The Project Gutenberg eBook of Inside the shell This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: Inside the shell Author: Helen R. Hull Illustrator: Thornton D. Skidmore Release date: November 11, 2026 [eBook #79969] Language: English Original publication: Springfield: P. F. Collier & Son Company, 1926 Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79969 Credits: Jens Sadowski. This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library. *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INSIDE THE SHELL *** [Illustration: The girl’s black eyes appraised Elinor. “I’d never have come if Chick had been halfway fair.”] Inside the Shell She lived in a beautiful silver shell—but there was a real person inside Helen R. Hull Illustrations: T. D. Skidmore Collier’s, vol. 78, July 31, 1926, pp. 10-11, 40-41. “Miss Thorne’s car.” The doorman held the wide doors of the club open, and Elinor pulled silver fur and brocade close about her, making a slim mummy for the wind that tugged at the canopy above the steps. “Jack must be back. That’s the Chickering bus,” called someone behind her, and then the doors shut off the warmth and tinkling voices. How cold it was, with snow drifting in spirals against the car headlights! The chauffeur snapped on the dome light of the car, and a quiet figure within turned his massive head toward her. “Oh!” Elinor stopped, silver slipper on the step. She yawned as she dropped into the seat. “What you doing up this time of the morning, Allen?” The chauffeur spread robes carefully about her, and shut them in. “Seeing you home.” The man thrust a pillow under her feet. “Jack wired he’d get in to-morrow. No, to-day.” The car slipped off, with a grating of chains on icy pavement. “Had a good time?” “I’m dead. Rock me to sleep.” Elinor slid down, shining head on his shoulder. “This getting married! How do folks stand it more than once? Maybe I’ll last till the wedding. Jack’s smart to run away.” “Brilliant round of prenuptial festivities, eh?” “Don’t be a crab. They are brilliant.” Elinor yawned again. “If they don’t ruin the bride.” She dragged out of her cropped hair a glittering half circlet of silver and pearls, flinging it down. The man reached for it, balanced it lightly on his fingers, where it gleamed as the light from corner lamps fell across the car and dropped away again. “Nice silver shell you were to-night,” he said. “Silver shoes, silver sheath.” “Shell is right. Nut’s inside.” Elinor sat up as the car slid around a snowy corner. “What you been doing till this time of day? Had the ole nose in a book?” “As usual.” Allen’s hand pressed the bauble against his knees, so carefully placed under the robe. Elinor shrugged. She could almost forget that he couldn’t do much else but keep his nose in a book. He looked so firm, so broad, and his lame leg was so neatly covered. “You shouldn’t have bothered with me. If Jack chooses to go hunting the week before his wedding, his brother needn’t usher me home.” “I see so little of you. You’re so busy.” “Yes, isn’t it thrilling?” The girl’s light voice made exaggerated cadences. “Mother’s quite satisfied. She says I’m having the best season she’s known in this town, and she never hoped it of me!” “And you like it?” “What more could I want?” Elinor laughed. “Funny ole Allen.” “You do love Jack?” “Oh, nobody believes in love nowadays, except maybe you. Jack’s awf’ly handsome, and he makes elegant love. Lots of practice.” “Elinor, he’s all right. That’s what I wanted to say. You can make a lot out of Jack.” * * * * * Elinor touched his cheek with finger tips. “Dear sober Grandpa. I s’pose you feel like a father to both of us. Do you remember the first time I saw you?... Jack had my kitty by the tail. When we lived next door. I was making a frightful row, and you came out, a book under your arm.” “I remember. I couldn’t hobble fast enough, but he dropped the cat.” “And I went in to look at pictures in your book.” Elinor laughed again. “Poor Mother! You know, she worried for fear I’d be homely and highbrow and wear spectacles. Well, I didn’t, did I? Oh, damn! Here we are, home, just as I get started on the story of my life.” The car crunched to a stop before an apartment house, dark except for the orange glow of entrance lamps. “You might have luncheon or something, if you have a vacant minute.” Allen hitched forward awkwardly in his seat, and the heavy walking stick jumped from its hidden corner to make a stroke of rigidity across the soft folds of the rug. Elinor, emerging with a glitter, looked at the stick. Poor Allen. “I will!” she said unexpectedly. “To-morrow too. I’ll come for you at the office. Now, aren’t you amazed?” “If you don’t wake up in time, I’ll forgive