2
i THE SUNDAY BEE: OMAHA, JUNE 25, 1922.
nul of the field she iccmtd lo
make a great effort. She paused,
one hand upon the Hi If. and (aid,
"If you don't mind, lir, I'd
rather go on alone."
"Why? Don't you like me?"
"It in't that. sir. Only if peo
ple see us together in the village
they'll talk." ,
"Let them talk." said Walford,
delighting in the idea of the Be
nin. He vaulted the atile and he M
out his hand. "Come. I'll help
you over." .... .
After a moment negation hc
rlimbed the stile. She paused upon
it 1or a aecond. and her distraction
expressed itself.
"Oh, sir. ... you see, sir,
you're a gentleman ..."
"That's all right," said Walford.
comfortably. "Give me your hand,
and enclosed within his the little
hot fingers. She jumped down
from the stile and tried I to draw
her hand away, but Walford held
it- "What's the matter? Dont
he frightened. Why, you're trem
bling." "Please let roe go, air."
' "No. I'm not going to let you
po." He seized her other hand.
"I'm never going to let you go.
"Please, sir." r
"Don't be afraid. You think
I'm a rotter, don't you? But I m
going to marry you."
Never had she flushed so prettily.
She looked away, and he heard
an almost angry murmur:
"Sir, dw't make game of me.
But the murmur was stifled as sud
denly he drew her into his arms
and, though she averted her face,
pressed kisses upon her cheek and
neck. She did not resist. She
was too shaken and frightened.
She did not resist even when Wal
ford drew her face around and
kissed her lips.
"Now," he said, "are- you going
to marry me?"
She hesitated, then statched her
hands away, and ran across the
field. Smiling, he watched her,
and told himself that this was
enough for the day.
"Kissed you, did he?" said Mrs.
Stone, her big brown arms akimbo.
"Tell him to keep off it. You don't
want a gentleman hanging around
you. Perhaps it's only his silli
ness, but maybe he means you no
good."
Eileen raised a tear-stained
face: "He wants to marry me,,
mother."
Mrs. Stone flung herself back
with a sort of mellow merriment:
"My " she said, "he must be soft!"
Eileen dried her eyes. She was
rather offended by this laughter.
She might th'.nk herself unworthy,
but she did not care to have her
mother agree. "Now don't be
silly," said Mrs. Stone. "They
don't marry girls like you. They
say that sometimes,' but it's best
not to listen."
They quarreled that afternoon.
Before supper she met by appoint
ment her old playfellow, Alfred.
He was. the village postman, a
supernumerary of 19, with whom
she always felt a woman of the
. world because he was shyer still
than she. She was out of temper
with him that afternoon. What a
dummy he was! Then she re
proached herself. "Oh, why was
she such a silly?" Much to Alfred's
amazement, she kissed him with
out being asked to. -
Two days later. Mrs. Stone was
told by Eileen that Mr. Walford
had been going on something sim
ply awful. She knew all about
Mr. Walford; she knew that he
was rich, and that he could pick
among dozens of girls of his own
kind; he was a gentleman, yes. but
the peasant strain - in Mrs. Stone
whispered to her cannily that gen
tlemen were, after all, only men;
that all men were .fools. She sum
marized' this by, "You never
know." Finding, Mrs. Delabole
alone, she slowly brought the old
lady to the question, and was not
surprised to find her agitated and
hurt.
"Is he an honorable gentleman?"
asked Mrs. Stone at last.
Mrs. Delabole looked offended:
"You need not worry about that.
We may think it funny. ... I
don't mean that Eileen's a sweet
girl, but still, you know what I
mean." She grew confused. "But
we need not bother about that. If
he says he wants to marry her, he'll
do it. If Eileen's willing."
Mrs. Stone, after a moment, re
plied: "I see, ma'am. Thank you
very much, ma'am.' I think Eileen
will be willing."
So Walford played King Cophe
tua as he might have played Puck,
with an Eileen now less bashful,
though still incredulous. Now and
then, as she washed the dishes,
she pictured herself as a real lady.
