CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Prof. H. N. Ogden 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 3545.I2888R3 
 
 A reluctant Adam 
 
 3 1924 021 729 466 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021729466 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
WALDO STRONG 
 
A RELUCTANT 
 ADAM 
 
 BY 
 
 SIDNEY WILLIAMS 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 (X{)e nibec^ibe j^ttM Cambnti0e 
 
 191S 
 
COPYRIGHT, I91S, BY SIDNEY WILLIAMS 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published March iqis 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Strong's earliest memory was not of his birthplace, 
 a sleepy town by the sea. It was a memory of an 
 inland village sunning itself in recollection of stage- 
 coaches that filled its streets with flourishes of the 
 horn before the railroad came. After that most 
 strangers beheld Lyme only from a car window. Its 
 public monuments were a court-house and a jail. 
 
 The tarnished glory of good families going to seed ; 
 presumption of the prosperous grocer, who was also 
 the undertaker ; the affable condescension of a politi- 
 cian once sent to the legislature ; windy rhetoric of a 
 blacksmith always shouting against "the ring," — 
 these and kindred interests had once bulked large in 
 Strong's mind ; fragmentarily they came again. 
 
 He could remember the "Yellow Day" that 
 bathed all in a murky light. For on that day budded 
 his first love affair. The woman began it. He was 
 six and she was sixteen. As Strong recalled her 
 in later years, a stout woman of indefinite figure 
 and passe complexion, absorbed in church and her 
 children, it seemed to him that she must have been a 
 rather buxom girl with no particular charm beyond 
 the freshness of healthy youth. But he could still 
 remember a brown merino she wore, and hair- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 ribbons of brown that matched the fat pony she 
 drove. 
 
 Acquaintance came with dazzling suddenness. 
 He was peering through the gate, as he had watched 
 many times before, hoping for her appearance in the 
 yard across the street. It was singular that she 
 drove that morning, for the yellow light kept men 
 from their tasks and drove women to prayer. But 
 the girl was willful, and capricious to boot. She had 
 a sweetheart, a lawyer's son who wore a high collar 
 topped by a rather low order of intelligence. He 
 was temporarily indifferent. Phenomena of nature 
 absorbed him to the exclusion of love. 
 
 So Strong rode behind the fat pony, blissfully 
 laying upon his divinity's arm a confiding hand. It 
 was the first of many rides that continued until his 
 parents moved to another section, and desola,tion 
 transiently tenanted his heart. He remembered 
 how he still daily took his stand by the garden gate. 
 A few times she came, but he was no longer "the 
 boy across the way." 
 
 He did not sorrow long. After the girl in brown 
 came the daughter of a doctor who wore a top 
 hat and played the violin, thus moving to suspi- 
 cion shrewd citizens of Lyme. They averred they 
 "would n't have him for a cat," and they seldom had 
 him for their families. His daughter was musical, 
 too. But she sang In a church choir, thus propitiat- 
 ing God and society. She was a petite girl, with gray 
 eyes and a rather roguish mouth. Strong remem- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 bered distinctly how her mouth turned up at the 
 corners when she smiled. Her name was Maude. 
 
 Passion for Maude was also due to the initiative 
 of the "softer sex." At a picnic she took Strong 
 with unceremonious freedom of an elder, and used 
 him as a shield against a glowering young man. 
 Pickles and ice cream are dear to youth, but what is 
 food to Helen's smile? He would not even wade in a 
 brook, since beauty required his aid. Thus began 
 a period of undisguised devotion. 
 
 On Sunday morning it was no longer necessary to 
 force him into Sabbath clothes. For the minister in 
 his pulpit he had no eyes. He was always maneu- 
 vering to catch a glimpse of the choir. And when 
 Maude sang he was almost breathless with rapture. 
 She became a bookkeeper and married a traveling 
 salesman. But no other singer ever thrilled him as 
 she did in "With Verdure Clad." Certain works of 
 music he associated with other persons. He always 
 visualized in Liszt's "Second Rhapsodic" a girl who 
 was dead ; and her fingers were animate again when- 
 ever he heard Chopin's "A-flat Polonaise." 
 
 It was not unnatural that he took their attach- 
 ment more seriously than Maude. When the trav- 
 eling salesman appeared, quasi - maternal interest 
 languished until its offended recipient deliberately 
 turned his back. The heart of man is less easily 
 touched than his pride. 
 
 Youth seeks a protector, while old age hunts 
 an excuse. Strong's next fancy was conventional. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 What boy has not worshiped his teacher? Emma 
 was the name of Strong's adored one. She played 
 the banjo in her boarding-house, and wore silk 
 stockings that scandalized economical housewives 
 of Lyme. When she was gone Strong turned to 
 politics for solace, and protection against disloyalty 
 to one of peerless worth. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Strong loved in pinafores. He worshiped in the 
 first arrogance of knickerbockers and linen collar. 
 Then tender passion retreated from his bosom, and 
 reason entered in. He fixed his eyes on dizzy heights, 
 and no woman with soft eyes awaited on the highest 
 pinnacle. 
 
 In that pre-adolescent period began a feeling of 
 strangeness that persisted for many years. Some 
 quirk of nature deprived him of hearty, care-free 
 youth. Not that he was a milksop. Lithe and active, 
 though not strong, he played at least an average 
 part in boyish sports. Later, and near the end of his 
 intimate contact with Lyme, he even managed a 
 baseball nine that went forth to play the proud 
 flower of neighboring villages. That was glory, to 
 be sure, but of the budding masculinity of Lyme he 
 never felt himself a part. Skating on a river fascinat- 
 ingly prolific in air holes; coasting on the crooked 
 road that descended a high hill called "The Moun- 
 tain," with an unguarded railroad crossing at the 
 foot; running foot-races and trading jack-knives, — 
 these and related interests never seemed to him the 
 most important things in life. 
 
 While boys of normal instincts and energy, as it 
 seemed to Strong in retrospect, raced through the 
 streets, shooting marbles or stoning dogs, he culti- 
 
8 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 vated the acquaintance of politicians and lawyers, 
 or men who were both. At times in Lyme they 
 abounded in numbers disproportionate to its size. 
 For it was the county seat, with trial sessions of 
 civil and criminal courts. It was not a brilliant 
 bar, but had a representative percentage of Yankee 
 shrewdness, with some equipped for a greater sphere. 
 Strong saw them in the court-room, sparring with 
 professional fierceness for the liberty or purse of a 
 client; and he heard their banter in hours of ease, 
 when even the judge, personified dignity and wis- 
 dom upon the bench, relaxed to anecdote based upon 
 some episode of politics or legal practice. It was not 
 elevating conversation and procedure, yet in a sense 
 it was broadening. It opened to a boy's mind ave- 
 nues of thought seldom suggested to a fledgling. 
 
 Such associations were strange for a boy. Strong 
 wondered afterwards at his parents' indifference 
 to them. Perhaps they tacitly shifted responsibility 
 to the shoulders of his only intimate, the clerk of 
 courts. The clerk was a young man, an active and 
 adroit politician. When he had shouldered his own 
 way for a while in the world. Strong still wondered 
 at his patient and resourceful ingenuity. He was 
 the political dictator of Lyme, and the ruling spirit 
 of a dominant county ring. In his back office, where 
 iron door and shutter guarded records against fire, 
 were made and unmade public officials to the eye 
 far more puissant than the clerk. And through his 
 outer office passed the humbler heeler, the man in 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 quest of a modest loan, the widow with a pension 
 voucher, the miscellaneous bore. And the clerk was 
 usually affable, seldom impatient, professionally 
 helpful. 
 
 With fancy's eye Strong could see him still in 
 his favorite attitude, a cigar in his mouth, and his 
 feet, always neatly shod, elevated to the top of his 
 desk. He could smoke and chew gum, and sustain 
 animated conversation with ease. Such were his 
 leisure hours. Strong remembered him also in the 
 fray, when he suavely manipulated supposedly inde- 
 pendent citizens of Lyme, or buttonholed and ha- 
 rangued with manifest elation in some turbulent 
 county or district convention. He loved politics as 
 some priests love God. 
 
 It was as the suitor of a village belle who made 
 Strong her train-bearer for a time that Dewey, the 
 clerk, first met him. What the man fancied in the 
 boy Strong never knew ; we are so veiled to ourselves. 
 But soon he became to callers at the clerk's office 
 almost as familiar as the fixtures. Had it been possi- 
 ble he would have kept counting-room hours, for he 
 knew no keener pleasure than wielding the county 
 seal or holding copy on some judicial record. He 
 browsed in Blackstone and Coke, and struggled 
 with distinctions of replevin and tort before he 
 knew a Latin verb. And when logs blazed in the 
 winter twilight he saw himself a forensic champion 
 of the bar. 
 
 That he was destined to eminence in those days 
 
lo A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 seemed certain to hhn. Dewey often slapped him on 
 the shoulder, with the same jocular remark, "You 
 're bound to get there." And Dewey's most in- 
 timate friend, who was somebody's secretary in 
 Washington, would say, judicially stroking his 
 beard, "Keep on, Waldo, and we'll be proud to 
 know you." He was generally regarded with ap- 
 proval by his elders who did not regard him with 
 indifference, which was the general attitude of 
 youngsters of his own age. 
 
 Though sealed to glory, he was not happy. Long 
 after, review of his youth recalled but a single burst 
 of absolute rapture. It had nothing to do with con- 
 jugation of amo. It was inrushing communion with 
 God. At least, so it seemed. After many years the 
 experience was still fresh in memory. For there 
 came no other hour in which a lark sang within his 
 breast, as it did that night he yielded to the Heav- 
 enly Father, personified in a traveling evangelist. 
 
 Revival meetings were as much a part of the so- 
 cial life of Lyme as sessions of the Grange, Masonic 
 meetings, and deliberations of the " Independent 
 Order of Good Templars," who were vowed to 
 sobriety and addicted to recitation and song. A 
 revival was vastly more interesting than these, be- 
 cause it was more dramatic. Its converts were sel- 
 dom constant. What is born of frenzy is not an- 
 chored in the soul. But for a time it freed the New 
 Englander from the clutch of temperament that is 
 lack of temperament. There was always a woman 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM ii 
 
 with a velvety contralto, or a wailing tenor to sup- 
 plement lurid depiction of glories of Paradise and 
 the pangs of hell with some tear -soaked song. 
 Strong remembered "Beckoning Hands" as the 
 most reliable stimulant to religious impulse. 
 
 His own conversion was less a triumph for the 
 evangelist than a result of a mischievous activity of 
 a youth who prodded him with a pin, at the moment 
 of a last call to those that wished to be saved. In- 
 definite yearning had not flowered in fervor when he 
 was thus shocked to suppliant pose. But he went 
 forward with the freshly wounded, and his own 
 heart was inexplicably pierced. Until he slept that 
 night he kept the jubilant wonder of a transformed 
 world. Next morning it had vanished, but there 
 remained tenderness blanketing mankind. 
 
 The days of his avowed piety were not long. He 
 was never baptized. He never joined a church. To 
 Lyme's moral censors, he was a normal backslider. 
 Rather it was reassertion of reticence that screened 
 and atrophied emotional impulse. The last phase 
 of piety was prayer for his success in school. He 
 dropped that when it occurred to him that it was 
 degrading to use God as a substitute for brains. 
 
 When he had reached man's estate it seemed sin- 
 gular to him that one destined to accomplish little 
 should have been plagued so much. With wrestlings 
 of the spirit, fledglings of genius test their fiber. 
 Strong never felt himself one of nature's anointed. 
 Sense of proportion, that later handicapped him 
 
12 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 when careless assurance might have achieved the 
 goal, forbade such confusion of rank. But he men- 
 tally revolted against environment and strongly re- 
 sented the proximity of comfortable, commonplace 
 persons who regarded constraint as a sign he was 
 "queer." He was still without intimates of his own 
 age. 
 
 He liked to get away from the village, not so 
 much seeking charms of wood and field as desiring 
 to be alone. The railroad was his favorite path. 
 Vaguely, it seemed a connection with the desirable 
 beyond; and there was no obstacle to reflection in 
 uniformity of tie and shining ribbons of steel. 
 
