“Are you given to remembering dates, Elice?”

There had been a pause,—one of the inevitable, normal pauses that occur when two people who are intimate are alone and conversation drifts where it will. Into this particular void, without preamble, entered this question.

“Sometimes. Why?”

“Not always, then?”

“No. I haven’t any particular tendency that way that I know of. Possibly I’m not yet old enough for it to develop.”

“To be more specific, then, to-day is December the sixth.” Darley Roberts’ eyelids narrowed whimsically. “Does that particular date have any special significance, recall anything out of the ordinary to you?”

Elice Gleason glanced up from the four-leafed clover she was bringing to life on the scrap of 166 linen in her lap, and looked at her companion thoughtfully.

“From the way you come at me, point blank,” she smiled, “I have no doubt it should. Your chance questions, I’ve discovered, always do have a string attached to them somewhere. But just at this particular moment I admit December the sixth recalls nothing in particular.”

“Not even when I add, at approximately eight o’clock in the evening? It’s that now. I’ve been consulting the timepiece over there.”

“No; not even that. I’m more and more convinced it’s a distinct lapse on my part; but again I’m compelled to confess incompetency. When did what happen at approximately eight P.M. on December the sixth?”

Darley Roberts stroked his great chin with reminiscent deliberation.

“On December sixth, at eight o’clock P.M., precisely one year ago,” he explained minutely, “a certain man called on a certain young woman of his acquaintance for the first time. It was, I am reliably informed, a momentous occasion for him. Moreover he—Had you really forgotten, Elice?”

“Yes—the date.”

“Strange. I hadn’t. Perhaps, though, it 167 meant more to me than to you.” He laughed peculiarly. “I fancy I didn’t tell you at the time that it was the first call I’d ever made on a young woman in my life.” He laughed again with tolerant amusement. “I was thirty-three years old then, too.”

The girl drew a thread of green from a bundle of silk in her lap deliberately. “No; you never told me that,” she corroborated.

The wrinkles gathering about Darley Roberts’ eyes suddenly deepened, infallible precursor of the unexpected.

“By the way,” he digressed, “I’m growing curious to know what you do with those things you’re embroidering, those—”

“Lunch cloths?”

“That’s it, lunch cloths. The present makes seven, one after the other, you’ve completed. I’ve kept count.”

“Curious, you say?” The girl laughed softly. “And still you’ve never asked.”

“No. I fancied there’d ultimately be an end, a variation at least; but it seems I was mistaken. Do you expect to keep them, as a man does a case of razors, one for each day of the week?”

Again the soft little amused laugh. 168

“Hardly. I sell them. There are five more in prospect—an even dozen.”

“Oh. I wondered.”

Another void; an equally abrupt return.

“To come back to the date,” recalled the man, “I remembered it distinctly this morning when I tore the top leaf off the desk-pad. It stood out as though it were printed in red ink, like the date of a holiday. I—do I show signs of becoming senile—childish, Elice?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. You seem normal.”

“Nor irresponsible—moonstruck—nothing of that kind?”

“No.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I didn’t know.... Somehow this morning the sight of that date made me do a thing I haven’t done since—I don’t know when. I had a consuming desire to celebrate.”

The girl’s head was bent low, the better to see her work.

“Yes?” she said.

Again the man stroked his chin, with the former movement of whimsical deliberation.

“Do you know what people down town, people I do business with, call me, Elice?” he asked.

“No.” 169

“Never heard of ‘old man’ Roberts?”

“No,” again.

“Well, that’s me—old man Roberts—old man—thirty-four.... By the way, what do you call me, Elice?”

“Mr. Roberts,” steadily.

“Not Darley; not once in all this last year?”

No answer.

“Not Darley—even once?”

“I think not.”

The eyes of the man smiled, the eyes only.

“To return again, old man Roberts had a desire to celebrate. The date was on his brain. He didn’t even take off his coat after he’d seen it—normally the old man works in his shirt-sleeves, you know—he just walked back from his private room into the general office. ‘To-day’s a holiday,’ he said.

“They stared, the office force—there are seven of them. They didn’t say a word; they just stared.

“‘I say to-day’s a holiday,’ the old man repeated, ‘shut up shop.’”

There was a silence. In it Miss Gleason glanced up—into two eyes smiling out of a blank face. Her own dropped. Simultaneously, also, her ears tinged scarlet. 170

Darley Roberts laughed a low tolerant laugh at his own expense.

“Still think I wasn’t irresponsible—moonstruck—nothing of the kind?”

“No—Mr. Roberts.”

