A WOMAN WITH A PAST
DRIVING SLOWLY through New Haven,
two of the young girls
became alert. Josephine and
Lillian darted soft frank glances into
strolling groups of three or four
undergraduates, into larger groups
on corners, which swung about as
one man to stare at their receding
heads. Believing that they
recognized an acquaintance in a solitary
loiterer, they waved wildly,
whereupon the youth's mouth fell open,
and as they turned the next
corner he made a dazed dilatory gesture
with his hand. They laughed.
"We'll send him a post card when we
get back to school tonight, to
see if it really was him."
Adele Craw, sitting on one of the
little seats, kept on talking to
Miss Chambers, the chaperone.
Glancing sideways at her, Lillian
winked at Josephine without
batting an eye, but Josephine had
gone into a reverie.
This was New Haven city of her
adolescent dreams, of glittering
proms where she would move on air
among men as intangible as the
tunes they danced to. City sacred
as Mecca, shining as Paris, hidden
as Timbuktu. Twice a year the
life-blood of Chicago, her home,
flowed into it, and twice a year
flowed back, bringing Christmas or
bringing summer. Bingo, bingo,
bingo, that's the lingo ; love of mine,
I pine for one of your glances;
the darling boy on the left there;
underneath the stars I wait.
Seeing it for the first time, she
found herself surprisingly un-
moved the men they passed seemed
young and rather bored with
the possibilities of the day,
glad of anything to stare at ; seemed un-
dynamic and purposeless against
the background of bare elms, lakes
of dirty snow and buildings
crowded together under the February
sky. A wisp of hope, a
well-turned-out derby-crowned man, hurrying
with stick and suitcase toward the
station, caught her attention, but
his reciprocal glance was too
startled, too ingenuous. Josephine won-
dered at the extent of her own
disillusionment.
She was exactly seventeen and she
was blas6. Already she had been
a sensation and a scandal ; she
had driven mature men to a state of
disequilibrium ; she had, it was
said, killed her grandfather, but as
he was over eighty at the time
perhaps he just died. Here and there
in the Middle West were
discouraged little spots which upon inspec-
tion turned out to be the youths
who had once looked full into her
green and wistful eyes. But her
love affair of last summer had
ruined her faith in the
all-sufficiency of men. She had grown bored
with the waning September days
and it seemed as though it had
happened once too often.
Christmas with its provocative shortness,
its travelling glee clubs, had
brought no one new. There remained
to her only a persistent, a
physical hope; hope in her stomach
that there was someone whom she
would love more than he loved
her.
They stopped at a sporting-goods
store and Adele Craw, a pretty
girl with clear honorable eyes
and piano legs, purchased the sport-
ing equipment which was the
reason for their trip they were the
spring hockey committee for the
school. Adele was in addition the
president of the senior class and
the school's ideal girl. She had
lately seen a change for the
better in Josephine Perry rather as an
honest citizen might guilelessly
approve a peculator retired on his
profits. On the other hand, Adele
was simply incomprehensible to
Josephine admirable, without
doubt, but a member of another
species. Yet with the charming
adaptability that she had hitherto
reserved for men, Josephine was
trying hard not to disillusion her,
trying to be honestly interested
in the small, neat, organized
politics of the school.
Two men who had stood with their
backs to them at another
counter turned to leave the
store, when they caught sight of Miss
Chambers and Adele. Immediately
they came forward. The one who
spoke to Miss Chambers was thin
and rigid of face. Josephine recog-
nized him as Miss Brereton's
nephew, a student at New Haven, who
had spent several week-ends with
his aunt at the school. The other
man Josephine had never seen
before. He was tall and broad, with
blond curly hair and an open
expression in which strength of purpose
and a nice consideration were
pleasantly mingled. It was not the
sort of face that generally
appealed to Josephine. The eyes were
obviously without a secret,
without a sidewise gambol, without a
desperate flicker to show that
they had a life of their own apart
from the mouth's speech. The
mouth itself was large and masculine ;
its smile was an act of kindness
and control. It was rather with
curiosity as to the sort of man
who would be attentive to Adele Craw
that Josephine continued to look
at him, for his voice that obviously
couldn't lie greeted Adele as if
this meeting was the pleasant surprise
of his day.
In a moment Josephine and Lillian
were called over and intro-
duced.
"This is Mr. Waterbury"
that was Miss Brereton's nephew
"and Mr. Dudley
Knowleton."