 Sometimes he saw young lovers strolling hand-in- 
 hand, and the sight intensified loneliness without 
 breeding envy. They seemed different from him- 
 self, almost like creatures of another species. The 
 common period of sex perception imperfectly un- 
 derstood left him unattached to the individual. Not 
 that he was ignored. Indifference is the sharpest 
 lance in the lists of love. Temperament exempted 
 him from the lesson many with much experience 
 never learn, — that indifference would pique St. 
 Catherine herself. 
 
 A girl who took to corsets at an earlier age than 
 was common among maids of Lyme, and wore 
 French-heeled slippers equally progressive, embar- 
 rassed him with invitations to become her partner 
 in the osculatory pastime of " Drop-the-handker- 
 chief," until she turned with resentment to a more 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 13 
 
 admiring and appreciative youth. Also a gaunt 
 girl with blue eyes pestered him with billets-doux. 
 Later she became a librarian and died of tubercu- 
 losis. Certainly he was not responsible for that. 
 
 Neglect of girls and comparative indifference to 
 sports did not make Strong a remarkable student. 
 What he did not like he did not vigorously under- 
 take. Mathematics and natural science found him 
 unreceptive. The allurements of language were less 
 than the convenience of an interlinear "horse." A 
 red - haired girl of vigorous intellect and physique 
 stood first when members of his class with due so- 
 lemnity took their departure from the Lyme High 
 School. That was a shock to the clerk, whose as- 
 tonishment wounded Strong's self-esteem. He did 
 not shine in graduating. His oration on "The Con- 
 queror" contained no quips appetizing to a per- 
 spiring audience on a hot June night, and he was at 
 once too diffident and indifferent to seek to brush 
 a veil of tolerance away. To him the sole pleasure 
 of the occasion was in the prospect of early escape 
 from an unpleasant community. 
 
 He did not wait to share in distribution of stereo- 
 typed congratulations, or to be a bearer of refresh- 
 ments and partner to derelicts at the graduation 
 ball. Escaping by a window, he hurried to the 
 neighboring cemetery, and established himself on its 
 wall. It was not a cozy place, but he preferred it 
 to the hall. Neither the night breeze in sepulchral 
 pianissimo, nor occasional agitation in trees spread 
 
14 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 protectively above the quiet dead, gave him any 
 concern. Row on row rested before him those who 
 had lived the great adventure of life and experienced 
 the supreme romance of death. For them dreamless 
 peace or the keen joy of untrammeled spirits. He 
 envied them more than he envied any one in the 
 brightly lighted hall. Through an open window came 
 the resonant blatting of a cornet preliminary to vig- 
 orous scraping of feet. Dropping from his perch, 
 he walked vigorously away from what by common 
 rule should have been the culminant triumph of his 
 early youth. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Fortunate the soul that feels a positive need. The 
 problem of his immediate future produced in Strong 
 a sort of mental mal de mer. There was law, a ladder 
 of glory, in the distance; but he was too young to 
 read for the bar. The suggestion of college he re- 
 sisted. He was still out of tune with his age. Ego- 
 tism mistaken for exaltation wrapped him in cotton- 
 wool. To his parents he was a puzzle they patiently 
 essayed to solve. They fitted well enough into 
 Lyme's scheme of existence. His father was a stal- 
 wart Republican, a respectable merchant who had 
 been a selectman. His mother, who cherished him 
 with unreasoning love, was a capable housewife and 
 spiritually blessed with a degree of piety deemed 
 orthodox. Nobody could blame them for Strong's 
 singular characteristics. Since they were not pro- 
 gressive enough to indulge in speculation on a 
 "throw-back," sages of the town contented them- 
 selves with the observation, "It beats all." 
 
 His father was indulgent, but he, too, had crotch- 
 ets of conscience. To a typical New Englander idle- 
 ness is worse than deplorable: it is disreputable. If 
 Strong was too young for the bar, and too stubborn 
 to be railroaded to college, he must go to work. The 
 announcement was made quite casually, as offhand 
 dinner talk. And with equal air of unconcern was 
 
1 5 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 added the statement that employment awaited his 
 son in Cocheeco, where an uncle was superintendent 
 of a shoe factory. Strong's mother registered tearful 
 protest. Strong himself offered no objection at all. 
 Getting away from Lyme was more important to 
 him than getting into any other place, arid he had no 
 fear of being permanently chained to the wheels of 
 industry. 
 
 Lyme lacked even a weekly newspaper to an- 
 nounce that "Our esteemed young citizen, Waldo 
 Strong, has accepted a position of promise in Co- 
 cheeco." But it had the grapevine telegraph, which 
 gives much speedier service. In the remaining days 
 before his departure Strong was made to feel that 
 he had risen in public estimation as a fellow going 
 to earn his salt. Of such approval he was scornful. 
 
 He staged his departure with elaborate care. It was 
 not enough to stroll to the station like one merely 
 bent on seeing the train come in. He nerved himself 
 to impassiveness in his mother's embrace and, mak- 
 ing haste to seat himself at a window, buried his face 
 in a newspaper with blasi air. But when a turn in a 
 cut shut off the last view of Lyme he felt suddenly 
 weak and lonely. It was not that Lyme became dear, 
 but Cocheeco took on the ominous look of the un- 
 known to the inexperienced. His uncle, too, was a 
 stranger in all but perfunctory acquaintance. His 
 relatives in general Strong relished a little less than 
 the public he had known. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 CoCHEECO was an old town containing conspicuously 
 discordant elements. The passenger alighting from 
 a train could see on one side the chapel spire and 
 clustering roofs of Cocheeco Academy, the Eton of 
 New England. Founded by a philanthropic mer- 
 chant of the seventeenth century, it had lived to 
 what passed for venerable age in a young country. 
 And with age came increasing strength. It had ac- 
 cumulated ivy and traditions. Its roll of graduates 
 embraced men of lustrous repute. 
 , To the outside world, Cocheeco was an " academy 
 town." Professors sat on the platform as "promi- 
 nent citizens" at political rallies. They uttered the 
 customary inanities of a chairman at lyceum lec- 
 tures. They were vestrymen and deacons, and their 
 women-folk gave requisite tone to germans, literary 
 societies, and ramifications of church aid. 
 
 With the Academy people solid citizens of the 
 town were socially classed: a few lawyers, a few 
 more doctors, merchants, and the manufacturers. 
 These latter were admitted to the society of the in- 
 tellectual elite because pundits required somebody 
 to be human with after playing before pupils the 
 plaster god; and because they had daughters relied 
 upon to save Academy boys from fascinations of 
 mill Delilahs. 
 
i8 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 On one side the Academy settlement, with its 
 spacious campus, green in summer and generally 
 white in winter; and beyond, the pleasant prospect 
 of wide, generously shaded streets flanked by houses 
 modified Colonial in dominant type. And there was 
 just a glimpse of the river that wandered crookedly 
 — sometimes narrow and again expanded to broad 
 shallows — through the town. 
 
 Even coins are seldom equally attractive on both 
 sides. From contemplation of serene prosperity and 
 scholastic calm the stranger turned to a section 
 rough in the rush of industrial activity. Erections 
 of brick with towering chimneys all day long dis- 
 charged billows of smoke, that carpeted adjacent 
 acres with cinders until their complexion was like 
 a coal-heaver's cheek. And beyond the factories, 
 plains planted with tenements and cottages seem- 
 ing perpetually engaged in obeisance to some 
 overbearing force that furnished their occupants 
 work. 
 
 Sometimes at sunrise, sometimes when it was 
 still dark, and always a quarter before the hour of 
 seven, hoarse whistles warned hurrying mill hands 
 to gulp the last swallow of coffee, bolt the last mouth- 
 ful of bread, and reach hurriedly for garments donned 
 on the way to the door. They streamed along con- 
 verging streets to the factories, most of them silent 
 and more of them dull. The stream thinned to rivu- 
 lets that lightened to stragglers, and presently the 
 doors were closed with a bang. It was seven when 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 19 
 
 a sharp blast of the whistle sounded a prelude to 
 the gathering hum of machinery. 
 
 It was the grubbing Cocheeco that Strong was to 
 know. If there was any possible advantage in being 
 the nephew of the superintendent of Wardle Bros.' 
 factory for the manufacture of "Ladies' and Misses' 
 Fine Footwear," he never found it out. There was 
 something disconcerting in his uncle's greeting the 
 night of his arrival. 
 
 "Hullo!" he said, with a perfunctory handshake. 
 "So you've come down to work." 
 
 The precise significance of "down" was not clear 
 to Strong. Later he understood. It was soon evident 
 that overseers of Wardle Bros, had no instructions 
 to spare the superintendent's nephew. That they 
 were licensed to harry him Strong became convinced. 
 Some youths would have rejoiced in employment 
 that took them from branch to branch of a great 
 business; but he saw nothing beautiful or absorbing 
 in the manufacture of shoes. 
 
 He resented the checking of employees like cattle 
 in a packing-house on the way to slaughter. He de- 
 tested the odor of leather, kid and calf alike. He was 
 offended by the rough pleasantries of men and em- 
 barrassed by the careless tongues of women. He did 
 not try to adapt himself to environment. Studiously 
 alien, he nourished discontent. His uncle regarded 
 him with satirical amusement. 
 
 A solitary figure in the factory. Strong was far 
 from sociable in his uncle's home. Prepared to pre- 
 
30 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 sent him in Cocheeco's society, his relatives were 
 not sufficiently interested to break down his reserve. 
 For love of his cousin, a genteel blonde who played 
 Nevin's "Narcissus" prettily and made palatable 
 fudge, an Academy boy would have opened to him 
 small beer of sport enjoyed by youth aping airs of 
 men. But Strong snubbed him, and kept on extract- 
 ing sour satisfaction from loneliness. 
 
 Winter went out with dragging chains. Then the 
 work day became a little less odious. Near where 
 the river parted from the town was an inlet sheltered 
 by pines. At rest when the sun shone warm, one 
 saw broad, green meadows and fat farm lands with 
 blue hills beyond. Starlight disclosed no details, 
 but invested with immensity the quiet scene. It was 
 an excellent spot in which to stage a performance 
 of self-pity, and Strong had it alone. 
 
 It was his alone until an evening in May. He had 
 strolled up the hillside by a winding path, walking 
 unseeing in familiar ways. There was a rustic seat 
 in the shade of a giant pine, pleasantly secluded by 
 day and beyond observation of the stranger at night. 
 Coming softly over needles of pine, he had no inti- 
 mation of another's presence until something started 
 up suddenly, almost at his feet. By a faint rustle he 
 realized it was a woman and hastened to dispel alarm. 
 
 " Don't be afraid," he said. " I did n't know any- 
 body was here." 
 
 "And I did n't think," she offered, "that any one 
 would come." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 21 
 
 Whatever she had felt at Strong's sudden appear- 
 ance, her voice was steady now. He liked its timbre, 
 a slightly husky richness, and a little retard that con- 
 tained no hint of timidity. Still indistinct in the 
 darkness, she turned to go. Instinctively he ex- 
 tended a detaining hand. 
 
 " Don't let me drive you out," he begged. 
 
 "But this is your place." 
 
 "Then let me share it with you." 
 
 She laughed lightly. "How romantic. 'Ships 
 that pass in the night. ' " 
 
 "Why not speak each other in passing?" 
 
 "Very well," she said, and he sensed indifference. 
 "Then let's sit down." 
 
 For a minute or so there was silence, save for in- 
 definite sounds of sleeping nature. Each saw the other, 
 as a vaguely human shape. Again the woman led : — 
 
 "We're like 'Two Babes in the Wood,' or rather. 
 Two Babes in the Dark. And there 's nobody to in- 
 troduce us. Why not introduce ourselves?" 
 
 "It's a go. Ladies first." 
 
 "And make it really odd by doing it descriptively. 
 Better still, do it for each other." 
 
 She laughed again and Strong chimed in. They 
 were on comfortable terms, two strangers in the dark. 
 
 "Still ladies first," he said. "Please begin." 
 