“Wait. After the force had gone, still staring, the old man went back to his desk. He looked up a number in the telephone directory. ‘Mr. Herbert? Roberts, Darley Roberts.—I’d like to see you personally. Yes, at once. I’m waiting.’”

Again the girl glanced up; something made her. And again she encountered those same eyes smiling out of a masked face.

“The old man waited; ten minutes maybe. He didn’t do a thing; just waited. Then events came to pass.” Once more the little throaty laugh. “‘Mr. Herbert,’ he said, ‘your house you advertise for sale. How much this morning?’

“Mr. Herbert seemed surprised, distinctly surprised. He was only half through the door at the time.

“‘Eighteen thousand dollars. It cost twenty,’—after he’s caught his breath.

“‘It cost you fifteen even. I’ve been to some trouble to find out.’ 171

“‘You can’t know the place, Mr.—Mr. Roberts.’

“‘Yes. Top of the hill. Faces east and north. Terra cotta, brick. For reasons you know best it’s been vacant for a month now.’

“‘You can’t know the inside, I mean. It’s finished in solid hardwood, every inch.’

“‘Yes, I’ve seen it; oak in front, mahogany in the dining-room, rosewood in the den. I’ve seen it.’

“‘When? I’ve lived there nine years until just lately. Not in that time.’

“‘Yes, during that time. I was at a party there once,—a university party which Mrs. Herbert gave.’

“‘All right. Maybe you know.’

“‘Unquestionably. I repeat the place cost you fifteen thousand.’

“‘The price now is eighteen.’

“‘You don’t wish to sell—at fifteen?’

“‘No.’

“‘That’s all, then.’

“‘Roberts—confound it—’

“‘I’m sorry to have bothered you. I thought you wished to sell.’

“‘I’ve got to, but I don’t have to give it away.’

“‘I repeat I’m sorry to have bothered you.’ 172

“‘I’ll see you again; to-morrow perhaps—’

“‘I shall be very busy to-morrow. To-day’s a holiday.’

“‘A holiday! Anyway I haven’t the abstract.’

“‘Unnecessary. I said I knew all about the place. I see the deed there in your pocket. You anticipated, I see.’

“‘Well, of all the inexplicable hurry!’

“‘Shall I write you a check for—fifteen thousand?’”

Darley Roberts halted. For the third time he laughed.

“You gather, perhaps,” he said, “that I bought a house this morning. Afterward I bought a few other things—just a few. After that I moved in; into two rooms. I’ve had rather a busy day, all told, celebrating—celebrating December the sixth.... How about it, Elice, now that I’ve elaborated. Any signs of senility, irresponsibility, yet?”

“No,” very steadily. “It seems perfectly natural to me for a man to want a house.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Yes; I do want a house, no doubt about it; particularly that house. I’ve been intending to own it sometime for quite a spell—for some eight years now; 173 to be exact, since the time I saw it before.... You know the place, don’t you?”

“Yes, very well.”

“I fancied so.... By the way, do you recall that—occasion I referred to?”

“Indistinctly.”

“I fancied that too.... You don’t remember by any chance what a lion I was that night?”

“No, Mr. Roberts.”

“Not ‘no, Darley’?”

“No.”

“Not even yet; and it’s been a year!... As I was about to say, though, I recall distinctly. I remember I had a perfectly delightful time—listening to the others’ conversation. Likewise dancing—with myself in a shadowy corner. Also eating lunch—with myself later. I had ample time to think—and I decided eventually that there’d been a slight mistake somehow when my name got on the list.... I liked the house, though, very much; so much that I decided to buy it sometime—at a nominal figure. I didn’t feel peculiarly generous that night when I made the decision.... Last of all, I recall I met a girl; rather young then, but rather pleasant also, I thought. She talked to 174 me for an entire minute. I know because I held my breath the while, and that’s my limit. She was the only one who apparently did see me that night, though. Perhaps her being rather young was why.”

The voice ceased. The speaker looked at the listener. Simultaneously the listener looked at the speaker. They smiled, companionably, understandingly.

“That’s all, I believe, I have to impart concerning December the sixth, all concerning the celebration. That is—” of a sudden the bantering voice was serious and low—“that is, unless there’s something more you’d like to know.”

The girl was busy with the clover again, very busy.

“I think you’ve told me all there is to tell,” she said steadily. “I understand.”

Darley Roberts waited; but that was all.

“Very well.” The voice was normal again, tolerant, non-committal. “It’s your turn, then. I fear I’m becoming positively loquacious. I monopolize the conversation. Let’s hear your report since—Thanksgiving, I believe,—the last time I heard it.”

For some reason the girl lost interest in her work. At least there seemed less need of immediate 175 haste. She rolled the silks and the linen together with a little unconscious sigh of relief.