you. Here’s your tin crown.” Elinor thrust the band askew over her forehead, and flung herself from the shelter of the car across the icy pavement to the shelter of the entrance. A snowflake, caught in her lashes, was like a little warm tear. The night man ran up the tiny elevator, admiring her out of red-rimmed eyes. Her mother, wrapped in orchid eiderdown, let her in to the apartment. Elinor shuffled down the hall in stressed weariness, after a glance at her mother’s face, eager ivory glistening with tissue cream, purple silk handkerchief twisted dexterously over crisp waves of dark hair. Her mother was never tired! “Did Jack bring you home?” Mrs. Thorne drew the heavy silver and fur from the girl’s shoulders. “Hurry into your bathrobe. I’ve some hot bouillon for you. Yes, silver’s better than gold, I think. Gold dims your hair; silver warms up the tone of your skin. You were easily the loveliest thing there. Nice party. Too bad it’s over.” “More coming.” Elinor slipped out of the clinging silver sheath, stretched lazily slender, subtle curves of warm flesh with dabs of silver tissue undergarments. “Ugh!” She wound herself into white wool, kicked silver slippers across the floor, flopped on the bed. “I’m dead! Don’ wan’ any ole drink.” “Here, child. You drink this.” Mrs. Thorne slipped an arm under her relaxed shoulders, held the cup to her lips. “I don’t see why you get more exhausted than I do. Anyone would think you were my age!” Elinor gulped the hot liquid. “Because it’s me getting married,” she said, sinking into the pillows. Her mother pulled the rose silk comforter across her, smoothed it. “Mary Thoms is coming in the morning to write notes for you. You ought to send a few yourself. You haven’t even seen the things that came to-day. Some of the girls in your class at the Castle have sent exquisite silver. Too bad they’re so far away. Then there’s that luncheon and bridge to-morrow. You can sleep till twelve.” Her mother’s smooth face had the restrained animation of a pleased manager. “Luncheon?” Elinor sat up, her fair hair catching little rosy gleams from the shaded lights. “I’m not going. I told Allen I’d take him to lunch.” “Allen? Where’d you see him? Oh ... he brought you home. That’s all nonsense. We’re lunching at the hotel.” “I’m not.” Elinor dropped back among the pillows, one arm shading her eyes. “You can. Allen’s out of everything, and I’m going to be decent just once.” “Allen isn’t left out. He doesn’t have any social feeling, that’s all.” “I’ll show up for bridge later.” Elinor peered under the curve of her arm. “I’m going to!” she cried. “That’s all!” She flounced away from her mother, her face down against a pillow. “I’ve done enough. I guess I can do one thing I like,” her voice came shrill and muffled. Silence. Then the snap of lights being turned off, the grind of a window pushed open. The cold air thrust a sword into the scented warmth. Mrs. Thorne’s voice came out of the dark: “I won’t argue to-night. Go to sleep. Sometimes you are a foolish baby.” Elinor drew her knees up into a soft curve. She was tired. In her head colored lights went beating to strange rhythms. Funny to make a fuss about Allen. Allen belonged to an old story, about another girl, years ago ... a shy, serious little duck. The lights whirled, shivered, went out ... into sleep. * * * * * Someone closed windows against white dazzle, drew silk curtains to make a mask of dimness. Elinor stirred and slept again. Someone tiptoed heavily about the room: Susie, black and comfortable, hanging away shreds of silver. Reluctantly Elinor felt sleep slip away, leaving tattered fringes in her eyes, in her languorous body. “You’ ma’s been up for hours.” Susie’s teeth gleamed at her. “You get you’ bath, and I’ll have breakfast ready. They’re listing off your gifts. You sure got the mos’ handsomest gif’s I ever seen.” Yes, Elinor could hear them down the hall. Her mother’s lively, delighted accents, Mary Thoms’ murmur. Another day. Bath, coffee, Susie’s competent hands beating brushes at her pale hair till it glistened. “I want that bright dress.” Elinor shook it over her head, belted the embroidered girdle about her flat hips. “Now I look half alive.” She stared sulkily at her reflection in the long glass. Brows and lashes just darker than her hair, eyes wide with the delicate spring of nose between them, fine structure in the planes of temple and chin, a young face, playing at age in the scarlet-tinted upper lip. A bell rang. The maid’s heels tapped down the hall, and there followed a whirlpool of excitement, with a deep tone as its focus. Jack. Elinor heard her mother. “Dear boy! Come in! You know Miss Thoms? We’ve been scratching off notes ... all your lovely