'We'll have Stephen next time, too,' said Jane.
That will be delightful,' said Jimmy. The words might have seemed sarc^tic if he had not been smiling so pleas-antiy. Suddenly, hat in hand, he crossed the room. He held out his hand to Jane. 'You must make Stephen like me,' he said disarmingly.
'He will,' said Jane. Looking up into Jimmy's charming faun-like face, Jane, at the moment, could not imagine any one not Hking him.
'I hope he will, Jane,' said Jimmy. 'For I like you.*
'Stephen always likes people who like me,' said Jane loy-aUy.
'Then that's just as it should be,* said Jimmy. 'When may I come again?'
'How about Tuesday?' said Jane. 'Come out to dinner. Take the five-fifty with Stephen.'
*I will,'said Jimmy. 'Good-night, kids! Now, all together, before I go! T>ojfou like me? The answer is "yes"!'
In the resulting clamour Jimmy made his escape. He threw Jane one last smile fi"om the threshold. As she heard the front door close behind him, Jane walked over to little Steve. For no reason whatever, she kissed him, very warmly.
•What arc you smiling at, Mumsy?' said Jenny.
'Nothing,' said Jane. She ran her hand caressingly over Cicily's fair crinkly hair. She kissed Jenny's little freckled nose and pushed her toward the door.
'Go to bed, now, all of you,' said Jane. Left to herself, she picked up a book from the table and sat down in her chair to read it. She did not open it, however, but sat softly smiling, her eyes upon the fire. Stephen found her, sitting just like that, when he came home an hour later by the ten-ten.
'Bert's better,' he said from the doorway, 'And Muriel's in fine shape. She's taking everything very calmly. Young Albert gets home to-morrow!'
Jane realized that she had not once thought of Muriel since she had left the telephone after talking with Stephen five hours before. She felt suddenly conscious-stricken. She jumped up to help Stephen off with his coat.
'I'm glad,' she said. 'Did you fix everything up for her?' Even now, Jane felt she wasn't really thinking of Muriel. She did not give Stephen time to answer her question. 'Jimmy Trent was here for dinner,' she said.
'Jimmy Trent?'
'Yes. He came out unexpectedly. He brought his fiddle and sang to the children.'
'Can he sing?' Stephen was walking across the room to lock the glass doors that opened on the terrace.
'Yes, Quite nicely. He's very amusing. Stephen '
Jane hesitated.
'Yes,' said Stephen, fumbling with a door-latch.
Jane did not answer. She had had it on the tip of her tongue to say 'Stephen, I think he's falling for me,' Then she remembered. She remembered the three weeks in which Jimmy had not telephoned. He was probably just getting a rise out of her that evening. Well — anyway, even so, he did not know that
he had got it. That was a comfort. Of course he was not falling for her. He was Agnes's husband and, obviously, a very volatile young man.
'Yes?' said Stephen again, turning from the window.
'Oh — nothing,' said Jane. Stephen turned out the lights.
'If Bert lives,' said Jane, 'we ought to ask young .lbert out here for the week-end. It would relieve Muriel, and Cicily would love to have liim. Jack and Belle are coming.'
'All right,' said Stephen. Jane preceded him up the staircase. The spell invoked by Jimmy was already evaporating. She was glad that she had not said anything silly to Stephen. She was really a very silly woman, thought Jane, as she slipped out of the Poiret tea-gown. Jimmy did not mean anything by all that nonsense. It was just his hnc.
m
It happened just seven weeks later. It happened Thanksgiving afternoon, out beneath the apple tree beyond the httle clump of evergreens at the foot of the garden. Jane was very much surprised when it did.
The seven weeks had been full of incident. She had been seeing Jimmy quite often, of course. He had come out perhaps once a week to dinner. She had lunched with him in town one day and gone with him to a concert that he had had to review for his pa})er. That was the only time, really, that they had been alone. He usually brought his fiddle Vv^hen he came out to Lakewood and they had had lots of Debussy and a few more ballads. The children adored him, of course, and he had, somewhat to Jane's surprise, made rather a hit with Stephen. Jimmy had made rather a hit with every one, in fact. With her mother and Isabel and Flora and Muriel, who had had him to dinner just as soon as Bert was pronounced out of immediate danger, and declared him charming —
much too good, indeed, for Agnes. Mr. Ward had raised the only dissenting voice. And all he had said was, after Jimmy had spent an unusually scintillating evening at the Wards' dinner-table, that Agnes deserved a better fate. Jane knew that her father would think almost any fate unworthy of Agnes. He had admired her since her first days at Miss Mil-grim's School. Wlien pressed by his indignant daughters for further and more flattering comment, even Mr. Ward had admitted that Jimmy was very clever. He fitted delightfully in Jane's most intimate circle. That was why she had asked him out for Thanksgiving luncheon with the family.
