CHAPTER XXXIX
"IT IS CRUEL"
"It is cruel of them to say it!"
Evelyn was at the Whipples'. It was a morning in May. Spring possessedthe valley. The long vistas across the hills were closing as the leavescrept into the trees again. The windows were open, and the snowycurtains swayed to the wind. Lilacs again in the Whipples' dooryardbloomed, and the general's young cherry trees were white with blossoms.It was not well that any one should be heavy of heart on such a morning,but Evelyn Porter was not happy. She sat leaning forward with both handsresting on the ivory ball of her parasol. A querulous note crept intoher voice. It is strange how the heartache to which the face neveryields finds a ready prey in the voice.
"It is cruel of them to say it!"
"But it is natural too, dear," said Mrs. Whipple. "Many people must havewondered about you and Warry. If it will help any, I will confess that Iwondered a good deal myself. Now you won't mind, will you? It seemshard, now that he has gone--but before--before, it was notunreasonable!"
"But the gossip! I don't care for myself, but it is cruel to him, to hismemory, that this should be said. If it had been true; if--if we hadbeen engaged, it would not be so wretched; but this--oh, it hurts me!"She lay back in her chair. Her eyes were over-bright; her words ended ina wail.
Mrs. Whipple felt that Evelyn's view of the matter was absurd. If thepeople of Clarkson were trying to read an element of romance into WarryRaridan's death, they were certainly working no injury to his memory.Such a view of the matter was fantastic. Evelyn did not know thatanother current story coupled her name with that of James Wheaton, whowas spoken of in some quarters, and even guardedly in newspapers outsideof Clarkson, as Raridan's rival for the affections of William Porter'sdaughter. Mrs. Whipple had shuddered hourly since the tragedy atPoindexter's when she remembered how much Wheaton had been about withEvelyn. He had been with her almost as much as Warry. Mrs. Whipplerecalled the carnival of two years ago with shame. Her heart smote heras she watched the girl. It was a hideous thing that evil should havecrept so near her life. Wheaton had been a strange species of reptileamong them all.
"Poor dear! You must not take it so!" The silence had grown oppressive.It was incumbent upon her to comfort the girl if she could.
"It isn't a thing that you can help, child. There's no way of stoppinggossip; and if they persist in saying such things, they will have to saythem, that's all. If you wish--if it will help you any, I will refute itwhen I can--I mean among our friends only."
"Oh, no! That would make it worse. Please don't say anything!"
Mrs. Whipple did not accept solicitude for Warry's memory as asufficient explanation of Evelyn's troubles; nor was it like Evelyn tocomplain of gossip about herself. The girl had naturally felt Warry'sdeath deeply; she made no secret of her great fondness for him. But ifEvelyn had really cared for Warry with more than a friendly regard, shewould never have come to her in this way. She assumed this hypothesis asshe made irrelevant talk with the girl. Then she thought of Wheaton; ifWheaton had been the one Evelyn had cared for--if Warry had been thefriend and he the lover! She gave rein for a moment to this idea.Perhaps Evelyn followed the man now with sympathy--the thought wasrepulsive; she rejected it instantly with self-loathing for havingharbored an idea that wronged Evelyn so miserably.
"What father feels is that his mistake in Wheaton argues a greatweakness in himself," Evelyn was saying. She was more tranquil now. Mrs.Whipple noticed that she spoke Wheaton's name without hesitation; shehad dropped the prefix of respect, as every one had. We have a way ofeliminating it in speaking of men who are markedly good or bad.
"Father takes it very hard. He isn't naturally morbid, but he seems tofeel as if he had been responsible--Grant being back of it all. But wedidn't know those men were going out there--we knew nothing until it wasall over!" The girl spoke as if she too felt the responsibility. "And hethinks he ought to have known about Wheaton--ought to have seen whatkind of man he was!"
Evelyn's blue foulard was beyond criticism and it matched her parasolperfectly; the girl had never been prettier. Mrs. Whipple inwardlyapologized for having admitted the thought of Wheaton to her mind.
"We can all accuse ourselves in the same way. To think of it--that hehas actually passed tea in this very room!" Her shrug of loathing was soreal that Evelyn shuddered.
