Years of Grace

by Margaret Ayer Barnes

  Jane danced and danced until her pink-slippered feet were weary. It must be growing late, she thought. She hated to have the party over. The favour table was nearly depleted. Some of the dowagers were already gone. She kept meeting Stephen Carver in the cotillion figures. He had favoured her four times. Suddenly she found herself hand in hand with him in a circle of six that should have been four. He dropped out at once, taking her with him.

  'That's a leading from the Lord,' he said. 'Let's go and get some punch.'

  They slipped out into the hall together.

  'What's your name?' he said. 'Do you know, I can't remember it!'

  'Jane Ward,' said Jane.

  'You look like a Jane,' he said.

  She laughed at that.

  'It's a very plain name,' she said. *I was named for my grandmother.'

  'Not plain,' he answered. 'Simple. Like your hair. Like your face, too.'

  They had reached the punch table. He handed her her glass.

  'Come and drink it on the sofa,' he said.

  They walked across the hall and sat down together.

  'I'm going to hke Chicago,' said Stephen. 'I didn't think I would.'

  Jane thought that was just the way she had felt, when she first came home from Bryn Mawr.

  'Are you lonely?' she asked.

  'Not very,' said Stephen. 'Just bored. I live in Miss Miller's boarding-house.'

  Every one knew Miss Miller. Lots of young men boarded with her.

  'That's just around the comer from me,' said Jane.

  'May I come to see you?' asked Stephen.

  'Of course,' said Jane.

  'May I come Sunday?' Sunday was day after to-morrow.

  'Of course,' said Jane again.

  'Flora told me about you,' said Stephen. 'You're a great fiiend of hers, aren't you?'

  'Yes,' said Jane. She had finished her punch. The music sounded very alluring. Jane began to think of her deserted partner. 'We'd better go back,' she said.

  Stephen rose a little reluctantly. The whole room was

  up, when they returned, twisting about in an intricate basket.

  'That's the next to the last figure,' said Stephen. 'There's just one more for Flora.'

  They mingled with the dancers as the basket broke into couples. Jane had seen her mother watching her as she came in from the hall. Her eye was very indulgent. The whistle blew. Every one sat down. Jane's partner greeted her with -enthusiasm.

  'Look what's coming,' he said.

  Mr. Bert Lancaster was dragging a gold chair out into the centre of the ballroom floor. In one hand he held a silver mirror and a red paper rose.

  'AH men up!' he shouted.

  A regiment of black-garbed figures sprang to the command. The gaily dressed girls, left on the golden chairs, looked Hke a flower border around the room. 'Of course,' said Jane to herself, 'wall flowers!' She had never thought of it before.

  Mr. Lancaster was running down the room toward Flora's scat. Muriel was sitting beside her. Jane could see her smiUng steadily at Mr. Lancaster as he approached. She had taken off the sunbonnet, now, and her curly hair was ruffled all over her head. The blue snood had slipped rakishly askew. Flora was putting down her roses on the empty seat at her side. Mr. Lancaster made a Uttle gesture. Both girls half rose. Flora sank back in her seat at once, but Muriel stood up, still smiling steadily. Mr. Lancaster paused an instant. Muriel laughed, a little wickedly. Every one could see that she was laughing at Mr. Lancaster. Her blue eyes were dancing straight into his.

  Suddenly Mr. Lancaster seized her hand and began running with her down the room. Flora looked very much astonished. She picked up her roses again. Muriel was laughing

  still and her hair was flying. She was trying to tuck it under the snood with one hand as she ran. Mr. Lancaster almost hurled her into the Uttle gold chair and gave her the red rose and the silver mirror. His face looked very queer. He blew his whistle and the band began playing 'After the Ball.'

  The long Hne of men filed by, one by one, each pausing to peer over Muriel's shoulder in the silver mirror. Muriel was laughing all the time. She shook her head at every face in the glass. Stephen Carver was the last to go by. His hand was outstretched to help her to her feet. She shook her head at him. He looked very much astonished. Every one was watching rather breathlessly. The men in front of Muriel were a little nonplussed.

  Suddenly she threw the rose right over their heads, straight into the hands of Mr. Bert Lancaster. He almost dropped it, he was so surprised. Then he suddenly made a dash for Muriel. The music swirled up in a triumphant wave. Muriel and Mr. Lancaster began dancing. For a moment they were the only couple on the floor.