Glancing at Adele, Josephine saw
on her face an expression of
tranquil pride, even of
possession. Mr. Knowleton spoke politely,
but it was obvious that though he
looked at the younger girls he did
not quite see them. But since
they were friends of Adele's he made
suitable remarks, eliciting the
fact that they were both coming down
to New Haven to their first prom
the following week. Who were their
hosts? Sophomores; he knew them
slightly. Josephine thought that
was unnecessarily superior. Why,
they were the charter members of
the Loving Brothers' Association
Ridgeway Saunders and George
Davey and on the glee-club trip
the girls they picked out to rush
in each city considered
themselves a sort of elite, second only to the
girls they asked to New Haven.
"And oh, I've got some bad
news for you," Knowleton said to
Adele. "You may be leading
the prom. Jack Coe went to the infirmary
with appendicitis, and against my
better judgment I'm the provi-
sional chairman." He looked
apologetic. "Being one of these stone-
age dancers, the two-step king, I
don't see how I ever got on the
committee at all."
When the car was on its way back
to Miss Brereton's school,
Josephine and Lillian bombarded
Adele with questions.
"He's an old friend from
Cincinnati," she explained demurely.
"He's captain of the
baseball team and he was last man for Skull
and Bones."
"You're going to the prom
with him?"
"Yes. You see, I've known
him all my life."
Was there a faint implication in
this remark that only those who
had known Adele all her life knew
her at her true worth ?
"Are you engaged ?"
Lillian demanded.
Adele laughed. "Mercy, I
don't think of such matters. It doesn't
seem to be time for that sort of
thing yet, does it?" ("Yes," inter-
polated Josephine silently.)
"We're just good friends. I think there
can be a perfectly healthy
friendship between a man and a girl with-
out a lot of"
"Mush," supplied
Lillian helpfully.
"Well, yes, but I don't like
that word. I was going to say without
a lot of sentimental romantic
things that ought to come later."
"Bravo, Adele!" said
Miss Chambers somewhat perfunctorily.
But Josephine's curiosity was unappeased.
"Doesn't he say he's in love
with you, and all that sort of thing?"
"Mercy, no! Dud doesn't
believe in such stuff any more than I
do. He's got enough to do at New
Haven, serving on the committees
and the team."
"Oh! "said Josephine.
She was oddly interested. That
two people who were attracted to
each other should never even say
anything about it but be content to
"not believe in such
stuff," was something new in her experience. She
had known girls who had no beaus,
others who seemed to have no
emotions, and still others who
lied about what they thought and did ;
but here was a girl who spoke of
the attentions of the last man
tapped for Skull and Bones as if
they were two of the limestone
gargoyles that Miss Chambers had
pointed out on the just completed
Harkness Hall. Yet Adele seemed
happy happier than Josephine,
who had always believed that boys
and girls were made for nothing
but each other, and as soon as
possible.
In the light of his popularity
and achievements, Knowleton seemed
more attractive. Josephine
wondered if he would remember her and
dance with her at the prom, or if
that depended on how well he
knew her escort, Ridgeway
Saunders. She tried to remember whether
she had smiled at him when he was
looking at her. If she had really
smiled he would remember her and
dance with her. She was still
trying to be sure of that over
her two French irregular verbs and her
ten stanzas of the Ancient
Mariner that night; but she was still
uncertain when she fell asleep.
II
Three gay young sophomores, the
founders of the Loving Brothers 7
Associaton, took a house together
for Josephine, Lillian and a girl
from Farmington and their three
mothers. For the girls it was a first
prom, and they arrived at New
Haven with all the nervousness of
the condemned ; but a Sheffield
fraternity tea in the afternoon yielded
up such a plethora of boys from
home, and boys who had visited
there and friends of those boys,
and new boys with unknown pos-
sibilities but obvious eagerness,
that they were glowing with self-
confidence as they poured into
the glittering crowd that thronged
the armory at ten.
It was impressive ; for the first
time Josephine was at a function
run by men upon men's standards
an outward projection of the
New Haven world from which women
were excluded and which went
on mysteriously behind the
scenes. She perceived that their three
escorts, who had once seemed the
very embodiments of worldliness,
were modest fry in this
relentless microcosm of accomplishment and
success. A man's world 1 Looking
around her at the glee-club con-
cert, Josephine had felt a
grudging admiration for the good fellow-
ship, the good feeling. She
envied Adele Craw, barely glimpsed in
the dressing-room, for the
position she automatically occupied by
being Dudley Knowleton's girl
tonight. She envied her more stepping
off under the draped bunting
through a gateway of hydrangeas at the
head of the grand march, very
demure and faintly unpowdered in
a plain white dress. She was
temporarily the centre of all attention,
and at the sight something that
had long lain dormant in Josephine
awakened her sense of a problem,
a scarcely defined possibility.