Then Mrs. Whipple laughed, so suddenly that it startled Evelyn.
"It's dreadful! horrible!" Mrs. Whipple continued, "to find that aperson you have really looked upon with liking--perhaps withadmiration--has been all along eaten with a moral leprosy. If it weren'tfor poor Warry we should be able to look upon it as a profitableexperience. There aren't many like Wheaton. The bishop thinks we oughtto be lenient in dealing with him--that he was not really so bad; thathe was simply weak--that his weakness was a kind of disease of his moralnature. But I can't see it that way myself. The man ought not to goscot-free. He ought to be punished. But it's too intangible and subtlefor the law to take hold of."
Evelyn had picked up her card-case. It was a pretty trifle of silver andleather; she tapped the handle of her parasol with it. Something hadoccurred to Mrs. Whipple when she laughed a moment before, and seeingthat Evelyn was about to rise, she said casually:
"Mr. Saxton doesn't share the bishop's gentle charity toward Wheaton."She watched Evelyn as she applied the test. The girl did not raise hereyes at once. She bent over the parasol meditatively, still tapping thehandle with the card-case.
"What does Mr. Saxton say?" Evelyn asked, dropping the trinket into herlap and looking at her friend vaguely, as people do who ask questionsout of courtesy rather than from honest curiosity.
"Mr. Saxton says that Wheaton's a scoundrel--a damned scoundrel, to beliteral. He told the general so, here, a few nights ago. He seemed verybitter. You know what close friends he and Warry were!"
"Yes; it was an ideal kind of friendship. They were devoted to eachother," said Evelyn very earnestly; there was a little cry in her voiceas she spoke. It was as though happiness, struggling against sorrow, hadalmost gained the mastery.
"It's fine to see that in men. I sometimes think that friendships amongthem have a quality that ours lack. I think Mr. Saxton is very lonely. Iwasn't here when he called, but the general saw him. You know thegeneral likes him particularly."
"Yes."
"You and he both knew and appreciated Warry."
Evelyn had grasped her parasol, and she took up the card-case again.Mrs. Whipple was half ashamed of herself; but she was also convinced.She took another step.
"Of course you see him; he must be reaching out to all Warry's friendsin his loneliness."
Mrs. Whipple's powers of analysis were keen, but there were times whenthey failed her. She did not know that her question hurt Evelyn Porter;and she did not know that Evelyn had seen John Saxton but once since theday they all stood by Warry's grave.
Mrs. Whipple disapproved of herself as she followed Evelyn to the door.She had no business to pry into the girl's secrets in this way; thesweep of the foulard touched her, and she sought to placate herconscience by burying her new-found knowledge under less guiltyinformation.
Evelyn spoke of the place which her father had bought at Orchard Lane,on the North Shore, and told Mrs. Whipple that she and the general wereexpected to spend a month there.
"You will be away all summer, I suppose. It's fine that your father hastaken the course he has. He might have felt that he must stay at homecloser than ever, to look after his interests."
"It's more for Grant than for himself," said Evelyn; "but he realizestoo that he must take care of himself."
"That's a good deal gained for a Western business man. It's been aterrible year for you, dear,--your father's illness and these otherthings. You need rest."
She took the girl's cheeks in her hands and kissed her, and Evelyn wentout into the spring afternoon and walked homeward over the slopingstreets.
Mrs. Whipple pondered long after Evelyn left. Evelyn was not happy. S
hewas not mourning a dead lover, nor one whose life was eclipsed in shame;but another man disturbed her peace, and Mrs. Whipple wondered why. Shewas still pondering when the general came in. He had been out to takethe air, and after he had brought his syphon from the ice-box he wasready to talk.
"Evelyn has been here," said Mrs. Whipple. "She asked us to come tothem for a visit. You know Mr. Porter has bought a place on the NorthShore."
"It sounds like a miracle. Jim Wheaton didn't live in vain if he'sresponsible for that."