  Then the other men began to favour. Four sUd at once to Flora's feet. Stephen Carver catapulted himself at Jane. Every one was dancing at once, almost immediately. Round and round the room they went, swooping and swirhng with the lilting strains of the waltz. Stephen was looking down all the time at Jane's brown head. She could feel his eyes on her. She could feel them so hard that she didn't look up.

  The music rose and fell, in surging waves of sound. Some of the men began to sing, sentimentally. The light voices of girls joined airily in the chorus. The tender words rose mockingly, liltingly, above the strains of the band.

  'After the ball is over, after the break of mom, After the dancers' leaving, after the stars arc gone '

  The verse was a little ridiculous, Jane reflected. Not up to the music.

  'Many a heart is aching, if you could read them all, Many the hopes that have vanished — after — the — ball!*

  The words were silly. Unreal, like all poor poetry. Stephen was a marvellous dancer. Dancing was heaven, thought Jane.

  But the party was over. The waltz changed insensibly into the familiar cadence of'Home, Sweet Home.' Eveiy one kept on dancing. When the band finally stopped, it was greeted with a burst of applause. A little staccato rattle of clapping hands.

  Flora was standing at the ballroom door with Mr. and Mrs. Fumess. She looked excited and happy as she shook hands with the departing guests. But her mother's face was vcr)' cold and proud. A little bright spot of color burned in either cheek. She held her httle blonde head very high. Mr. Furness looked more sleepy than anything else.

  Mr. Lancaster passed from the room at Muriel's elbow. Flora's mother hardly spoke to either of them. Muriel kissed Flora. Jane's mother turned up at her side as she was talking to Stephen in the hall.

  "Til Sunday, then,' he said, as he turned away.

  'Flora's cousin,' said Mrs. Ward, as they went down the stairs, 'is very attractive.'

  'Isn't he?' said Jane indifferently.

  'He comes from a very good Boston family,' said Mrs. Ward, *on his father's side.'

  They had reached the entrance to the dressing-room. The dressing-room was very crowded. Mrs. Ward had nothing more to say until the doorman had shut the cab door upon them.

  'Did you sec,* she asked, then, at once, 'what Bert Lan-Ccister did?'

  'I thought Muriel did it/ said Jane. 'It was disgraceful of both of them,' said Mrs. Ward. 'Muriel's like that sometimes,' said Jane very wisely. 'Lily Furness looked as if she were through with him forever,' said her mother. Jane stifled a yawn. She felt suddenly very sleepy. 'But I don't suppose she is,' said Mrs. Ward.

  IV

  The Christmas tree spread its green boughs in the darkest comer of the library. The little pink wax angel at its top almost touched the ceiling. The httle pink wax angel had always crowned the Christmas tree. Jane could remember the time when she had thought it was very wonderful of Santa Glaus to remember to bring it back every year.

  Mr. Ward sat comfortably in his leather armchair. He was smoking a new'Christmas cigar. Mrs. Ward was watching the Christmas candles a little anxiously. She was always afraid of fire. Isabel was sitting on the floor under the tree trying to keep the baby from snatching the low-hung ornaments. The baby could creep, now, and he was very inquisitive. Robin Bridges was standing beside them, watching
his son with a proud proprietary twinkle in his small blue eyes. His gold-bowed spectacles glittered in the candlelight. Around his neck was a welter of Christmas socks and ties. He was really a dear, thought Jane.

  The room was a chaos of tissue paper and scarlet ribbon. Jane had a new gold bracelet. She was awfully pleased with it. Agnes had sent her a book of poetry. It was called 'Barrack Room Ballads.' It was written by Rudyard KipUng. Jane had never heard of him. She had dipped into them and she thought they were very good. She had never read anything just like them.

  Christmas morning was fun. This year it was more fun than ever because there was Isabel's baby. He was called John Ward after his grandfather. Jane's father had been very pleased about that.

  Christmzis moming-wasigay. The doorbell kept ringing and Minnie kept bringing in intriguing Httle packages. Several potted plants had come for Mrs, Ward. They stood on the window seat, underneatli the holly wreath. But Mrs. Ward was more interested in her family than in her presents.

  'Look out, Isabel!' she said. 'Don't let him suck that cornucopia!'

  Isabel exchanged a silent glance with Robin. Suddenly Minnie appeared once more on the threshold. She held a long florist's box in her arms.

  Tor Miss Jane,' she said.