 "Miss Nobody, allow me to present Mr. Some- 
 body. He is a tall, thinnish boy, somewhat under 
 twenty, with brown, wavy hair, blue eyes that might 
 be more cheerful if he were on the lookout for pleas- 
 
22 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 ant things, a nose nearly Roman, and a mouth that 
 ought to turn up at the corners, but does n't. Gen- 
 eral appearance, slightly stand-offish. If he refuses 
 to answer this description, wait until daylight to 
 identify him." 
 
 " He does n't refuse," said Strong, after a moment 
 charged with interrogation. "I suppose it's a fair 
 description. But how do you know? Where have 
 we met before?" 
 
 She parried with counter-question. 
 
 " Don'tyou remember people you meet every day?" 
 
 "Of course," he said with a touch of impatience. 
 "But where have I seen you? You are n't — ?" 
 
 "Yes, I am," she admitted cheerfully. "I'm one 
 of the factory girls." 
 
 "You don't seem — " He paused again, and the 
 night covered his blush of embarrassment. 
 
 ' ' Like a frowsy, unrefined young female. Thanks." 
 She was mistress of the situation, and frankly 
 amused. " Perhaps I ought to explain a little. That 
 is, if you don't wish to introduce me to myself." 
 
 " How can I," he said," when I 've never seen you?" 
 
 "Then confession first. I was n't truthful when I 
 said I did n't expect to be disturbed. I knew you 
 came here, for I had seen you. I am fond of the 
 river bank, too. And I came because I wanted to 
 meet you. Are you shocked?" 
 
 "No," he said. "But why?" 
 
 The situation was beyond him. _He swam in 
 strange waters. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 23 
 
 ' "Because I wanted to help you. Don't frown, 
 because I can't see you, and it's thrown away. I 'm 
 a whimsical person. That 's why I'm a grass widow, 
 and a clerk in Wardle Bros.' office. What is it Flora 
 Wiggins says in 'The College Widow'? Oh, — 
 'Don't have nothing to do with no students.' I 
 eloped with one and his parents had the marriage 
 annulled. There was nothing scandalous, and I was 
 as young as he. But all the same I'm 'damaged 
 goods.' Flossy is my name. Flossy Nash. Mention it 
 to your prim cousin, and she'll roll her eyes appro- 
 priately. 
 
 "Social missionary work," she went on, "isn't 
 much in my line. But you 're such a lonesome boy. 
 Don't edge away. This is pure philanthropy. You 
 don't know which one of Wardle's office ornaments 
 I am, but every day I 've seen you coming and going, 
 and you 're a map of loneliness. I ought to recognize 
 it. I've had plenty of experience since I made my 
 mistake. But nobody's had a chance to pity me. 
 And that 's what I want to say to you. It is n't 
 enough to keep a stiff upper lip. Twist your mouth 
 into a smile. In faking joUiness sometimes you '11 do 
 so well you '11 forget it is n't real. It pays, because 
 people like you better for it, and it 's up to us to 
 make the best of what comes our way." 
 
 She seemed to brood a moment, then continued 
 briskly: — 
 
 "Of course you'll wonder why I took the trouble 
 to come here and wait for you, and lie to you, and 
 
24 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 talk to you like a grandmother. I could n't tell my- 
 self. Maybe it was because you're the least fresh 
 boy I 've seen in years. Maybe it 's because you re- 
 mind me of somebody. But you'll believe what I 
 said, won't you? " 
 
 She leaned towards him suddenly, and placed 
 upon his arm a persuasive hand. He suflfered it 
 passively. He was a little bewildered. An adven- 
 ture had somehow turned into a sort of kindergar- 
 ten experience, with himself the pupil. 
 
 " Thank you," he said a little stiffly. " I'll try 
 to remember." 
 
 "Good. Then let 's go." She rose, suiting action 
 to word, and he followed silently. A few common- 
 places were uttered as they sauntered down the hill 
 to a marginal street with straggling houses and 
 more straggling lights. At the foot of the hill she 
 left him unceremoniously. Almost before he real- 
 ized it she had said "Good-bye" and turned away. 
 He had only a glimpse of her face in the feeble light 
 of a neighboring lamp. It seemed to him that she 
 was dark, both her hair and eyes, and he gathered 
 that she was slight of figure as she walked rapidly 
 into engulfing darkness. 
 
 Would he know her by daylight? For the first 
 time since his arrival in Cocheeco the factory of 
 Wardle Bros, seemed other than a place of oppres- 
 sion. A feeling of companionship warmed his heart. 
 He whistled a little as he walked. 
 
 Next morning he was impatient for his first er- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 25 
 
 rand. It was not invoices that he thought of as he 
 bore them with rather more than his usual tardi- 
 ness to the manager's desk. To right and left were 
 women, most of them young: stenographers, book- 
 keepers, miscellaneous clerks. Strong surveyed them 
 with an interest he had never displayed before, and 
 presently he was rewarded. Just how he deter- 
 mined he could not have told, but he confidently 
 identified a girl who sat fingering the pages of a 
 ledger. She was neither handsome nor particularly 
 striking, save in a wealth of jet-black hair that 
 waved uncontrollably, and her violet eyes. They had 
 a way of bursting into flame, as Strong discovered 
 when she half turned to meet his stare with a sudden 
 crinkling smile. It was his face that reddened as he 
 turned away without even a nod, and he heard a 
 titter succeeding a flippant remark: — 
 
 "Flossy has a crush on Parsifal." 
 
 That night when the whistle blew he took his 
 stand at the main entrance and scanned the human 
 tide. It passed the zenith before she came. He 
 struggled through to her, and she smiled again as he 
 lifted his hat. 
 
 "So you found me out," she said. 
 
 "Of course," he answered. " Did n't you think I 
 would?" 
 
 " I did n't know. Not many men take to advice, 
 and they all take to admiration." 
 
 "You were good to me," he said simply. "Will' 
 you be my friend?"- 
 
26 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 She was smiling again, and her eyes were brilliant. 
 
 "Do you need my maternal guidance?" 
 
 Her tone was flippant, but he did not feel himself 
 rebuffed. 
 
 "May I see you to-night?" he persisted. 
 
 "What a sudden boy. Do you really want to see 
 me?" 
 
 "Have n't I asked you?" 
 
 "Then, maybe. It will be by the river, if I come. 
 Don't lose any beauty sleep waiting. We separate 
 here. Good-bye!" And she was gone. 
 ( She came that night, and other nights. Together 
 they watched the waxing and waning of the May 
 moon. And Strong opened his heart. It was charac- 
 terized as much by what was lacking of the natural 
 increment of youth as by what it contained of posi- 
 tive value. He had neither the verve of inexperience 
 nor the poise of seasoned age. That they talked 
 mostly of his aspirations was not strange. Mental 
 and moral equipment are worn as plumage by the 
 male of thinking age. Strong unbosomed himself 
 the more freely because no confidence was required. 
 Flossy took what was offered and returned it with- 
 humorous embellishment. She was flippant, but 
 not foolish. Under stimulus of gay companionship 
 Strong discovered within himself a vein of levity. 
 It would never be pronounced, but it was there 
 to tap. 
 
 The tryst of the pine was all they had. "It 
 would spoil the charm," she said, when Strong, feel- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 27 
 
 ing himself remiss, urged upon her small coin of so- 
 cial currency. At Wardle's she gave him no more 
 than a nod. His relatives took his cheerful demeanor 
 as a sign of awakening interest in Cocheeco's 
 charms. 
 
 Platonic friendship is interest in which sex in- 
 stinct is not obtrusive. Of Flossy as a woman 
 Strong had no analytic thought. But he responded 
 instinctively to her racy appeal. Evenings too short 
 left him with a feeling of elation he did not dissect. 
 What Flossy's feeling for him was Strong never felt 
 certain. Of more than friendship there was no word 
 or act until the night he told her he was going away. 
 He kept the news until the evening was far spent, 
 then told her abruptly. 
 
 The clerk, who knew his aversion to Wardle's, 
 both from what he had written and what he had not, 
 appeared as an angel of deliverance offering a posi- 
 tion as teacher in Bellhaven. It was not much, he 
 wrote, for Bellhaven was small, and the vacancy 
 only for the rest of the year. " But," he added, " the 
 Superintendent of Schools is a friend of mine, and 
 you may make a good teacher. I'm satisfied you're 
 a failure in the making of shoes. Your father con- 
 sents. If you want to change, write or wire Aaron 
 Keay, Bellhaven." 
 
 He had telephoned instead, and five minutes suf- 
 ficed for arrangement of terms. Flossy was ani- 
 mated in friendly interest and eager for details. 
 They talked of the relief it would be for him; of his 
 
28 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 plans for the future. At length such conversation 
 languished and silence settled between them. For 
 the first time in their acquaintailce Strong felt con- 
 straint. It was but brief, for Flossy started sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Come," she said with a little laugh, "it 's getting 
 late, and teachers must set a good example. With 
 your solemn air, you '11 be a pattern of deportment. 
 But you 're not a teacher yet. I '11 race you to the 
 foot of the hill." 
 
 She was off at top speed, and Strong followed 
 somewhat leisurely, reserving triumph for the finish. 
 In the moonlight he caught the flash of her eye as 
 she half turned to see how closely she was pursued. 
 Then she stumbled and fell. He was beside her in a 
 moment, and stooped to her assistance. His arms 
 about her, she leaned against him, breathing un- 
 steadily. A sudden impulse possessed him. The 
 compassionate moon, the dim landscape, all was 
 blotted out. He found her lips. There was full re- 
 sponse, but suddenly she lay inert in his arms, then 
 struggled to be free. With desperate energy she 
 thrust him from her. 
 
 "Flossy — "he said unsteadily. 
 
 "Oh, you dear fool," she murmured, and therej 
 were tears in her voice. "You've kissed me, boy, 
 and I 've given you to the world." 
 
 "I don't understand," he said confusedly. 
 
 "Some time you will." She was mistress of her 
 voice, save that effort was evident. "You'll re- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 29 
 
 member, and then you '11 forget. But keep it while 
 you can. Now, go, please." 
 
 His hesitation was destructive to self-control. 
 
 "Can't you see!" she cried. "Won't you go!" 
 
 She was facing him now, and he saw her face dis- 
 torted with pain. Slowly he turned away. He heard 
 her sob, and quickened his steps. 
 
 Next morning he left Cocheeco. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 Bellhaven was strung from the "Crick" to the 
 "Neck." It was long and narrow and devoted to 
 agriculture and fishing, save in a medial section that 
 thrived on summer boarders. With the pioneer's 
 feeling for broad spaces, first settlers had planted 
 their houses on the bank of a broad, swift river that 
 still ran salt and free, mingling its water with the 
 ocean. The river's integrity was unimpaired. As 
 much could not be said for Bellhaven's people. They 
 suspected what they did not understand, and un- 
 derstood little beyond their range of personal obser- 
 vation. Wedded to the past, they were blind to the 
 future. To them the hard-shell New Englander was 
 the only real American. 
 
 Such was Bellhaven's normal state. In summer 
 it was surprisingly transfigured. For the tie of na- 
 tivity, possibly supplemented by freakish humor, 
 moved Madame Berenson, who journeyed to Acre 
 that she might lay at the feet of the Bab a fortune 
 made in petroleum, to establish in the midst of 
 Bellhaven the most cosmopolitan conference Amer- 
 ica had ever known. 
 
 Some inkling of curiosities in store came to Strong 
 on his way from the Bellhaven station, which was 
 a small receptacle for passengers deposited in a 
 stretch of clayey soil. The station agent, telegraph 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 31 
 
 operator, baggage master, and postmaster, too, hus- 
 tled about in his shirt-sleeves, with an overloaded 
 fountain pen staining his ear. Hesitating to address 
 this bustling functionary, Strong was himself hailed 
 by a small man whose slouch hat inclined a little to 
 his left ear, and thus heightened a rather jocund air. 
 He had twinkling eyes, pale blue, a reddish nose, and 
 a goatee! that somehow contributed to the general 
 gayety of his appearance. All this Strong noted, for, 
 saving the station, there was little else to see. 
 
 "I guess you're the new teacher for No. 2," said 
 the little man breezily. "At least I don't see any- 
 body else that can be. Mr. Keay sent me to get you. 
 My name's French. Believe yours is Strong." 
 
 "Since you 're so well posted, perhaps you can tell 
 me where I 'm going." 
 
 Dignity was wasted on this blindly aflfable person. 
 
