the inhabitants of the little house in passy were of necessityearly risers; but when susy jumped out of bed the next morningno one else was astir, and it lacked nearly an hour of the callof the bonne's alarm-clock.
for a moment susy leaned out of her dark room into the darkernight. a cold drizzle fell on her face, and she shivered anddrew back. then, lighting a candle, and shading it, as herhabit was, from the sleeping child, she slipped on her dressing-gown and opened the door. on the threshold she paused to lookat her watch. only half-past five! she thought withcompunction of the unkindness of breaking in on junie fulmer'sslumbers; but such scruples did not weigh an ounce in thebalance of her purpose. poor junie would have to oversleepherself on sunday, that was all.
susy stole into the passage, opened a door, and cast her lighton the girl's face.
"junie! dearest junie, you must wake up!"junie lay in the abandonment of youthful sleep; but at the soundof her name she sat up with the promptness of a grown person onwhom domestic burdens have long weighed.
"which one of them is it?" she asked, one foot already out ofbed.
"oh, junie dear, no ... it's nothing wrong with the children ...
or with anybody," susy stammered, on her knees by the bed.
in the candlelight, she saw junie's anxious brow darkenreproachfully.
"oh, susy, then why--? i was just dreaming we were all drivingabout rome in a great big motor-car with father and mother!""i'm so sorry, dear. what a lovely dream! i'm a brute to haveinterrupted it--"she felt the little girl's awakening scrutiny. "if there'snothing wrong with anybody, why are you crying, susy? is it youthere's something wrong with? what has happened?""am i crying?" susy rose from her knees and sat down on thecounterpane. "yes, it is me. and i had to disturb you.""oh, susy, darling, what is it?" junie's arms were about her ina flash, and susy grasped them in burning fingers.
"junie, listen! i've got to go away at once-- to leave you allfor the whole day. i may not be back till late this evening;late to-night; i can't tell. i promised your mother i'd neverleave you; but i've got to--i've got to."junie considered her agitated face with fully awakened eyes.
"oh, i won't tell, you know, you old brick, " she said withsimplicity.
susy hugged her. "junie, junie, you darling! but that wasn'twhat i meant. of course you may tell--you must tell. i shallwrite to your mother myself. but what worries me is the idea ofhaving to go away-- away from paris--for the whole day, withgeordie still coughing a little, and no one but that sillyangele to stay with him while you're out--and no one but you totake yourself and the others to school. but junie, junie, i'vegot to do it!" she sobbed out, clutching the child tighter.
junie fulmer, with her strangely mature perception of the case,and seemingly of every case that fate might call on her to dealwith, sat for a moment motionless in susy's hold. then shefreed her wrists with an adroit twist, and leaning back againstthe pillows said judiciously: "you'll never in the world bringup a family of your own if you take on like this over otherpeople's children."through all her turmoil of spirit the observation drew a laughfrom susy. "oh, a family of my own--i don't deserve one, theway i'm behaving to your"junie still considered her. "my dear, a change will do yougood: you need it," she pronounced.
susy rose with a laughing sigh. "i'm not at all sure it will!
but i've got to have it, all the same. only i do feelanxious--and i can't even leave you my address!"junie still seemed to examine the case.
"can't you even tell me where you're going?" she ventured, as ifnot quite sure of the delicacy of asking.
"well--no, i don't think i can; not till i get back. besides,even if i could it wouldn't be much use, because i couldn't giveyou my address there. i don't know what it will be.""but what does it matter, if you're coming back to-night?""of course i'm coming back! how could you possibly imagine ishould think of leaving you for more than a day?""oh, i shouldn't be afraid--not much, that is, with the poker,and nat's water-pistol," emended junie, still judicious.
susy again enfolded her vehemently, and then turned to morepractical matters. she explained that she wished if possible tocatch an eight-thirty train from the gare de lyon, and thatthere was not a moment to lose if the children were to bedressed and fed, and full instructions written out for junie andangele, before she rushed for the underground.