  'Somebody loves you!^ cried Isabel.

  Jane jumped up, flushing with pleasure. People didn't send her flowers very often. Not as they did Flora and Muriel, who had always a bunch of violets on their coat collars. Jane opened the box. Twelve beautiful dark red roses. Jane buried her nose in their dusky petals.

  'Who sent them?' cried Isabel.

  Jane looked at the card.

  'Stephen Carver,' she said. She was very much surprised. She had only seen Stephen Carver twice since Flora's dance, two weeks ago.

  'How nice of him,' remarked her mother. 'A young man like that, in a boarding-house.'

  'He can afford it,' said Isabel. 'Rosalie says his father is the president of the Bay State Trust Company.'

  No one could ever tell Jane's mother anything about any one's father.

  'It was said at the time,' she remarked thoughtfully, 'that Lily Furness's sister-in-law married very well.'

  Jane took the roses out of the box. Their steins were very long and impressive.

  *Get a vase, Minnie,' said Mrs. Ward.

  The doorbell rang again. Minnie hurried to answer it A sound of stifled laughter arose in the hall.

  'Don't announce us, Minnie. We want to surprise them,' said a tittering voice. The library door was flung open and Muriel stood on the threshold. She was dressed in a bright red broadcloth suit, trimmed with black astrakhan fur. Her hands were tightly clasped in a little black muff. A great bunch of white violets was pinned to her shoulder. Behind her loomed the tall figure of Mr. Bert Lancaster.

  'Come in!' cried Isabel, scrambling to her feet. Mrs. Ward began to pick up the tissue paper.

  Muriel just stood in the doorway and laughed. Her cheeks were bright red from the frosty December air. Her eyes were very starry.

  'Merry Christmas!' she said. *Do you know why we've come?'

  Mrs. Ward stopped picking up the paper. Every one stared at Muriel.

  ''We're engaged!' cried Muriel. She took Mr. Bert Lancaster's hand and pulled him into the room.

  Every one began talking at once. In the midst of the up>-roar Jane felt Muriel's arms around her neck and the cold pressure of her cheek against her own.

  'Isn't it exciting?' said Muriel. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa now, smiling up at all of them. Mr. Lancaster stood looking down at her. He looked just a httle embar-reissed, Jane thought, but awfully handsome, with his overcoat thrown open over his red muffler and his tall silk hat in his hand. Jane stared at him incredulously. She couldn't believe that Muriel was going to — marry him. It made Jane

  feel very queer to think that any one just her age was really going to marry any one. And Mr. Bert Lancaster. He was older than Robin. He was older than Freddy Waters. He was almost old enough to be Muriel's father.

  'Look at my ring,' said Muriel, pulling her hand out of the litde black muff. It was the largest solitaire that Jane had ever seen.

  'Oh — Muriel!' said Isabel reverently.

  'We've got to go,' said Muriel, jumping up. 'Wc just came for a minute. We've got to go and tell Flora.'

  Jane saw her mother and Isabel exchange a covert glance.

  'We'll be married Easter Week,' said Muriel. 'Of course, Jane, darling, I want you for a bridesmaid. Rosalie's going to be matron of honour,' She was out in the hall already. She was hanging on Mr. Lancaster's arm. Jane and Isabel and Robin trouped with them to the front door. It was barely closed before Jane heard her mother's voice upraised in shocked surprise in the library.

  'Well — it's happened,' she said.

  They all went back to the tree.

  'Mrs. Lester did all she could,' said Isabel.

  'And she's going over, now, to tell Flora.' For a moment Jane's mother's eyes met Isabel's.

  'Do you suppose,' said Isabel at last, 'that Muriel really knows?'

  'Every one knows,' said Mrs. Ward. There was a brief pause.

  'Oh, well,' said Mrs. Ward, 'we must let bygones be bygones.'

  'Just the same ' said Isabel. Then, 'I suppose Flora

  will be a bridesmaid.'

  *Lily Furness,' said Mrs. Ward very firmly, 'is just reaping what she sowed.'

  Jane was glad to hear the doorbell ring again. In a moment Minnie appeared on the threshold.

  'Mr. Carver,' she said, 'for Miss Jane.' Stephen Carver's tall blond head was visible over her shoulder. Mrs. Ward made another dive at the tissue paper.

  'This room is a sight,' she murmured hurriedly.

  'Merry Christmas!' said Jane.

