Part 35 (1/2)

If I only could be sure that pique at an employee's failure to report to him was at the bottom of his sulkiness! But the memory of the good-looking youth who hung over the girl so a.s.siduously was before my eyes. I feared that the reason for d.i.c.ky's moody displeasure was the presence of the unknown admirer of his beautiful model.

Of course, all pleasure in the day's outing was gone for me also, and we were a silent pair as we wandered in and out through the sandy beaches. d.i.c.ky conscientiously, but perfunctorily, pointed out to me all the things which he thought I would find interesting, and in which, under any other circ.u.mstances, I should have revelled.

In my resolution to be as chummy with d.i.c.ky as possible, I determined to put down my own feelings toward Grace Draper. But it was an effort for me to say what I wished to d.i.c.ky. We had chatted about many things, and were nearly home, when I said timidly:

”d.i.c.ky, now that Miss Draper is back, don't you think you and I ought to call on her and her sister, and have them over to dinner?”

d.i.c.ky frowned impatiently:

”For heaven's sake, don't monkey with that old cat, Mrs. Gorman. She is making trouble enough as it is.”

He bit his lip the next instant, as if he wished the words unsaid, and, for a wonder, I was wise enough not to question him as to the meaning of the little speech. But into my heart crept my own particular little suspicious devil--always too ready to come, is this small familiar demon of mine--and once there he stayed, continually whispering ugly doubts and queries concerning the ”trouble” that Mrs.

Gorman was making over her sister's intimate studio a.s.sociation with my husband.

My constant brooding affected my spirits. I found myself growing irritable. The next day after d.i.c.ky and I had seen Miss Draper and her attendant cavalier on the road to Marvin harbor, d.i.c.ky made a casual reference at the table to the fact that she had returned to the studio and her work as his secretary and model.

”She said she called up the studio when she got in, and again yesterday morning, but I was not in,” he said. I realized that the girl had cleverly soothed his resentment at her failure to notify him that she had returned from her trip.

Whether it was the result of my own irritability or not I do not know, but d.i.c.ky seemed to grow more indifferent and absent-minded each day.

He was not irritable with me, he simply had the air of a man absorbed in some pursuit and indifferent to everything else.

Grace Draper's att.i.tude toward me puzzled me also. She preserved always the cool but courteous manner one would use to the most casual acquaintance, yet she did not hesitate to avail herself of every possible opportunity to come to the house. Then, two or three times during the latter part of the summer, I found that she had managed to join outings of ours. Whether this state of affairs was due to d.i.c.ky's wishes or her own subtle planning I could not determine.

I struggled hard with myself to treat the girl with friendliness, but found it impossible. My manner toward her held as much reserve as was compatible with formal courtesy. Of course, this did not please d.i.c.ky.

d.i.c.ky was also developing an unusual sense of punctuality. I always had thought him quite irresponsible concerning the keeping of his appointments, and he never had any set time for arriving at his studio. But he suddenly announced one morning that he must catch the 8:21 train every morning without fail.

”The next one gets in too late,” he said, ”and I have a tremendous amount of work on hand.”

The explanation was plausible enough, but there was something about it that did not ring true. However, the solution of his sudden solicitude for punctuality did not come to me until Mrs. Hoch, one of my neighbors, called with her daughter, Celie, and enlightened me.

”We just heard something we thought you ought to know,” Celie began primly, ”so Ma and I hurried right over, so as to put you on your guard.”

”Yes,” sighed Mrs. Hoch, rocking vigorously as she spoke, ”everybody knows I'm no gossip. I believe if you can't say nothing good about n.o.body, you should keep your mouth shut, but I says to Celie as soon as I heard this, 'Celie,' says I, 'it's our duty to tell that poor thing what we know.'”

I started to speak, to stop whatever revelation she wished to make, but I might as well have attempted to stem a torrent with a leaf bridge.

”We've heard things for a long time,” Mrs. Hoch went on, ”but we didn't want to say nothin', 'specially as you seemed such friends, her runnin' here and all. But we noticed she hain't been comin' lately, and then our Willie, he hears things a lot over at the station, and he says it's common talk over there that your husband and that Draper girl are planning to elope. They take the same train every morning together, come home on the same one at night, and they are as friendly as anything.”

”Mrs. Hoch,” I snapped out, ”if I had known what you were going to say, I would not have allowed you to speak. Your words are an insult to my husband and myself. You will please to remember never to say anything like this to me again.”

Mrs. Hoch rose to her feet, her face an unbecoming brick red. Her daughter's black eyes snapped with anger.

”Come, Celie,” the elder woman said, ”I don't stay nowhere to be insulted, when all I've tried to do is give a little friendly warning to a neighbor.”

Mother and daughter hurried down the path, chattering to each other, like two angry squirrels.

”Horrid, stuck-up thing,” I heard Celie say spitefully, as they went through the fence. ”I hope Grace Draper does take him away from her. She's got a nerve, I must say, talkin' to us like that. I don't believe she cares anything about her husband, anyway.”