"I can't, Fritzie. I'm going like a minstrelshow, billed for one-night stands. I have engagementsahead of me all the way and if I miss a dayI upset the whole schedule."

"What's it all about?"

"A railroad terminal and reorganization. AndI've just time to get around and back for Charles'sreturn."

"And the country dance!" said Fritzie.

"Dolly's country dance," explained Alice.

"Good. I don't want to miss that."

Fritzie caught his sleeve. "You disappointedus last year."

"You may count on me," promised Kimberly.

Fritzie pouted. "I know what that means,'don't count on me!'"

"This time," returned Kimberly as the doorof his motor-car was opened for him, "it isn'tgoing to mean that, Fritzie."

CHAPTER XXI

MacBirney followed his household to thecountry after two weeks. The De Castroswere then back and Dolly enlisted Alice andFritzie to make ready for the dance at Black Rockbarn which regularly signalized at Second Lakewhat Nelson termed the "opening of navigation."

Alice, with Fritzie to help, was charged with thedecorations for the event, and two days before it, the available men about the place, under theirdirection, were emptying the green-houses andlaying the woods under tribute.

The lighting scheme Alice pronounced ineffective.For years no one had given the subject anyattention. At the last moment electricians werebrought out from town to work early and late andlights were installed from which operators inelevated cages could throw sheets of color on thedancers.

When Imogene and Charles got home-and theywere late, arriving only the evening before theparty-Dolly, who met them at the train, drovethem directly to Black Rock, where Alice with herhusband, Fritzie, and Arthur De Castro wasconducting a rehearsal of the electrical effects. Thekisses and embraces of the committee and thearrivals took place under the rays of the new spotlights.

"Now if Robert were here," cried Fritzieimpatiently, "everything would be complete. Noone knows where he is. Suppose he doesn't come?"

"He is in town and will be out to-morrow."Imogene as she made the announcement put herarm around Alice. "Sweetheart, you must be dead."

Alice was sustained by the excitement. "Nothingof the sort. I haven't done anything butsuggest," she said gayly. "Fritzie has done all thework. In the morning we will bring in the appleblossoms and we are through."

But when she had received all the enthusiasmand compliments she went home tired. MacBirneycame to her room to talk, but he had no wordfor the successful decorations and Alice pleadingfatigue went directly to bed.

She woke with the sun streaming through theeast windows. It was late and though still tiredshe rose at once. The morning was superb, and, while dressing, Alice surprised Annie by singingto herself.

Fritzie drove over with her to Black Rock. Alicerunning in to speak to Dolly found her in bed.Dolly kissed her. "You look so fresh, dear." Alicedrew herself up with a laugh. "It's themorning, Dolly."

"By-the-way, Robert is here. He came lateand he and Arthur talked so long he stayed allnight. He is just across the hall in the blue room."

"Then every one is accounted for. I must beoff, Dolly."

"Where are you going?"

"To the woods with Fritzie to get the blossoms."

An old coaching brake had been sent up fromthe stables and Arthur De Castro was waiting forthe two women. "I am going to drive you downthe field before I take my ride," he explained.

"You do need exercise. You look sleepy,Arthur," remarked Fritzie, critically.

"Robert kept me up all night." Arthur turnedto Alice. "You knew he was back?"

"Dolly told me."

"The lazy fellow isn't up yet," said Fritzie.

Arthur corrected her. "He is up and gonehome. But he will be over again this morning."

The horses were fresh and took Arthur's attentionacross the field and the big wagon lurched asthe team danced along. In the woods they foundGrace De Castro with the men who were to work.Arthur's saddle-horse was in waiting. The menbegan loading the brake with elder blossoms, brierroses, and branches from the forest trees. Arthurhad meant to take his groom with him, but foundthere would be nobody to drive the brake back tothe barn.

"No matter, Mr. De Castro," said Alice. "Takehim. I will drive back." Arthur demurred, butAlice insisted. "I would rather drive the teamthan not. I drive our horses all the time."

