own house. God damn common nouveau rish.'Sult m'own cousin---""Tom had trouble with Ahearn and Harold interfered," said Milton."My Lord Milton," cried Evylyn, "couldn't you have donesomething?""I tried; I---""Julie's sick," she interrupted; "she's poisoned herself. Get himto bed if you can."Harold looked up."Julie sick?"Paying no attention, Evylyn brushed by through the dining-room,catching sight, with a burst of horror, of the big punch-bowlstill on the table, the liquid from melted ice in its bottom. Sheheard steps on the front stairs--it was Milton helping Haroldup--and then a mumble: "Why, Julie's a'righ'.""Don't let him go into the nursery!" she shouted.The hours blurred into a nightmare. The doctor arrived justbefore midnight and within a half-hour had lanced the wound. Heleft at two after giving her the addresses of two nurses to callup and promising to return at half past six. It wasblood-poisoning.At four, leaving Hilda by the bedside, she went to her room, andslipping with a shudder out of her evening dress, kicked it into acorner. She put on a house dress and returned to the nurserywhile Hilda went to make coffee.Not until noon could she bring herself to look into Harold'sroom, but when she did it was to find him awake and staring verymiserably at the ceiling. He turned blood-shot hollow eyes uponher. For a minute she hated him, couldn't speak. A husky voicecame from the bed."What time is it?""Noon.""I made a damn fool---""It doesn't matter," she said sharply. "Julie's gotblood-poisoning. They may"--she choked over the words--"theythink she'll have to lose her hand.""What?""She cut herself on that--that bowl.""Last night?""Oh, what does it matter?" see cried; "she's got blood-poisoning.Can't you hear?" He looked at her bewildered--sat half-way upin bed."I'll get dressed," he said.Her anger subsided and a great wave of weariness and pity for himrolled over her. After all, it was his trouble, too.""Yes," she answered listlessly, "I suppose you'd better."
IVIf Evylyn's beauty had hesitated an her early thirties it came toan abrupt decision just afterward and completely left her. Atentative outlay of wrinkles on her face suddenly deepened andflesh collected rapidly on her legs and hips and arms. Hermannerism of drawing her brows together had become anexpression--it was habitual when she was reading or speaking andeven while she slept. She was forty-six.As in most families whose fortunes have gone down rather than up,she and Harold had drifted into a colorless antagonism. Inrepose they looked at each other with the toleration they mighthave felt for broken old chairs; Evylyn worried a little when hewas sick and did her best to be cheerful under the wearyingdepression of living with a disappointed man.Family bridge was over for the evening and she sighed withrelief. She had made more mistakes than usual this evening andshe didn't care. Irene shouldn't have made that remark about theinfantry being particularly dangerous. There had been no letterfor three weeks now, and, while this was nothing out of theordinary, it never failed to make her nervous; naturally shehadn't known how many clubs were out.Harold had gone up-stairs, so she stepped out on the porch for abreath of fresh air. There was a bright glamour of moonlightdiffusing on the sidewalks and lawns, and with a little halfyawn, half laugh, she remembered one long moonlight affair of heryouth. It was astonishing to think that life had once been thesum of her current love-affairs. It was now the sum of hercurrent problems.There was the problem of Julie--Julie was thirteen, and latelyshe was growing more and more sensitive about her deformity andpreferred to stay always in her room reading. A few years beforeshe had been frightened at the idea of going to school, andEvylyn could not bring herself to send her, so she grew up in hermother's shadow, a pitiful little figure with the artificialhand that she made no attempt to use but kept forlornly in herpocket. Lately she had been taking lessons in using it becauseEvylyn had feared she would cease to lift the arm altogether, butafter the lessons, unless she made a move with it in listlessobedience to her mother, the little hand would creep back to thepocket of her dress. For a while her dresses were made withoutpockets, but Julie had moped around the house so miserably at aloss all one month that Evylyn weakened and never tried theexperiment again.The problem of Donald had been different from the start. She hadattempted vainly to keep him near her as she had tried to teachJulie to lean less on her--lately the problem of Donald had beensnatched out of her hands; his division had been abroad for threemonths.She yawned again--life was a thing for youth. What a happy youthshe must have had! She remembered her pony, Bijou, and the tripto Europe with her mother when she was eighteen---"Very, very complicated," she said aloud and severely to themoon, and, stepping inside, was about to close the door when sheheard a noise in the library and started.It was Martha, the middle-aged servant: they kept only one now."Why, Martha!" she said in surprise.Martha turned quickly."Oh, I thought you was up-stairs. I was jist---""Is anything the matter?"Martha hesitated."No; I---" She stood there fidgeting. "It was a letter, Mrs.Piper, that I put somewhere."A letter? Your own letter?" asked Evylyn."No, it was to you. 