 "Guess you're coming with me, unless you got 
 plans of your own. Mr. Keay thought you 'd like it 
 with us. We make a kind of business of boarding 
 in summer, and most any time we take people in. 
 Don't hear you say no, so I guess you don't object. 
 Give me your check. Be under way in no time." 
 
 French's nag was far from volatile, but French 
 himself rattled on like a windmill. "Hope you'll 
 like us and stay awhile, though I can't say you '11 
 fancy many of the women at the house. They're 
 left-overs, most of them: handsome within, but 
 mighty homely outside. Maybe you like that kind, 
 though. Are you in the Thought? ". 
 
32 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Don't know," said Strong. "What is it?" 
 
 "I can't tell you. Only, that's what I hear them 
 ask. Most of the people that come here are inter- 
 ested in Cousin Mary's high jinks. Madame Beren- 
 son, I mean. She 's Cousin Mary to me. Used to 
 beau her a little when we was young. She 's got a lot 
 of big bugs here from all over the world. They talk 
 about everything you ever heard of. Then a lot of 
 little bugs come to hear 'em, and they say they're 
 seekin' truth. Seems to me, most of 'em are women 
 that got ethical — is that the word? — after they 
 gave up trying to get a man. They get religion here 
 right off the bat. Cousin Mary has a lot of Swamis 
 and Asiatic dominies that invent a new kind of 
 Worship every day. In about two more summers 
 there '11 be a separate one for every old maid on the 
 grounds." 
 
 "There's one advantage," hazarded Strong, by 
 way of utilizing a rare opportunity. "I won't have 
 to hustle at the table." 
 
 French broke in with a staccato laugh. 
 
 " I '11 give you a pointer. You '11 have to hustle to 
 keep up with the mental healers. Ida, that 's my wife, 
 says she notices the most spiritual ones eat most." 
 
 Strong could not immediately verify his landlady's 
 diagnosis. But he noted no languor on the part of 
 anybody at supper. There was the ordinary hum of 
 conversation attuned to eating, and the ordinary ac- 
 companiment of service, uncovering of dishes, little 
 scrapings of knife and fork. Talk of vibrations, and 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 33 
 
 the coloration of waves visible to the psychic, ex- 
 posed Strong to no temptation. But prominence 
 came unsought. From modest listening he was 
 thrust into a leading r61e. It was all caused by 
 chicken. As he raised the first bit on his fork a 
 woman sitting opposite deserted the subliminal self 
 to eye him with horror. 
 
 "Young man," she inquired funereally, "would 
 you make your stomach a sepulcher?" 
 
 "Why, — er — really — " he floundered in aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 " Would you eat your brother's flesh?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Then let the chicken alone. We are God, and 
 so is all creation. The chicken is your brother as 
 much as I am." 
 
 "Oh, are you my brother?" he asked with an air 
 of polite interest. 
 
 The lady was stout, with an obvious mustache 
 and a martial air. One would have guessed she was 
 unused to trifling. There was no need to guess that 
 she regarded Strong as a scoffer. 
 
 "You are not in the Thought," she said with 
 crushing finality. 
 
 Conversation again soared, and Strong returned 
 to his chicken. Its flavor seemed impaired, but con- 
 science forbade desertion under fire. From time to 
 time, he quietly studied other diners. Most of them 
 were elderly, some of them looked ill, and an expres- 
 sion of anxious interrogation — possibly due to much 
 
34 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 questioning of the Infinite — was the rule. Steady 
 grilHng of the soul seemed physically unprofitable. 
 
 Provocative personality was confined to a girl who 
 ate in silence, a perpetual smile lurking in the cor- 
 ners of her mouth. Of generous size, it gave final 
 emphasis to quizzical appeal. Storm slumbered in 
 eyes of greenish gray. There was fire, too, in hair of , 
 coppery hue, and a hint of temperament in plentiful 
 freckles. Her tip -tilted nose was an interrogative 
 feature. She was rather stout, and her voice a little 
 strident. Strong also noted that she laughed read- 
 ily exhibiting a Middle- Western accent. He was 
 presented, that evening, by French, who circulated 
 among his guests with unabashed interest in all that 
 transpired. 
 
 Kitty Engel was her name. That she was a vio- 
 linist employed to play at meetings of the Bell- 
 haven Conference came out in the first hour of their 
 acquaintance. And Strong had illuminative glimpses 
 of her home in an Illinois village, where her father 
 was a doctor, her mother president of the Woman's 
 Relief Corps, and her sister a teacher in the public 
 schools. She had talent; not a dazzling gift, but a 
 quality of soul that made beautiful simple things. 
 New York had failed to stamp her. In manner, as 
 at heart, she remained a small-town girl. Probably 
 that was one reason why she appealed to Strong, 
 and he to her. Another was that they were young 
 where years and trouble, none the less real for being 
 studiously denied, colored society. 
 
CHAPTER Vr 
 
 Some teachers are born, and many are made. Strong 
 belonged to the latter class. The Bellhaven School 
 designated as No. 2 interested, but never absorbed 
 him. He labored earnestly and without enthusiasm. 
 Conscientious enough to do whatsoever the hand 
 found to do, he was not enthusiastic enough to do 
 it with all his might. It is unconsciousness of limi- 
 tations that permits the laborer to surpass self. 
 
 No. 2 was typical in attendance as it was in ar- 
 chitecture. There was the building, one-storied and 
 white, with the woodshed behind and the flagpole" 
 in front. Inside, the air - tight stove, the teacher's 
 desk in the alcove, the revolving globe for geogra- 
 phy, and the flanking blackboards, often a target 
 for spitballs manufactured by restless boys. 
 
 Pupils ranged from six to sixteen, and their in- 
 tellectual requirements were strung through the 
 "Three R's" to algebra; even to the Latin and 
 geometry craved by boys hopeful of college. For 
 girls, who excelled in most studies, there was no 
 future more ambitious than marriage with one of 
 Bellhaven's representative sons. How his charges 
 prospered in after years, ■ — if, indeed, they pros- 
 pered at all, — Strong never knew. He only heard 
 that a boy who recited Lincoln's "Gettysburg 
 Address" with thrilling earnestness had been in jail 
 
36 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 for stealing a cow. He could not charge himself with 
 that lapse, though he dispensed with Bible reading 
 until the superintendent, being charged with em- 
 ployment of an infidel, and that just before elec- 
 tion, restored the Scriptures to their former place. 
 What Strong felt for religion then was substantially 
 his feeling in later years. After a flash of fervor in 
 early youth the fire was never kindled again. He 
 thought of religion wistfully, as he came to think of 
 love. They were beautifying influences denied him. 
 
 Two years of teaching were substantially two 
 years with nothing else to do. 
 
 If his school did not strongly appeal to him neither 
 did Madame Berenson's Conference interest Strong 
 much. It had noble aspects, but he was occupied 
 with its humors. Fluttering women avid of sensa- 
 tion, and flabby men with souls of wrens, obscured 
 the texture of beliefs they could not comprehend. 
 
 Lectures bored him. Kitty Engel never did. He 
 never permitted her to. When uninterested in his 
 surroundings he had a habit of seeming to brood. 
 It indicated nothing more than mental languor, but 
 women, mistaking it for rapt contemplation, were 
 apt to sense in it a delicate tribute to themselves. 
 So his reticence became delicacy, and his relative 
 indifference, modesty. He disarmed by seeming not 
 to attack. 
 
 The summer at Bellhaven went pleasantly. Given 
 a free field, an attractive woman can interest any 
 man. What Kitty's intention might be Strong did 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 37 
 
 not ponder. He was not vain enough to interpose a 
 guard. As to women in general, he felt vague secu- 
 rity in youth not evident in his appearance, and in 
 poverty love rarely regards. Besides, Kitty's fond- 
 ness for him was so undisguised, he dismissed with 
 a feeling of shame the thought that it might be 
 love. Temperament committed him to an aesthetic 
 ideal, but conscience never collaborated to enforce 
 it. 
 
 Strong tutored a tow -headed boy, and Kitty 
 played the violin; and abundant leisure they wasted 
 pleasantly together. They canoed on the river by 
 day, and strolled along its bank when summer night 
 allured to revelation of self. Their favorite resort 
 was a boat-house at the foot of a high blufif. There 
 they sat, oblivious of dew and only conscious of 
 river noises, voices of boaters or the creaking sail of 
 some coaster slipping down to the sea, — too remote 
 to break their harmony. 
 
 There was no love-making of obvious and ortho- 
 dox sort. Pressure of the hand, a protective caress 
 accepted in tacit acknowledgment of intimacy, — ■ 
 that was all. They talked of art, of music, of God, 
 and of Bellhaven. Long frozen. Strong thawed 
 freely at feeling himself understood. Afterward he 
 could never comprehend why Kitty, whose custom- 
 ary conversational flow a friend facetiously likened 
 to a telephone exchange, so played the r61e of gentle 
 and stimulative listener to a callow youth. 
 
 He never kissed her until the night before her 
 
38 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 departure from Bellhaven, which was about to 
 relax into retrospective dissection of the latest batch 
 of "summer folks" and anticipatory criticism of the 
 next. They had returned to the " Retreat" after an 
 evening filled with talk of the future in which Kitty 
 exerted moulding influence. Without feeling he was 
 pumped Strong talked freely of his family, his pros- 
 pects, as he conceived them, and his hopes. They 
 agreed to correspond, and Kitty admonished him 
 against forgetfulness. 
 
 "You promised to visit me," she said, "and you 
 won't forget to write. You will come?" 
 
 Her voice was wistful. 
 
 "Of course," said Strong. "Everybody goes to 
 New York." 
 
 "But I don't mean New York," she explained. 
 "I mean Groveland. That's home. New York is 
 just a place where people stay. I'm never really 
 happy there. I'd like to have you meet my own 
 people. That is, if you think it would n't be stupid 
 for you." 
 
 "Haven't we had a pretty good time this sum- 
 mer?" 
 
 He was not ardent, but he was cordial. 
 
 "Of course," said Kitty; "but afterwards things 
 are apt to be different. And I'd be mortified to 
 think I had bored you." 
 
 "No danger of that. Anyway, I'd like to see if a 
 Western town is much diff^erent from a New England 
 one. That's stupid and rotten enough." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 39 
 
 Touching his favorite antipathy, he was able to 
 finish with heartiness otherwise lacking. 
 
 "Oh," said Kitty, "Groveland is quite a nice 
 place. And the girls will run after you till I 'm jeal- 
 ous." 
 
 "Rubbish," said Strong, feeling uncomfortable. 
 "I'llriskthat, if youwill." 
 
 They had reached the "Retreat," and stood for a 
 moment mutually irresolute. All was still. 
 
 " I '11 see you at breakfast," he said, pushing open 
 the door. 
 
 Up the stairs they groped their way in the dark, 
 and paused again on the landing. 
 
 "You to the right, and I to the left" — quoted 
 Strong at random. 
 
 "Don't say that," murmured Kitty. Strong felt 
 rather than saw her shiver. 
 
 "It's only a song," he said sotto voce. 
 
 "But I don't like it." 
 
 She melted away in the gloom, with a whispered 
 "Good-night." Her chamber door closed softly, and 
 he turned to his own room opposite. He did not 
 strike a light at once, but stood staring into shadowy 
 darkness of the outdoor world. An elm tapped at 
 the window. 
 
 " I feel like an ass," he said at length, and reached 
 impatiently for the match-box on his bureau. Lamp- 
 light failed to restore calm. A print of "Sacred and 
 Profane Love" some previous lodger had left on 
 the wall suggested the teasing mystery of self. The 
 
40 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 sacred and the profane seemed inextricably confused. 
 He appealed to Omar for relief. With a certain 
 relish he read, — 
 
 " And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, 
 Ends in what All begins and ends in," — 
 
 And so on. The quatrains ran pleasantly, with their 
 touch of melancholy that is subtle joy. He did not 
 hear the first gentle rap at his door. He was wrapped 
 in a mood. 
 