presents....” And Jack: “Swell loot, eh?” “Lands, there’s your beau, Mis’ Elinor.” Susie brushed a thread from the girl’s skirt, dabbed a cloth at the smart pump. “Quick, Susie! Get my coat and hat!” Elinor flew to the closet with Susie. “I’ve got to be going when I see him!” “Elinor?” Her mother opened the door. Her dark, keen eyes observed her daughter, ignored her. “Didn’t you hear Jack? He’s just reached town.” Elinor pecked at her mother’s cheek, rushed past her. “’Lo, Jack!” She poised at the door of her mother’s living-room ... a litter of tissue paper, pasteboard, wrappings, satin boxes, a glitter of glass, silver, gold ... and Jack, pushing his tall figure up from an easy-chair. “Miss Thoms!” called Mrs. Thorne, “Just step in here a minute,” and drab little Miss Thoms, pleased significance in her pale eyes, rustled through tissue paper and left them. “Have a good time?” Elinor held her arm stiff, her hand small in Jack’s palm. Ridiculous, the way her mother cleared out, leaving the very walls and windows waiting for a little love-making, as if you pressed a button for a kiss. She stared at Jack, the beguiling droop of eyelid over bold blue eyes, smooth sleek hair. He looked a little frazzy ... gray under freshly shaven cheek and chin. “Kinda wild.” He smiled. “That Carolina moonshine’s got an awful wallop. Come here, still love your dad?” He kissed her, with lingering expertness. Perhaps she was too tired to think about that instead of relaxing into one quiver. “Couldn’t get in for last night’s show. Rained the first day, and we never got a decent stand of birds until yesterday morning. Hunting’s hard work. Come, sit down.” He settled again in the low chair, pulling her down to the arm. “Thought you might grub with me this noon, but your mother says no, you’re head queen at a fest.” “I’ve got another date.” Elinor dragged on the heavy gloves. Jack slipped his fingers under the furred cuff, burrowed gently against the palm of her hand. “Well, next week ... maybe we’ll see enough of each other—what?” Elinor thrilled to the sly pressure of his fingers. “Getting scared?” she asked. “I never got caught before.” Jack laughed, the hard lines from nostrils to lip corners changing suddenly into gayety. “Nor you, sweet little thing.” Elinor leaned against his shoulder. True. There wasn’t a girl in town who wouldn’t change places with her. They’d all thrown a net for Jack, and not till she came back, after finishing school and Europe, back to the town where she had been a little girl, had Jack wanted a wife. He’d seen those nets too; worn them as trophies. “If you children have said good morning properly ...” Mrs. Thorne came in, and Elinor sat erect, away from Jack’s shoulder. “Elinor can’t wear that sport dress to the luncheon. Plenty of time for petting later.” She had her arm about the boy’s neck as she spoke, and her eyes surveyed the two with calm satisfaction. “Hurry, Elinor. Give me a chance to see Jack. I love him too.” “I’m all set for my luncheon, Mother.” Elinor stood up. “Give ’em my best regrets.” “Elinor! Jack can tell Allen you forgot you had an engagement.” Mrs. Thorne’s foot began an irritated tapping. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Elinor leaned against the window, thrusting aside heavy draperies. “Good! You’ve got your car. You don’t mind if I borrow it? No time to go to the garage.” As she darted for the door Jack caught her arm, kicking aside a swath of wrapping paper. “See here! If you’re busting loose, why not me? What’s the idea, turning me down for Allen? Old Sobersides doesn’t lunch with pretty girls.” “To-day he does.” Elinor grinned at him. “You know you don’t mind. You just felt guilty over playing hooky. Let me go; that’s a sweet boy.” She stood on tiptoe to brush his lips in a light kiss. “Love Mother up a little. She’s missed you dreadfully!” She ran through the hall, down the cold stairways; if she waited for the elevator, they might catch her! * * * * * She slid under the wheel, ground at the starter ... cold car ... ah, the motor whined and roared into action. The gray hood glittered in the sun, the piled snow was a dazzle of light, the sky arched in cloudless blue over the steel-bright air, over snowy roofs. Allen would laugh, thought Elinor, rounding a corner dexterously, if he knew what a fuss he’d stirred up. “I don’t know just why I did it. That heavy walking stick, rigid across the robes.... No, not pity. I just wanted to see him again.” She cut in at the half circle of driveway before the entrance of the offices of the Chickering factory, stepped on the brakes, and did a little tail skid as she stopped. “Oh, boy!” She poked her head toward a boy who stood grinning at her pirouette. “Will you tell