'Twas this afternoon, Mrs. Piper, in the lastmail. The postman give it to me and then the back door-bellrang. I had it in my hand, so I must have stuck it somewhere. Ithought I'd just slip in now and find it.""What sort of a letter? From Mr. Donald?""No, it was an advertisement, maybe, or a business letter. It wasa long narrow one, I remember."They began a search through the music-room, looking on trays andmantelpieces, and then through the library, feeling on the topsof rows of books. Martha paused in despair."I can't think where. I went straight to the kitchen. Thedining-room, maybe." She started hopefully for the dining-room,but turned suddenly at the sound of a gasp behind her. Evylyn hadsat down heavily in a Morris chair, her brows drawn very closetogether eyes blanking furiously."Are you sick?"For a minute there was no answer. Evylyn sat there very still andMartha could see the very quick rise and fall of her bosom."Are you sick?" she repeated."No," said Evylyn slowly, "but I know where the letter is. Go'way, Martha. I know."Wonderingly, Martha withdrew, and still Evylyn sat there, onlythe muscles around her eyes moving --contracting and relaxing andcontracting again. She knew now where the letter was--she knewas well as if she had put it there herself. And she feltinstinctively and unquestionably what the letter was. It was longand narrow like an advertisement, but up in the corner in largeletters it said "War Department" and, in smaller letters below,"Official Business." She knew it lay there in the big bowl withher name in ink on the outside and her soul's death within.Rising uncertainly, she walked toward the dining-room, feelingher way along the bookcases and through the doorway. After amoment she found the light and switched it on.There was the bowl, reflecting the electric light in crimsonsquares edged with black and yellow squares edged with blue,ponderous and glittering, grotesquely and triumphantly ominous.She took a step forward and paused again; another step and shewould see over the top and into the inside--another step and shewould see an edge of white--another step--her hands fell on therough, cold surface--In a moment she was tearing it open, fumbling with an obstinatefold, holding it before her while the typewritten page glared outand struck at her. Then it fluttered like a bird to the floor.The house that had seemed whirring, buzzing a moment since, wassuddenly very quiet; a breath of air crept in through the openfront door carrying the noise of a passing motor; she heard faintsounds from upstairs and then a grinding racket in the pipebehind the bookcases-her husband turning of a water-tap---And in that instant it was as if this were not, after all,Donald's hour except in so far as he was a marker in theinsidious contest that had gone on in sudden surges and long,listless interludes between Evylyn and this cold, malignant thingof beauty, a gift of enmity from a man whose face she had longsince forgotten. With its massive, brooding passivity it laythere in the centre of her house as it had lain for years,throwing out the ice-like beams of a thousand eyes, perverseglitterings merging each into each, never aging, never changing.Evylyn sat down on the edge of the table and stared at itfascinated. It seemed to be smiling now, a very cruel smile, asif to say:"You see, this time I didn't have to hurt you directly. I didn'tbother. You know it was I who took your son away. You know howcold I am and how hard and how beautiful, because once you werejust as cold and hard and beautiful."The bowl seemed suddenly to turn itself over and then to distendand swell until it became a great canopy that glittered andtrembled over the room, over the house, and, as the walls meltedslowly into mist, Evylyn saw that it was still moving out, outand far away from her, shutting off far horizons and suns andmoons and stars except as inky blots seen faintly through it. Andunder it walked all the people, and the light that came throughto them was refracted and twisted until shadow seamed light andlight seemed shadow--until the whole panoply of the world becamechanged and distorted under the twinkling heaven ofthe bowl.Then there came a far-away, booming voice like a low, clear bell.It came from the centre of the bowl and down the great sides tothe ground and then bounced toward her eagerly."You see, I am fate," it shouted, "and stronger than your punyplans; and I am how-things-turn-out and I am different from yourlittle dreams, and I am the flight of time and the end of beautyand unfulfilled desire; all the accidents and imperceptions andthe little minutes that shape the crucial hours are mine. I amthe exception that proves no rules, the limits of your control,the condiment in the dish of life."The booming sound stopped; the echoes rolled away over the wideland to the edge of the bowl that bounded the world and up thegreat sides and back to the centre where they hummed for a momentand died. Then the great walls began slowly to bear down uponher, growing smaller and smaller, coming closer and closer as ifto crush her; and as she clinched her hands and waited for theswift bruise of the cold glass, the bowl gave a sudden wrench andturned over--and lay there on the side-board, shining andinscrutable, reflecting in a hundred prisms, myriad, many-coloredglints and gleams and crossings and interlaces of light.The cold wind blew in again through to front door, and with adesperate, frantic energy Evylyn stretched both her arms aroundthe bowl. She must be quick--she must be strong. She tightenedher arms until they ached, tauted the thin strips of muscle underher soft flesh, and with a mighty effort raised it and held it.She felt the wind blow cold on her back where her dress had comeapart from the strain of her effort, and as she felt it sheturned toward it and staggered under the great weight out throughthe library and on toward the front door. She must bequick--she must be strong. The blood in her arms throbbed dullyand her knees kept giving way under her, but the feel of the coolglass was good.Out the front door she tottered and over to the stone steps, andthere, summoning every fibre of her soul and body for a lasteffort, swung herself half around--for a second, as she tried toloose her hold, her numb fingers clung to the rough surface, andin that second she slipped and, losing balance, toppled forwardwith a despairing cry, her arms still around the bowl . . . down. . .Over the way lights went on; far down the block the crash washeard, and pedestrians rushed up wonderingly; up-stairs a tiredman awoke from the edge of sleep and a little girl whimpered in ahaunted doze. And all over the moonlit sidewalk around thestill, black form, hundreds of prisms and cubes and splinters ofglass reflected the light in little gleams of blue, and blackedged with yellow, and yellow, and crimson edged with black.
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