Perhaps she could have a bed
spread of pink satin. She was the
prey of excitements, when it e
seemed wonderful; of reactioris,
when it .all felt like nonsense. The
silence of Mr. and Mrs. Delabole,
the coldness of the cook, afforded
Walford opportunities to pursue
her, to surprise her alone, to com
pel her to accept caresses which
she-wanted to resist and to return,
and to try to force from her ex
pressions of regard which Eileen
would have liked to have given
him if she bad only known the
words.
On the Sunday morning which
preceded the announced date of
Watford's return to London, Eileen
disturbed and miserable, went to
church. She'd always liked church.
It, was so nice and quiet. And she
loved joining in the hymns, because
her voice was hidden by that of
other people, and so she didn't feel
shy. But that day she drew no
benefit from the service. She joined
mechanically in the kneeling and
rising, but all the time she was
aware of Peter's eyes upon her.
When Eileen had to get up and
go out, she knew that he would
speak to her before everybody. It
wouM be dreadful. It was more
than dreadful, for Walford, with
out hesitation, took the shrinking
arm, and led her on. She wrig
gled her arm.
"Oh, sir," she said, "you mustn't
do that before everybody."
"Why, not? We're going to be
married in a fortnight. I've ap
plied for the license."
"Oh, sir," said Eileen, and no
longer wriggled her arm, but with,
flushed cheeks bent her head as the.
congregation curiously watched
them walk away. As they went up
towards the town on the other side
of the railway, she was all confused
emotion, through which threaded a
preoccupation: She had to lay the
table for lunch.
They went on beyond Burleigh
Abbas, past a hanger grown hill,
along a rutted path, where the
. leaves of last autumn still lay, a
dim glow flung on their darkness
by the sun that rode high. Peter
Walford told himself:
"I must get her a frock like those
leaves, sort of smoke gold. By
Jove I What fun!"
They reached a small birch, wood
where the trunks were festooned
with silver bark like toy trees. In
the strong grass pink campion held
up its rosy stars, and blue speed
well, yellow, eyed, ran along the
ditch, brilliant and shy. The air
was so soft and scented that for a
moment he felt himself sincere. He
took her into his arms and she did
not resist him. She bent the dark
head upon which ran that fleeting
red shadow that the sun brought
out. After all, it might be true'.
Three months elapsed before Ei
leen asked herself whether she was
happy, and decided that she was.
Her life still seemed extraordinary;
this house near Hyde Park, with
the clean, white face, the green
painted railings and jalousies,
seemed very wonderful; the bath
room, too, and the strange new
habit of bathing every day. The
parlor. Oh. she must remember to
call it the drawing room, it seemed
wrong somehow to" sit in it except
on Sunday.
J2iIeen never knew what she
wanted for lunch. The first time
she said chops, the second time
steak, until at the last cook took
the initiative, which was pleasant,
and made Eileen feel guilty. Only
she was so afraid of quarreling
with the cook. What astonished her
most was the sight of her own
hands, where the crimson had now
faded .into rose. She seemed to
have grown a- new kind of finger
nail, too. How nice they looked.
If only Beter wouldn't insist upon
those very short sleeves. He said
she had nice asms, but she did feel
she didn't ought to show them ex
cept to him. There! She knew she
mustn't say didn't ought to. Drat!
Oh, she mustn't say drat.
As Eileen sat at the little Queen
Anne bureau before stationery
which she hardly dared to use, she
was, perhaps, not quite happy. Her
rise in the world affected her as
mountain climbing does the body.
Still she must trust Peter, must
believe in him, even when he said
he loved her, which seemed a oueer
thing for him to do. Why
should he?
It was characteristic of Eileen
that she felt for her husband more
admiration than love. She was
never quite comfortable with him,
partly because he was too magnifi
cent, and partly because she seemed
to provide him with a private joke
which she could not understand.
She did wish.he wouldn't dress her
up so. They were quite lovely, of
course, but these London girls did
wear such short skirts, the bold,
brazen hussies. And her skirts
were shorter than anybody's. What
was she to do? -She couldn't say
she wouldn't go. And why when
ever he took her to see people in
enormous houses in Kensington,
old ladies in black silk, did he
choose that day to make her wear
orange cobwebs, things' that
showed her ribbons. They didn't
like it at all; she knew that. Why
did Peter do it?