 There came another tap, more vigorous than the 
 first, and he sprang to the door, book in hand. Kitty 
 stood there in a luminous pathway framed with 
 blackness. She was in a dressing-gown of green-and- 
 white. Afterward Strong remembered a wisteria 
 vine effect of the pattern, and could call to mind the 
 sheen of her coppery hair. A loose ribbon of black 
 confined it slightly at the nape of the neck. She was 
 softened, spiritualized. 
 
 In his astonishment Strong did not at first observe 
 what she carried in her hands. 
 
 "Oh!" he said. Then added, with perfunctory 
 affability, "Won't you come in?" 
 
 She did not stir, but looked at him doubtfully. 
 
 "I hope you'll pardon the intrusion. Of course I 
 ought not to, but I found a box of goodies from 
 home, and I wanted to share them with you. And 
 this is my only chance. Are you shocked?" 
 
 "Of course not," he assured her hastily, and then 
 he was. There came a slight scraping on the door- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 41 
 
 step, a fumbling at the door. Some other roomer 
 had been roaming. Instinctively Strong stepped 
 aside and as instinctively Kitty entered. With dis- 
 creet haste he closed the door. They heard the front 
 door opened and closed and cautious steps onward 
 to the floor above. With ears alert they heard the 
 quiet closing of a door. Then silence. 
 
 Kitty broke the silence with a nervous laugh. 
 "Well," she said, "here it is. The mince pie that 
 mother makes, fruit cake by the same, and marma- 
 lade by the same cook. The crackers — please take 
 them from under my arm? — are from the village 
 grocery. Will you venture? " 
 
 "If you'll stay to eat with me," said Strong. 
 Omar was exerting a little influence. 
 
 " I ought not to. Think of the scandal, if anybody 
 ever hears of it. ' That Engel girl ' will be a vanished 
 celebrity." 
 
 "Oh, rot!" said Strong cheerfully. 
 
 So they ate sociably, using a section of his bureau 
 for a table, and quaffed elation in root beer. 
 
 "Well, I must go," sighed Kitty, when the last 
 mouthful of cake had disappeared. 
 
 "Don't," said Strong. His hand closed over fin- 
 gers plucking aimlessly at the bureau drapery. 
 
 "But I must." She spoke faintly, and there was 
 no resistance in her attitude. A glance, and a wave 
 engulfed them. She was in his arms. The kiss he 
 gave her was not the kiss he had given Flossy. In 
 the singing of his blood reason reasserted itself for 
 
42 ' A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 a detached view. He saw the situation and sought 
 to appraise its significance. But he kissed Kitty 
 tenderly. It were discourteous to be cold. She clung 
 to him for a moment, then drew violently away. 
 No word was spoken. She felt rather than saw her 
 way to his door. It remained open after her as, with 
 no backward glance, she closed her own. Strong 
 gazed irresolutely at its white expanse, then took it 
 as symbolic of the situation. 
 
 At breakfast he saw Kitty with others about, and 
 it was the same in farewell. A touch of unusual pallor, 
 heaviness of the eyes, escaped his attention when he 
 said good-bye. She turned to him last of all, with 
 the single word, "Remember." 
 
 "I won't forget," he said with a handclasp. 
 
 The driver flourished his whip, and, with a rattle 
 of wheels, she was gone. 
 
 That day Strong was very lonely. It was worse 
 the next. The summer colony departed like a school 
 of herring, and with them went the gayety of the 
 sunshine, the sheen of the river. Thrown back upon 
 himself, he fell prey to melancholy. Crickets shrill- 
 ing through the day and night seemed an unceasing 
 chorus of sinister portent. 
 
 From the slough of despond he was rescued by a 
 girl named Esther. Her last name does not matter. 
 She was only an episode. She was a slight girl, with 
 light-brown hair, pale eyes of blue, and delicate 
 features. Her unlikeness to other Bellhaven girls 
 was attributed to the fact that her mother, who first 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 43 
 
 appeared as somebody's maid, was of French extrac- 
 tion. Having given Esther to the community, she 
 disappeared. Parental burdens fell to a spinster 
 aunt and bachelor uncle. Middle-aged and still 
 naive, they were suspicious of strangers. It seemed 
 to Strong that Esther was overchaperoned. As they 
 struggled at dominoes, or played the thrilling game 
 of authors, Uncle Billy dozed over his newspaper, 
 within easy hearing had he been able to stay awake. 
 And solemnly alert, Aunt Hannah pegged away at 
 her knitting. 
 
 For a time Strong did not know they had set their 
 hearts upon Esther's marriage to a young mechanic 
 with whom she had quarreled before he met her. 
 Their unspoken antagonism quickened interest 
 otherwise languid, Esther was an amiable girl, with 
 an appealing air; but they had nothing in common 
 save youth. With a sudden crisis came the sudden 
 end. 
 
 It was a mild evening in autumn, and Strong occu- 
 pied the surviving hammock of the "Retreat's" 
 summer flock. Down the lane from the highroad a 
 woman came, walking rapidly. When she drew near 
 he noted an appearance of nervous haste. And 
 almost that instant he realized it was Esther. 
 
 "Why so fast?" he called, rising to meet her. 
 
 She turned aside and came straight to where he 
 stood in the shadow. He perceived her excitement, 
 and effort to control her voice. It trembled slightly 
 as she said, "I'm so glad I've found you!", 
 
44 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "What's up?" he asked. 
 
 "Albert has come." 
 
 "Oh," said Strong, remembering Albert was the 
 lover with whom she had quarreled. "Where is he? " 
 
 "At home with Aunt Hannah. I ran away. What 
 shall I do?" 
 
 " I suppose you'll have to entertain him. Do you 
 want me to come up?" 
 
 She was silent for a moment. When she spoke 
 again the eagerness had gone from her voice. It was 
 a little cold. 
 
 "No," she said. "I guess you'd better not come 
 to-night. And I must be going. I 've been away ten 
 minutes; Aunt Hannah '11 have a fit. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night!" he called, as she hurried up the 
 lane. 
 
 Early next day Aunt Hannah called to inform 
 Mrs. French that Esther and Albert had decided to 
 marry "right away." Duly transmitted, this infor- 
 mation was received by Strong as a danger signal, 
 and so respected. Since Albert carried his bride 
 away to live, he never saw her again. During the 
 period in which he wondered if he understood that 
 last interview he had qualms fruitful in several 
 poems published by the nearest daily, a very poor 
 newspaper. 
 
 Through friendship with Esther his interest in 
 Kitty had not languished. Kitty at a distance was 
 more fascinating than Kitty present. Natural vivac- 
 ity asserted itself in her letters, and her own ambi- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 45 
 
 tions, kept under cover at Bellhaven, flashed in 
 lively comment. Thus stimulated, Strong wrote 
 without restraint habitual in personal contact. 
 There was no direct declaration, but their corres- 
 pondence assumed a tinge of affectionate interest. 
 
 The Christmas holidays were urged as a suitable 
 time for his promised visit to Groveland, and Strong 
 went without premonition of danger. He liked 
 Groveland better than he liked New England towns 
 because he understood it less. Furthermore, it pre- 
 sented only its party side. Kitty's father was a 
 prominent citizen, and Kitty herself seemed the 
 child of the community's collective bosom. It was 
 evident that Groveland expected her to bring it 
 renown. Strong basked in reflected popularity, a 
 little astonished to find it not disagreeable. He 
 attended a Lyceum concert, went to a Charity ball, 
 walked and drove and skated with Kitty. Now and 
 then some smiling matron dropped a hint that made 
 him uncomfortable. But the week of his stay ap- 
 proached its close without definite change of rela- 
 tions. The last evening came, and it was spent at 
 home. Neighbor's dropped in, and there was music. 
 Strong thought Kitty had never played better, and 
 she looked her best in a green gown with simple 
 trimming of silver. When the guests had departed, 
 the rest of the family retired, too. Their going was 
 not ostentatious, just a quiet withdrawal. 
 
 "Now we can talk," said Kitty, when the door 
 had closed on the last apologetic smile. 
 
46 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 There was a davenport before the open fire, and 
 they sat comfortably within its arms. Conversation 
 ran from generalities to personalities. Once more 
 Strong was encouraged to unfold his aspirations, 
 substantially unchanged. Afterwards talk became 
 desultory, with considerable gaps. Silence, save for 
 the snapping of wood in the flames, prevailed when. 
 Kitty softly asked : — 
 
 "Why don't you say something?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "You know." 
 
 He rose to replace with his foot a stick that had 
 fallen from the andirons, and stood with his back to 
 the fire. 
 
 " I know," he said, "that you 're the most puzzling 
 girl I ever knew." 
 
 "Puzzling!" Kitty laughed, but it was a laugh 
 without amusement. "You're the puzzle." 
 
 The tall clock in the hall began announcement of 
 midnight, and she rose decisively. "You've a long 
 journey for to-morrow," she said, "and you ought 
 to be in bed. If you insist on staying up, I'll trust 
 you to put out the light." 
 
 Upon that she left him, and he sat for a time alone. 
 He had the feeling of one who has accepted courtesies 
 without being able to make expected return. 
 
 There was nothing noteworthy in their parting 
 next day, and their correspondence continued on 
 easy terms. In time, however, it languished and 
 died. A last letter came from Kitty, after silence for 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 47 
 
 several years. Strong kept it, with the withered rose 
 inclosed, until a new loyalty ousted the old. But 
 after that he could remember it: — 
 
 Dear Waldo: — 
 
 I have been ill a long time, and truth from the 
 doctor nerves me to be frank with you. Now that I 
 am dying, I want you to know how much I have 
 loved you, and that I loved you almost from the 
 first. Whether you saw it was never quite clear. It 
 was plain, though, you did not care much for me. 
 Yet I thought you did at first. You have a way that 
 seems to convey love where only courtesy is intended. 
 I understood that afterwards, when it was too late. 
 
 Please don't think I complain. What I suffered 
 is past. But you will know other women, and it 
 would make me happy to think that my experience 
 had made you careful not to wound. 
 
 I must explain the rose I send. You gave it to me 
 that first day at Bellhaven, and I kept it as a whim. 
 Then I could not destroy it because it was the first 
 thing I had from you. I give it back now, to keep as 
 long as I am a memory. 
 
 I am very tired, and somehow writing to you 
 revives a pain I thought was dead. So I '11 say no 
 more, only "Good-bye!" and remember I love you 
 too much to blame you at all. Kitty. 
 
 ' Kitty's letter came to Strong as a voice from the 
 past. It moved him, but feeling he experienced was 
 less remorse than wonder. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Not only best-laid plans, but others as well, "gang 
 aft agley." Strong's voice never charmed a court or 
 jury. His oratory swayed no listening audience. 
 He never addressed a county convention. Before he 
 attained his majority he realized his dream of becom- 
 ing a lawyer had taken the place of an average boy's 
 desire to be a red-shirted fireman, or a policeman 
 twirling his club. And politics became to him a busi- 
 ness by means of which men with dirty fingers and 
 violent breath extracted an easy living from a too 
 patient public. The idea was wrong, but not to be 
 wondered at. 
 
 . In turning from law Strong answered no higher 
 call. It was not even suggested to him that Ruskin 
 had defined architecture as frozen music. Chance 
 decided his course. He met an architect who liked 
 him and discovered he could draw. And Strong 
 returned regard sufficiently to esteem his friend's 
 profession because it was his. Taking it for his own 
 was an easy step. 
 
 Now that time and absence had erased irritating 
 impression of his queerness, his father was hopeful 
 of a family asset where he had only anticipated a 
 liability. There was money in moderation for the 
 orthodox course. Through the famous Massachu- 
 setts Institute of Technology and the Beaux Arts 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 49 
 
 School he went his way. And the end was a desk in 
 the New York office of the man who had shaped his 
 professional life. That man shall be nameless, for 
 he is not important here. 
 
 No girl of Boston or grisette of Paris agitated 
 Strong's bosom. His heart lay fallow until he met 
 Eleanor Greeley at an afternoon tea. He went with 
 the loathing of a natural male, to oblige a woman 
 who was kind in Paris without producing an axe to 
 grind. Up to the time Eleanor appeared to him he 
 regarded his presence as proof of weakness. She was 
 sitting on the floor in a corner of the studio, a cush- 
 ion at her back, and tea and Ccike in her hands. He 
 nearly walked over her. 
 