Thanksgiving luncheon had been like all Thanksgiving luncheons — not very brilHant. There had been too much turkey and too many children to make for clever conversation around the groaning board. Mr. Ward had sat on Jane's right hand and Jimmy on her left. On either side of Stephen sat Mrs. Ward and Isabel. Robin and Miss Parrot and the five children filled up the centre of the table. They had eaten for nearly two hours and then had sunk in recumbent attitudes around the chintz-hung living-room. Suddenly, early in the afternoon. Jack Bridges had sprung to his feet and asked Cicily, rather sheepishly, to go for a walk. She had deserted the younger children immediately and, whisthng to the cocker-spaniel puppy, had started off with him across the terrace. Jane had watched Jack help her, with adolescent gallantry, to climb over the stile that led to the open meadows. She had smiled, a trifle wistfiilly, over Gicily's budding coquetry. Cicily could have cleared that stile at a bound. While she was smiling, Jimmy had roused himself firom lethargy. He too had been watching the children.
* "The younger generation is knocking at the door," Jane,' he had smiled. 'But they have the right idea. Come out and walk five miles with mc before sunset.*
She had gone for her hat and coat without a moment's hesitation. Every one was staying on for supper. The children were playing jack-straws, and Stephen was talking politics with Mr. Ward and Robin, and her mother and Isabel were discussing Bert Lancaster's paralysis, with an occasional digression on Flora's hat shop. She was not needed in the living-room and she would love a long walk.
They went out the terrace door and down the garden path and out into the fields in the opposite direction from the one which the children had taken. The November day was very cold and clear. The oak trees were already bare. The winter fields were brown. A high northwest wind was blowing across the Skokie Valley. It was difficult to talk in the teeth of the gale, and they had covered nearly two miles over the uneven stubble before they said much of anything. Then they paused in the shelter of a haystack.
*Wc must go back,' said Jane, trying to tuck her wind-blown pompadour under her felt hat-bnm.
'Must we?' said Jimmy. 'This walk was just what I wanted.'
'I'm all out of breath,' said Jane. 'That last cornfield was rough going for an old lady.' She drew in a great gasp of the bracing autumn air.
'Was it?' said Jimmy. 'You don't look much older than Gicily this minute. Your cheeks are red and your eyes are bright and your mussy hair is pretty. That's the true test of age for a woman. She's young as long as she looks beguihng with mussy hair!'
*I look like a wild Indian,' said Jane, still struggling with the pompadour. 'You ought to look at Cicily when the wind gets romping with her head of excelsior.'
'That's Jack Bridges' privilege,' said Jimmy. 'I'm no cradle-snatcher.*
Jane left the haystack and started to walk back across the cornfield. It was easier to talk, now, with the wind at their backs. Nevertheless, they di
d not say anything for several minutes. Jane was hoping that Jack would bring Gicily home before dark. Jimmy broke the silence.
'Whose privilege was it, Jane, to look at you when you were Cicily's age?' he asked.
Jane started at the question. But she did not answer.
*I bet some one did,' said Jimmy. *Who was he, Jane?'
*Oh,' said Jane vaguely, *he — he was —just a boy.'
'A broth of a boy?' questioned Jimmy. *Did you get much of a kick out of it?'
'Yes, I did,' said Jane simply.
Jimmy looked very much amused at her candour.
'We all do at that age,' he said cheerfully. *I'U never forget the girl who fell off the mourners' bench.'
Jane felt very indignant at the tacit comparison.
'Oh!' she said quickly. 'He wasn't like that!'
'How do you know what she was like?' smiled Jimmy.
'I know she wasn't like Andr6,' said Jane. The name had slipped out unconsciously.
'Do you mean that Andre never taught you anything you couldn't learn at a camp meeting?' queried Jimmy. 'Oh, Jane!'