“Since Thanksgiving,” she said, “I’ve cooked eighteen meals for father and myself. I’ve been out of town once, coached two thick heads twice each, attended one bridge party—or was it five hundred? I believe that’s all.”

“Not had a call from Miss Simpson?” smilingly.

“How did you know?”

“I don’t know. I asked you.”

“Yes; Agnes called—of course.”

“What report of your friends the Randalls, then?”

“Shame on you—really.”

“No. I didn’t mean it that way—really. You know it. I’m interested because you are. How are things coming on with them?”

The girl fingered the roll in her lap absently. “Badly, I’m afraid. Margery’s gone to Chicago to visit her cousin, and shop. She can’t seem to realize—or won’t. I went over and baked some things for Harry yesterday. He’s dismissed the maid they had and the place looks as cheerful as a barn. I didn’t even see him.”

“You noticed the house, though, doubtless. Much new furniture about?” 176

“Yes, for the dining-room; a complete new suite, sideboard and all, in weathered oak. It’s dear.... How in the world did you know, though?”

“A big rug, too, and curtains, and—a lot of things?”

“How did you know, you? Tell me that.”

“Would you say it was worth four hundred dollars in all, what you saw?” The eyes were smiling again.

“Perhaps. I don’t know. I have never bought such things.... You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“I know because Mr. Randall told me. He also requested me, as a favor, to ask you about them instead of going to the house myself.”

“Which means you made him a loan to pay the bill. Are you a friend of Harry’s?”

“A loan, yes. A friend—only as your friends are mine.”

“It’s too bad, a burning shame—when Harry works so hard, too.” The girl winked fast, against her will. “I can’t quite forgive Margery.”

“For going to Chicago?”

“For everything. For that too.”

“Not if I told you I advised her to go?” 177

“You!” In astonishment complete the girl stared. “You advised her to go?”

“Yes, the same day I made Randall the loan. It was really a coincidence. I wondered they didn’t meet in the elevator.”

“A lawyer in a little town like this, with several departments in his business, comes in contact with a variety of things,” he commented after a moment.

“Tell me about Margery.” The girl seemed to have heard that suggestion only. “I can’t understand, can’t believe—really.”

For a moment Roberts was silent. There was no banter in his manner when he looked up at last.

“I didn’t tell you this merely to gossip,” he said slowly; “I think you appreciate that without my saying it; but somehow I felt that you ought to know—that if any one could do any good there it is you. I never met either of them before, that’s another coincidence; but from what you’ve told me and the little I saw of them both that day, I felt dead sorry. Besides, life’s so short, and I hate—divorce.”

“You can’t mean it has come to that?”

“It hadn’t come, but it was coming fast. 178 She visited me first. From there she was going straight to her father—to stay.”

“It’s horrible, simply horrible—and so unjustified! You induced her, though, to go to Chicago instead?”

“It was a compromise, a play for time. I tried to get her to go back home, but she refused, positively. The only alternative seemed to be to get her away—quick.... Was I right?”

“Yes, I think so, under the circumstances. But the trouble itself, I can’t understand yet—Was it that abominable furniture?”

“Partly. At least that was the final straw, the match to the fuse. The whole thing had been gathering slowly for a long time. I didn’t get the entire story, of course. She wasn’t exactly coherent. It seems she ordered it on her own responsibility, and when the goods were delivered—the thing was merely inevitable, some time—that was all.”

“Inevitable? No. It was abominable of Margery—unforgivable.”

“I don’t know about that; in fact I’m inclined to differ. I still maintain it was inevitable.”

“Inevitable fiddlesticks! Harry is the best-natured man alive, and generous. He’s been too generous, too easy; that’s the trouble.” 179

“‘Generous?’” gently. “‘Generous?’... Is it generous for a man with nothing and no prospect of anything to take a girl out of a home where money was never a consideration, and transplant her into another where practically it is the only thought?... ‘Generous’ for his own pleasure, to undertake to teach her a financial lesson he knew to a moral certainty in advance she could never learn? Do you honestly call that ‘generous’?”

“But she could learn. It—was her duty.”

“Duty!” Roberts laughed tolerantly. “Is ‘duty’ in the dictionary you use a synonym for ‘cooking’ and ‘scrubbing’ and ‘drudgery’? Is that your interpretation?”

“Sometimes—in this case, yes; for a time.”

“Permanently, you mean?”

“No; for a time—until Harry got on his feet.”

“He’ll never get on his feet unaided. Instead he’ll get more and more wobbly all the time. The past proves the future. He’s proved it.”