Arthur and the groom rode away. Fritzieand Grace looked at Alice in astonishment whenthe wagon had been loaded and Alice took thedriver's high seat, pulled her glove gauntlets backtaut and a gardener handed her the reins.

"Aren't you afraid?" cried Grace.

"Not in the least," Alice answered, slipping herhands into the driving loops and putting her footon the wheel-brake.

"Really," declared Grace, "you have quite an air."

Fritzie was apprehensive. "For Heaven's sake, don't let them run away, Allie."

The men at the bridles stood aside, Alice spokeand the team leaped swiftly ahead. She gavethem leeway for a few moments, but kept themunder control and her manner was so confident thatFritzie's fears were allayed before the brake hadcrossed the first hill. As Alice made the turn inthe road and looked laughingly back the two girlswaved approval at her. They saw the brim of herbroad hat rising and falling like a bird's wings asshe nodded to them; then she threw on thewheel-brake and started down the hill.

For a moment the difficulty of holding the pairin check increased and by the time the barn wasin sight the struggle had stirred her blood. Itcolored two little circles in her cheeks and hadlighted fires of animation in her gray eyes. Shesaw the rising entrance to the barn and only tookheed that the doors were wide open. Then shegave all her strength to guiding the rushing horsesup the long incline. Just as their heads shotunder the doorway the off horse shied. The frontwheels of the brake bounced over the thresholdand Alice saw, standing within, Robert Kimberly.

She gave an exclamation of surprise as shethrew on the wheel-brake, pulled with all herstrength on the reins and brought her horses to ahalt. Kimberly with one hand on the casementstood perfectly still until she looked around. Thenhe came forward laughing. "You certainly are acapital whip."

"You frightened me nearly to death!" exclaimedAlice with a long breath. "Where, pray, did youcome from?" she demanded, looking down fromher eminence.

"From almost everywhere. And you?"

"From the woods."

He laid a hand on the foot-board. "Really, Iwonder whether there is anything you can't do."

"I am afraid there is one thing now. I don'tsee how I am going to get down. Aren't thereany men around to take the horses?"

"The horses will stand. Just hook your linesand jump from the wheel."

Alice looked at the distance in dismay. "Thatis easy to say."

"Not hard to do," returned Kimberly. "I'llbreak your flight."

"I'm a wretched jumper."

"Nonsense. You can't tell me you're a wretchedanything after that drive."

"Step away then and I'll jump. Only, I don'tsee just how I am going to stop after I start."

"What do you want to stop for? Come ahead."

She put her foot cautiously on the wheel; it wasa very pretty foot. Then she steadied herself andwith her hand swept little ringlets of hair fromher eyes.

She knew he was waiting to receive her and, meaning to elude him, turned at the last instantand jumped away from where he stood. Kimberly,in spite of her precaution, caught her as herfeet struck the floor, and leaned an instant overher. "Beautifully done!" he exclaimed, anddrawing her suddenly into his arms he kissed her.

She pushed him back with all her strength.He met her consternation with good humor. "Icouldn't help it."

Alice, burning with angry blushes, retreated.He hoped it would end there and ignored theoutraged spirit in her eyes as she took herhandkerchief from her waist.

He tried to laugh again. "Don't be angry." ButAlice put both hands to her face and walkedquickly away.

CHAPTER XXII

Kimberly followed her through the opendoor. "Where are you going?" he asked.Her answer came in her quickened step. Herepeated his words without eliciting any response.Then he stepped directly in front of her in thepath. "Stop for one moment. Alice, you can'tgo any farther while you are as angry at me asyou are now."

"I am Alice to no one but my husband," sheexclaimed controlling herself as well as she could."You shall not stop me, you have no right to."

"Where are you going?"

"I am going home."

"Listen; you are Alice to me-now, and forever; remember that."

Her knees trembled as she strove to escape him.She tried to pass through the shrubbery and couldnot. She felt faint and dizzy. The very worldhad changed with a kiss. Everything in lifeseemed upset, every safeguard gone.

He took her arm. "Come back to the path,Alice. We must walk it together."

She paused an instant for breath and made aneffort to speak as she put his hand angrily away."I insist," she cried, "that you do not continueto insult me."