Mr. Chickering, Mr. Allen, that Miss Thorne.... No, you needn’t!” She waved toward a window where a grayed, heavy head looked incredulously out. Been watching for her, had he? Good old thing! Her hand slipped out of its glove, snapped open a gold and black vanity case. While she automatically renewed decorations her eyes caught the sidewise recognizing stares of men who passed. They knew her; wasn’t she Jack’s girl? Enough to make any girl conspicuous in this town. Then her hand grew still, lipstick poised, as Allen started down the steps. They were icy. She shut her eyes against the crablike lowering of the heavy figure: good leg down first, then that shoe with the monstrous sole and the stick. “Still asleep? I didn’t think you’d come.” She jumped at the voice, stowed away the case, pushed open the low door. Allen swung himself up with strong arms. “Jack called up.” “I saw him.” Elinor drove out with a flourish. “Swiped his wagon, you see. Where do we eat?” “Anywhere you like. I usually have a glass of milk and a sandwich here at the office.” “There’s the tea garden. Oh ... no.” Elinor remembering the long stairs that led to it. “Let’s see.... We can’t go to the hotel. I’m guest of honor at a party there this noon!” She tipped her head toward him, but he didn’t look impressed. “Not much choice, is there?” They reached the main street, where Elinor dodged a street car, skidded around a truck, and moved more slowly with the traffic. “There’s the Greek’s.” Allen pointed. “I bought you a sundae there once.” “It was a chocolate ice-cream soda,” declared Elinor. “They do serve lunch, though.” She drove once around the block, searching its fringe of cars for parking space. “You’ll have to get out here, Allen. I’ll park in the next block. No, you won’t go with me.” She stopped at the corner, waving an ingratiating hand toward the policeman. “Hustle up before my smile stops working on the cop.” She caught her breath faintly as Allen’s stick slid over a glare of ice. * * * * * Then he was out, safely erect. She had to drive two blocks before she found a place into which she could nose the car. Back she came, cheeks flushed in the cold wind. Allen followed her to the booths at the rear of the confectioner’s—thump—pat—thump-pat of foot and stick. Elinor hated the waitress for her curious, pitying eyes. But, seated opposite Allen, the narrow table with its spray of yellow straw flowers between them, she thought suddenly: “You can’t be sorry for him; he’s too good for that little feeling. “You’re nice and quiet.” She dragged off her hat and leaned into the corner against the wooden back of the bench. “I’ve run away from all the noise and chatter and tissue paper, just for....” “Tomato soup?” Allen smiled at her. Funny how unlike Jack his face was, for all it had the same shape. His forehead was wider, his eyes were reticent instead of bold, his mouth ... that was the greatest difference, that thin, wide mouth, too gentle. Oh, well ... if you were crippled, that made a difference. The cracker under his long white fingers crumbled. “I haven’t really seen you at all since we came back last fall.” Elinor scrambled into her lightest tone. “Funny, how I ran into Jack at the first dinner dance of the season, and here I am!” “I never thought you’d come back to this town.” “Mother wanted to. All her friends were here ... even if Father had died and she’d sold the house. For all I know, she may have planned on Jack. She’s awf’ly clever. What happened to old Rags?” For an instant Elinor thought she saw the shaggy head of the dog pressing against Allen’s knees. “Oh, he died. The first year you were in finishing school. He used to go looking for you all around your house.” “Wasn’t I the funny kid, though?” Elinor leaned forward, glancing into the narrow mirror behind the tasseled lamp shade. “You’d never believe I used to be so scared, would you?” “You’ve changed.” “For the worse?” She thrust her chin out, peering under half-closed eyes. “I don’t know.” Allen leaned back as the waitress came with the next course, and Elinor dropped into sulky quiet. He didn’t know, did he! Well, she didn’t know why she’d bothered to come to-day. She didn’t come to be let down that way. If Jack sat there ... jerking her up to tiptoe with tantalizing banter ... urging her along a slippery surface ... Allen might at least be pleasant. Probably didn’t know how. Regular hermit crab. She jabbed at her broiled chicken. Allen sat there, calmly eating, as stimulating as a dirge! Elinor pushed away her plate, and burst into deliberate chatter, frothy, light talk: the presents and who sent them, the parties last week, this week, the wedding breakfast, the details of costume, of decorations. She flung