They debated their invitation, which Mrs. Whipple had already accepted,she explained, from a sense of duty to Evelyn. The general said hesupposed he would have to go, with a show of reluctance that was whollyinsincere and to which Mrs. Whipple gave no heed. They were asked forJuly. They discussed the old friends whom they would probably see whilethey were East, until the summer loomed pleasant before them, and thenthe talk came back to Evelyn.
"The child doesn't look well," said Mrs. Whipple.
"I shouldn't think she would, with all the row and rumpus they've beenhaving in their family. Abductions and murders and abscondings at one'sdoor are not conducive to light-heartedness."
"She's annoyed by all this gossip about her and Warry. She doesn't knowthat Wheaton is supposed to have taken more than a friendly interest inher."
"Well, I wouldn't tell her that, if I were you--if Wheaton didn't."
"Of course he didn't!"
"Well, he didn't then." The syphon hissed into the glass.
"Evelyn and Warry weren't engaged," said Mrs. Whipple. The general heldup the glass and watched the gas bubbling to the top.
"It's just as well that way," he said. "It saves her a lot ofheartache."
"That's what I think," said Mrs. Whipple promptly. In suchconversations as this she usually combated the general's opinions. Anexception to the rule was so noteworthy that he began to pay seriousattention.
"They weren't, but they might have been. Is that it?"
"No. Anything might have been. There's no use speculating about whatcan't be now."
"I suppose that's true. Well?"
"Something is troubling Evelyn, and I'll tell you what I think it is. Ithink it was Saxton all along."
"I always told you he was a good fellow. He's really shown me someattentions, and that's more than most of the young men have done, exceptWarry. Warry was nice to everybody. But Saxton's alive and hearty andhasn't skipped for parts unknown. Why is Evelyn mourning?" He shook theglass until the ice tinkled pleasantly.
"I don't know. Maybe--maybe he doesn't understand!"
"He isn't stupid," said the general, thoughtfully.
"Of course he isn't."
"It may be that he isn't interested--that she doesn't appeal to him.Such a thing is conceivable."
"No, it isn't! Of course it isn't!"
The general laughed at her scornful rejection of the idea.
"You tell me, then."
"What I think is, that there is some reason--perhaps some point of honorwith him--that keeps him away from her. He was Warry's friend. He wasnearer Warry in his last years than any one. Don't you think thatsomething of that sort may be the matter?"
The general was greatly amused, and he laughed so that Mrs. Whipple'sown dignity was shaken.
"Amelia," he said, "your analytical powers are too sharp for this world.You're shaving it down pretty fine, it seems to me. I wish you'd tell mewhat you base that on."
"I'm not basing it; but it seems so natural that that should be theway."
The syphon gurgled harshly and sputtered, and the general put it downsadly.
"Now that you've solved the riddle in your own mind, how are you goingto proceed? You'd better not try army tactics on a civilian job. Saxtonisn't a second lieutenant, to be regulated by the commandant's wife."
"He's a dear!" declared Mrs. Whipple irrelevantly. "If Evelyn Porterwants him, she's going to have him."
"Oh, Lord!" The general took up his syphon to carry it back to the casein the pantry. "He's 'a dear,' is he? Amelia, John Saxton weighs atleast one hundred and eighty pounds. I don't believe I'd call him 'adear.' I'd reserve that for slim, elderly persons like me, or younggirls just out of school." He stood swinging the syphon at arm's length."Now, if my advice were worth anything, I'd tell you to let these youngpeople alone. If you've guessed the true inwardness of this matter--asyou probably haven't--they'll come out all right."
"Of course they'll come out all right," she answered, dreamily. Theswinging door in the dining-room fanned upon her answer as the generalstrode through into the pantry.
For several weeks following Mrs. Whipple continued to think of Evelynand her affairs. Evelyn was not an object of pity, and yet there was acertain pathos about her. Her position in the town as the daughter ofits wealthiest citizen isolated her, it seemed to Mrs. Whipple. A girlwould be less than human if the experiences to which Evelyn had beensubjected did not make a profound impression upon her. Mrs. Whipple hadseen a good deal of trouble in her day. She felt that Evelyn had learnedtoo much of life in one lesson; if she could ease the future for her,she wished to do it. With such hopes as these she occupied herself asspring waxed old and summer held the land.
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