"If you wait for me to insult you, Alice, youwill wait a long time. I should be as likely toinsult my own mother."

"I have done nothing to deserve this," shesobbed, frantic with confusion.

"You deserve more a thousand times than mydevotion ever can bring you. But all it can everbring, from the moment I kissed you, is yours."

Her eyes blazed through her tears. In herhelpless wrath she stamped her foot. "You areshameless. I detest your conduct. If you are going tothe house I will stay here. If you are not, let me go."

He met her denunciation with steadiness."Nothing you can say will anger me."

"You mean you have no respect for me." Shespoke so fast she could scarcely frame the words."Why don't you say so? Are you too cowardly?"

The imputation stung him. He seemed toexplode inwardly. "I have nothing but respect foryou, Alice," he insisted with terrifying energy,"but this thing must be fought out-"

She attempted to speak. His words drownedher. "I want to say nothing that will wound oroffend you. You make it very hard for me tospeak at all-"

"You have no right to speak-"

"But, Alice," he exclaimed, throwing all hisforce into the words, "you don't love that man.That is why I speak. If you did love him, if evenhe loved you, I could be silent."

"I love my husband as a wife should," shecried, struggling vainly to escape his accusation.

"You do not. You cannot!"

They spoke at white heat, she fighting vainly tocontrol her trembling limbs and Kimberly pausingat times to deal better his sledge-hammer blowsat her pitiful strength.

"You do not love that man. If I believed youdid," he spoke with a bitterness she had neverheard before, "I should never want to see anothersun rise. I respect you above all women thatbreathe; but in that I am right, I can't be wrong.I have suppressed and stifled and smothered aslong as I can and it will come out!"

"I will not hear you!"

"Sometime, somewhere, you will hear me.Don't speak!" he exclaimed vehemently. Theveins knotted upon his forehead. "I forgot myselffor a moment. If you knew what it costs me toremember! But, Alice, for me it is you-or nothingin this world. Remember! You or nothing!"

She searched his face for pity. "I am sinkingwith shame. What further, what more humiliationdo you want? We are in plain view of thehouse. I am utterly helpless. Will you not havethe decency to leave me?"

"I wish I could have said this better; I donothing well. If I have hurt you, I am very, verysorry." He strode away toward the garden.

Trying to compose herself, Alice walked to thehouse. Providentially, Dolly had already startedfor the field. Summoning a servant, Alice orderedher car and with her head whirling started forhome. As she was hurried over the country roadher mind gradually righted itself, and strangethoughts ran like lightning flashes through herbrain. Reaching home, she hastened upstairsand locked her door.

What startled her most painfully in her reflectionswas the unwelcome conviction that there wasnothing new, nothing surprising in her situation.Nothing, at least, except this violent outburstwhich she now realized she ought long ago to haveforeseen. She was suddenly conscious that shehad long known Kimberly loved her, and thatone day he would call her to account-for thecrime of being loved in spite of herself, shereflected bitterly.

She threw herself on her couch and held herhands upon her burning temples. He had caughther in his arms and forced a kiss upon her. Theblood suffused her face at the recollection. Againand again, though she turned from the picture, imagination brought it back. She saw his eyes ashe bent over her; the thought of the moment wastoo much to support. Her very foreheadcrimsoned as the scene presented itself. And worse, was the realizing that something of fascinationlingered in the horror of that instant ofamazement and fear and mad repulsion of his embrace.She hid her face in her pillow.

After a time she grew calmer, and with her racingpulse quieted, her emotion wore itself somewhatout. Saner thoughts asserted themselves. Shefelt that she could fight it out. She searched herheart and found no wantonness within it. Stronglyassailed, and not, she felt, through her ownfault, she would fight and resist. He hadchallenged her when he had said it should be foughtout. She, too, resolved it should be.

She bathed her forehead, and when she feltsure of herself, rang for Annie. Lunch was servedin her room, but she could eat nothing. Atmoments she felt the comforting conviction ofhaving settled her mind. Unhappily, her mind wouldnot stay settled. Nothing would stay settled. Nomood that brought relief would remain. Theblood came unbidden to her cheeks even whileAnnie was serving her and her breath would catchat the opening of a door.