him handfuls of inconsequential details, and he listened quietly until the waitress came with the check. Elinor opened her vanity case, saw with mocking arched eyebrows the hard glitter of her eyes, the color in her cheeks. Carefully she drew afresh the line of scarlet lip. “There!” she said. Allen leaned across the table, and his hand closed firmly over hers. Her pulse gave one startled leap, and then she was still. “We used to get on better, didn’t we?” he said. “Before I changed for the worse?” She pushed against a door his words opened; she wouldn’t look back. “Oh, I know you think I’m silly and vain. I am!” “You don’t know a thing about my thoughts. How could you?” His face darkened, threatened her. “I’m glad you let me see you to-day, Ellie. I wanted to say.... You and Jack.... Well, you’re all the folks I care about. I feel sort of responsible about Jack. I had to try to bring him up, and I’ve always been ... well, inadequate. He feels much as you do about me.” He withdrew his hand, and a kind of bleakness settled over his face; one heavy shoulder pushed higher than the other, as if it took the pressure of the walking stick. “I won’t see you alone again. I just wanted to say ... if you’ll be sure to ask me ... if there’s anything.... Oh, Lord! I sound like an ass, but perhaps you can fill in the words. Anyway ... you’re very lovely, Ellie. Is that”—he smiled a little—“what you wanted me to say?” Elinor blinked in a swift, angry flurry. “You needn’t be so damned serious about it, then!” (Suppose those tears should show!) “Come, I have to rush home and dress.” She crammed on her hat, turned up her collar. “You wait while I get the car.” She hurried away before he had edged to his feet behind the table. Again that moment of anxiety while he swung himself into the seat. Then she drove silently back to the office. There she hesitated, glancing at the flight of stone steps. Sand-sprinkled but patched with ice. She slipped out of the car. “Let me come in a minute. I’ve never seen your sanctum.” Did he suspect her? She looked away from his clear, blue eyes, tucked her hand firmly under his elbow, and began the slow climb up the steps. “Why, Jack’s here!” She had a glimpse of him darting past the window. “He must be working for five minutes.” She giggled. “Or waiting for his car.” She was glad he was there; he’d jerk her back into the glitter of the present. There, safely up those treacherous steps. She moved ahead of Allen across the corridor, to the door with imposing lettering: “Allen Chickering. John Chickering. Private.” But her fingers on the knob met resistance. “It’s locked.” She looked at Allen, clumping behind her. * * * * * Allen tried it, rapped sharply on the frosted glass, calling, “Jack! That latch sticks sometimes. Jack!” The door was opened a crack. “Don’t stand there bellowing, you ass!” Jack muttered, putting out a hasty hand to draw Allen within. Then he saw Elinor, and tried, while his flustered face grew darker with anger, to fill the meager crack. “I’ll be out at once. You wait in the car.” But Allen had thrust the door wide before Jack spoke, and Elinor saw beyond the men, planted with obstinate firmness in a desk chair, a girl. A slash of harsh, vivid red where the cheap fur coat fell open, the same red in the small hat, against which the rouge and large, hard eyes, the black points of hair laid in careful crescents on the cheeks, showed strangely artificial. Young and hard and scared: Elinor caught that in a flash ... the long, pink legs braced at the knees, the pointed suede toes spreading, as the girl leaned forward, scarlet purse dangling from her fingers. “Thanks. I’d rather see the show.” Elinor slipped through the door before Jack could shut it against her. Allen had thrown aside his hat, his heavy eyebrows met, his wide full mouth straightened to a line. “Pleased to meetcha.” The girl flopped her purse. “Seen your picture in the Sunday supplement. Thought I’d drop in to see where I was getting off at, what with weddings that Chick had a part in.” “Elinor, won’t you do as I ask you?” Jack tried to shove her toward the door. “And miss the excitement? Not a bit.” Elinor brushed away Jack’s hands. Allen was limping slowly toward the desk. “I brought a few li’l letters.” That red purse, swinging!... “They’ll make a nice story in the papers. If I can’t get Chick for a husband ... not that I ever thought he was a marrying man ... but you’d think I ought to, if you read ’em. Of course, for a consideration! If a girl can’t get her a husband, she’d take some other tidy income.” Her black eyes, with their incredible lashes, appraised Elinor. “I’d never of come if Chick had been halfway fair. But reading about showers and dinners