"Josephine," Ridgeway
Saunders began, "you can't realize how
happy I am now that it's come
true. IVe looked forward to this so
long, and dreamed about it "
She smiled up at him
automatically, but her mind was elsewhere,
and as the dance progressed the
idea continued to obsess her. She
was rushed from the beginning ;
to the men from the tea were added
a dozen new faces, a dozen
confident or timid voices, until, like all
the more popular girls, she had
her own queue trailing her about the
room. Yet all this had happened
to her before, and there was some-
thing missing. One might have ten
men to Adele's two, but Josephine
was abruptly aware that here a
girl took on the importance of the
man who had brought her.
She was discomforted by the
unfairness of it. A girl earned her
popularity by being beautiful and
charming. The more beautiful and
charming she was, the more she
could afford to disregard public
opinion. It seemed absurd that
simply because Adele had managed
to attach a baseball captain, who
mightn't know anything about
girls at all, or be able to judge
their attractions, she should be thus
elevated in spite of her thick
ankles, her rather too pinkish face.
Josephine was dancing with Ed
Bement from Chicago. He was
her earliest beau, a flame of
pigtail days in dancing school when
one wore white cotton stockings,
lace drawers with a waist attached
and ruffled dresses with the
inevitable sash.
"What's the matter with
me?" she asked Ed, thinking aloud. "For
months I've felt as if I were a
hundred years old, and I'm just seven-
teen and that party was only
seven years ago."
"You've been in love a lot
since then," Ed said.
"I haven't," she
protested indignantly. "I've had a lot of silly
stories started about me, without
any foundation, usually by girls
who were jealous."
"Jealous of what?"
"Don't get fresh," she
said tartly. "Dance me near Lillian."
Dudley Knowleton had just cut in
on Lillian. Josephine spoke to
her friend ; then waiting until
their turns would bring them face to
face over a space of seconds, she
smiled at Knowleton. This time she
made sure that smile intersected
as well as met glance, that he passed
beside the circumference of her
fragrant charm. If this had been
named like French perfume of a
later day it might have been called
"Please." He bowed and
smiled back ; a minute later he cut in on her.
It was in an eddy in a corner of
the room and she danced slower
so that he adapted himself, and
for a moment they went around in
a slow circle.
"You looked so sweet leading
the march with Adele," she told
him. "You seemed so serious
and kind, as if the others were a lot of
children. Adele looked sweet,
too." And she added on an inspiration,
"At school I’ve taken her
for a model."
"You have ! " She saw
him conceal his sharp surprise as he said,
"111 have to tell her
that."
He was handsomer than she had
thought, and behind his cordial
good manners there was a sort of
authority. Though he was correctly
attentive to her, she saw his
eyes search the room quickly to see if
all went well ; he spoke quietly,
in passing, to the orchestra leader,
who came down deferentially to
the edge of his dais. Last man for
Bones. Josephine knew what that
meant her father had been
Bones. Ridgeway Saunders and the
rest of the Loving Brothers'
Association would certainly not
be Bones. She wondered, if there
had been a Bones for girls,
whether she would be tapped or Adele
Craw with her ankles, symbol of
solidity.
Come on o-ver here,
Want to have you near ;
Come on join the part-y,
Get a wel-come heart-y.
"I wonder how many boys here
have taken you for a model," she
said. "If I were a boy you'd
be exactly what I'd like to be. Except
I'd be terribly bothered having
girls falling in love with me all the
time."
"They don't," he said
simply. "They never have."
"Oh, yes but they hide it
because they're so impressed with you,
and they're afraid of
Adele."
"Adele wouldn't
object." And he added hastily, "if it ever
happened. Adele doesn't believe
in being serious about such things."
"Are you engaged to
her?"
He stiffened a little. "I
don't believe in being engaged till the
right time comes."
"Neither do I," agreed
Josephine readily. "I'd rather have one
good friend than a hundred people
hanging around being mushy all
the time."
"Is that what that crowd
does that keeps following you around
tonight?"
"What crowd ?" she
asked innocently
"The fifty per cent of the
sophomore class that's rushing you."
"A lot of parlor
snakes," she said ungratefully.