When she heard the hum of a motor-car onthe open highway her heart jumped. She openedthe porch doors and went out to where she couldlook on the lake. Her eyes fell upon the distantTowers and her anger against Kimberly rose. Sheresolved he should realize how he had outragedher self-respect. She picked from the troubledcurrent of her thought cutting things that she oughtto have said. She despised herself for not havingmore angrily resented his conduct, and determined,if he dared further persist, to expose himrelentlessly to the circle of their friends, even ifthey were his own relations. There should beno guilty secret between them; this, at least, shecould insure.

When the telephone bell rang, Annie answeredit. Dolly was calling for Alice and went into astate when told that Alice had come home affectedby the heat, and had given up and gone to bed; she hoped yet, Annie said, to be all right for theevening. Fritzie took the wire at Black Rock to askwhat she could do, and Annie assured her therewas nothing her mistress needed but quiet and rest.

When the receiver had been hung up the firstbridge was crossed, for Alice was resolved aboveall things not to be seen that night at the dance.When Fritzie came back to Cedar Lodge to dress,Alice was still in bed. Her room was darkenedand Annie thought she might be sleeping. Atdinner-time, MacBirney, who had been in town allday, came in to see how she was. She told herhusband that he would have to go to Dolly's withFritzie.

MacBirney bent over his wife and kissed her, greatly to her mental discomfort. An unwelcomekiss from him seemed to bring back more confusinglythe recollection of Kimberly's kiss, and toincrease her perplexities. She detested herhusband's caresses; they meant no real affection andshe did not intend he should think she believedthey did. But she never could decide where todraw the line with him, and was divided betweena desire to keep him always at a distance and awish not to seem always unamiable.

Fritzie, after she was dressed, tiptoed in. Theroom was lighted to show Alice the new gown. Itwas one of their spring achievements, and Aliceraised herself on her pillow to give a completeapproval of the effect. "It is a stunning thing; simply stunning. If you would only stop runningyourself to death, Fritzie, and put on ten pounds, you would be absolute perfection."

"If I stopped running myself to death whatwould there be to live for?" demanded Fritzie, refastening the last pin in her Dresden girdle."We all have to live for something."

Alice put her hand to her head. "I wonderwhat I have to live for?"

Fritzie turned sharply. "You? Why nothingbut to spend your money and have a good time.Too bad about you, isn't it? You'll soon have amillion a year for pin-money."

Alice shook her head. "A dozen millions ayear would not interest me, Fritzie."

Fritzie laughed. "Don't be too sure, my dear; not too sure. Well," Fritzie's hands ran carefullyover her hair for the last time, "there are a lot ofmen coming over from the Sound to-night. Imay meet my fate!"

"I wish you may with all my heart, Fritzie.Why is it fates always come to people that don'twant them?"

"Don't you believe it," cried Fritzie, "they dowant them."

"They don't-not always."

"Don't you ever believe it-they only say theydon't or think they don't!" she exclaimed, withaccustomed vehemence.

Alice moved upon her pillow in impatient disapproval."I hope you'll have a good time to-night."

MacBirney was ready and Fritzie joined him.The house grew quiet after they left. Anniebrought up a tray and Alice took a cup of broth.She did not long resist the drowsiness that followed.She thought vaguely for a moment of a prayerfor safety. But her married life had long excludedprayer. What good could come of praying to bekept unharmed while living in a state that had initself driven her from prayer? That, at least, would be too absurd, and with a dull feargnawing and dying alternately at her heart she fellasleep.

CHAPTER XXIII

At noon next day MacBirney, seeking hiswife, found her in her dressing-room. Shehad come from the garden and stood before atable filled with flowers, which she wasarranging in vases.

"I've been looking for you." MacBirney threwhimself into a convenient chair as he spoke."Robert Kimberly is downstairs."

"Mr. Kimberly? To see you, I suppose."

"No, to see you."