and dances ... well, it set me crazy. I got some feelings myself.” Elinor stood rigid, something hardening in her veins. That girl, that common little thing. In her head ran a sharp, high clang. Hush her up. Buy her off. It’s what you’ve always known about Jack, always. She would not look at Jack. Allen had stepped in front of the girl, his face away from Elinor. “You’ve made a mistake,” he was saying. “It’s the other fellow who’s marrying Miss Thorne. Not me. Not Chick, you see. I’m not getting married. I’ll fix it up with you. You had no business coming here like this. If you want a cent out of me, you come along and keep still.” He motioned toward the door of an inner office. “Come on. This is our private concern.” In Elinor’s head the clang burst into whirling splinters of confusion. “Allen!” she cried. The girl got slowly to her feet, and moved, with those broad uneven shoulders between her and Elinor, around the desk, through that inner door. At the threshold Allen turned. “Take her home, Jack,” he said. “I’m sorry Dolly got us mixed. Since this is my affair....” His face was an ugly grimace. “Oh, get out, can’t you?” “Now will you come along?” Jack drew her swiftly out of the building. The sunlight had a hard, green glare. * * * * * In the car Elinor huddled into her coat, her eyes prying at Jack’s face, her chin thrust over the wheel, her mouth grim. “Did you know?... Oh, I can’t believe it. Not Allen!” “Naw.... You thought he was perfect. You believed it fast enough of me, didn’t you?” “You looked guilty enough.” Elinor was too cold to think; something dreadful had happened to her ... and she dared not look. “Guilty?” Jack drove swiftly, his mouth twisted in a queer little sneer. “I didn’t want you coming in, with your high opinion of Allen. Just because he’s mum and deep, everybody thinks he’s a god. That little hussy, daring to show her face!” He swerved about a corner, grazing the curb before he righted the car. “You needn’t wreck us if you are in a rage. Here, where you going? There’s my house.” Jack stopped the car with jarring abruptness. “Sorry. Didn’t notice.” As Elinor slid hastily out of the car, his fingers shut over her wrist. “Listen ... don’t lay it up against old Allen. He’s all O. K. You couldn’t tune in on any fellow’s private affairs without finding out something you wouldn’t want to know. ’S a fact.” “I don’t see what you’re so mad about, then.” Elinor stared at him remotely. Down one lean cheek there moved a faint twitch, pulling at the sardonic curve of lip. “Why not? You thinking I look guilty, and as much as saying you’d expect that frill to belong to me!” He wriggled from under the wheel. “Here, let me come in a jiff....” “No!” Elinor shrank from the leap of excitement in his eyes. “Got to tear into clothes and rush off. You better stay home till the wedding march begins. I don’t want any static on your private life!” * * * * * Susie opened the apartment door. “Your ma was real provoked, Mis’ Elinor. You best hustle you along.” Lucky the day was crowded! She darted through the next hours like a gay, mechanical doll, with the buzz of her mechanism working so busily that it drowned out thought, little cogs of talk, of laughter, at bridge, at tea, spinning about in place of a heart. If you could go fast enough, you’d never know there was anything except the cogs! Home again, in a taxi with a broken skid chain that made a crazy clank through her mother’s chatter. “You can rest a half hour, I think. Your red velvet will do for to-night, just dinner and the concert.” Red ... that girl, and her pointed knees pressed ridiculously together! Elinor shivered as they rode slowly up in the little elevator. Inside the apartment an ecstatic Susie circled in slow homage about an exquisite effigy of lace and white satin she had hung on the chandelier in Mrs. Thorne’s room. Elinor looked. Her wedding dress, with the long box and silver ribbons like a baby’s coffin on the floor! “They says I should take it right out, Mis’ Thorne.” Susie lumbered about the room, “Ain’ that the mos’ perfectes’ wedding dress!” And suddenly, as if a cog ground itself into the sawdust stuffing of the doll, Elinor fled into her own room. They were coming after her ... her mother’s firm heel taps, and Susie’s shuffle ... she wanted to shriek and scream! No use. She sprawled on the low dressing-table bench, her elbows among the shining silver of toilet things, her fingers pushing back the futile hysteria. “What is it, Elinor?” Her mother stood behind her, the image of her face reflected shrewd and inquisitive. “Awful head.” Elinor pushed off her hat, let her fingers press against the hard bones of her skull. It might fly to bits if she let go! “I’m through