Eileen often resumed that dis-
cussion. But she never obtained
any solution. Sometimes she
wondered why. Peter took her to
these dull places. Also he was
very fond of classical concerts on
Sunday afternoon. She supposed
it was all right, going without a
hat with a little tiara of tortoise
shell surmounted with rubies, but
she looked different from the other
people. Why did Peter make her
do that at an oratorio when she
didn't do ft at a music hall? Still,
the supposed Peter knew.
Tcter Walford was enjoying
himself more than ever before. He
had not made too great a sacrifice,
for he discovered that his prank
had yielded him an exquisite wife..
He had been right in his estimate
of her esthetic possibilities; she
flattered his taste so much that
often in her arms he found an emo
tion born less of love than vanity.
She had been a great success, a
success of oddity, of course, which
wouldn't last. But still, nothing
lasted, and meanwhile it was fun
to take her about, to show the
world that the Russian ballet had
not been invented for nothing, to
travel through life in a sort of
hush of irony.
He even amused himself by get
ting hold of a letter of hers, 'which
contained all the common errors of
spelling and a large number in
vented by herself. This he passed
round a tea party, enjoying the
confusion of the Kensingtonians
and telling himself: "It's rather
funny being rich enough to make
them read a letter when cat is spelt
with a K, and to make htme say:
'How fresh I How naive I'"
In Bohemia his pleasure was of
a different kind. It was a pleas
ure of excitement. He had done
the thing they all talked of; he had
surprised them because he was a
man who had never before talked
of the thing he had done. So he
had the delight of producing
Eileen as a sort of Eastern idol,
sheathed in a few yards of cham
pagne crepe de chine, with her hair
dressed rather likethat of a Fiji
islander, covered with a resille of
' threaded jade, her slim arms and
even her silk clad ankles shackled
with crowded bangles of gold,
ebony, silver, incrusted gems,
painted wood, knitted silk, and
leather of every shade and shape.
She was excessive and the
women stared at her with a sort
of hatred and envy.
He took delight in these Chelsea
parties, because Eileen carried his
esthetic lunacy with a shy open
eyed charm, and looked down upon
her ornaments with surprise, as if
she did not recognize herself. She
was, Peter told himself, dairy but
ter, served up in a bowl of chryso
prase, to be eaten with a Spoon of
tourmaline. She did not mind. She
was lost. And in a way she was
grateful.
She was not far off 16, a country
child in a fancy dress, living a life
in fancy dress. She understood so
little what she was doing that
she did not realize that she at
tracted some of the men she met.
She liked some of them, but not
all. She was rather frightened of
the fat men choking in their col
lars, and especially of the old ones
who took her hand to look at her
rings.
So first one year then another
passed. She was a little surer of
herself. She could answer when
she was spoken to, but her answers
never seemed to lead to much,
more. She was not quite so fright
ened of her servants, who had
become her friends, indeed the nic
est people she knew. If only life
hadn't gone so fast as a film it
wotrld have been easier to manage.
She had only one sorrow: That
she was not allowed to see her
mother and sister. Sometimes now
she had a day dream which in
verted the old day dream of the
pink satin bedspread. As she
brushed her hair at night she liked
to think of Burleigh Abbas, pref
erably on a blue, misty day, with
veils of cool muslin like long fin
gers drooping from the fir trees.
Of her "mother's kitchen, of their
old cross-bred collies, scratching
comfortably by the black-leaded
range. Well, it couldn't ever be.
It couldn't be helped, and, after all,
perhaps she didn't mind. Things
were like that, and she supposed
they were for the best.
'Eileen might have grown ac
customed to the strangeness of life
if she had not observed that
some sort of friendship existed be
tween Peter and a dancer called
Madeline Forest. Three months
before she had seen that they sat
together rather long, but it took
three months more, several small
parties and a meeting in the street
before her mind -could connect
these facts and build them into an
anxiety.
It was perhaps the sight of her
husband at one of those familiar
parties in a Chelsea studio that
aroused her .activity.
All that evening Madeline Forest
sat on a divan, while Peter stroked
her arm. Well, that was all right.
She supposed people did these
thi.ngs. Only a little later, as she
went along a corridor, she found
Peter with Madeline in his arms.
He was kissing her. They did not
seem embarrassed; indeed, Peter
seized and kissed her, too.
She supposed it was all right,
but somehow she was miserable.