“You’re simply horrid.” There were real tears in the girl’s eyes now, not a mere premonition. “I’m sorry I ever told you anything about them.”

“I know I’m horrid, grant it. A friend I 180 once had told me I was a fish,—cold-blooded like one. Nature made me that way, you see, so I can’t help it. And still I’m inclined to believe if Mrs. Randall had chanced to select any other lawyer in town there’d be a real separation, instead of one in prospect, right now.”

Elice Gleason looked up penitently.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” equally simply.

“You’re so blunt and logical though; so—abstract.”

“Yes; I am that way.”

The girl drew a long breath. Seemingly, after all, the victory was hers.

“Well, what are we going to do about it? We, their friends, have to do something.”

“Yes, that’s the question—what?”

“Margery will never go back now of herself. I know her.”

“No; she’ll never go back of herself, never. Do you blame her?”

No answer. The query was sudden.

“Honest, do you blame her?” insistently.

“I thought I did. I don’t know—I don’t know.”

“Does ‘love, honor, and obey’ mean ‘wash, 181 bake, and scrub’ to a girl who has never in her life before done any of the three?”

Still silence.

“Would you, if you were in her place, come back—would you?”

“I?” It was almost a gasp. “I’m not like Margery. I’ve counted pennies all my life.” A sudden flame. “But why do you bring me in?”

“Why? That’s true. I had no right. I apologize. To come back to Mrs. Randall. Do you still blame her?”

“No, I don’t believe I do. I ought to, I feel that; but I don’t. It’s tangled, tangled!”

“Yes. It’s the first symptom of divorce.”

The girl flashed him a sudden look.

“And you hate divorce. You just said so.”

“From the bottom of my soul. I meant it.”

Miss Gleason flashed a second look. Suddenly, unaccountably, she held the reins.

“What’s to be done then? Margery is as she is, we both know that; and—and Harry loves her, we both know that, too. What do you suggest?”

“I?” Roberts smiled, his slow smile. “I’m her lawyer and—abstract. Besides, her father is wealthy. There’d be a fat fee if she returned to him.” 182

“You forget that I apologized.”

“That’s right. I’m always forgetting.” Apparently he did not remember even yet.

“You’ve neglected to answer my question,” impatiently. “I repeat: what are you going to do about it?”

“I asked your solution first. Do you give it up?”

“Yes,” with a little gesture; “I give it up.”

Darley Roberts smiled; a contagious, convincing smile.

“Very well, I’ll try then,” he said. “I shan’t promise anything. I’ll simply try.”

“Try how?”

Again Roberts smiled; but through whimsically narrowed lids now.

“I’m not sure of the details yet myself. I merely have an idea. There’s an old adage concerning Mahomet and the mountain, you know.”

“And in this case Margery represents the mountain?”

“Yes.”

Unconsciously the girl’s color heightened.

“You really fancy,” swiftly, “that Harry can be stirred up enough, can be made practical enough—you forget you said a moment ago that he would never advance financially.” 183

“No. The adage will have to be adjusted a bit to meet the requirements. He’ll have to be carried there.”

Elice Gleason drew a quick little breath of understanding and something more.

“If you’ll do this for one almost a stranger, one wonders what you would do for a friend,” she said; “one—wonders.”

For an instant the man said nothing; abruptly, dismissing the subject, he arose.

“There’s just one other thing that I meant to tell you,” he said; “something that perhaps you know already. I’m pretty busy and I don’t always find time to read the local news. So it’s not unusual that I didn’t know before. Steve Armstrong is back.”

Quietly the girl arose also, stood so very still.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s been back a week. He’s working in the big drug-store on the corner, Shaw’s place, in the laboratory.”

“That’s all, then. I thought perhaps you didn’t know.”

For an instant the girl was silent; she looked her companion full in the face.

“He called the afternoon he came. He was almost—pitiable. Father came home finally.”

“Elice!” 184

Their eyes held. Not three feet separate they stood there; but neither stirred.

“Mr. Roberts.”

In silence the man put on top-coat and gloves; not hastily, nor yet lingeringly. Equally naturally he picked up his hat.

“December the sixth,” he said. “One whole year. To-morrow will be the seventh—and business—battle, again.” For the first time he dallied, the big soft felt hat turning absently in his hand. “Somehow I’d hoped a lot for the sixth, planned a lot—and now it’s past.” His eyes shifted, fastened elsewhere compellingly.

“It is all past, all over, gone into history, isn’t it, Elice?”

“Yes, it’s past, Mr. Roberts.”

“Not even ‘past, Darley,’ not even that—yet?”

The brown eyes dropped. They had fought their fight and won—for December the sixth.

“No. Not even that—yet,” she said.