"To see me?" Alice with flowers in her hand, paused. Then she carried a vase to themantel-piece. "At this time of day?"

"Well-to see us, he says."

She returned to the table. "What in the worlddoes he want to see us about?"

MacBirney laughed. "He says he has somethingto say to both of us. I told him I wouldbring you down."

A breath would have toppled Alice over. "Ican't dress to go down now," she managed to say."It may be something from Dolly. Ask him togive you any message he has."

Walking hurriedly to the mantel with anotherjar of roses, she found her fear extreme. Couldit be possible Kimberly would dream of sayingto her husband what he had said to heryesterday? She smothered at the thought, yet sheknew his appalling candor and felt unpleasantlyconvinced that he was capable of repeating everyword of it. The idea threw her into a panic. Sheresolved not to face him under such circumstances; she was in no position to do so. "Tell him," shesaid abruptly, "that as much as I should like tohear what he has to say, he will have to excuse methis morning."

"He offered to come this evening if you preferred."

"We have other guests to-night," returned Alicecoldly. "And I can't be bothered now."

"Bothered?" echoed MacBirney with sarcasm."Perhaps I had better tell him that."

"By all means, if you want to," she retorted indesperation. "Tell him anything you like."

Her husband rose. "You are amiable thismorning."

"No, I am not, I'm sorry to say. I am not quitewell-that is the real truth and must be myexcuse. Make it for me or not as you like."

MacBirney walked downstairs. After an interminabletime, Alice, breathing more freely, heardKimberly's car moving from the door. When shewent down herself she watched narrowly theexpression of her husband's face. But he was plainlyinterested in nothing more serious than Fritzie'saccount of the country dance. When Aliceventured to ask directly what Kimberly's messageswere, he answered that Kimberly had given none.With Fritzie, Alice took a drive after luncheonsomewhat easier in mind. Yet she reflected thatscarcely twenty-four hours had passed and shealready found herself in an atmosphere of suspenseand apprehension from which there seemed no escape.

While she was dressing that night, flowers fromThe Towers' gardens were brought to CedarLodge in boxfuls, just as they had regularly beensent the year before-roses for the tables, violetsfor Alice's rooms, orchids for herself. If she onlydared send them back! Not, she knew, that itwould make any difference with the sender, but itwould at least express her indignation. She stillspeculated as to whether Kimberly would dare totell her husband and upon what would happen ifhe should tell him.

And her little dream of publicity as anantidote! What had become of it already? So faras Kimberly was concerned, she now firmlybelieved he was ready to publish his attitude towardher to the world. And she shrank with everyinstinct from the prospective shame and humiliation.

The water about her seemed very deep as shereflected, and she felt singularly helpless. She hadnever heard of a situation just such as this, neverimagined one exactly like it. This man seemeddifferent from every other she had ever conceivedof; more frankly brutal than other brutes andmore to be dreaded than other men.

A week passed before Kimberly and Alice met.It was at Charles Kimberly's. Doctor Bryson, theNelsons, and Fritzie were there.

As Alice and her husband came down, CharlesKimberly and Robert walked out of the library.Robert bowed to MacBirney and to Alice-whoscarcely allowed her eyes to answer his greeting.

"Are you always glad to get back to your owncountry, Mrs. Kimberly?" asked MacBirney greetinghis hostess.

Imogene smiled. "Dutifully glad."

"Is that all?"

"At least, I come back with the same feelingof relief that I am getting back to democracy."

"That is," suggested Lottie Nelson, "gettingback to where you are the aristocracy."

Dolly, who with her husband joined them intime to hear the remark, tossed her head. "Ialways thank Heaven, Lottie, that we have noaristocracy here."

"But you are wrong, Dolly, we have," objectedRobert Kimberly as the party went into thedrawing-room. "Democracy is nothing but anaristocracy of ability. What else can happenwhen you give everybody a chance? We beganin this country by ridding ourselves of anaristocracy of heredity and privilege; and we have onlysucceeded in substituting for it the coldest, cruelestaristocracy known to man-the aristocracy ofbrains. This is the aristocracy that controls ourmanufacturing, our transportation, our publicservice and our finance; it makes our laws andapportions our taxation. And from this fell causedone our present griefs arise."