for to-day!” With a sudden wriggle she was out of her coat, another wriggle and her silk frock made a wrinkle about her feet. “Can’t go another step. Me for bed.” Her mother’s hand insisted on touch; pulse, flushed cheek. “You aren’t sick? Good heavens, Elinor ... not just before your wedding?” “It isn’t done, is it?” Elinor drooped limply against her mother’s arm. “Tuck me up, Mums. To-morrow I’ll be all hunky again.” Her mother indulged in a few crisp expostulations ... the dinner, the box at the opera house just for Elinor ... they should have wound the doll into motion but for that sawdust. “I don’t know what’s got into you to-day. You act positively queer. You aren’t feverish.” * * * * * Perhaps Elinor’s drooping head, the pale hair curling in a shorn point at the base of the slight neck, conveyed an essence of young weariness. Suddenly Mrs. Thorne hugged the girl, her arms firm about the bare shoulders. “Go to bed, then. I’ll have to rush along. For goodness’ sake, snap out of it, whatever it is, by to-morrow. Susie’ll stay till I come home.” Elinor lay in bed, one arm curved to hide her face, tensely waiting for the ritual of her mother’s preparations to be ended. If she pretended to be asleep ... but her mother came straight to her bed. “Have a good rest, darling. Do I look nice?” Elinor reluctantly let her arm drop, opened her eyes to the long, cool line of tapering fingers up to rounded shoulder, the smooth curve of dark hair. “Lovely,” she said. Mrs. Thorne sat down on the edge of the bed, letting pearls drift through her fingers, thoughtfully. “You haven’t had a tiff with Jack?” she asked. “No, of course not. I know you have more sense than that. I wanted to tell you how proud I feel. I’ve been looking at your wedding dress. It’s a reward of all my years of work for you. You’ll be the most important woman in town, socially. I never was. Your father was too indifferent to such things. After his death I just made up my mind you should have the position we deserved. That’s really why I never remarried. You were a little difficult at first. But you have made me very happy. You’re clever enough to manage Jack ... dear boy ... and there’s nothing you can’t have, now.” She rose, wriggling the black velvet into smooth mold over breast and hips. “Later we may have no time for a little chat. On the whole you are wise to rest to-night, although....” Susie called from the hall, “You’ taxi’s waitin’, Mis’ Thorne.” She slid platinum bracelets up from her wrists. “Too bad you aren’t going to hear McCormack. He sings with such feeling. Good night, darling.” * * * * * When the outer door clicked shut, Elinor slid out of bed, and turned her key against any solicitous intrusion from Susie. She thought she could hear beyond the ivory-paneled wall the swish of that dress waving from the chandelier. She wanted to tear it apart, to slash it.... Was she crazy? Her mother’s words were pebbles, rattling against her mind. She wanted to marry Jack, didn’t she? Nothing had happened to her or to Jack. You didn’t hate a man because his brother had a rotten affair. She tried to hang on calmly to that thought, but it was sharp-edged, and hurt. Irresolutely she began to dress. She burrowed in the closet for a dress. When she saw across the room her mirrored self, quite ordinary, except for the queer white face under untidy hair, she whispered, “What are you going to do, you little fool?” Well, what? Hat, gloves, coat, as if something not her mind knew what she was about. She tossed aside the gaudy-ribboned doll that masked the telephone. Huddled on the chair ... why, her knees pressed together, like that girl’s.... She flung one leg across the other, and called the Chickering number. “Hello. I want to speak to Chick.” How shrill her voice sounded! “No, just say someone must speak to Chick.” Then Allen’s low voice. “Who is this?” “Hello, Chick.” Scarcely more than a whisper into that black hole. “Mr. Jack Chickering is not in. I’m his brother. Who _is_ this?” “This”—Elinor’s lunge sent the telephone doll to the floor; it looked so comical, empty skirts upward: she laughed, catching her breath to shout at the instrument which wavered in her hand—“This is another Dolly!” Her flight down the hall was all caution; Susie’s loud “Washed in the Blood of the Lamb!” shielded the little noise of the closing door. The cold, dark night glittered in her thoughts as she rushed down the street. She couldn’t wait for a cab. She wanted to run, snow and ice crunching under swift feet. “I asked for Chick and they gave me a stone. No, that wasn’t right. Mr. Jack Chickering isn’t in. Had he thought she said Jack? Jack, Chick. Chick, Jack.” But Allen was home. She would see him. She went more