Stacey had left Vernon in December; it was on an afternoon in May that he returned to it. Tulips bloomed gaily in well tended beds along the boulevard at which he gazed from his taxi. A fresh spring smell was in the air. The city was at its best. Stacey looked at it inquiringly, almost as though it were new to him. And in a sense it was new; for he did not feel toward it in any way that he had felt before. He saw the business buildings standing angularly against the blue sky, the handsome residences of varied architecture, the wide streets that were rivers of motor cars, and he noted, as often, that esthetically the city was faulty and aspiring, and that socially it was energetic and confident. He received again an impression of people striving relentlessly to attain certain things and clinging to them desperately when attained. But he did not feel for these characteristics either admiration or disapproval, affection or distaste. What he did feel was curiosity, because it seemed to him that he knew very little about Vernon really, and an odd touch of pity. For the first time it struck him as rather pathetic to care so hard about motor cars and bathrooms and servants. Here were wealthy men riding triumphantly in imported Rolls-Royces, and poor men riding in Fords, or walking, and hating the rich men. What a to-do! Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped! Stacey supposed. Economics were the order of the day.
Presently he reached his father’s house. “Hello, Parker,” he said to the surprised servant who opened the door. “I’m back, you see,—and without so much as sending a wire. How are you? Mr. Carroll well? Take this bag up to my room for me, will you, please? I certainly do need a bath. Oh, yes, I’ve had lunch, thanks.”
An hour later he strolled down to the dining-room for a whiskey and soda, then, glass in hand, into the library. And there, sitting with a book in a high-backed chair, was Catherine.
“Why, Catherine!” Stacey exclaimed, going toward her quickly and holding out his hand.
She had risen swiftly, as surprised as he. She was wearing a black dress, but with a wide pointed collar of white lace at her bare throat. She looked firm and grave and slender.
“Well, isn’t this jolly?” he said, shaking her hand cordially. “What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t you get my last letter?” she asked, with some embarrassment. “I think your father wrote you, too.”
“I did get your letter and one from father,” he replied, “just before I left Pickens, but, to tell you the truth, I’ve brought them back unopened in my bag. I thought it would be so much nicer to talk with you both. It sounds rude and unappreciative, but I didn’t mean it that way.” She was still gazing at him, and he saw that she was distressed about something and as shy as ever. “Sit down, do!” he said.
She obeyed. “You see,” she began slowly, “I didn’t think you’d be back yet. And a little while ago, when the rent period on our house was up, your father said—he’s been so awfully kind to us always—and he said—”
“Catherine,” Stacey interrupted, “it’s oppressive to see any one with as much to say as you always have, so unable to say it.” (She bit her lip.) “My father said: ‘I insist on your coming to live here. It’s a big place and I need a housekeeper.’?”
But, though he laughed, Stacey did not feel mirthful. He had a sudden perception of how lonely his father had been, how lonely Catherine had been.
“Yes,” she returned, “that was what he said. And I was weak enough to accept, though I knew it was only kindness on his part. But I was going away when you came back, Stacey.”
“Oh,” he remarked, “you were!”
Again she bit her lip. “I mean,” she added quickly, “that we might have been in your way and—”
“Catherine,” said Stacey, getting up and standing beside her, “I think your being here is delightful. I should feel very badly if you went away. There’s my hand on it.”
She looked at him in a puzzled manner and thanked him, rather unsteadily, because he had been so cordial. A little of her shyness had vanished when he sat down again.
“You came back,” she said.
He nodded. “I’d ridden everywhere there was to ride; so all at once I decided I’d come back to the world.” And he became silent. “Where are the boys?” he demanded suddenly.
“At school,” she replied, “but it’s four now. They’ll be here any minute.”
And only a little later they did come in. Jack was unrestrained from the first, but Carter, probably coached by his mother, was impressively correct until he caught sight of Stacey and threw reserve to the winds.
The library echoed with noise and there was a touch of color in Catherine’s cheeks when at five o’clock Mr. Carroll opened the door of the room and stood at the threshold, looking in.
“Well, son!” he exclaimed.
Stacey sprang up. “Surprise party, dad!” he remarked, shaking his father’s hand. “Quite a good one, don’t you think?”
“I should say so!” Mr. Carroll replied, while Catherine quieted the boys and made them sit beside her with a book. “How was everything down there? Did you ride over that Garett Creek path you and I found once?”
“Yes,” said Stacey, “there and everywhere else.”
After the initial burst of cordiality they fell silent, finding little to say to each other. How estranged they were! Stacey thought. The murmur of the children’s voices and the subdued sound of Catherine’s words explaining a story were comforting—to Stacey certainly, to his father almost as certainly—filling in the emptiness.
Mr. Carroll called Jack to him—Jack seemed to be his favorite—and joked with the child much more naturally than he could joke with Stacey. As for Stacey, he talked with Catherine and Carter.
After a while Catherine announced to the boys that it was half-past five and they must go wash and get ready for dinner.
“Look here, Catherine!” remarked Mr. Carroll. “Do let them eat with us to-night.”
“Yes! Oh, yes, mother!” they cried in unison.
She shook her head. “No,” she said to them, “do as mother says,” and they went out slowly.
“No, please!” she replied to Mr. Carroll. “It’s awfully—good of you, but I’m sure it’s better this way.”
Mr. Carroll frowned. “Idea of Catherine’s,” he said, appealing to his son. “Boys must eat at six—an hour ahead of us. I’d like to have them at table with me. Can’t you do anything about it?”
Catherine was shy but firm. “I’d rather they wouldn’t, please,” she said.
Stacey laughed. “Lord! no, I can’t do anything about it!” he returned. “You have my full moral support, but what’s the use? Catherine’s the Rock of Gibraltar.”
His father laughed with him and spread out his hands in surrender. Perhaps he rather liked being successfully opposed. At any rate, there was less constraint between him and Stacey after this. If in no other way, Stacey thought, they could at least be united in a league of men against women. When Catherine went down to sit at table while her sons ate, the two men talked quite freely, though chiefly of her.
“You don’t mind my asking her and the boys to come over here?” Mr. Carroll asked apologetically.
Stacey was touched. “Good heavens, no!” he exclaimed. “It’s jolly for us and better for them. It was awfully good of you, sir.”
“No, no!” said his father gruffly. “Purely selfish. Brightens the house up. Long time since there were children here. You and Julie would grow up, confound you!” he added wrathfully.
Stacey laughed a little at this. “Couldn’t help it, dad,” he replied. “I regret it as much as you do.”............