 "Don't go," she said cordially, as he bowed in 
 deprecatory preparation for retreat. "Of course, 
 you're not properly introduced. But any unpaid 
 man at an afternoon tea is a philanthropist. Besides, 
 did n't I see you talking with Mrs. Decrow?" 
 
 "Yes," said Strong, hope reviving within him. 
 "She's responsible for me here." 
 
 "And for me, too. You really must get a cushion, 
 — very carefully to avoid a posse for you, — and 
 sit down." 
 
 "Your will is agreeable law," he answered, and he 
 seated himself beside her. 
 
 Swifter than thought is the impression of person- 
 ality.. Before his eyes had completed their inventory, 
 or he had heard her voice. Strong received a sugges- 
 tion of buoyant vigor. It was in her carriage. Her 
 
50 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 forehead was broad and the mouth wide, with 
 mobile lips. Her nose of generous size was nearly 
 Roman. Heavy brows arched eyes of black, with 
 lively play of feeling. She was tall and strong of 
 build. Her hands, too, were large but well moulded, 
 and aquiver with life in little gestures that punctu- 
 ated her conversation. She spoke rapidly, with a 
 knack of racy expression. Her voice was strong and 
 rather musical, with a certain ardent quality. 
 
 Strong learned she was from Montana, a daughter 
 of the ranch who had turned to art. She had studied 
 in Paris, where amiable Mrs. Decrow had befriended 
 her, and had proved her courage by attempting to 
 establish herself as a portrait painter in New York. 
 She was aflame with zeal, but at heart a little regret- 
 ful of free airs and wide reaches of the range. 
 
 " But this is n't fair. It 's too one-sided," she said, 
 breaking off an anecdote of the studio. "You 're not 
 telling anything about yourself." 
 
 "Architect. Aged 24. Experience, commonplace. 
 Ability, mediocre. Ambition, nothing to speak of," 
 he responded with mock gravity. 
 
 " I believe you are a liar," she said calmly. "And 
 anyhow, you're not a pleasant companion for an 
 experience meeting." 
 
 "Who introduced you two?" asked a voice above 
 them. 
 
 "Nobody, Mrs. Decrow," answered the girl 
 promptly. "We just met, and now that I've called 
 him a liar, it occurs to me I don't know who he is." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 51 
 
 "Please present me," begged Strong. 
 
 He had scrambled to his feet, with a flush not 
 wholly due to that exertion. 
 
 "The formality seems superfluous," said Mrs. 
 Decrow. "You've already reached the language of 
 domestic discourse. I simply warn Mr. Strong that 
 Miss Greeley is an irresponsible agitator of hearts, 
 and Miss Greeley that Mr. Strong wears a coat of 
 mail. Now you are both forewarned and interested, 
 I want you to dine with me. Shall we say Tuesday? " 
 
 "I say it," Strong answered without reflection. 
 Combative feeling he could not have explained urged 
 him to closer acquaintance with this girl. 
 
 "Then I say it, too," Miss Greeley assented with 
 a challenging glance. "It will be pleasant to see 
 whether we are mutually destructive." 
 
 A few commonplaces, and she turned away. 
 Strong regarded her back thoughtfully. The hands 
 were dealt, and the cards on the table, but back up. 
 He was impatient to play. 
 
 On Tuesday he knew no" more. A connoisseur of 
 humanity, Mrs. Decrow viewed with quiet interest 
 the mutual and reluctant interest of opposite types. 
 When she asked Miss Greeley to sing. Strong won- 
 dered whether it would be Schubert or Schumann, 
 or some ultra modem, say Debussy or Richard 
 Strauss. She sang an old French song of warning to 
 a peasant maid named Colinette. He remembered 
 how Yvette Guilbert had sung it, a simple song 
 with its undercurrent of ironic suggestion. Of course 
 
52 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Guilbert was incomparable, but Colinette's danger 
 was not lost to view in Miss Greeley's investigation. 
 She had a rather high contralto, a singing voice that 
 passed for more than it was, thanks to the brain's 
 cooperation with vocal chords. 
 
 "What do you think of it?" she asked, without 
 waiting for compliments at the close. 
 
 "How do you know about Colinette?" He met 
 charge with counter-charge. 
 
 "Why not? I loathe women who go about pre- 
 tending not to know what everybody knows they 
 know." 
 
 " Perhaps," he suggested, "you are a suffragette." 
 
 "Perhaps," she retorted crisply, "you are an un- 
 discerning young man." 
 
 "Dear me!" Mrs. Decrow interjected amiably. 
 "Before you were introduced you exchanged left- 
 handed compliments. And on second meeting you 
 keep it up. This is promising. I must have you both 
 for my camp, next week. Then you will be able to 
 disagree at leisure. It 's a little place in the Adiron- 
 dacks, Mr. Strong. Eleanor has been there, so I 
 need n't explain to her. A man may be relied upon 
 to take pot luck. Will you come?" 
 
 Strong fidgeted slightly. " In a way," he said, " I 
 feel that I forced Miss Greeley into dining with me 
 to-night. But I don't want to feel that she is saddled 
 with my society any more." 
 
 Miss Greeley laughed. She was evidently amused. 
 "Mr. Strong need not worry," she remarked lightly; 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 53 
 
 "he has given me no unhappiness thus far, and 
 I trust he will be responsible for none in the 
 future. Notwithstanding his nervousness, I think 
 I '11 go. Perhaps he '11 make the trip doubly worth 
 while by posing for David in an ecclesiastical sketch 
 I'm trying to do." 
 
 "Honored, I'm sure," said Strong stiffly. He 
 seemed a little sulky. 
 
 On his way home he pondered her appearance, 
 from raven hair to her neatly shod feet. She had 
 worn a simple gown of black, accentuating strength 
 like that of a Viking woman. He thought of her 
 pleasantly, as he drifted into sleep. She was like the 
 recollected bouquet of a good cigar when he went 
 his way to the railway station on the day appointed 
 for their Adirondack trip. It appeared she was to be 
 his sole traveling companion. Art or accident had 
 sent Mrs. Decrow on ahead. Misgivings at first 
 entertained were soon dispelled. Miss Greeley had 
 sheathed her sword. 
 
 From a little mountain station they drove to 
 the Decrow camp. It was late in the afternoon, 
 and here and there the sun vivified tender foliage of 
 early spring, leaving masses softly dusk. The earth 
 breathed gently in the first sweetness of conception. 
 And an occasional chorus of young frogs in marshy 
 places far below came faintly to the ear. They drove 
 leisurely, with a light accompaniment by hoof and 
 harness. 
 
 Brisk enough at first, conversation dwindled to 
 
54 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 desultory remarks. Then came harmonious silence. 
 Somehow, — possibly it was a lurch of the trap, — 
 Strong's hand fell upon hers, and stayed there. His 
 heart beat more quickly, and he felt an answering 
 glow. No word was spoken as unresisted force drew 
 them together. His open eyes saw hers closed, and 
 a sudden pallor as their lips met. There was some- 
 thing poignant in that kiss. It was like a grave kiss 
 of betrothal. And all life shrank to almost inaudible 
 monotone that framed their mood. 
 
 When she slowly withdrew from his embrace he 
 saw her eyes veiled with unshed tears. 
 
 "Why did you do it?" she asked softly. 
 
 "Because I had to," he answered with eqUcJ sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 "So literal," she sighed; "but that's the best 
 answer. From the first I knew it was you. It was 
 like an answer to the question I 'd asked since I put 
 up my hair when I saw your face, with its pathetic 
 discontent, that day at Pozzi's studio. But I'm 
 afraid I ought n't to tell you. You'll think of me as 
 a boa-constrictor." 
 
 "I think of you," he said, "as the dearest girl in 
 the world." 
 
 He kissed her again. In front the groom cracked 
 his whip smartly, presenting an impassive back. 
 
 Strong experienced a novel elation. Eleanor mag- 
 netized his vertebrae as no other woman had. She 
 had the effect of blotting detail, so that he viewed 
 things in the large. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 55 
 
 Mrs. Decrow greeted them with kindly careless- 
 ness. If she saw any trace of their joyous discovery, 
 it was not evident in her manner. That they should 
 be much together was her evident intent. They 
 tramped the woods, where Eleanor was as one 
 returned to her own, and spent hours on the lake 
 that lay in the cup of the hills. When night drew its 
 curtain, the moon traversed velvet water in glisten- 
 ing lanes. Drifting in the gentle current, their ears 
 were gradually attuned to the general chorus of 
 Nature rallying her battalions for the waxing year. 
 Strong discovered in Eleanor capacity that enhanced 
 content. He was incapable of sustained pianissimo 
 in love. 
 
 The night before their departure was sultry for 
 spring. An uneasy hush presaged disturbance before 
 the evening was far advanced. They sensed it, yet 
 lingered on the water. It was exhilarating to await 
 the ^rst rush of wind. The storm broke with sudden 
 assault that pattered at their heels. They reached 
 the boat-house breathless. 
 
 They stood together in the darkness while the rain 
 raced across the roof and thunder rolled through the 
 hills. Occasionally a flash of lightning rent the black 
 sky. He held her closely, and felt her heart beat 
 stormily. Flamingly vital, she lay in his arms. He 
 felt himself slipping, relapsing into hazy rapture. 
 Then he was smitten by a warning rod. The 
 spell was broken. She felt it, too, and shivered 
 slightly. 
 
56 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Oh, how good, how strong you are!" she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "How?" he asked uncomfortably. 
 
 "You know." 
 
 He did know, and knowledge was chagrin. He 
 could not explain that a feeling of cheapness rather 
 than conscience had, abruptly sobered him. To do 
 so would be an affront. He wore the laurels of virtue 
 reluctantly. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 What is best understood is least explained. Back 
 in town, Strong and Eleanor entered upon affection- 
 ate intimacy. Aside from faces he put upon build- 
 ings and the countenances she put upon canvas, 
 they had much in common. Her vigorous intelli- 
 gence was committed to the moderns in art. A nat- 
 ural conservative, Strong instinctively inclined to 
 the classic. They disagreed amicably as they dined 
 in peace. They sought restaurants untainted by 
 the purse-proud and undisturbed by the pseudo- 
 Bohemian. That such places existed in New York 
 Strong had heard, and Eleanor had discovered. He 
 was quite content to accept her guidance without 
 questioning the source of her knowledge. Jealousy 
 of the past was not in his composition. 
 
 The days went pleasantly through the spring, and 
 summer began its annual baking. Their world was 
 away, but they did not mind. Rather they enjoyed 
 the feeling of tourists in a land of strangers. 
 
 "There's no seclusion like that in a crowd," 
 observed Strong, as he surveyed the gabbling diners 
 dotting a roof garden where cabaret singers flirted 
 for money, and men bought champagne to show 
 they could afford it, and women laughed at jokes 
 lest it be discovered that they did not understand. 
 Eleanor did not answer directly. She came slowly 
 
58 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 from the reverie into which she had fallen. As she 
 raised her eyes Strong experienced a feeling of 
 appraisal that was uncomfortable and new. He 
 moved to refill her wineglass. She did not raise it, 
 but continued to regard him gravely. 
 
 " I wonder," she said at last, "whether you intend 
 to marry me." 
 
 "Of course," he said, his face expressive of amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "You never said so. You never even asked 
 me. 
 
 " I took it for granted," he protested. " I thought 
 you understood." 
 
 She weighed his explanation, her eyes on the bur- 
 gundy before her, reflected in crimson. When she 
 spoke again it was with an air of remoteness. 
 
 " I fear I have let you take too much for granted. 
 I yielded too easily for you to prize me much. 
 Of course, there should have been barriers. There 
 should always be barriers between a woman and the 
 man she wants to love her. But somehow it seemed 
 safe with you." 
 
 "It was," he interjected, "and it is." 
 
 "You think so," she resumed; "but how do you 
 know it is? I only know I will not marry a man to 
 make him comfortable, or to be made comfortable 
 by him. There's more than that in the big adven- 
 ture. I know what I have for you; but what have 
 you for me? I'm going away to let you find out. 
 We've postponed plans for the summer. Mine will 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 59 
 
 be spent in study at Berger's atelier in Paris. Yours 
 will be devoted to studying yourself, if you think 
 it worth while. I leave you free." 
 