slowly that last block. Up the curving drive she ran, the cold air stinging her nostrils. A light in the long side windows; Allen was in the living-room. She half expected old Anna to open the door for her. Anna was dead, like Rags. Elinor brushed past the maid with a nod, and ran down the hall to the curtained doorway. Reading lamp, books up to the ceiling, a low fire ... unchanged in ten years. “Hello.” She swaggered a little, struggling for nonchalance, as she crossed to the fireplace, where Allen sat, his foot propped on a stool. She let her coat drop to the floor and sat down, brushing papers and books out of the small chair that stood near Allen. “What do you want?” Allen had not moved. “It was you, just now, who telephoned, wasn’t it?” “When I asked for Chick, you said, ‘Jack isn’t here.’” “Oh....” Allen hitched his chair backward, reached for the pipe beside him on the stand. He filled it deliberately, his face in the green-hued shadow beyond the glow of the lamp. “I misunderstood. Chick, unfortunately, sounds like Jack.” “Allen, if I tell you something, will you trade a promise for it?” Elinor’s hands, little and cold, twisted slowly. “Just this morning you said to ask you....” “If it’s reasonable.” Allen laid aside his pipe. “When I saw that girl, I supposed she belonged to Jack, you see. I didn’t really mind. In my pride, I minded. Not in any other way. Then, when you.... Allen, I can’t stand it! You didn’t know her! Allen, it’s you I’m jealous of. Don’t you see what that means? I didn’t know it. If you had that girl, there’s nothing decent in the world, that’s all. Jack’s that kind of man. Maybe I’m that kind too. But you aren’t.” “What difference can it make to you, Ellie? My love affairs aren’t your concern. Of course you’ve known I had a hopeless sort of love for you, all these years. Did you think I would.... Aren’t you rather demanding?” Allen’s voice was harsh. “You don’t mind what your husband does, but....” Elinor dropped in her chair, her hands open in a gesture of helpless bewilderment. “You are trying hard to fool me, aren’t you? Don’t you know what I found out this morning? I thought I was crazy about Jack. He’s exciting. He’s the kind of husband I was supposed to have. But I guess I love you. When you went into that other room, this noon, with that girl, something broke ... and I knew. All day I tried to hate you. You lied, didn’t you? To shield Jack and me? You lied. You can’t go on lying, can you, Allen, if you know I love you?” “Do you think I’m a mummy, because I’m crippled, that you can talk this way to me? You’re trying to trick me, to find out whether your suspicions of Jack are true or not. You might have more decency....” * * * * * Allen kicked the footstool away, and leaned toward her, his face furrowed in anger. “You used to be a decent kid. Now you’re a hard, glittering shell.” [Illustration: She pushed the footstool back toward Allen, knelt on it, her hands clenched, her arms across his knees. “Won’t you listen?”] Elinor stood up, she trembled, and tears burned her eyelids. “You’re so good you’re an awful fool!” she cried. “I love you and I’m going to marry you and you won’t even listen to me!” She pushed the footstool back toward Allen, knelt on it, her hands clenched, her arms across his knees. “Won’t you listen? I know you lied. And Jack.... Oh, he let you! He didn’t care. That’s not why I love you. I always did, only I forgot. Everybody made me over ... except you. I’m a decent kid now, Allen.” His hands reached out, until hers crept within the grip of his fingers. “Aren’t you just excited, Elinor?” “Terribly.” Her head bent until her cheek lay softly on his hand. “You don’t want my kind of life.” “I want you. I don’t care about any kind of life.” A tingling, peaceful warmth flooded the girl, in which there floated away the silly, whirling cogs. “We’ll have to run away!” She lifted her head. “Or they’ll catch me. Mother’ll be furious. Such a mess. Will you run away with me to-night?” “No.” Allen released her hands, and pushed himself slowly to his feet. “I won’t run away.” As Elinor slid up to face him, he looked at her, points of firelight leaping in his eyes, his mouth stern. “If you love me, we’ll stay right here.” “I don’t dare.” “We’ll have to tell them, straight out. Do you mind that?” She nodded, catching her lip between her teeth in a faint sob. “To-night, we’ll tell them. Then ...” his hands crept along her arms, as if he half doubted that she stood there.... “Oh, Ellie! Then we’ll have to-morrow!” Transcriber’s Notes Transcribed from Collier’s, vol. 78, July 31, 1926, pp. 10-11, 40-41. New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain. 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