Daphne Deane (6 page)

Yet in spite of all these things the picture of the dear old house persisted, and when he closed his eyes and tried to forget, his mother's eyes seemed to be looking into his own and pleading.

What was the matter with him anyway, that a thing was getting him this way?

He picked up an evening paper that a man had left on the seat across the aisle, but he could not focus his mind on what was printed in it. Suddenly his eye caught a headline: "
Old Home Left to Only Son.
" He flung the paper from him back to the opposite seat and turned his stare out the window into the darkness.

All at once the lights of the city began to gleam in the distance and then flash by rapidly, and he suddenly knew that he was not going back to New York tonight. He could not go and leave this matter of the house unsettled. Somehow he must face the thing and decide it. He would go to a hotel, get a good night's sleep, and then he would go out to Rosedale in the morning and go through that house. Surely some conviction of what he ought to do would come to him as he went through it.

So he finally took a taxi to a hotel and went to bed, but not to sleep. His active mind went over and over the matter, recalling all he had seen and heard of the old home life, recalling the gentle smile of Miss Emily, the warm touch of her frail little hand, like a flower, her tone as she spoke of Daphne. And Daphne's face seemed to cross his vision, as he had first seen her on the grandstand, her look as she glanced up with recognition in her eyes changing to withdrawal as she realized that he really did not know her. The mischief in her voice and smile later as she told him that he had never taken her personality into his consciousness enough to recognize her after the interval. Somehow her look had stung him then, and his face burned in the darkness at the memory. She thought him a cad, and somehow it seemed to matter a good deal what she thought of him. Just why, he did not know, but it did. She had shown him the lovely side of herself afterward, and he did not want a girl like that to think ill of him. Especially a girl to whom he had been a child-hero! He wanted very much, he found, to live up to her first ideal of him, the ideal that her mother had given her. Of course, she was only a stranger. Of course, she would likely never touch his life again, any more than she had in the past, but he certainly would like to set himself right in her eyes before he passed out of her sight forever. He recalled the question he had asked of her, which Evelyn Avery officiously answered for her, and his last word to her that he was coming back again to hear what she had to say. It hadn't meant much when he said it, but now suddenly he wanted very much to know what she would have replied. "Should you care?" he had asked with reference to his selling the old house, and that quick catch of her breath, the fleeting dismay in her face, came back now to his mind. Was her look perhaps what had made him feel vaguely that she thought him disloyal to all that the old home had meant? And all at once he wanted very much to get her answer.

Would she possibly be willing to go with him over to the house and see it for herself? Perhaps her presence with him would dispel the uncertainty, exorcise the demon of dismay that came to him whenever he tried to decide what he would do with the property.

At last he slept, soothed by the possibility that he might not have to go through the ordeal alone.

 

* * *

 

Back in Rosedale, Daphne had not recognized him as he went by in the darkness on the other side of the street. The shadows were deep and the moon had snatched a cloud and pulled it over her face just then. Besides Daphne was engaged in a slight argument with the new minister, and wasn't noticing chance passers across the street. Certainly she would not have expected Keith Morrell to be there, for she thought of him as submerged in the questionable revelry of Evelyn Avery's party, and deep in her heart was disappointed in him accordingly. The Keith Morrell of her idealization would not have enjoyed a company of that sort.

The new minister, Reverend Drew Addison, was young and attractive. He had fine eyes and was more than interested in Daphne Deane. He was trying her out, feeling his way with her, trying to impress her with the fact that he was most wise and careful and could choose a middle ground in the disputes of the church and the world and yet be entirely loyal to the faith of his fathers. He argued that there was no sin in compromise, that the Bible said one must be wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.

Daphne Deane closed her lips in a firm little line and gave a troubled gaze off into the shadows of the orchard in the dim moonlight. Was this minister going to be a disappointment when they had so hoped he was the right one? He had seemed to have so much about him that was attractive to the young people, so much enthusiasm, so much--well, was it really spirituality or only a holy way of saying things that made them seem spiritual? She didn't want to think this. She put the idea away and earnestly tried to feel that what he was saying was all right, that he just had an unfortunate way of expressing himself.

But when he asked her to go into the city to a symphony concert on the night of a notable Bible conference where a young earnest conference leader was to be the feature of the evening, and to which he knew she had promised to take a large group of young people from their church, her eyes grew troubled again.

"That's very kind of you to think of me," she said. "Of course, I'd love the music, but you've forgotten that I'm taking the group to the conference that night. Aren't you going yourself? I'm sure they expect you to be there."

"Well, I did think of it. I had a curiosity to see just what it is in this young adventurer that has made him the idol of the hour, but I hadn't really expected to go, at least not for more than a few minutes, just to look in on it. There is so much claptrap about such gatherings that it gets on my nerves. When one has been doing really serious work in the realm of theology it is a little hard to bear the rantings of a radio-crooner, you know. And, of course, that was before I got the tickets for the concert, too. I wouldn't miss this concert for anything. I'm a great admirer of the orchestra."

Daphne stood silent, making no reply.

"But you needn't feel tied down by any obligation about the young people, Miss Deane," he went on. "I'll gladly absolve you from your duties in that direction. There are plenty of people who would be glad to take your place as a chaperon and leave you free. I will ask old Mr. Simmons. I'm sure he would be greatly pleased to look after them, and you know I got these tickets with you especially in mind. You have a true musician's soul, and I have greatly anticipated hearing this special symphony in your company."

Daphne spoke quickly and crisply, lifting her chin a little.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I wouldn't miss this conference for anything. I've been praying all the week for it and have been hoping great things for the young people who are going."

"Really?" he said with a trace of amusement in his voice. "I sincerely hope you won't be disappointed. I shouldn't myself expect much good to come from anything as sensational as I hear these meetings are. I don't quite see how you can stand the strain."