 " How? " he asked bitterly. " By turning me out- 
 doors? Of course, if you are tired of me, I won't beg. 
 But you might be honest." Pride and pain sounded 
 in a voice he struggled to keep calm. 
 
 "But I am honest, dear," she said, and her voice 
 was warm again. " I am as honest as I can be, but 
 you won't understand. Can't you see?" 
 
 "I'll try. Summer ought to be long enough for 
 an observation. Let's go now." 
 
 He beckoned his waiter violently and would not 
 wait for his change. Possibly to counteract such 
 extravagance, Eleanor would not ride in a cab. As 
 they clung to straps in the subway, the rattle of the 
 train made speech superfluous. At her door he 
 turned away with a ceremonious, "Good-night." 
 
 "Is n't it customary," she inquired, "for friends 
 to show some feeling when about to part for a long 
 time?" 
 
 He paused uncertainly, then turned back. 
 
 " Foolish boy," she said softly. " Kiss me ' Good- 
 night.'" 
 
 He gave her his lips reluctantly. 
 
 "Now, go," she commanded gently, "and forget 
 I have hurt you in sleep." 
 
 Two days later she sailed. In the interim there 
 was peace, with gayety on Eleanor's part. Gloomily 
 resigned at first, Strong mellowed a little under the 
 
6o A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 influence of her insistent good cheer. The reason of 
 her sailing was skillfully avoided. Only at the last 
 moment, with "All ashore!" in his ears, was he able 
 to broach the question uppermost in mind. 
 
 "Eleanor," he said with desperate bluntness, 
 " did you mean all you said the other night?" 
 
 "Of course," she smiled. "You have the summer. 
 And please write. Good-bye." 
 
 He did not wave his handkerchief from the pier, 
 as the steamer backed out into the tide. In a world 
 somehow alien he found the way to his rooms, and 
 sat staring gloomily at a cheerful patch of sunlight. 
 After a while he went to his desk, and in desperation 
 began to write. It was not an easy process. He went 
 slowly, with pauses in which he combated feeling 
 that words put on paper were clamorous as signs 
 blazing the course of Broadway at night. Senti- 
 ments he hesitated to utter under the rose savored 
 of hyperbole when reduced to ink. But pangs of 
 loneliness overcame caution, and he poured out his 
 heart. When the letter was finished he took it has- 
 tily, as if fearing repentance, and posted it in the 
 nearest box. 
 
 There is luxury in the irrevocable to the doubting 
 heart. Having written his first love letter of ap- 
 proved stamp, Strong felt a lightening of depression 
 that settled upon him with the first turn of the 
 steamer's screw. But persons streaming past were 
 curiously intent upon trivial things, and work in 
 the office was neither interesting nor important. In 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 6i 
 
 the late afternoon he wrote and posted a less copious 
 and ardent, but confirmatory epistle. 
 
 Dinner was a dreary problem. He would have 
 been indigneint at the suggestion that he preferred 
 it so. But he declined to dine with a man he genu- 
 inely enjoyed, and betook himself to the roof garden 
 where Eleanor had punctured his unwitting conceit. 
 As he entered, the band was playing the "Siegfried 
 Idyl" again, to different individuals but the same 
 careless and energetically hilarious crowd. Regarded 
 with condescension before, he eyed them wistfully 
 now. Excepting himself, every Jack had a Jill, or 
 two. 
 
 Still, though life had lost its savor, one must eat 
 and drink. He ordered burgundy not because he 
 wanted it, but because he last had it with Eleanor. 
 It warmed him gradually and the sensation of a 
 hand clutching his heart was forgotten. The band 
 played " The Artist's Life," and he drifted in memory 
 down the glowing tide of the waltz. From the bitter- 
 sweet of former days he passed in higher key to 
 anticipation. He was not domestic by nature, but 
 stimulated imagination discovered no blotches in 
 the picture of a home. 
 
 He slept soundly that night, and next day he 
 departed on a postponed vacation. There was no 
 use in staying where he must be miserable because 
 Eleanor was away. Her first letter was forwarded 
 to him at the seashore. 
 
 "Three letters in a batch," she wrote, "and such 
 
62 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 real ones. But I had to cross the Atlantic to get 
 them. Dear as you are, I can't resist the temptation 
 to smile when I think of coming to Paris to get 
 acquainted with a boy in New York. Now that I 'm 
 here, and you have helped to settle my mind, I 
 intend to work hard. I must do something to make 
 you proud of me. I know you will flush and say 
 'Rubbish!' But I know, too, that you are rather 
 dependent "upon confirmation of your judgments. 
 I'd love you the same, whatever anybody else 
 thought. But this is preaching, which any man 
 hates. And why should anybody be proud of the 
 disposition that came ready made? Please forget I 
 squinted. My eyes never stay that way." 
 
 If Strong's burden of loneliness was not soon 
 rolled away, at least it was appreciably lightened. 
 Within a month he questioned whether he was 
 worthy of loyalty that flamed in letters equally 
 expressive of abounding interest in life and regret 
 of what could not be shared. But no disturbing 
 thoughts crept into his writing. He assiduously sus- 
 tained an atmosphere of devotion. If he had sent 
 her abroad, the least he could do was to make her as 
 happy as possible. 
 
 Summer wore away, and autumn returned with 
 the tourist legion. Of Eleanor's coming Strong was 
 duly apprized. 
 
 "I am sailing to-morrow on the Marion," she 
 wrote from Liverpool. "The agent says she is con- 
 stant to her schedule. So I '11 expect to see you — 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 63 
 
 won't it be splendid? — about noon Saturday week. 
 The return voyage will be so much happier than the 
 trip from New York, when I was n't quite sure how 
 much you cared. I have just learned that one of my 
 fellow passengers is a Mr. Cartwright, whom I met 
 at Berger's studio. He was quite attentive in Paris 
 in a nice, friendly way. About fifty years old, much 
 traveled, with some experience in the diplomatic 
 corps, and an acquaintance that seems to embrace 
 everybody worth knowing everywhere. That is 
 about all, except that he's used to being wooed. 
 Perhaps that is why he is a little interested in me. 
 I believe I 've absolutely forgotten how to flirt since 
 I met you!" 
 
 Over this letter Strong fidgeted a little. It arrived 
 on Friday, and the Marion was due the following 
 day. He had an unconfessed feeling that Eleanor 
 was about to appear with a suitor who plainly put 
 him in the shade. She was true blue, of course, but 
 he rebelled at the thought of sacrifice to love for 
 himself. While splitting hairs with pride he neg- 
 lected to inquire for news of the Marion. Had he 
 not read, a dozen times or more, "About noon, Sat- 
 urday"? He reached the pier by noon, carrying 
 carefully a bunch of white violets, Eleanor's favor- 
 ite flower. He had found them hard to get. The 
 Marion was there, but no signs of excitement, no 
 rapturous reunions. Where were the passengers, and 
 the passengers' friends? 
 
 A wandering steward listened politely. Yes, he 
 
64 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 himself had served Miss Greeley. But she was gone. 
 All the passengers were gone. What time did they 
 dock? About nine o'clock. It was a record trip, 
 he said with pride. Still carrying the violets, that 
 drooped now sympathetically, Strong took a cab 
 for the house Eleanor called "home." So far as his 
 feelings were concerned, he might have taken a 
 street car instead. His heart did not leap, figura- 
 tively or otherwise. He had a blue feeling the deeper 
 because nobody seemed responsible for it. When he 
 had disputed the chauffeur's charge he felt a little 
 relieved; but there was nothing to assist recovery 
 indoors. 
 
 Dust was on the doorknob and palpable dirt on 
 the door itself. There was no response to his knock. 
 With sudden impulse he threw the violets into a 
 corner and turned away. Resentment was upper- 
 most now. Where had she gone without a word? 
 Well, what was the use of worrying? In a club he 
 seldom visited he played billiards badly until dinner 
 time, and spent the evening trying to laugh at a 
 Broadway "musical comedy success." When he 
 switched on the light, very late that night in his 
 study, he saw a note placed conspicuously in the 
 middle of his desk. He knew the vigorous, slightly 
 angular handwriting well. To have the shock over, 
 he nervously broke the seal. 
 
 " Dear Waldo," it ran, " this is not what I planned, 
 but it seems the best I can do. I guess you depended 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 65 
 
 upon the Marion's regularity, and this time she has 
 surpassed herself. That is surprise number one. 
 Number two is more important. When we docked I 
 received a telegram saying my father is dangerously 
 ill. Evidently they want me, and I feel I must go at 
 once, sorry as I am to miss seeing you after long 
 weeks and months. I have tried to reach you by 
 telephone without any success. So I can neither see 
 you nor hear from you for a while. With time so lim- 
 ited, it is fortunate Mr. Cartwright was aboard. As 
 I write he is arranging about baggage and railroad 
 tickets, and he has been in other ways helpful. No 
 more now, or I will miss my train. Please write as 
 soon as you receive this, or, better, telegraph, so I 
 may know you understand. 
 
 " Your disappointed 
 
 Eleanor." 
 
 Strong wrote, a little stiffly, for Mr. Cartwright's 
 "kindness" was as a burr to his mind. Eleanor 
 responded promptly, and plainly she was hurt. 
 
 "What is the matter?" she asked. "Surely, you 
 are not disturbed about Mr. Cartwright. I would n't 
 mention him if I could think of any other possi- 
 ble excuse for aloofness when I so sadly need sym- 
 pathy. There is worry enough in the condition of 
 my father, who is by no means out of danger, with- 
 out your coldness, which cuts to the quick. I put 
 aside pride, and ask you to explain. Don't deny it, 
 please. Let me have the truth." 
 
66 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 He was not wholly candid, but he humbled him- 
 self sufficiently to win forgiveness. A dependent 
 Eleanor appealed more strongly than Eleanor tri- 
 umphant with an ornate diplomatist in her train. 
 He was by nature gentle rather than tender. That 
 she insisted upon the latter construction made him 
 feel hypocritical, as it had before. 
 
 "You're queer, but a dear," she wrote. "Every 
 now and then I find I did n't wholly understand you. 
 I suppose that's part of your charm. Never mind. 
 Let's forget all unpleasantness. Father is much 
 better now, and I expect to really return to New 
 York sQon. I am so eager to see you." 
 
 Their life together was resumed in the old way, 
 but the old spirit was lacking. Again they lingered 
 in out-of-the-way restaurants, and let coffee grow 
 cold while they fenced over cubism in painting, 
 or futurism in music, or some other idiom of ad- 
 vanced art. But there was no longer the glow of 
 cameraderie, with added touch of deeper affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Sometimes argument rasped a little, and unceas- 
 ing music of the band became a means of escape 
 from self rather than enveloping influence that shut 
 out the world. Strong knew the difficulty to be his 
 own detachment, but never considered explanation 
 of the fact. Surgery was not in his line. Eleanor, 
 acutely conscious of estrangement, was groping in 
 the dark. Woman is least intuitive when she loves 
 most. But she is more gallant than man to brave 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 67 
 
 and bear the hurts of love. Eleanor took the situa- 
 tion by the horns. 
 
 f "I think I know what the trouble is," she said, 
 putting the period to an awkward pause. 
 
 "Trouble with what?" he inquired, with hidden 
 watchfulness for dreaded approach. 
 . "The trouble with us." She spoke a little aggres- 
 sively, nerving hefself as a rider lifts his mount to 
 the jump. "We're growing socially blasS, taking 
 each other too much for granted. Don't you think 
 we are experiencing one of the let-downs of marriage 
 without having known its joys?" 
 
 Her eyes were on him, but he had eyes only for 
 his cigar. 
 
 "What do you propose?" he asked coolly. "An- 
 other European trip?" 
 
 Tears came unheeded, but her voice was still 
 steady. "You are not helpful," she said gravely. 
 "What I want is happiness for both, but first for 
 you. And lately I have doubted my ability to make 
 you happy. Perhaps I expect too much. Are you 
 absolutely sure I am the woman you want to marry?' ' 
 
 There was silence for a moment, as she groped for 
 his soul and he instinctively barred the door. When 
 he spoke his voice was vibrant with emotion that 
 was compounded of irritation and uneasiness, but 
 passed for wounded love. 
 
