Part 8

"It's _not_ her bedroom, Bob," Emily was saying.

He cried, "Come here and listen to me!"

"I won't," replied Martha. "You can't talk to me in that condition. I'm going to bed."

Emily saw Bob start towards Martha. She thought he was intending seizing her by the arm, pulling her into the room, making her listen. So she sank down into a chair.

"Bob!" she cried, "come here!" and she began crying.

He let Martha go up the stairs. He came and stood raging near Emily.

"Don't you worry! I'll put an end to this. I'll settle her yet. Don't cry. I'll put some sense into that girl's head. She's not going to take married men up to her bedroom in this house!"

"Bob, stop it! That's not her bedroom! You just make things worse!"

"I make things worse, do I?"

"Yes, you do! It's bad enough to have this thing going on! But you go and quarrel with her. You never can stop it this way! The sillier she is, the wiser we have to be. Oh, we must be careful! I won't have you saying such things to each other!"

"What are you blaming _me_ for? You said you'd tell her to quit this, and that's all the good it's done us. Everybody'll be wondering why the blinds were down when we're away."

"Oh, I wish you hadn't done that! I wish--you looked as if you were intending to knock him down, Bob!"

"I _did_ intend to! He's lucky! If he comes hanging around here, I will beat him up. What business has he got in this house at midnight?"

Emily was rising. She wiped her eyes. "I'll go up and talk to her," she said.

When she came into the painted room, Martha, who was sitting on a day bed, looked at her in surprise, and said, shortly: "What are you crying about? Did he do anything to you?" She spoke as if her father might have struck her mother.

"I was crying because you're so--because you speak that way to your father. I can't stand it, Martha!"

"You ought to have got me a civilized father, then--a human being. I get so mad at him!"

"You've got to stop it! I'm not going to live in a house with you two quarreling all the time."

"Oh, I'll clear out! I'm not anxious to stay. You wait till I'm twenty!"

"Martha, you needn't act this way. You needn't try to make out you're the offended one. Did you know he was coming here to-night?"

Martha looked at her mother defiantly. She hesitated. She was a truthful child, at least. She said, shortly, after a second, "Yes, I did."

"Did you ask him? Did you arrange to have him come when we were away?"

"You never asked me questions like this about other people."

"I want to know, Martha."

"Yes, I did. I asked him."

"You know I didn't want you to do that."

"You told me not to appear in public with him, mother. I didn't appear in public. I minded you. I don't see anything to be ashamed of. I don't see why we should keep it secret. He wanted to see me, and I wanted to talk to him. I knew you wouldn't understand it. You just insist on misjudging him. You won't try to get acquainted with him. I knew dad would make a fool of himself if he saw him here."

"What did he need to see you about?"

"Well, I--I don't know why--I don't know what right---- If I'd been ashamed of myself, I could have sent him home before you came, and you'd never even have known he'd been here."

Emily went over and sat down by Martha. She put her arm around her. She tried to pull her close against her, but Martha was for sitting erect, stiffly. Her attitude made Emily's coaxing tone futile.

"Martha, he didn't have any business here. He knew he wasn't welcome here. Unless he's absolutely stupid, he understood that before daddy said a word to him. If he was a decent man he would never have come or he would have gone earlier."

Martha bristled. "He did have business here. He had to see me."

"Why?"

The girl rose. She walked about the room excitedly. She began once, and stopped. She came and stood in front of Emily.

"Now look here, mother. I don't think you ought to ask me questions like that. As though you don't believe me. But if you'll stop all this fuss, I'll tell you the whole thing next week."

"What whole thing?"

"I'll tell you why he came to-night."

"Why don't you tell me now, Martha?"

"No. I'm not going to tell you now. I'll tell you next week. I'll tell you on Monday or Tuesday. It isn't anything to be ashamed of, mother." Martha spoke with dignity, reprovingly.

"I don't suppose it is."

"Then what makes you look at me like a thief? Why do you let dad swear at me and curse me?"

"That's just silly of you! He wasn't cursing you, and you know it. That's just his way."

"I'm tired of his way. I won't have him using my friends like that."