Josephine was radiantly happy now
as she turned beautifully
through the newly enchanted hall
in the arms of the chairman of the
prom committee. Even this extra
time with him she owed to the awe
which he inspired in her
entourage ; but a man cut in eventually and
there was a sharp fall in her
elation. The man was impressed that
Dudley Knowleton had danced with
her; he was more respectful,
and his modulated admiration
bored her. In a little while, she hoped,
Dudley Knowleton would cut back,
but as midnight passed, dragging
on another hour with it, she
wondered if after all it had only been
a courtesy to a girl from Adele's
school. Since then Adele had prob-
ably painted him a neat little
landscape of Josephine's past. When
finally he approached her she
grew tense and watchful, a state which
made her exteriorly pliant and
tender and quiet. But instead of
dancing he drew her into the edge
of a row of boxes.
"Adele had an accident on
the cloakroom steps. She turned her
ankle a little and tore her
stocking on a nail. She'd like to borrow
a pair from you because you're
staying near here and we're way out
at the Lawn Club."
"Of course."
"I'll run over with you I
have a car outside."
"But you're busy, you
mustn't bother."
"Of course I'll go with
you."
There was thaw in the air ; a
hint of thin and lucid spring hovered
delicately around the elms and
cornices of buildings whose bareness
and coldness had so depressed her
the week before. The night had
a quality of asceticism, as if
the essence of masculine struggle were
seeping everywhere through the
little city where men of three cen-
turies had brought their energies
and aspirations for winnowing.
And Dudley Knowleton sitting
beside her, dynamic and capable,
was symbolic of it all. It seemed
that she had never met a man
before.
"Come in, please," she
said as he went up the steps of the house
with her. "TheyVe made it
very comfortable."
There was an open fire burning in
the dark parlor. When she came
downstairs with the stockings she
went in and stood beside him, very
still for a moment, watching it
with him. Then she looked up, still
silent, looked down, looked at
him again.
"Did you get the
stockings?" he asked, moving a little.
"Yes," she said
breathlessly. "Kiss me for being so quick."
He laughed as if she said
something witty and moved toward the
door. She was smiling and her
disappointment was deeply hidden as
they got into the car.
A Woman with a Past 371
"It's been wonderful meeting
you," she told him. "I can't tell you
how many ideas I've gotten from
what you said."
"But I haven't any
ideas."
"You have. All that about
not getting engaged till the proper time
comes. I haven't had much
opportunity to talk to a man like you.
Otherwise my ideas would be
different, I guess. I've just realized
that I've been wrong about a lot
of things. I used to want to be excit-
ing. Now I want to help
people."
"Yes," he agreed,
"that's very nice."
He seemed about to say more when
they arrived at the armory.
In their absence supper had begun
; and crossing the great floor by
his side, conscious of many eyes
regarding them, Josephine wondered
if people thought that they had
been up to something.
"We're late," said
Knowleton when Adele went off to put on the
stockings. "The man you're
with has probably given you up long
ago. You'd better let me get you
something here."
"That would be too
divine."
Afterward, back on the floor
again, she moved in a sweet aura of
abstraction. The followers of
several departed belles merged with
hers until now no girl on the
floor was cut in on with such fre-
quency. Even Miss Brereton's
nephew, Ernest Waterbury, danced
with her in stiff approval.
Danced? With a tentative change of pace
she simply swung from man to man
in a sort of hands-right-and-left
around the floor. She felt a
sudden need to relax, and as if in answer
to her mood a new man was
presented, a tall, sleek Southerner with
a persuasive note :
"You lovely creacha. I been
strainin my eyes watchin your cameo
face floatin round. You stand out
above all these othuz like an
Amehken Beauty Rose over a lot of
field daisies."
Dancing with him a second time,
Josephine hearkened to his
pleadings.
"All right. Let's go
outside."
"It wasn't outdaws I was
considerin," he explained as they left the
floor. "I happen to have a
mortgage on a nook right hee in the
building."
"All right."
Book Chaffee, of Alabama, led the
way through the cloakroom,
through a passage to an
inconspicuous door.
"This is the private
apartment of my friend Sergeant Boone,
instructor of the battery. He
wanted to be particularly sure it'd be
used as a nook tonight and not a
reading room or anything like
that."
Opening the door he turned on a
dim light ; she came in and he
shut it behind her, and they
faced each other.
"Mighty sweet," he
murmured. His tall face came down, his long
arms wrapped around her tenderly,
and very slowly so that their
eyes met for quite a long time,
he drew her up to him. Josephine
kept thinking that she had never
kissed a Southern boy
before.
They started apart at the sudden
sound of a key turning in the lock
outside. Then there was a muffled
snicker followed by retreating foot-
steps, and Book sprang for the
door and wrenched at the handle,
just as Josephine noticed that
this was not only Sergeant Boone's
parlor ; it was his bedroom as
well.