  Stephen Carver advanced into the library a little shyly. He had never met Isabel. In shaking hands he almost stepped on the baby. Robin snatched liis son from the path of danger.

  'Isn't this nice?* said Stephen. *I didn't think I was going to see a Christmas tree.'

  'Your roses were beautiful,' said Jane. Stephen looked very much pleased.

  'Sit down, Mr. Carver,' said Jane's mother.

  'Have a cigarette,' said Robin.

  'Christmas at Miss Aliller's must be rather dreary,' said Isabel.

  Jane's father was looking at Stephen rather steadily behind a cloud of cigar smoke. He looked pleased at what he saw, however, and a little amused. Stephen turned to Jane.

  'I — I hope you don't mind my dropping in like this,' he said, 'on a family party.' His smile was still a little shy. Jane beamed at him reassuringly.

  'Why don't you stay to luncheon?' said Mrs. Ward very cordially. 'Since you're just at that boarding-house.'

  Stephen's face lit up.

  'I'd love to,' he said. 'If— If *

  Jane's eyes began to twinkle.

  'Don't hesitate,' she said mockingly. *We have plum pudding on Christmas with brandy sauce.'

  *I wasn't hesitating!' said Stephen indignandy. Then

  added humbly, *I was just thinking — do — do you really want me?'

  'Of course we do,' said Jane's mother.

  Stephen's eyes questioned Jane's a little uncertainly. He wasn't speaking to her motlier. Jane felt a pleasing sense of power. Her father looked even more amused.

  *Why, of course, stay,' said Jane loftily.

  Stephen looked extremely delighted. Jane's sense of power increased. She glanced at him rather archly. She felt just like Flora and Muriel.

  'Run and tell Minnie to put on another place, Jane,' said Mrs. Ward. And Jane felt just like Jane again. She was glad Stephen had come, however. It would keep her mother and Isabel from talking. She felt very badly about Muriel's engagement

  CHAPTER II

  I 'There!* said Isabel, with a last reassuring pat at Jane's blue muslin train. 'You look lovely.*

  Jane tried to peer through the bevy of bridesmaids into the tall mirror that was hung on the dim brown walls of the vestibule of Sa
int James's Church. They all looked lovely, she thought. They were carrying great shower bouquets of pink sweet peas over their muslin flounces and they wore broad-brimmed hats of pale blue straw. RosaHe looked loveliest of aU, and as young as any one. No one would ever have guessed, thought Jane, that Rosalie was twenty-five, or that she was going to have a baby before the summer was over. Jane would never have known about the baby if Isabel hadn't told her.

  Isabel had dropped in at the improvised dressing-room for a private view of Muriel's wedding dress. Muriel hadn't come yet. When Jane peeked through the curtains she could see the late afternoon sunshine slanting in at the west door of the church and the wedding guests entering by twos and threes, hushing their laughter as they crossed the vestibule, waiting in silence for the frock-coated, boutonniercd ushers to take them in charge at the inner door. The organ was playing the 'Barcarolle' from 'The Tales of Hoffmann.' Jane could hear it quite distinctly.

  Isabel's eyes were wandering over the bridesmaids.

  'Where's Flora?' she asked.

  'She's not here yet,' said Jane.

  'Was her luncheon for Muriel fun to-day?* asked Isabel.

  'Yes,' said Jane.

  *Was Mrs. Furness there?' Isabel lowered her voice.

  *No,* said Jane. She had been sorry not to see Flora's mother. Jane had hardly had a ghmpse of her all spring. She had carried Flora off to St. Augustine immediately after Christmas and when they returned in February she had left town again at once, to visit her sister-in-law, Stephen Carver's mother, in Boston. Stephen had said she had been very gay there. She looked tired, Jane had thought, when she came home.

  *I do wonder ' began Isabel.

  Her voice was a mere murmur. Jane moved away from her a little impatiently. She knew very well what Isabel wondered. Isabel and her mother had been wondering it all week. So had lots of other people, to judge from the wealth of opinion that they had managed to quote on the question. Would Flora's mother come to Muriel's wedding? Would she walk up the aisle at her husband's side and take her place in the pew reserved for Flora's family to see Muriel marry Mr. Bert Lancaster? Isabel had been inchned to think that she would never have the nerve to do it. Jane's mother had declared that you could always do what you had to do, and that she would be very much surprised if Lily Fumess didn't carry it all off beautifully.