Her mental processes very slowly
told her that in this new atmos
phere people acted with incredible
freedom, but they did it publicly.
Without means of comparison, just
out of innocence perhaps, Eileen
managed to establish in her mind
a difference: It wasn't the same
thing as if he'd done it before
everybody. These two, they were
hiding; they'd taken an opportun
ity when they were alone. She
did not say anything about it.
Peter was still charming to her,
inventive and gay, and he still
seemed to find amusement in her,
still to enjoy her perplexities. But
all the same there was a slow
erosion in their relationship. Eileen
was not so secure, for Peter was
less in the house, and he manu
factured for her less often the
comic frocks which before had giv
en him occupation. She was a
good deal alone, and she disliked
the silence of her big house, where
the servants were too well trained
to laugh out loud. It wasn't like
sitting comfortably in the kitchen
at Burleigh Abbas, knitting a
stocking with blue wool, and
listening to the grandfather clock
, ticking.
With this came a change in her
husband's attitude. He could not
understand her new absorbed
moods; formerly, when- she had
looked up at him, it had always
been with an incredulous smile and
a downward droop of the long
lashes; now she looked up at him
doubtfully, afraid as well as puz
zled. Shyness was giving place
to a mood that looked like sulks.
So she stimulated his irony less,
and he tended to her more. He
sent her out to buy him a book.
She began to mend his clothes.
Once more she was serving, but
now it was not the . service of in
credulous and exalted love, but the
service, of duty, or perhaps the
service that fills the empty hour.
She was little over 19, and in
these growing moods of aloofness
began to think more and more of
familiar things. She enjoyed the
letters from her mother, though
they told her. very little. Her sis
ter Jane was getting married to
the young man at the general
shop; her, friend Hilda had been
reproved by the vicar for playing
ball with the bovs on Sunday after
noon. "She didn't oughter," re
flected Eileen, thinking in the ver
nacular. Sometime?, when she "was very
miserable, she brought out those
collected letters and read them all.
She thought of . the oast more
than of the present, as if she were
old; her husband, she did not know
why, seemed worried, too.
Almost another year passed
away in these broodings, and it
was only then, in the spring, when
Eileen felt moving within her an
impulse toward ease, that suddenly
she told herself:
"I want to go home. Not to
stay, of course, but just to go home
for a day."
She saw herself tiptoeing to her
mother's window, taking just one
look at the kitchen, and' going
awav, as if afraid to be caught.
Well, there was nothing to stop
her; it was Saturday night, and
Peter had gone .awav somewhere
for the week-end. Why not? She
slept little, and wondered what
clothes to wear.
Then she rose early, told the
maid that she was going out for the
day, and reached Burleigh Abbas
just about 10. She stood for a mo
ment outside the station, hardly
liking to go farther. It didn't seem
to have changed much in three
years. Still the same old milk
churns on the platform and Mr.
Brown's quince tree again just cov
ered with white blossoms. Eileen
had a sense of a return to eternal
simplicity. No, she was wrong;
there was a new porter at the sta
tion. Things did change. "Well,"
she thought, "such is life." Sigh
ing a little, she went along the road,
which was soft and white with piled
dust, recognizing with gladness and
sorrow the sweep of a hedge, a
wormeaten stile, a gate with a
broken hinge.
At last she reached her mother's
cottage, and now she could no
longer hesitate; she felt afraid to
stand aside from the old life. It
was easy to rush into it, to run
through the front garden where
the spring cabbage was coming up
nicely, into the cottage, where her
amazed mother held her off, in
stinctively wiping her hands upon
her apron before she embraced
her.
"Well. I never!" said Mrs.
Stone. "Fancy coming down like
that, without writing. We might
have been out."
Eileen smiled, but she could not
express even to herself that it was
impossible for Mrs. Stone to be
out. Where could she have gone '
to? So she answered questions.
Yes, she was very happy. Peter
was very nice. No, they'd had no
more trouble with the cook. How
much did this coat and skirt cost?
She didn't know; Peter paid all
the bills. Twenty pounds, per
haps: perhaps more.
"My," said Mrs. Stone. Then
an idea came to her: "Does Mr.
Walford know you're here?"
"No, ma."
"Do you mean to say you've
come without him knowing? He
wouldn'j like it."
