"But his clothes - and that awful old car - " said Mrs. Frederick uncertainly.
"Eccentricities of genius," declared Uncle Benjamin. "You heard Doss say he was John Foster. I'm not up in literature myself, but I heard a lecturer from Toronto say that John Foster's books had put Canada on the literary map of the world."
"I - suppose - we must forgive her," yielded Mrs. Frederick.
"Forgive her!" Uncle Benjamin snorted. Really, Amelia was an incredibly stupid woman. No wonder poor Doss had gone sick and tired of living with her. "Well, yes, I think you'd better forgive her! The question is - will Snaith forgive US!"
"What if she persists in leaving him? You've no idea how stubborn she can be," said Mrs. Frederick.
"Leave it all to me, Amelia. Leave it all to me. You women have muddled it enough. This whole affair has been bungled from start to finish. If you had put yourself to a little trouble years ago, Amelia, she would not have bolted over the traces as she did. Just let her alone - don't worry her with advice or questions till she's ready to talk. She's evidently run away in a panic because she's afraid he'd be angry with her for fooling him. Most extraordinary thing of Trent to tell her such a yarn! That's what comes of going to strange doctors. Well, well, we mustn't blame her too harshly, poor child. Redfern will come after her. If he doesn't, I'll hunt him up and talk to him as man to man. He may be a millionaire, but Valancy is a Stirling. He can't repudiate her just because she was mistaken about her heart disease. Not likely he'll want to. Doss is a little overstrung. Bless me, I must get in the habit of calling her Valancy. She isn't a baby any longer. Now, remember, Amelia. Be very kind and sympathetic."
It was something of a large order to expect Mrs. Frederick to be kind and sympathetic. But she did her best. When supper was ready she went up and asked Valancy if she wouldn't like a cup of tea. Valancy, lying on her bed, declined. She just wanted to be left alone for a while. Mrs. Frederick left her alone. She did not even remind Valancy that her plight was the outcome of her own lack of daughterly respect and obedience. One could not - exactly - say things like that to the daughter-in-law of a millionaire.
CHAPTER XLI
Valancy looked dully about her old room. It, too, was so exactly the same that it seemed almost impossible to believe in the changes that had come to her since she had last slept in it. It seemed - somehow - indecent that it should be so much the same. There was Queen Louise everlastingly coming down the stairway, and nobody had let the forlorn puppy in out of the rain. Here was the purple paper blind and the greenish mirror. Outside, the old carriage- shop with its blatant advertisements. Beyond it, the station with the same derelicts and flirtatious flappers.
Here the old life waited for her, like some grim ogre that bided his time and licked his chops. A monstrous horror of it suddenly possessed her. When night fell and she had undressed and got into bed, the merciful numbness passed away and she lay in anguish and thought of her island under the stars. The camp-fires - all their little household jokes and phrases and catch words - their furry beautiful cats - the lights agleam on the fairy islands - canoes skimming over Mistawis in the magic of morning - white birches shining among the dark spruces like beautiful women's bodies - winter snows and rose-red sunset fires - lakes drunken with moonshine - all the delights of her lost paradise. She would not let herself think of Barney. Only of these lesser things. She could not endure to think of Barney.
Then she thought of him inescapably. She ached for him. She wanted his arms around her - his face against hers - his whispers in her ear. She recalled all his friendly looks and quips and jests - his little compliments - his caresses. She counted them all over as a woman might count her jewels - not one did she miss from the first day they had met. These memories were all she could have now. She shut her eyes and prayed.
"Let me remember every one, God! Let me never forget one of them!"
Yet it would be better to forget. This agony of longing and loneliness would not be so terrible if one could forget. And Ethel Traverse. That shimmering witch woman with her white skin and black eyes and shining hair. The woman Barney had loved. The woman whom he still loved. Hadn't he told her he never changed his mind? Who was waiting for him in Montreal. Who was the right wife for a rich and famous man. Barney would marry her, of course, when he got his divorce. How Valancy hated her! And envied her! Barney had said, "I love you," to HER. Valancy had wondered what tone Barney would say "I love you" in - how his dark-blue eyes would look when he said it. Ethel Traverse knew. Valancy hated her for the knowledge - hated and envied her.
"She can never have those hours in the Blue Castle. They are MINE," thought Valancy savagely. Ethel would never make strawberry jam or dance to old Abel's fiddle or fry bacon for Barney over a camp-fire. She would never come to the little Mistawis shack at all.
What was Barney doing - thinking - feeling now? Had he come home and found her letter? Was he still angry with her? Or a little pitiful. Was he lying on their bed looking out on stormy Mistawis and listening to the rain streaming down on the roof? Or was he still wandering in the wilderness, raging at the predicament in which he found himself? Hating her? Pain took her and wrung her like some great pitiless giant. She got up and walked the floor. Would morning never come to end this hideous night? And yet what could morning bring her? The old life without the old stagnation that was at least bearable. The old life with the new memories, the new longings, the new anguish.
"Oh, why can't I die?" moaned Valancy.
CHAPTER XLII
It was not until early afternoon the next day that a dreadful old car clanked up Elm Street and stopped in front of the brick house. A hatless man sprang from it and rushed up the steps. The bell was rung as it had never been rung before - vehemently, intensely. The ringer was demanding entrance, not asking it. Uncle Benjamin chuckled as he hurried to the door. Uncle Benjamin had "just dropped in" to enquire how dear Doss - Valancy was. Dear Doss - Valancy, he had been informed, was the same. She had come down for breakfast - which she didn't eat - gone back to her room, come down for dinner - which she didn't eat - gone back to her room. That was all. She had not talked. And she had been let, kindly, considerately, alone.
"Very good. Redfern will be here today," said Uncle Benjamin. And now Uncle Benjamin's reputation as a prophet was made. Redfern was here - unmistakably so.
"Is my wife here?" he demanded of Uncle Benjamin without preface.
Uncle Benjamin smiled expressively.
"Mr. Redfern, I believe? Very glad to meet you, sir. Yes, that naughty little girl of yours is here. We have been - "
"I must see her," Barney cut Uncle Benjamin ruthlessly short.
"Certainly, Mr. Redfern. Just step in here. Valancy will be down in a minute."
He ushered Barney into the parlour and betook himself to the sitting-room and Mrs. Frederick.
"Go up and tell Valancy to come down. Her husband is here."
But so dubious was Uncle Benjamin as to whether Valancy could really come down in a minute - or at all - that he followed Mrs. Frederick on tiptoe up the stairs and listened in the hall.
"Valancy dear," said Mrs. Frederick tenderly, "your husband is in the parlour, asking for you."
"Oh Mother." Valancy got up from the window and wrung her hands. "I cannot see him - I cannot! Tell him to go away - ASK him to go away. I can't see him!"