"He never spoke like that to any other friend, Martha. He's patient with them all. He never----

"Well, I don't want him sitting round to be PATIENT with my friends. I can never tell when he'll fly off the handle and beat some of them up."

"You know why he doesn't like this man. No father would like to see his daughter----"

"What?" Martha challenged.

"Having her name connected with a married man."

"There you go, mother. You can't find any objection to him but that."

"That's enough for us."

"We don't seem to agree."

"We've got to, Martha." Emily felt herself trembling. She felt that she was calling to her very child across a great gulf. The living room with its hideous tableau stretched out distantly, and Martha and "that man" stood together by the victrola there, away, away beyond an alienating stretch, and she and Bob stood together by the door, trying to speak to her. She felt it so vividly that her voice touched the angry girl; for Martha came and sat down by her and said, earnestly:

"Oh, mammie, I--I wouldn't quarrel with you for anything. It doesn't matter about dad. But you--mother--you always understood me before. What is the matter now? Can't you trust me? What do you think I'm going to do--to commit some crime?"

"Martha, you are a child. You are a young girl, with no experience. And I tell you you must be careful. You mustn't run risks. You---- There are so many dangers, child!"

"That's just saying those nasty things about him--to talk like that--about danger. Do you think I'm a fool? Dad does!"

"I think you're--young, Martha."

"That's the same thing when you say it that way, mother. Honestly, it'll be all right when I tell you! If you'll call dad off till next week!"

With that much comfort Emily went back to Bob. And she lived till the next Monday a trembling flag of truce between two armies furious to spring into combat.

On Friday Martha stayed in bed till late in the morning, and then came down and said to her mother:

"I'm going to Elgin. Do you want to go with me?"

Emily couldn't well go.

"I won't be back till three or four. And I'm going to have supper with Greta. You needn't worry about me. Richard Quin went to Chicago last night. I don't want to stay in the house all day Sunday with father, so I'm going over to-morrow to Wrights'. They've asked me. You don't mind if I go? I won't be seeing anybody you object to. They'll bring me back Sunday evening."

The prospect of another scene between Bob and Martha was more frightful to Emily than whatever explanation was forthcoming next week. She couldn't help believing that in some way Martha would clear herself from blame. She wanted to believe that she was unreasonable, that her daughter was right. But she would insist on Martha apologizing to Bob as soon as they both cooled down. She could always manage Bob, some way--by tears, if by nothing else, because she had never exercised their authority over him; he wasn't used to them. She knew he surrendered when one tear showed in her eyes. And now since this burden of fear for the child weighed her down, no feigning was required. Tears were just there, waiting to come. Why couldn't Martha appreciate Bob? And why should Bob be irritable only with his poor little daughter? A man who was so successful in managing a lot of overalled workmen. If only Martha had been a boy! Emily, like Bob, had never before been sorry she was a girl. Never! That is--except just now, when she wouldn't get on with her father.

By Monday Emily had practically convinced herself that Martha, by some simple explanation, was about to set everything right. They were together in the living room, waiting for Bob, who was late coming up to dinner. When he came in he laid the mail on the table, paper and letters, and immediately Martha was there, taking hers.

"Who're those letters from?" Bob said.

"I'll be able to tell after I've opened them," she replied, because, even with Emily there, their tones said, "Do you get letters from that damned masher?" and, "What's it to you whom I get letters from!"

Emily interposed. "Dinner's ready, Bob." Her presence begged them not to quarrel. So Martha took her letters and went out to the veranda, and Bob went to wash. And they sat down at the table without more conflict. Martha's face was pink and she ate little. But she hadn't for some days had much appetite, as Emily had silently marked. When they rose and went into the living room again, Martha shut the dining room door behind her. Bob had taken up the daily, and sat down on the davenport, lighting a cigar.

"Mother," said Martha. At the stillness of her voice Bob had looked up at her. She was standing erect at the living-room table. She had taken a letter from the front of her little lavender gingham frock. Emily sank down beside Bob.

"I said I'd tell you something to-day." Both hands were clasped breast-high about that letter. Her shoulders were atilt. Her eyes were gleaming. "I'm afraid you won't like it."

She had spoken gently, with sincerity, with dignity. She paused. She swallowed, trying to go on quietly, but the words came rushing out.