'I mean that Andr6 wasn't hke any one — any one else I've ever met,' said Jane.
'My Crod!' said Jimmy, addressing the empty November sky. 'She never got over him! I hope,' he continued severely, 'that you confessed him to Stephen.'
'Oh, I confessed him to Stephen,' said Jane.
Again Jimmy looked very much amused at her candour.
'Good girl!' he said approvingly. 'You must always confess them to Stephen.'
Jane thought that her mother would think tliat Jimmy waj taking the marriage vows lightly. She almost thought so herself.
'There haven't been any others,' she said severely.
*Do you expect me to believe that?' said Jimmy.
'Not really any others,' said Jane.
'While there's life there's hope,' said Jimmy.
'I don't want any others,' said Jane indignantly.
*Oh, Jane!' said Jimmy.
'I don't,' protested Jane. 'I think clandestine love affairs would be horribly inconvenient.'
'There are higher things than convenience,' said Jimmy sublimely.
Jane ignored his comment.
'And I think,' she went on, 'they'd be dreadfully smirching and soiling. And too terrible to look back on when they were over. They would be over, you know. You get over loving any one *
'Oh!' said Jimmy. 'You've discovered that, have you?'
'No, I haven't!' said Jane quickly. 'I — I've just — observed it.'
Jimmy chuckled quietly to himself They walked nearly half a mile in silence. As they entered the garden, he resumed the conversation.
'You do get over loving any one, Jane,' he said gently. 'But you don't always regret that love in retrospect.'
Jane thought that sounded very sweet and understanding.
'Perhaps not,' she said. By this time they had reached the apple tree.
Jimmy paused for a moment beside the clump of evergreens. Jane looked up at him with a smile. They had had a nice walk.
•Jane,' said Jimmy suddenly, 'arc you really as innocent as you seem?'
Jane's eyes widened in astonishment. Jimmy's eyes were very bright. His breath was coming quickly and a funny excited little smile twisted the comers of his mouth.
'You're Uke a child, Jane,' said Jimmy. *An inexperienced child!'
Jane still stared at him.
Jane,' said Jimmy suddenly, 'I'm going to kiss you.* And he caught her suddenly in his arms and turned her face to his.
Jimmy!' cried Jane in horror. Jimmy!' His lips stopped her words. He kissed her long and ardently. Jane struggled in his arms. His cheek scratched her face. She pulled herself from his embrace and stood staring at him in the garden path.
'Oh, Jimmy!' she cried again. 'How — how could you?'
Suddenly she remembered the house at the end of the garden. She glanced quickly, fearfully, at the white clapboard facade. The clump of evergreens hid the Uving-room windows. But was that Miss Parrot's white sleeve in the play-roombay above? Jane felt suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of himiiliation. She had been kissed — kissed like a pretty chambermaid in her own garden. She had glanced at her own front windows, fearful of a spying servant's ironical eye.
'Jimmy,' she said, 'I wouldn't have believed it of you!' He was looking down at her, now, still breathing rather quickly. The excited Htde smile still twisted the corners of his mouth. He looked more Hke a faun than ever, thought Jane, with an unconscious shiver. 'Will you please go back to Chicago, now, at once?' she said with dignity. 'Will you please go back without coming into the house?'
Jimmy looked very much astonished.
*Why, Jane —Jane ' he faltered. 'Do you really mind,
M> awfully?'
*I'm going in,' said Jane. 'And I don't want you to follow mc* She turned abruptly away from him and walked up the garden path to the terrace, trying to put her face in order. She opened the terrace door and entered the living-room. The family were all still lounging about the fire.
'Where's Jimmy?' asked Isabel.
'He's gone,' said Jane, turning her back on them to close the terrace door. 'He wasn't staying to supper. He had to get back to the "News."' Lies, she thought contemptuously, lies, forced on her by Jinuny, forced on her by her own damnable lack of foresight! She ought to have known what was coming. She ought to have prevented it. She turned from the door and faced the family tranquilly.
'What's up, Jane?' asked Robin. 'You look like an avenging angel. Your cheeks are as red as fire.'