while she bathed geordie, and then hurried into her own clothes,she could not help wondering at her own extreme solicitude forher charges. she remembered, with a pang, how often she haddeserted clarissa vanderlyn for the whole day, and even for twoor three in succession--poor little clarissa, whom she knew tobe so unprotected, so exposed to evil influences. she had beentoo much absorbed in her own greedy bliss to be more thanintermittently aware of the child; but now, she felt, no sorrowhowever ravaging, no happiness however absorbing, would everagain isolate her from her kind.
and then these children were so different! the exquisiteclarissa was already the predestined victim of her surroundings:
her budding soul was divided from susy's by the same barrier ofincomprehension that separated the latter from mrs. vanderlyn.
clarissa had nothing to teach susy but the horror of her ownhard little appetites; whereas the company of the noisyargumentative fulmers had been a school of wisdom andabnegation.
as she applied the brush to geordie's shining head and thehandkerchief to his snuffling nose, the sense of what she owedhim was so borne in on susy that she interrupted the process tocatch him to her bosom.
"i'll have such a story to tell you when i get back to-night, ifyou'll promise me to be good all day," she bargained with him;and geordie, always astute, bargained back: "before i promise,i'd like to know what story."at length all was in order. junie had been enlightened, andangele stunned, by the minuteness of susy's instructions; andthe latter, waterproofed and stoutly shod, descended thedoorstep, and paused to wave at the pyramid of heads yearning toher from an upper window.
it was hardly light, and still raining, when she turned into thedismal street. as usual, it was empty; but at the corner sheperceived a hesitating taxi, with luggage piled beside thedriver. perhaps it was some early traveller, just arriving, whowould release the carriage in time for her to catch it, and thusavoid the walk to the metro, and the subsequent strap-hanging;for it was the work-people's hour. susy raced toward thevehicle, which, overcoming its hesitation, was beginning to movein her direction. observing this, she stopped to see where itwould discharge its load. thereupon the taxi stopped also, andthe load discharged itself in front of her in the shape of nicklansing.
the two stood staring at each other through the rain till nickbroke out: "where are you going? i came to get you.""to get me? to get me?" she repeated. beside the driver shehad suddenly remarked the old suit-case from which her husbandhad obliged her to extract strefford's cigars as they wereleaving como; and everything that had happened since seemed tofall away and vanish in the pang and rapture of that memory.
"to get you; yes. of course." he spoke the words peremptorily,almost as if they were an order. "where were you going?" herepeated.
without answering, she turned toward the house. he followedher, and the laden taxi closed the procession.
"why are you out in such weather without an umbrella?" hecontinued, in the same severe tone, drawing her under theshelter of his.
"oh, because junie's umbrella is in tatters, and i had to leaveher mine, as i was going away for the whole day." she spoke thewords like a person in a trance.
"for the whole day? at this hour? where?"they were on the doorstep, and she fumbled automatically for herkey, let herself in, and led the way to the sitting-room. ithad not been tidied up since the night before. the children'sschool books lay scattered on the table and sofa, and the emptyfireplace was grey with ashes. she turned to nick in the pallidlight.
"i was going to see you," she stammered, "i was going to followyou to fontainebleau, if necessary, to tell you ... to preventyou...."he repeated in the same aggressive tone: "tell me what?
prevent what?""tell you that there must be some other way ... some decentway ... of our separating ... without that horror. that horrorof your going off with a woman ...."he stared, and then burst into a laugh. the blood rushed to herface. she had caught a familiar ring in his laugh, and itwounded her. what business had he, at such a time, to laugh inthe old way?
"i'm sorry; but there is no other way, i'm afraid. no other waybut one," he corrected himself.
she raised her head sharply. "well?""that you should be the woman. --oh, my dear!" he had droppedhis mocking smile, and was at her side, her hands in his. "oh,my dear, don't you see that we've both been feeling the samething, and at the same hour? you lay awake thinking of it allnight, didn't you? so did i. whenever the clock struck, i saidto myself: 'she's hearing it too.' and i was up beforedaylight, and packed my traps--for i never want to set footagain in that awful hotel where i've lived in hell for the lastthree days. and i swore to myself that i'd go off with a womanby the first train i could catch--and so i mean to, my dear."she stood before him numb. yes, numb: that was the worst ofit! the violence of the reaction had been too great, and shecould hardly understand what he was saying. instead, shenoticed that the tassel of the window-blind was torn off again(oh, those children!), and vaguely wondered if his luggage weresafe on the waiting taxi. one heard such stories ....
his voice came back to her. "susy! listen!" he was entreating.