"I don't know what you mean," said Daphne. "I've never felt that the meetings were sensational."

"You have heard this young preacher, then?"

"Many times!" she answered gravely. "And I know him well. He is one of the most utterly consecrated children of God I know, and his preaching is reaching thousands everywhere, and leading souls to Christ."

"Ah! Indeed? I
wonder
! In the ultimate reckoning those may not turn out to be real conversions after all. But--you wouldn't exactly call his ravings
sermons
, would you?"

He studied her face quizzically, amusedly, as if she were a mere child and must not be judged harshly.

Daphne felt herself getting angry, and she paused and drew a deep breath. Anger would never win a battle for right.

"Well," she said smiling, "having never heard him, what would you call them?"

He smiled broadly now, a bit condescendingly.

"I think that the utmost that could be said would be to call them evangelistic
efforts
. Even that would be stretching a point in my estimation--that is, from the standpoint of a scholar, you know."

"Well," smiled Daphne calmly, "it is sometimes a comfort to remember that the Bible says that God has hid some things from the wise and prudent and revealed them unto babes. 'Where is the wise? Where is the. . .wisdom of this world?' Though in this case it happens that the young man in question is a graduate of a rather well-known university, and also of a theological seminary, and has several scholarly degrees to his credit. However, this isn't a very profitable conversation, is it? I am wondering if it is going to rain tomorrow? Do you notice it is clouding over since we came home from prayer meeting? I hope it will be pleasant for another day. I'm planning on washing curtains tomorrow, and I do want a sunny day to dry them quickly."

"You are rather quick on the trigger, aren't you?" said the minister, still amusedly. "Are you really as unsophisticated as you try to make out?"

"Perhaps I'd better leave you to find that out, if you think it's worthwhile," she laughed, bells in her voice again and little crinkles of amusement about her eyes and nose. "I really must run in and see if my mother needs anything. She hasn't been well today, and I've been a little worried about her. There comes the moon again. Perhaps we're going to have a nice day tomorrow after all. Good night!" And Daphne turned and disappeared into the shadows of the lilac bushes that arched the walk to the door, never knowing that her good night had reached to other ears and was echoing in the heart of the young man running for his train.

 

But Daphne did not wash curtains the next morning, though the sun was shining brightly and she had made her brother bring the curtain stretchers down from the attic and set them in position for her. She had put on a little blue print dress, one of her plainest morning dresses, and was all ready to go to work, but instead she went to answer a knock at the front door and found Keith Morrell standing humbly on the porch, an eager look in his eyes.

"Good morning!" he said. "Are you very busy? Would I be a terrible nuisance if I asked a favor of you?"

"Why, no! Of course not!" said Daphne smiling, and feeling a sudden unexplained lifting of her spirit. "Come in, won't you? That is, if you don't mind the disorder. I was just taking down the curtains to wash them."

"Perhaps you'll let me help?" he offered eagerly.

"Oh, that wouldn't be necessary," she smiled. "They come down with a touch."

"But I'd love to," he said earnestly. "And I'll feel all the more comfortable afterward to make my request, if you'll let me help. I always used to do it for Mother."

It was one of Daphne's lovely qualities that she never made a fuss about things. So now when she saw that he really meant it, she went easily forward and let him help, till all the curtains were lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Thank you so much!" she said breezily. "And now, won't you sit down and tell me how I can help you?"

"Yes, just as soon as we get these out of the way," he said, gathering up the heap of soiled muslin. "Where do they go? You have to let them soak, don't you?"

"Why, how did you know?" laughed Daphne.

"Oh, Mother always did," he said, drawing a quick little breath of a sigh. "Where do I take them? Is there a laundry?"

"Yes," said Daphne, matter-of-factly, "right out this way." And she led him through the dining room and kitchen to a small laundry where the tubs stood already filled with water.

He dumped the curtains in and seemed to enjoy poking them down and making sure every corner was under water.

"Shouldn't we wash these right away?" he asked interestedly. "I'm not in a hurry."

"Oh, no, they have to soak awhile first," said Daphne. "Let's go on the side porch and talk. It's pleasant and shady there."

So she led him to a vine-clad porch where willow armchairs and tables, a few books, and a bit of sewing made it seem almost like an open-air living room.

"How cozy this is!" he said as he settled down in a big willow armchair and put his head back against a convenient cushion.

"We like it," said the girl with a quick glance around to see if the little sister who was supposed to put this room in order the first thing in the morning had done her work.

"It's a beautiful home!" said the young man wistfully. "I can't help looking back and wishing I had known it intimately when I was growing up."

"That's nice of you," said Daphne, giving him a swift glance to make sure he meant it. "I wish you had. It would have been nice for us."

Their eyes met, and a warm glance passed between them.

"I've missed a lot," he said thoughtfully as he studied her more closely. Then with another bit of a sigh, he smiled and added: "Well, now I'd better get to my errand. I have to go over to my old home and look around to see just how things are, and I was wondering if you would consider it an imposition for me to ask you to go with me? I haven't been back since Mother left me, and I thought it would be pleasant to have somebody with me."

There was a look of a hungry little boy in his eyes that appealed at once to Daphne.

"Why, of course!" she said, springing up with a light in her eyes. "It will be wonderful! Just wait a minute till I can make myself a little more respectable for going out."

"Please don't go and doll up," he pleaded, rising and taking a step toward her. "It's just a dusty old house, you know, and I think you look wonderful just as you are."

His voice was very genuine, and it brought the bright color to her cheeks.

"Thank you!" she said lightly. "I appreciate the compliment. But I'll just put on a clean collar, if you don't mind. We have a neighbor who would sound it abroad if I went out, even across the street, looking like this. I'll be with you in just a minute."