"O, ma," said Eileen, suddenly
tearful. "I had a fancy. Don't be
hard on inc. O, here's Jane." In
deed Jane was coming up the path,
follqwcd by an awkward fellow
with red hair, "I.or'1" cried Kilrcn,
"that's Bert. lie looks just the
same."
They're going to be married,"
said Mrs. Stone. "You ain't the
only one who's settling down."
It was very awkward in the
kitchen, for the young man from
whom she had so often bought
pins stood at the door and refused
to come in, but leaned upon the
lintel, lifting with great regularity
first his right foot, then his left,
while Jane, after carefully kissing
her sister, looked at her clothes
with a certain animosity. After an
hour the conversation collapsed for
lack of questions. Until then it
had been all questions, and there
was nobobdy about whom Eileen
could ask another.
She realized that these people no
longer were hers, that her life had
been turned away like a stream
that is suddenly dammed. So it
was with a sense of escape that
suddenly she said: "Ma, I think
I'll go to church."
Mrs. Stone and the others
thought this rather rude of Eileen;
they were all very uncomfortable,
but thought it manners to continue
in this state all day. Only, what
could one say to such a proper
sentiment? After a moment Mrs.
Stone announced that she couldn't
go because she had to watch the
joint.
"Thanks to you, my girl," she
said, "we have a joint every Sun
day." So Eileen, by the side of
Jane, and followed by the red
haired young man, who refused to
walk with them, went on toward
the church. When Eileen reached
her pew she hoped church would
reunite them. She looked curiously
about at the pitch pine pews, ter
minated by lumps of wood cut in
to trefoils. The old familiar smell
of incense and varnish, the lectern,
looking as if it had not been pol
ished since she left. My I It
brought one back! she followed the
service with greater difficulty than
in the old days, for she had not
been to church since she was mar
ried; also, she was covertly look
ing about, identifying people, then
looking down, realizing that every
body was staring at the fine lady
and incredulously recognizing her.
As she had to rise for the hymn
her two small gloved hands
clenched upon the edge of the
pew. She wondered if she were
going mad, for,' on the left side,
not far away, she saw Peter. Just
where he'd sat before! The same
old Peter, but somehow different,
pale and worried. Perhaps it was
the funny light in the church.
What was he doing here? He saw
her now, and did not smile at her.
His eyes were as surprised as hers.
She was disturbed and now grew
terrified. Peter would know that
she'd come, and he'd forbidden her
to. O, what should she say to
him? It did not occur to her to
wonder what he was doing there.
Eileen, with her companions, lin
gered for a moment outside the
church. The congregation was
hurrying out, for everybody want
ed to see her, and almost every
body nodded and smiled, though
no one spoke. Eileen was too dis
turbed to think of tVat, but she
felt lonely. She'd Save liked to
speak to somebody. Only, what
was Peter doing there?
He came up to them after a mo
ment, rather jauntily, fanning him
self with his soft hat
"Hullo, Eileen," he said, "what
ever are you doing here?"
Before answering she saw that
there was a little gray in his hair;
she'd never noticed it before. Per
haps it had increased.
"Oh." she said, "I don't know."
At this moment her companions,
grown "violently self-conscious,
suddenly went off, as if in panic.
So Eileen and her husband stayed
for a moment in the churchyard.
They were alone now, for the con
gregation had disappeared. They
felt embarrassed, unready for ex
planation. Eileen especially found
herself guilty. -
"Well," said Peter suddenly,
"we can't stay here all the morn
ing." He took her arm and led her
away. Silently they went through
the village, meeting no creature,
for alt the inhabitants had gone to
their cottages to prepare their Sun
day dinner. A few curious eyes
watched them, no doubt, but they
were so absorbed, each one in
himself, that they' did not think
even of that; an instinct was show
ing them the way.
They went beyond the railway
and up the down, until by com
mon concent they stopped on the
rutted path by the birch wood. It
was spring there now. and the
birches were still bare of leaf; the
grass was short, and along the
ditch some scattered primroses
held out little pallid hands. In
the soft and delicate air an en
thrallment fell away from Peter;
He looked about him with a
smile, at the green down that
softly swelled, Where a few Iambs
followed the ewes, and sometimes
(Continued n Pace Eteht.)