'It's just the wind,' said Jane. More lies! 'There's a perfect tornado blowing.' She raised her hands to rearrange her pompadour. A5 she did so, she rubbed her fingers violently across her mouth. She could still feel Jimmy's lips there. She could feel his kiss, still ibrating through her entire body. Suddenly she caught her father's eye. Mr. Ward was sitting comfortably in Stephen's armchair beside the smouldering fire. Behind a cloud of cigar smoke he was watching his younger daughter very intendy. Jane managed to achieve a smile. No one else weis paying any attention to her whatever. Jane sat down on the sofa beside Isabel and tried to listen to what she had to say about the cubistic designs that Flora was painting on the wall of the old coach-house. Isabel thought they were very comic. Mrs. Ward thought they were hardly respectable. Mr. Ward continued to watch them all from behind the cloud of cigar smoke. Jane tried to look as if she had forgotten that kiss.
IV
Mrs. Lester's living-room was in festive array for a very gala occasion. The occasion was Mrs. Lester's seventy-fifth birthday. When Jane entered the room with Stephen and the children, she could not see her hostess, at first, in the crowd of people who were laughing and talking around the hearth beneath the Murillo Madonna. Mr. and Mrs. Vard were there, and Flora and Mr. Fumess, and Isabel and Robin, and Rosalie and Freddy Waters, of course. Edith and her husband had come on fi'om Cleveland for the celebration and Muriel had invited Cyril Fortune. Bert Lancaster was not yet out of his bed. Rosalie's daughter was in school in Paris and Edith's son was in Oxford, but young Albert was there, home firom Saint Paul's for the Christmas vacation, so Isabel had brought Jack and Belle and Jane had brought Cicily and Jenny and little Steve. It was Uttle Steve's first dinner-party. The children were to eat at a separate table in a corner of the dining-room.
Irs. Lester was sitting in her wheel-chair on one corner of the hearthrug. Enormously fat and somewhat crippled with gout, she had not left her wheel-chair for years. She still gave parties, however, great gay parties, and was pushed to the head of her dining-room table to preside over them with all her old-time gaiety. Her three dark-haired daughters and their attendant husbands had never ceased to flutter about her. They weren't dark-haired any longer, of course. Edith was really white-headed, shm, worn, and distinguished at forty-three. Pretty Rosalie was growing grey, and even Muriel had one white Whistler lock, that she rather exploited, in the centre of her dark pompadour. Mrs. Lester herself, with her
straight snow-white hair, her wrinkled, yellow face, and her great gaunt nose hooked over her ridiculous cascade of double chins, had come to look much more Jewish with
advancing years. In spite of her invincible gaiety, her large dark eyes, with yellow whites, were shadowed with racial sadness. No eyes, thought Jane, were ever as beautiful as Jewish eyes. Mrs. Lester's had always touched her profoundly. They were twinkling now, up at Mr. Ward, as she sat enthroned on the hearthrug. An enormous bowl of seventy-five American beauties nodded over her snow^' head. Jane kissed her with real emotion. Then turned to Muriel.
'How is Bert to-night?' she asked.
*Oh — Bert's fine,' said Muriel easily. 'He's going to sit up next week. They've given him exercises for his arm. They think he'll get some motion back.'
T see,' said Isabel, at Muriel's elbow, *you asked Cyril to fill his place.'
'Cyril's always helpful,' grinned Muriel shamelessly. *He does what he can.'
'Who else is coming?' asked Isabel interestedly. 'You're still a man short.'
'Jimmy Trent,' said Muriel, smiHng. *I asked him for our Jane.'
Jane glanced casually at her father, then turned, to smell an American beauty, rather elaborately. She had not expected this. She had not seen Jimmy since she had turned away from him, five weeks before, under the apple tree in the Lakewood garden. He had telephoned three times, but Jane had not gone to the telephone. He had not written, for which fact Jane was devoutly thankful. She felt somehow very unequal to answering that unwritten letter and still more unequal to the melodramatic gesture of sending it back unread. She had known, of course, that she would have to meet Jimmy somedme, but she had not anticipated that meeting at Mrs. Lester's seventy-fifth birthday-party. She was wondering just how to handle it when Jimmy appeared at tnc living-room door.
Muriel moved quickly to meet him and Jane slipped quietly away from Mrs. Lester's side before he came up to present his compliments. She began talldng to Freddy Waters in a great burst of gaiety. In a moment the butler appeared at the dining-room door. He announced dinner and moved to push Mrs. Lester's chair in to the table. Almost immediately Jane heard Jimmy's voice at her elbow.
Years of Grace Page 29