"Richard Quin is getting a divorce!"

The joy of the girl sang out in that sentence. It sang out through the tenseness of the room as if all the lovers of the world were there to listen and chorus. Emily and Bob, for a second, sat dumfounded, just staring at her. Then Emily, from very pity, gave a sort of moan. And at that sound Bob got up ominously. He could hardly find his voice.

"What's that to you? Let me see that letter!" He reached out for it.

Martha stuffed it hastily down the square neck of her frock, for safety.

"It's my letter." She faced him, and not one of her scornful eyelashes fluttered at all, though he was glaring at her as if he would like to tear her into bits.

"So this is what you fixed up Friday night, with the blinds down. The God-damned scoundrel! You think you're going to marry him when he's got one wife?"

"I'm not discussing it with you. I won't have him called names."

Emily sobbed, "Bob!" entreatingly.

He turned sharply round and looked at her. And then he turned passionately towards Martha.

"Look at there!" he cried, with a gesture. "Look at your mother! You can't make her cry!" He was helpless. He had to entreat his child. "You can't do this, Martha!"

Martha had gone to her mother while Bob was speaking. She had thrown herself down against her, caressingly, trying to creep into her arms. But Emily's head was buried in her hands. She would not let her tear-stained face be uncovered.

"I don't want her to cry! I wouldn't make her cry for worlds. I was afraid you wouldn't like it--at first. Don't cry, mammie! It'll be all right when you know him." But Emily wept on. "He hasn't been happy, mother!" Martha entreated her.

Her words seemed to mock Bob. He spluttered out his fury.

"Happy! Who gives a damn whether he's happy or not?" he cried, as if he couldn't believe that his ears had heard such an inopportune suggestion. "Emily! Don't you cry, Emily! I'll stop this!"

"Oh, Martha!" Emily moaned.

Then Bob cried, suddenly, "Let me see that letter!"

Martha got up and spoke quietly.

"Mother doesn't want us quarreling," she said. "You know that. It makes her feel worse. That's my letter and I'm not going to let you see it. I won't talk to you now. You're too mad. I'm going upstairs. You can talk it over together."

Bob sat helplessly down near his wife. He wanted so greatly, so clumsily to comfort her, that she lifted her face to him. She wiped her eyes, but her thoughts were too painful.

"Oh, did you hear how she said that? She's in LOVE with him, Bob!" She wept again.

He answered, shortly: "Well, don't you worry. If she is, she'll have to get over it. What business has she got being in love with a married man?"

"It's too horrible! It makes me sick. I see it all now. She has been infatuated with him since that first night. The way she looked at him--even then!"

"He's a skunk, Emily. He's a damned skunk. The nerve of him, coming down here to tell her he was getting a divorce! She thinks she's going to marry him. Why, the girl's a perfect fool! I'm going to see Fairbanks about this! Who is he, anyway? I'll get the goods on him! I'll put an end to this, once for all. Don't you cry, old girl! We can't have this going on any longer!"

That was true. They could not have this going on. They considered what to do. But every time Emily thought of the child saying that--of those words "Richard Quin is getting a divorce"--as if the words came fresh out of glory, she had to hold her breath to keep from sobbing. The poor, silly, inexperienced girl, caught in this trap of pain. They sat there bewilderedly, trying to plan--to hope--

Then Johnnie Benton knocked on the screen and walked into the room, as he often did. He was embarrassed about something and dead in earnest. He saw at once that Emily had been crying.

"Oh!" he began apologetically. "I didn't---- I want to see Martha."

Bob, intending naturally to hide the family sorrow from sight, got up and went to the stairs and called up:

"Martha, here's Johnnie."

He got no answer, and repeated it shouting.

Martha opened her door and answered:

"I'm busy. I haven't got time to see him."

"Come in again later," Bob said to him. "She's dressing, or something."

But Johnnie wasn't satisfied.

"Well--I want to---- No. This is important. I can't wait. I'm in a hurry."

Bob shouted up again:

"Martha! Johnnie's in a hurry! It's something important. Come on down."

Johnnie heard her answer. Emily heard it. There was no misunderstanding it.

"I'm not coming down. I don't want to see him."

"I'm not going away till I see her."