"you must see yourself that it can't be. we're married--isn'tthat all that matters? oh, i know--i've behaved like a brute:
a cursed arrogant ass! you couldn't wish that ass a worsekicking than i've given him! but that's not the point, you see.
the point is that we're married .... married .... doesn't itmean something to you, something--inexorable? it does to me. ididn't dream it would--in just that way. but all i can say isthat i suppose the people who don't feel it aren't reallymarried-and they'd better separate; much better. as for us--"through her tears she gasped out: "that's what i felt ...
that's what i said to streff ...."he was upon her with a great embrace. "my darling! my darling!
you have told him?""yes," she panted. "that's why i'm living here." she paused.
"and you've told coral?"she felt his embrace relax. he drew away a little, stillholding her, but with lowered head.
"no ... i ... haven't.""oh, nick! but then--?"he caught her to him again, resentfully. "well--then what?
what do you mean? what earthly difference does it make?""but if you've told her you were going to marry her--" (try asshe would, her voice was full of silver chimes.)"marry her? marry her?" he echoed. "but how could i? whatdoes marriage mean anyhow? if it means anything at all itmeans--you! and i can't ask coral hicks just to come and livewith me, can i?"between crying and laughing she lay on his breast, and his handpassed over her hair.
they were silent for a while; then he began again: "you said ityourself yesterday, you know."she strayed back from sunlit distances. "yesterday?""yes: that grace fulmer says you can't separate two peoplewho've been through a lot of things--""ah, been through them together--it's not the things, you see,it's the togetherness," she interrupted.
"the togetherness--that's it!" he seized on the word as if ithad just been coined to express their case, and his mind couldrest in it without farther labour.
the door-bell rang, and they started. through the window theysaw the taxi-driver gesticulating enquiries as to the fate ofthe luggage.
"he wants to know if he's to leave it here," susy laughed.
"no--no! you're to come with me," her husband declared.
"come with you?" she laughed again at the absurdity of thesuggestion.
"of course: this very instant. what did you suppose? that iwas going away without you? run up and pack your things," hecommanded.
"my things? my things? but i can't leave the children!"he stared, between indignation and amusement. "can't leave thechildren? nonsense! why, you said yourself you were going tofollow me to fontainebleau--"she reddened again, this time a little painfully "i didn't knowwhat i was doing .... i had to find you ... but i should havecome back this evening, no matter what happened.""no matter what?"she nodded, and met his gaze resolutely.
"no; but really--""really, i can't leave the children till nat and grace comeback. i promised i wouldn't.""yes; but you didn't know then .... why on earth can't theirnurse look after them?""there isn't any nurse but me.""good lord!""but it's only for two weeks more," she pleaded. "two weeks!
do you know how long i've been without you!" he seized her byboth wrists, and drew them against his breast. "come with me atleast for two days--susy!" he entreated her.
"oh," she cried, "that's the very first time you've said myname!""susy, susy, then--my susy--susy! and you've only said mineonce, you know.""nick!" she sighed, at peace, as if the one syllable were amagic seed that hung out great branches to envelop them.
"well, then, susy, be reasonable. come!""reasonable--oh, reasonable!" she sobbed through laughter.
"unreasonable, then! that's even better."she freed herself, and drew back gently. "nick, i swore iwouldn't leave them; and i can't. it's not only my promise totheir mother--it's what they've been to me themselves. youdon't, know ... you can't imagine the things they've taught me.
they're awfully naughty at times, because they're so clever; butwhen they're good they're the wisest people i know." shepaused, and a sudden inspiration illuminated her. "but whyshouldn't we take them with us?" she exclaimed.
her husband's arms fell away from her, and he stood dumfounded.
"take them with us?""why not?""all five of them?""of course--i couldn't possibly separate them. and junie andnat will help us to look after the young ones.""help us!" he groaned.