"But you must rid yourself of the grosslymaterial conception of an aristocracy, Mr. Kimberly,"said Nelson. "Our real aristocracy, I take it, isnot our material one, as Robert Kimberly insists.The true aristocrat, I hold, is the real but meregentleman."

"Exactly right," assented De Castro. "Thegentleman and nothing else is the thing."

"There is nothing more interesting than thegentleman," returned Robert Kimberly, "exceptthe gentleman plus the brute. But the exception isenormous, for it supplies our material aristocrat."

"You must remember, though, that ideas ofsuperiority and inferiority are very tricky,"commented Imogene. "And they persist for centuries.To the Naples beggar, even to-day, the Germansare 'barbarians.' And whenever I encounter thetwo I never can decide which is the aristocrat, thetraveller or the beggar."

"I read your speech at the New England dinnerlast night," said Imogene, turning to Nelson,"and I saw all the nice things that were said aboutit this morning."

"If credit were due anywhere it would be tothe occasion," returned Nelson. "There is alwayssomething now in such gatherings to suggest thediscomforting reflection that our best native stockis dying out."

Dolly looked distressed. "Oh, dear, are thoseunfortunate people still dying out? I've beenworrying over their situation for years. Can'tany one do anything?"

"Don't let it disturb you, Mrs. De Castro,"said Bryson.

"But I am afraid it is getting on my nerves."

"Nothing dies out that doesn't deserve to dieout," continued Bryson. "As to the peopleNelson speaks of, I incline to think they ought to dieout. Their whole philosophy of life has beenbad. Nature ought to be ashamed, of course, topass them by and turn to inferior races for herrecruits. But since all races are inferior to them, what can she do but take refuge with the despisedforeigner? The men and women that take lifeon the light-housekeeping plan may do so if theywill-for one generation. What may safely becounted on is that nature will find its workers inthe human hive even if it has to turn to the savagetribes."

"But the poor savages, doctor-they also are onthe verge of extinction, are they not?" demandedDolly.

"Then nature will provide its workers fromone unfailing source-from those we have alwayswith us, the poor and the despised. And it canbe depended on with equal certainty to cast thesatisfied, cultivated, and intellectual drones intoouter darkness."

"My dear, but the doctor is savage, isn't he?"Lottie Nelson made the appeal indolently toImogene. "We shall soon be asking, doctor," sheconcluded languidly, "which tribe you belong to."

"He would answer, the medical tribe,"suggested Fritzie.

"Speaking of savages," interposed Arthur DeCastro, "Charles and I were making a portageonce on the York River. On the trail I met twosuperb little Canadian lads-straight, swarthy, handsome fellows. They couldn't speak English.'You must be French,' I suggested, addressingthe elder by way of compliment in that tongue.Imagine my surprise when he answered withperfect composure, 'Non, monsieur. Nous sommesdes sauvages!'"

"For my part," said Imogene, "I am alwaysglad to hear Doctor Bryson defend families andmotherhood. I don't care how savage he gets."

"I defend motherhood because to me it is thehighest state of womanhood. Merely as aninstinct, its mysteries are a never-ending marvel."

Lottie Nelson looked patiently bored. "Oh, tell us about them, do, doctor."

"I will tell you of one," returned Brysonundismayed. "Take the young mother that brings herfirst child into the world; from the day of its birthuntil the day of that mother's death, her child isnever wholly out of her thought. The child maydie, may be forgotten by every one else on earth, may be to all other conscious existence in this worldas a thing that never was. But in its mother'sheart it never dies. I call that a mystery."

The doctor's glance as he finished fell on Alice'sface. He was sorry at once that he had spoken atall. Her eyes were fixed on him with a look ofacute pain.

Alice hardly knew Doctor Bryson, but what hesaw in the sadness of her face he quiteunderstood. And though they had never met, otherthan in a formal way, he never afterward felt thatthey were wholly strangers.