"What's the matter?" asked Emily, annoyed by his persistence. He stood there as if he was planted deep in the rug.

"Look here, Mrs. Kenworthy, I want this announced. We're engaged. Maybe we ought to have told you before, but it's going to be announced right now."

"Who's engaged?" Bob exclaimed.

"Martha and I."

"Why, _Johnnie_!" Emily babbled. She had suddenly leaned forward, and was sitting up, looking at the boy.

He grew red, but his eyes never wavered under her scrutiny. He was dead in earnest, for once. "You ask her to come down," he begged.

Emily got up slowly. Was she, then, waking from a hideous nightmare? Oh, if it was only some nice boy like Johnnie that could make the girl's voice shake!

"Martha!" she called up, and her voice was so alive with excitement that Martha came to the top of the stairs.

"What is it, mother?" she asked, eager for conciliation.

"Come down here, Martha!"

So Martha came down. She came into the living room slowly, warily. She looked at Johnnie. She looked at her mother inquiringly.

"Martha," said Emily, quietly, "Johnnie says---- You tell her," she said to him.

"Martha, we're going to announce our engagement to-day. Right now!"

The girl stood looking at him steadily in composed disapproval. "Whom are you engaged to? Why the excitement?"

"I'm engaged to you, Martha." He wasn't going to be fooled with.

"What a----" It seemed plain that she was about to say "lie," but she thought better of dignifying his statement by emphasis.

"What makes you say a thing like that?" she asked.

"You know very well what makes me say it."

Bob could not tolerate her indifference.

"Are you engaged to him or not?" he demanded.

"I certainly am not," she said. "Is that all you wanted?" she asked her mother.

"Now look here, Martha," Johnnie burst out with determination, "it's time to stop this fooling. That other thing's announced. That's in the paper. _This_ is going to be announced."

"What's in the paper?" Bob cried, suspiciously.

"Everything except her name. Everybody knows who it is." And Johnnie stopped short in confusion, looking at Emily. "You were crying----" he pleaded for his excuse, lamely. "I thought you knew."

Bob had jumped for the paper. "What is it?" he cried.

"I thought, of course, you had seen it." And as Bob urged him, he pointed to it almost without looking, as if he knew by heart the very place the words had in their column. And Bob read, spluttering, gurgling:

"Mrs. Richard Quin, who has been visiting her father, returned this morning to Chicago to start divorce proceedings against her husband. She names as corespondent the daughter of a prominent family of this town."

"I thought, of course, you knew," Johnnie murmured.

"He did," said Martha. "I told them."

Emily had been to look over Bob's shoulder. She was taking the paper into her own hands, as if, unless she looked at it closely, she could not believe the words.

"You didn't tell us THIS! You said HE was getting the divorce!" She had reduced Bob again to spluttering.

"What difference does it make?" she murmured. And Bob could only echo her words dazedly. But Johnnie was challenging her.

"As soon as I saw you were in trouble, I made up my mind. I'm not going to wait any longer." There was no mistaking either his words or his tone.

"Oh!" And then, "Am I in trouble?" She spoke with indifferent curiosity, as if the idea was unimportant to her. "What trouble am I in?"

"My God!" Bob shouted at her. "Are you in trouble! Cut that out, I tell you. You ought to be thankful to get a decent man to marry you, after this."

She paid no attention to him. She was still looking imperturbably at Johnnie.

"You think it is a disgrace, I suppose, to have my name connected with his. So you come over and offer to marry me. To give me your precious name! Are you going into the movies, Johnnie?"

It is altogether likely that Bob, at this point, would have seized her by the arm and given her that shaking she had been so long inviting, if into the room just then had not stalked the cause of Johnnie's haste. His mother seemed to be perfectly in tune with the occasion, for she demanded, excitedly, having looked about and fixed her eyes on Emily:

"What has he been saying? I _told_ you I'd tell the Kenworthys! Emily, what has Johnnie been saying to you?"

Before Emily could answer, Bob, to save her the trouble, exclaimed:

"He says he's engaged to her!" And then from those four, Emily being at one side, in less than a minute there came a volley of sharp sentences, as if they were standing in a circle firing at a target in the center.