"Who was it?" she
demanded. "Why did they lock us in?"
"Some funny boy. I'd like to
get my hands on him."
"Will he come back?"
Book sat down on the bed to
think. "I couldn't say. Don't even
know who it was. But if somebody
on the committee came along it
wouldn't look too good, would
it?"
Seeing her expression change, he
came over and put his arm
around her. "Don't you
worry, honey. We'll fix it."
She returned his kiss, briefly
but without distraction. Then she
broke away and went into the next
apartment, which was hung with
boots, uniform coats and various
military equipment.
"There's a window up
here," she said. It was high in the wall and
had not been opened for a long
time. Book mounted on a chair and
forced it ajar.
"About ten feet down,"
he reported, after a moment, "but there's
a big pile of snow just
underneath. You might get a nasty fall and
you'll sure soak your shoes and
stockin's."
"We've got to get out,"
Josephine said sharply.
"We'd better wait and give
this funny man a chance "
"I won't wait. I want to get
out. Look throw out all the blankets
from the bed and I'll jump on
that: or you jump first and spread
them over the pile of snow."
After that it was merely
exciting. Carefully Book Chaffee wiped
the dust from the window to
protect her dress ; then they were struck
silent by a footstep that
approached and passed the outer door.
Book jumped, and she heard him
kicking profanely as he waded out
of the soft drift below. He
spread the blankets. At the moment when
Josephine swung her legs out the
window, there was the sound of
voices outside the door and the
key turned again in the lock. She
landed softly, reaching for his
hand, and convulsed with laughter
they ran and skidded down the
half block toward the corner, and
reaching the entrance to the
armory, they stood panting for a mo-
ment, breathing in the fresh
night. Book was reluctant to go
inside.
"Why don't you let me
conduct you where you're stayin? We can
sit around and sort of
recuperate."
She hesitated, drawn toward him
by the community of their late
predicament ; but something was
calling her inside, as if the fulfill-
ment of her elation awaited her
there.
"No," she decided.
As they went in she collided with
a man in a great hurry, and
looked up to recognize Dudley
Knowleton.
"So sorry," he said. "Oh
hello"
"Won't you dance me over to
my box?" she begged him impul-
sively. "I've torn my
dress."
As they started off he said
abstractedly: "The fact is, a little mis-
chief has come up and the buck
has been passed to me. I was going
along to see about it."
Her heart raced wildly and she
felt the need of being another sort
of person immediately.
"I can't tell you how much
it's meant meeting you. It would be
wonderful to have one friend I
could be serious with without being
all mushy and sentimental. Would
you mind if I wrote you a letter -
I mean, would Adele mind?"
"Lord, no." His smile
had become utterly unfathomable to her.
As they reached the box she
thought of one more thing :
"Is it true that the
baseball team is training at Hot Springs dur-
ing Easter?"
"Yes. You going there?"
"Yes. Good night, Mr.
Knowleton."
But she was destined to see him
once more. It was outside the
men's coat room, where she waited
among a crowd of other pale
survivors and their paler
mothers, whose wrinkles had doubled and
tripled with the passing night.
He was explaining something to Adele,
and Josephine heard the phrase,
"The door was locked, and the
window open "
Suddenly it occurred to Josephine
that, meeting her coming in
damp and breathless, he must have
guessed at the truth and Adele
would doubtless confirm his
suspicion. Once again the spectre of her
old enemy, the plain and jealous
girl, arose before her. Shutting her
mouth tight together she turned
away.
But they had seen her, and Adele
called to her in her cheerful
ringing voice :
"Come say good night. You
were so sweet about the stockings.
Here's a girl you won't find
doing shoddy, silly things, Dudley." Im-
pulsively she leaned and kissed
Josephine on the cheek. "You'll see
I'm right, Dudley next year
she'll be the most respected girl in
school."
III
As things go in the interminable
days of early March, what
happened next happened quickly.
The annual senior dance at Miss
Brereton's school came on a night
soaked through with spring, and
all the junior girls lay awake
listening to the sighing tunes from the
gymnasium. Between the numbers,
when boys up from New Haven
and Princeton wandered about the
grounds, cloistered glances looked
down from dark open windows upon
the vague figures.
Not Josephine, though she lay
awake like the others. Such vicarious
diversions had no place in the
sober patterns she was spinning now
from day to day ; yet she might
as well have been in the forefront of
those who called down to the men
and threw notes and entered
into conversations, for destiny
had suddenly turned against her and
was spinning a dark web of its
own.