"oh, you'll see; they won't bother you. just leave it to me;i'll manage--" the word stopped her short, and an agony ofcrimson suffused her from brow to throat. their eyes met; andwithout a word he stooped and laid his lips gently on the stainof red on her neck.
"nick," she breathed, her hands in his.
"but those children--"instead of answering, she questioned: "where are we going?"his face lit up.
"anywhere, dearest, that you choose.""well--i choose fontainebleau!" she exulted.
"so do i! but we can't take all those children to an hotel atfontainebleau, can we?" he questioned weakly. "you see, dear,there's the mere expense of it--"her eyes were already travelling far ahead of him. "the expensewon't amount to much. i've just remembered that angele, thebonne, has a sister who is cook there in a nice old-fashionedpension which must be almost empty at this time of year. i'msure i can ma--arrange easily," she hurried on, nearly trippingagain over the fatal word. "and just think of the treat it willbe to them! this is friday, and i can get them let off fromtheir afternoon classes, and keep them in the country tillmonday. poor darlings, they haven't been out of paris formonths! and i daresay the change will cure geordie's cough--geordie's the youngest," she explained, surprised to findherself, even in the rapture of reunion, so absorbed in thewelfare of the fulmers.
she was conscious that her husband was surprised also; butinstead of prolonging the argument he simply questioned: "wasgeordie the chap you had in your arms when you opened the frontdoor the night before last?"she echoed: "i opened the front door the night before last?""to a boy with a parcel.""oh," she sobbed, "you were there? you were watching?"he held her to him, and the currents flowed between them warmand full as on the night of their moon over como.
in a trice, after that, she had the matter in hand and herforces marshalled. the taxi was paid, nick's luggage depositedin the vestibule, and the children, just piling down tobreakfast, were summoned in to hear the news.
it was apparent that, seasoned to surprises as they were, nick'spresence took them aback. but when, between laughter andembraces, his identity, and his right to be where he was, hadbeen made clear to them, junie dismissed the matter by askinghim in her practical way: "then i suppose we may talk about youto susy now?"--and thereafter all five addressed themselves tothe vision of their imminent holiday.
>from that moment the little house became the centre of awhirlwind. treats so unforeseen, and of such magnitude, wererare in the young fulmers' experience, and had it not been forjunie's steadying influence susy's charges would have got out ofhand. but young nat, appealed to by nick on the ground of theircommon manhood, was induced to forego celebrating the event onhis motor horn (the very same which had tortured the newhampshire echoes), and to assert his authority over his juniors;and finally a plan began to emerge from the chaos, and eachchild to fit into it like a bit of a picture puzzle.
susy, riding the whirlwind with her usual firmness, neverthelessfelt an undercurrent of anxiety. there had been no time as yet,between her and nick, to revert to money matters; and wherethere was so little money it could not, obviously, much matter.
but that was the more reason for being secretly aghast at herintrepid resolve not to separate herself from her charges. athree days' honey-moon with five children in the party-andchildren with the fulmer appetite--could not but be a costlybusiness; and while she settled details, packed them off toschool, and routed out such nondescript receptacles as the housecontained in the way of luggage, her thoughts remained fixed onthe familiar financial problem.
yes--it was cruel to have it rear its hated head, even throughthe bursting boughs of her new spring; but there it was, theperpetual serpent in her eden, to be bribed, fed, sent to sleepwith such scraps as she could beg, borrow or steal for it. andshe supposed it was the price that fate meant her to pay for herblessedness, and was surer than ever that the blessedness wasworth it. only, how was she to compound the business with hernew principles?
with the children's things to pack, luncheon to be got ready,and the fontainebleau pension to be telephoned to, there waslittle time to waste on moral casuistry; and susy asked herselfwith a certain irony if the chronic lack of time to deal withmoney difficulties had not been the chief cause of her previouslapses. there was no time to deal with this question either; notime, in short, to do anything but rush forward on a great galeof plans and preparations, in the course of which she whirlednick forth to buy some charcuterie for luncheon, and telephoneto fontainebleau.
once he was gone--and after watching him safely round thecorner--she too got into her wraps, and transferring a smallpacket from her dressing-case to her pocket, hastened out in adifferent direction.
