"Don't mind him, dear." Mrs. Birdsong looked very tired and worn now. "He never teases anybody he isn't fond of."
"I don't care." With amazement, Jenny Blair heard her own voice speaking defiantly. "I don't care what he thinks." To herself, she added, "I must go, but I can't go until he has looked at me."
"You ought to be ashamed, George," Mrs. Birdsong said in a reproachful and faintly agitated tone. "Please don't quarrel. I am so nervous."
"Well, we shan't. We aren't going to quarrel, are we, Jenny Blair?" As the girl did not answer, he continued, almost plaintively, "But you look all right, Eva. She looks all right, doesn't she, Jenny Blair?"
"Oh, yes, she looks all right." Still he did not turn to glance at her, and still she lingered.
"I look," Mrs. Birdsong said bitterly, "a perfect wreck."
"No, you don't. You look all right. I mean it, and Jenny Blair thinks so too."
"No, Jenny Blair doesn't. She knows better."
"But you do think so, don't you, Jenny Blair? Don't you honestly think she looks well?"
"Of course she does. She looks lovely." Never would he meet her eyes, never, never! How could she bear it? How could she go away when he had not given her so much as the barest glance? Anything was better than indifference. Anything was better than the dreadful suspense of not knowing if he remembered.
Then Berry came in with a glass of milk and a powder, and Jenny Blair knew that, for the day at least, waiting was over. To-morrow, everything would begin again; but there was a whole long night to be endured between to-day and to-morrow. Crossing over to the bed, she stooped and kissed Mrs. Birdsong.
"Oh, do get well quickly. Grandfather and I are coming to the station to see you off."
"Are you, darling? That's lovely. Take care of yourself and go away as soon as you can."
"Why didn't she go abroad with the Peytons?" George asked, without turning his head.
"She didn't wish to go," Mrs. Birdsong replied. "Jenny Blair and Bena are not very congenial."
"Aren't they? I thought they were inseparable."
"No, they have never been really congenial. Bena has her head filled with boys and parties, and Jenny Blair is a serious person." Though she spoke playfully, the lustre had faded from her smile and her mouth looked strained and insipid.
"A serious person!" His tone was mocking. "Why, Jenny Blair has been an incorrigible flirt ever since she was nine years old."
"Don't mind him, dear," Mrs. Birdsong murmured caressingly, and fell back exhausted.
A shiver of indignation pierced Jenny Blair's heart like an icicle. Never had she disliked any one so intensely. Never, not even if he were to beg on his knees, could she be persuaded to notice him. "I'll never look at him again," she resolved vehemently, and looked again in the very act of resolving.
"Write to me, darling," Mrs. Birdsong called after her.
"Oh, I will, and I'll take good care of Ariel."
"When are you going away, Jenny Blair?" George asked, as she ran out of the room. "You ought not to stay on in this heat."
Even if she had wished to reply (and nothing in the world could induce her to open her lips!), the swelling anger in her bosom would have made speech impossible. As she ran to the staircase, Mrs. Birdsong's voice floated after her like a dying echo, "If Etta is well enough, they are all going to the White the first of August."
Her feet flew down the stairs, and at the front door, still flying with an inward gaze, she ran into the arms of John Welch, who appeared more annoyed than pleased by the encounter.
"Are you running away from a fire?" he asked in an amused tone that failed to amuse her.
"I know I'm a fright. Is my face very red?"
"Rather. Has anything put you out?"
"Nothing but the heat and this bad smell again. Aunt Etta is trying to make Grandfather move up to Granite Boulevard."
"Why, it hasn't bothered me. I thought it was better, or perhaps we have got used to it. Has Cousin Eva said anything?"
"No, but Aunt Etta complains all the time. She says it makes her head ache."
"She imagines that. The smell only comes now and then when the wind is in that direction. There isn't a breath of wind to-day anywhere."
She bit her lip in annoyance as she slipped through the door and out on the porch. No, there wasn't any wind. It was a pity she had thought of the odour as an excuse. "Mrs. Birdsong is having lunch early," she said hurriedly. "You needn't go home with me."
"Oh, I don't mind." His eyes blinked thoughtfully behind his rimless glasses. "Can't you tell me what the trouble is? Has Cousin Eva said anything to hurt you? You mustn't mind if she has." He opened the gate while he spoke, and shut it without a sound when they had passed into the street.
"Oh, no, she hasn't said anything. She is as patient as an angel, but I am dreadfully worried about her."
"So am I." His face clouded with anxiety. "I don't like the way she looks. Adams doesn't either; but Bridges is the only one of us who knows how to handle her, and Bridges is a blockhead about nerves."
"She thinks he's wonderful."
"I know she does. He has a way with women. All the same, she needs somebody else."
"She doesn't--" Jenny Blair began, and held back the words until they stood under one of the old sugar maples on the corner. "She doesn't seem real. There are times, just fleeting instants, when she looks like death. Sometimes I wonder if it is her smile. She doesn't seem able to stop smiling, not even when she thinks she is alone."
"That's what I meant. I wonder what your grandfather would say."
"He wouldn't say anything. Only that she's perfect. I'm sure he doesn't know it," she added, with the insight of thwarted impulse, "but he has always been in love with her in his heart. I shouldn't admit this to anybody else, but it is really true."
She had expected a laugh, or at least a smile, but he answered gravely, "Well, it can't do any harm, I suppose. Not at eighty-three."
"Oh no, it can't do any harm."
"You haven't told me anything I didn't know. But you think you're observant, don't you?"
"I think more than that," she retorted angrily. "I could tell you of some one else who I think is in love with her." It was wrong, she knew, to say that, but she couldn't help striking back when he teased her. Never could they be together ten minutes without a quarrel! And it wasn't make-believe, as Grandfather tried to pretend. She had disliked John Welch even when she was a child, and she had known, without knowing why or how she knew it, that he disliked her. Then, because she felt that she had gone too far, she continued, "But I don't care. I want to go away. I'm tired of Queenborough. I'm tired of everything," and she was indeed for the moment. Already she was regretting that she had given up the struggle to go to New York and try to be an actress. "I sometimes wish I were a suffragette. The only natural human beings seem to be those who are making trouble."
"Well, there are plenty of ways to make trouble. You won't have to look far if you want to do that."
"I gave up going to New York because of Mamma and Grandfather," she said, and really believed that she was speaking the truth.
"I'd go myself like a shot," he answered, "but for Cousin Eva. I couldn't leave Cousin Eva when she is like this."
"I thought you liked it here. I thought you were perfectly happy."
"No, you didn't think that."
"Well," she hesitated, trying to keep a note of vexation out of her voice, "I did think you liked Queenborough. Of course I know you are always fussing about things."
"I'd fuss anywhere. That's the way I'm made. But there's no opportunity in a place like this. All the young men are going away. As soon as a man begins to make a name, he packs up and takes the first train for some other place. That's especially true in my profession. If you stay here, it means arrested development."