Little lady, don't be depressed
and blue,
After all, we're both in the same
can-noo
Dudley Knowleton was over in the
gymnasium fifty yards away,
but proxmity to a man did not
thrill her as it would have done a
year ago not, at least, in the
same way. Life, she saw now, was a
serious matter, and in the modest
darkness a line of a novel cease-
lessly recurred to her: "He
is a man fit to be the father of my chil-
dren." What were the
seductive graces, the fast lines of a hundred
parlor snakes compared to such
realities. One couldn't go on forever
kissing comparative strangers
behind half-closed doors.
Under her pillow now were two
letters, answers to her letters.
They spoke in a bold round hand
of the beginning of baseball prac-
tice ; they were glad Josephine
felt as she did about things ; and the
writer certainly looked forward
to seeing her at Easter. Of all the
letters she had ever received
they were the most difficult from which
to squeeze a single drop of
heart's blood one couldn't even read the
"Yours" of the
subscription as "Your" but Josephine knew them
by heart. They were precious
because he had taken the time to write
them ; they were eloquent in the
very postage stamp because he used
She was restless in her bed the
music had begun again in the
gymnasium :
Oh, my love, I've waited so long
for you,
Oh, my love, Fromm singing this
song for you
Oh-h-h-
From the next room there was
light laughter, and then from below
a male voice, and a long
interchange of comic whispers. Josephine
recognized Lillian's laugh and
the voices of two other girls. She
could imagine them as they lay
across the window in their night-
gowns, their heads just showing
from the open window. "Come right
down," one boy kept saying.
"Don't be formal come just as you
are."
There was a sudden silence, then
a quick crunching of footsteps on
gravel, a suppressed snicker and
a scurry, and the sharp, protesting
groan of several beds in the next
room and the banging of a door
down the hall. Trouble for
somebody, maybe. A few minutes later
Josephine's door half opened, she
caught a glimpse of Miss Kwain
against the dim corridor light,
and then the door closed.
The next afternoon Josephine and
four other girls, all of whom
denied having breathed so much as
a word into the night, were placed
on probation. There was
absolutely nothing to do about it. Miss
Kwain had recognized their faces
in the window and they were all
from two rooms. It was an
injustice, but it was nothing compared to
what happened next. One week
before Easter vacation the school
motored off on a one-day trip to
inspect a milk farm all save the
ones on probation. Miss Chambers,
who sympathized with Josephine's
misfortune, enlisted her services
in entertaining Mr. Ernest Water-
bury, who was spending a week-end
with his aunt. This was only
vaguely better than nothing, for
Mr. Waterbury was a very dull,
very priggish young man. He was
so dull and so priggish that the
following morning Josephine was
expelled from school.
It had happened like this : They
had strolled in the grounds, they
had sat down at a garden table
and had tea. Ernest Waterbury had
expressed a desire to see
something in the chapel, just a few minutes
before his aunt's car rolled up
the drive. The chapel was reached
by descending winding
mock-medieval stairs; and, her shoes still
wet from the garden, Josephine
had slipped on the top step and
fallen five feet directly into
Mr. Waterbury's unwilling arms, where
she lay helpless, convulsed with
irrestible laughter. It was in this
position that Miss Brereton and
the visiting trustee had found
them.
"But I had nothing to do
with it!" declared the ungallant Mr.
Waterbury. Flustered and
outraged, he was packed back to New
Haven, and Miss Brereton,
connecting this with last week's sin, pro-
ceeded to lose her head.
Josephine, humiliated and furious, lost hers,
and Mr. Perry, who happened to be
in New York, arrived at the
school the same night. At his
passionate indignation, Miss Brereton
collapsed and retracted, but the
damage was done, and Josephine
packed her trunk. Unexpectedly,
monstrously, just as it had begun
to mean something, her school
life was over.
For the moment all her feelings
were directed against Miss Brere-
ton, and the only tears she shed
at leaving were of anger and resent-
ment. Riding with her father up
to New York, she saw that while at
first he had instinctively and
whole-heartedly taken her part, he felt
also a certain annoyance with her
misfortune.
"We'll all survive," he
said. "Unfortunately, even that old idiot
Miss Brereton will survive. She
ought to be running a reform school."
He brooded for a moment.
"Anyhow, your mother arrives tomorrow
and you and she can go down to
Hot Springs as you planned."
"Hot Springs!"
Josephine cried, in a choked voice. "Oh, no!''
"Why not?" he demanded
in surprise. "It seems the best thing to
do. Give it a chance to blow over
before you go back to Chicago."