Instantly Mrs. Benton exploded:

"Well, he isn't! He can't be! I will NOT give my consent! He can't stop school. He never earned a cent in his life. I won't allow him to marry! Understand that!"

Johnnie, ignoring her, cried to Bob, "I CAN earn my living!"

"You can't!" Mrs. Benton fired on him. "I will NOT support your wife!"

"Who asked you to?" Bob demanded. "I'll give you a job, Johnnie! I'll see you don't starve!"

And crack! crack! Martha spoke quietly, scornfully, to Mrs. Benton: "You needn't worry! I have not the least intention of marrying him!"

"You will marry him!" Bob popped. "You'll drop that skunk and marry him, or you'll get out of this house. I'm not going to stand any more nonsense from you!"

A fusillade from the heavy artillery.

"Whose house is this, anyway, Bob Kenworthy? What right have you got to turn anyone out of it? If I was Emily I'd turn YOU out for saying such a thing! I tell you I won't have Martha to support!"

"Don't you worry! I don't feel the need of you for my mother-in-law!" Martha Kenworthy dared to turn directly to her father. "This'll be my house some day, and I'll turn you all out if I want to!"

Emily, still holding that staggering newspaper in her hand, heard these dangerous sentences bursting around her child; they weren't saving her--they were destroying her. A panic took possession of her--and fury. And she rose with almost a jump and seized Martha by the arm. These four sharpshooters saw something that they had never seen before. Anger unused for many years cuts sharp. Emily, with it, mowed them down.

"Keep still!" she cried to Martha. "Don't say another word! I'm ashamed of you! Go up to your room, and don't you come down till you apologize!" But she stood holding her tightly by the arm and glaring about her. Her eyes were fixed on Mrs. Benton. "You stand there saying things as if you could unsay them! A nice example you set these children!" She turned to Bob. "Isn't this MY house?" Bob Kenworthy had never been asked in all his married life before to acknowledge that fact. "And you come here," she went on, furiously, to Cora Benton, "and turn people out of it!"

She stopped, and from sheer amazement no one uttered a word. She glared at them all.

"Johnnie, you go home! You're the only one that seems to have any sense left! I don't know whether we're fit for you to associate with! You better turn Bob out of the garage, and I'll turn your mother out of her house, and we'll be done with it!" And she sent her dumfounded daughter upstairs with an unmistakable gesture.

Johnnie went slowly out of the front door.

_Chapter Five_

Emily turned upon the subdued adults in front of her. She spoke first to Bob.

"You call Martha a fool! You say that _she's_ foolish! If I ever saw anything in my life to equal you two! I should think you'd be glad Johnnie wants to marry a nice girl like Martha!" she cried to Mrs. Benton.

"I'm not objecting to Martha, Emily; you know that. He hasn't any business to begin talking about marriage at his age! A nice husband he would make for anybody. He never earned a cent in his life; you know that." She spoke guardedly now.

"Why shouldn't he be thinking about marriage at his age? It's exactly the age he would think about it! I tell you they could both do a lot worse than this. I wish she would marry him. But you went and told her to, Bob. You're a perfect idiot, sometimes. She'll never marry him now."

"She'll never get anybody to marry her if she don't watch her step. Getting mixed up in cases like this!"

"You don't need to worry about this case, Emily," Mrs. Benton announced. "I'll settle that. I told Johnnie he needn't get so excited. Everybody in town will know, the minute they see that item, that French put it there for spite, because we did build our parking place there. I'm going to make him apologize. I'm going to call my committee together at once. The family of every woman on it is not going to be at the mercy of that unscrupulous man. First Johnnie's play; then this about Martha. Johnnie says she's only played golf a little with him. I'm going straight down to his office. I've got to go before Johnnie gets there. He wants to fight him, of course!" She actually started towards the door.

"You keep your hands off this case!" Bob cried at her, looking at Emily.

She faced about angrily towards him.

"I'm going to have an understanding with that man!" But she too stopped to look at Emily.

"You leave this to me! It's none of your business!" Bob commanded, excitedly.

"It certainly _is_ my business, and I'm going to see about it!" She turned defiantly to go.

But Emily rushed between her and the door, and she was desperate. If Cora Benton knew all the truth, would she dare to ask for an apology?