"I'd rather go to
Chicago," said Josephine breathlessly. "Daddy,
I'd much rather go to
Chicago."
"That's absurd. Your
mother's started East and the arrangements
are all made. At Hot Springs you
can get out and ride and play golf
and forget that old she-devil
"
"Isn't there another place
in the East we could go? There's people
I know going to Hot Springs
who'll know all about this, people that
I don't want to meet girls from
school."
"Now, Jo, you keep your chin
up this is one of those times.
Sorry I said that about letting
it blow over in Chicago ; if we hadn't
made other plans we'd go back and
face every old shrew and gossip
in town right away. When anybody
slinks off in a corner they think
you've been up to something bad.
If anybody says anything to you,
you tell them the truth what I
said to Miss Brereton. You tell
them she said you could come back
and I damn well wouldn't let
you go back."
"They won't believe
it."
There would be, at all events,
four days of respite at Hot Springs
before the vacations of the
schools. Josephine passed this time tak-
ing golf lessons from a
professional so newly arrived from Scotland
that he surely knew nothing of
her misadventure; she even went
riding with a young man one
afternoon, feeling almost at home with
him after his admission that he
had flunked out of Princeton in
February a confidence, however,
which she did not reciprocate in
kind. But in the evenings,
despite the young man's importunity, she
stayed with her mother, feeling
nearer to her than she ever had
before.
But one afternoon in the lobby
Josephine saw by the desk two
dozen good-looking young men
waiting by a stack of bat cases and
bags, and knew that what she
dreaded was at hand. She ran upstairs
and with an invented headache
dined there that night, but after
dinner she walked restlessly
around their apartment. She was ashamed
not only of her situation but of
her reaction to it. She had never felt
any pity for the unpopular girls
who skulked in dressing-rooms be-
cause they could attract no
partners on the floor, or for girls who
were outsiders at Lake Forest,
and now she was like them hiding
miserably out of life. Alarmed
lest already the change was written
in her face, she paused in front
of the mirror, fascinated as ever by
what she found there.
"The darn fools/' she said
aloud. And as she said it her chin went
up and the faint cloud about her
eyes lifted. The phrases of the
myriad love letters she had
received passed before her eyes ; behind
her, after all, was the
reassurance of a hundred lost and pleading
faces, of innumerable tender and
pleading voices. Her pride flooded
back into her till she could see
the warm blood rushing up into her
cheeks.
There was a knock at the door it
was the Princeton boy.
"How about slipping
downstairs?" he proposed. "There's a dance.
It's full of E-lies, the whole
Yale baseball team. I'll pick up one of
them and introduce you and you'll
have a big time. How about it?"
"All right, but I don't want
to meet anybody. You'll just have to
dance with me all evening."
"You know that suits
me."
She hurried into a new spring
evening dress of the frailest fairy
blue. In the excitement of seeing
herself in it, it seemed as if she had
shed the old skin of winter and
emerged a shining chrysalis with no
stain ; and going downstairs her
feet fell softly just off the beat of
the music from below. It was a
tune from a play she had seen a
week ago in New York, a tune with
a future ready for gayeties as
yet unthought of, lovers not yet
met. Dancing off, she was certain
that life had innumerable
beginnings. She had hardly gone ten steps
when she was cut in upon by
Dudley Knowleton.
"Why, Josephine ! " He
had never used her first name before he
stood holding her hand.
"Why, I'm so glad to see you. I've been hop-
ing and hoping you'd be
here"."
She soared skyward on a rocket of
surprise and delight. He was
actually glad to see her the
expression on his face was obviously
sincere. Could it be possible
that he hadn't heard ?
"Adele wrote me you might be
here. She wasn't sure."
Then he knew and didn't care ; he
liked her anyhow.
"I'm in sackcloth and
ashes," she said.
"Well, they're very becoming
to you."
"You know what happened
" she ventured.
"I do. I wasn't going to say
anything, but it's generally agreed that
Waterbury behaved like a fool and
it's not going to be much help
to him in the elections next
month. Look I want you to dance with
some men who are just starving
for a touch of beauty."
Presently she was dancing with,
it seemed to her, the entire team
at once. Intermittently Dudley
Knowleton cut back in, as well as the
Princeton man, who was somewhat
indignant at this unexpected
competition. There were many
girls from many schools in the room,
but with an admirable team spirit
the Yale men displayed a sharp
prejudice in Josephine 's favor ;
already she was pointed out from the
chairs along the wall.
But interiorly she was waiting
for what was coming, for the mo-
ment when she would walk with
Dudley Knowleton into the warm,
Southern night. It came
naturally, just at the end of a number, and
they strolled along an avenue of
early-blooming lilacs and turned a
corner and another corner. . . .
"You were glad to see me,
weren't you?" Josephine said.
"Of course."
"I was afraid at first. I
was sorriest about what happened at
school because of you. I'd been
trying so hard to be different be-
cause of you."
"You mustn't think of that
school business any more. Everybody
that matters knows you got a bad
deal. Forget it and start over."
"Yes," she agreed
tranquilly. She was happy. The breeze and the
scent of lilacs that was she,
lovely and intangible ; the rustic bench
where they sat and the trees that
was he, rugged and strong beside
her, protecting her.
"I'd thought so much of
meeting you here," she said after a min-
ute. "You'd been so good for
me, that I thought maybe in a different
way I could be good for you I
mean I know ways of having a good
time that you don't know. For
instance, we've certainly got to go
horseback riding by moonlight
some night. That'll be fun."
He didn't answer.
"I can really be very nice
when I like somebody that's really
not often," she interpolated
hastily, "not seriously. But I mean when
I do feel seriously that a boy
and I are really friends I don't believe
in having a whole mob of other
boys hanging around taking up
time. I like to be with him all
the time, all day and all evening, don't
you?"
He stirred a little on the bench
; he leaned forward with his elbows
on his knees, looking at his
strong hands. Her gently modulated
voice sank a note lower.
"When I like anyone I don't
even like dancing. It's sweeter to be
alone."
Silence for a moment.
"Well, you know" he
hesitated, frowning "as a matter of fact,
I'm mixed up in a lot of
engagements made some time ago with some
people." He floundered about
unhappily. "In fact, I won't even be
at the hotel after tomorrow. I'll
be at the house of some people down
the valley a sort of house party.
As a matter of fact, Adele's getting
here tomorrow."
Absorbed in her own thoughts, she
hardly heard him at first, but
at the name she caught her breath
sharply.
"We're both to be at this
house party while we're here, and I
imagine it's more or less
arranged what we're going to do. Of course,
in the daytime I'll be here for
baseball practice."
"I see." Her lips were
quivering. "You won't be you'll be with
Adele."
"I think that more or less I
will. She'll want to see you, of
course."
Another silence while he twisted
his big fingers and she helplessly
imitated the gesture.
"You were just sorry for
me," she said. "You like Adele much
better."
"Adele and I understand each
other. She's been more or less my
ideal since we were children
together."
"And I'm not your kind of
girl." Josephine's voice trembled with
a sort of fright. "I suppose
because I've kissed a lot of boys and got
a reputation for a speed and raised
the deuce."
"It isn't that."
"Yes, it is," she
declared passionately. "I'm just paying for
things." She stood up.
"You'd better take me back inside so I can
dance with the kind of boys that
like me."
She walked quickly down the path,
tears of misery streaming
from her eyes. He overtook her by
the steps, but she only shook her
head and said, "Excuse me
for being so fresh. I'll grow up I got
what was coming to me it's all
right."
A little later when she looked
around the floor for him he had gone
and Josephine realized with a
shock that for the first time in her
life, she had tried for a man and
failed. But, save in the very young,
only love begets love, and from
the moment Josephine had perceived
that his interest in her was
merely kindness she realized the wound
was not in her heart but in her
pride. She would forget him quickly,
but she would never forget what
she had learned from him. There
were two kinds of men, those you
played with and those you might
marry. And as this passed through
her mind, her restless eyes wan-
dered casually over the group of
stags, resting very lightly on Mr.
Gordon Tinsley, the current catch
of Chicago, reputedly the richest
young man in the Middle West. He
had never paid any attention to
young Josephine until tonight.
Ten minutes ago he had asked her to
go driving with him tomorrow.
But he did not attract her and
she decided to refuse. One mustn't
run through people, and, for the
sake of a romantic half-hour, trade
a possibility that might develop
quite seriously later, at the
proper time. She did not know
that this was the first mature thought
that she had ever had in her
life, but it was.
The orchestra were packing their
instruments and the Princeton
man was still at her ear, still
imploring her to walk out with him
into the night. Josephine knew
without cogitation which sort of man
he was and the moon was bright
even on the windows. So with a
certain sense of relaxation she
took his arm and they strolled out to
the pleasant bower she had so
lately quitted, and their faces turned
toward each other, like little
moons under the great white one which
hovered high over the Blue Ridge
; his arm dropped softly about her
yielding shoulder.
"Well?" he whispered.
"Well?"