 "Of course you are," he said vehemently. "Do 
 you think I am a weathervane?" 
 
 "No, but men make, mistakes. And I felt you 
 
68 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 changed. I 'm still wondering a little whether you 
 really know yourself, as I know my own heart. But 
 I must leave it to you. What shall we do?" 
 
 Fear of unfulfilled obligation nerved him to sud- 
 den resolution. 
 
 "Why," he said, "there's only one thing to do — 
 marry." 
 
 ' Crimson rushed to her cheek, and her eyes were 
 like stars. "I wish we were alone," she said softly. 
 "I can't kiss you here. I know it's our salvation, 
 but I could n't suggest it. You made me propose, 
 and that's shame enough. I believe, though, I could 
 do anything for your good." She paused in self- 
 communion, then resumed: "I wonder if you know 
 how much I love you. You'll never be sorry, dear." 
 
 "Of course not." 
 
 Now he had her hand, and the warm current of 
 her being submerged reflection. For an hour they 
 recovered the happiness of their first pledge. 
 
 Flans accelerated by Eleanor went apace, 
 
 "What do you say to a Christmas wedding?" she 
 asked a few days after Strong's crucial suggestion. 
 
 " It 's a pretty idea," he assented. " I suppose you 
 mean — " 
 
 "That each will get the nicest present possible." 
 
 He kissed her suitably, and she resumed: "And a 
 little house? Not too far out, but away from the 
 crush, so we'll have a chance to breathe." 
 
 He preferred an apartment, with homage to a 
 janitor. But he did not say so. Their great venture 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 69 
 
 he secretly classified as an experiment for which he 
 was responsible, with Eleanor's happiness at stake. 
 Of his ability to sustain a satisfactory pitch of devo- 
 tion he was somewhat skeptical. The more reason, 
 then, why in material matters her preference should 
 govern. 
 
 They took a house with a garden near the fringe 
 of the commuting belt. Its social complexion was 
 imparted by a "select community" of persons who 
 could not afford to live in New York as they wished, 
 and refused to live in the country, from which most 
 of them came. The hub of frivolity was a country 
 club that served the purposes of a sewing circle and 
 a bar. Golf, bridge, and gossip were the staple 
 amusements. It was called Peachton, and might 
 without prejudice to character have exchanged 
 names with Bay View, Scarbright, or any other of 
 some hundreds of towns that took Robert Cham- 
 bers for their Shakespeare and regarded Mrs. Astor 
 with a degree of reverence never extended to their 
 Heavenly Father. 
 
 Eleanor's people vainly protested Christmas was 
 a ridiculous time for a wedding. Strong's family 
 had nothing to say. Separation and lack of common 
 interests had made them more alien than casual 
 acquaintances. He was socially an orphan. 
 
 The prospective bridegroom undertakes his bach- 
 elor dinner as revelers of Ash Wednesday Eve take a 
 final fling before their pious plunge into Lent. After 
 the heat of wine and evaporation of good-fellowship, 
 
70 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Strong sat alone. His adieu to the past was not yet 
 complete. From the drawer in which it reposed he 
 drew Kitty Engel's last letter, inclosing a withered 
 rose. As he read it again, a sudden sharpening of 
 memory recalled her vividly. He felt her presence, 
 idealized by her fate. And she touched him from 
 the grave as she had never moved him in the flesh. 
 It was not remorse that he felt, but unhappiness 
 over his inability to forget self in love. Why was 
 he burdened with devotion to which he could not 
 respond? Surely, it was not the common lot. 
 
 He recalled his jovial companions of a few hours 
 before, — direct fellows who took life as they took 
 their dinner, without doubt of digestion. They 
 would marry, those who had not already, — and be 
 fond of wives to whom they would lie. And they 
 would cherish children of no particular significance, 
 and plod placidly to the end of mediocre lives, if not 
 happy, at least untroubled by peaks beyond their 
 vision. For himself, not even that. He Jiad a roman- 
 tic mind that somehow could not focus upon any 
 object. In this mood he was about to enter the 
 "holy bond of matrimony." The irony of it all 
 clutched him in bitter laughter. He checked it 
 sharply. 
 
 "You fool ! " he said to himself vehemently. " This 
 will never do." 
 
 He crossed to the fireplace, where the red remnant 
 of a log lay in the ashes, and stood for a moment 
 with Kitty's letter in his hand. He pressed it to his 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 71 
 
 lips, then carefully placed it upon the log, where it 
 shriveled, bursting into flame. To his burnt offering 
 the rose was not added. He placed it carefully in an 
 envelope and switched off the light. 
 
CHAPTER IX' 
 
 They had a quiet wedding, — so Strong was in- 
 formed. It seemed clamorous to him. He felt as he 
 imagined a conscious bug might feel under the 
 microscope. Eleanor had wished to be married 
 among her own people. It astonished him to find so 
 many persons in Montana, and all apparently inter- 
 ested in his bride. 
 
 "You must be good to Eleanor," was the slightly 
 varied admonition of women who wiped their eyes 
 as they spoke; and men slapped his back with the 
 hearty remark, "You've got a prize, old boy." 
 
 Standing in a shower of congratulation demand- 
 ing conventional response, he grew stiffly grave. 
 Some observant guests noted his "rapt look." It 
 was intensified under the strain of the "send off." 
 Baited joyously, his resentment rose to cold fury. 
 No loving words were spoken in the ride to the sta- 
 tion, with hilarious well-wishers at their heels. 
 Hoots of farewell were still ringing in his ears as he 
 morosely shook himself to get clear of rice that lin- 
 gered in surprising places. The beginning of mar- 
 riage was even harder than he had anticipated. 
 Against a sentimental bride he would have locked 
 his arms. Eleanor saved the day. His sulky abstrac- 
 tion struck her as humorous. From covert amuse- 
 ment she came to laughter. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 73 
 
 "Do you know," she asked, meeting his resentful 
 glance, "that you look and act like a cat that has 
 had its fur stroked the wrong way?" 
 
 "I feel like one," he said, vainly reaching for a 
 rice deposit under his collar, " Idiots! " 
 
 "Let me help you," she said, suiting action to 
 word. " Of course they are. But we want to enjoy 
 this trip." 
 
 The sense of something escaped sent his barometer 
 up rapidly. In a gush of gratitude he possessed 
 himself of her hands, unmindful of gaping fellow 
 travelers. "Do you know," he asked, "you're the 
 best fellow I ever knew?" 
 
 She gave him the frank smile that had first 
 cemented his regard. 
 
 "What should a man's wife be?" she said. 
 
 Most bridegrooms are uncomfortable and not a 
 few are bored. They do not relish white light that 
 beats upon the newly wed. How his way was cush- 
 ioned by Eleanor's unexacting care Strong did not 
 realize. He was never sure whether she clearly real- 
 ized how little he had to give. Where the purely 
 emotional is concerned, it is man's way to exagger- 
 ate the sacrifice; woman's, to deny that it exists. 
 
 From the missions and haciendas of Southern 
 California, they returned to the inevitable material- 
 ism of everyday life. As undomestic as undemon- 
 strative, Strong shirked problems of Peachton for a 
 time. Having promptly decided that the commun- 
 ity did not interest him, he devoted himself to dodg- 
 
74 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 ing its embrace. He joined its club, but never 
 endured it until Eleanor's father came to visit them, 
 i A lengthy visit, almost before such momentous 
 questions as "Oak or mahogany for the dining- 
 room?" were decided, was unquestionably a visita- 
 tion. But the paternal Greeley was oblivious of pre- 
 cise points of etiquette. It interested Strong to see 
 how in Eleanor were blended the geniality of her 
 father and the delicacy of her mother, a New Eng- 
 land primrose. 
 
 "I suppose we'll have to let him come," said 
 Eleanor tentatively, when her father's letter coup- 
 ling his intention with announcement of his depart- 
 ure arrived. 
 
 "It's outrageously soon," he objected, rattling 
 his paper rebelliously. 
 
 "But he doesn't understand, and I can't make 
 him understand. He'll just think I don't want him. 
 And he's really fond of me." 
 
 "Very well," he assented. "Peachton is curious, 
 and we could n't engage a better press agent." 
 
 Mr. Greeley came and seemed to overtax the 
 house. He was stout and elderly, and accustomed to 
 wide spaces. And his voice was the voice of one used 
 to calling cow-punchers on the range. He slipped 
 on the hard-wood floors, sighed stormily over imag- 
 inary sorrows of his youth, and inquired with una- 
 bashed interest into domestic arrangements. Abroad 
 he was even more bothersome, for one was sure he 
 would unbosom himself to all comers. He scraped 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 75 
 
 acquaintance with maids, with children, with the 
 druggist and the grocer. Strong had a feeling that 
 his affairs, including as much of his past years as his 
 father-in-law could extract, were daily bulletined 
 for Peachton. He allowed his exasperation to show, 
 and Eleanor was troubled, being between two fires. 
 For her father also complained. 
 
 "You're growing away from me," he said lugu- 
 briously. "That's always the way. Raise a child to 
 comfort you, and somebody turns her against you. 
 There's no place for the old." 
 
 He departed depressed, having breached Strong's 
 barrier against sociability. One cannot be haughty 
 with persons who know how much his wife's wedding 
 dress cost, what year she had the measles, and details 
 of her parents' courtship. Still, Strong was disin- 
 clined to avail himself of Peachton's pleasures, 
 Eleanor, more adaptable to environment and con- 
 scious of the futility of living alone, involved him 
 tactfully. That her talent, more pronounced than 
 his own, was abandoned to disuse in activities of a 
 housewife did not occur to him. He only wondered 
 at her ability to endure the society of women whose 
 minds never ranged beyond doings of a parish and 
 the society page of a Sunday newspaper. She did 
 not explain that it was better to be bored than to 
 try living in an emotional vacuum. 
 
 " Do you think it was fair for you to make me say 
 good-night to our guests alone?" she said, when he 
 had absented himself for the latter part of an even- 
 
76 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 ing consecrated to entertainment of Peachton's 
 upper ten. 
 
 "They were not my guests," he said with the 
 stubbornness of one knowing himself in the wrong. 
 "I never invited them." 
 
 "That was not stated in the invitation. Though," 
 she yielded rarely to the lure of sarcasm, " they might 
 have guessed it from your behavior." 
 
 "Anyway, I don't deceive them. I don't pretend 
 to enjoy a lot of wholesale and retail blockheads who 
 never read anything but Bradstreet's, and their 
 wives who help make the Social Register a best 
 seller." Unreasoning irritation spurred him to add, 
 "What do you see in them, anyway? Have n't you 
 anything to occupy your time?" 
 
 She turned away, and left the room. Apology 
 knocked at his lips, but remained unuttered. When 
 she was gone he took a magazine and began to read. 
 Byzantine architecture seemed a muddle, and his 
 pipe had a puckery taste. For a few minutes that 
 seemed very long he sat in silence; then he called, 
 "Eleanor!" There was no answer, and he called 
 again, stifling impatience: "Eleanor! Where are 
 you? Don't be cross." 
 
 With sudden resolution he hurried to the music 
 room. She was not there. He looked in her cham- 
 ber. That was empty, too. But as he turned away, 
 he thought he heard a muffled sob. He listened in- 
 tently, and it was repeated. So he found her. In a 
 corner of the clothes-press, and almost hidden by 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 77 
 
 garments sought to protect her plight, stood 
 Eleanor, the cheerful, the executive, the self-reliant, 
 crying miserably. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked, as she shrank 
 from his touch. 
 
 "Please go away," she entreated, pressing more 
 closely into the corner. 
 
 "I can't," he said earnestly, and took her in his 
 arms. He melted at tears where the smiling agony 
 of a martyred saint would have left him specu- 
 lative. Eleanor did not repel him. She checked her 
 tears with a convulsive effort, as he softly stroked 
 her hair. "Now, tell me," he said gently, "what 
 the matter is." 
 
 "Everything has gone to pieces," she answered 
 mournfully. 
 
 "You don't mean what happened to-night," he 
 urged, as light dawned upon him. 
 
 "That's only the last of it." There was a catch 
 in her voice he had never noted. " I gave up every- 
 thing to please you. And I 've failed. I know you 
 are not happy." 
 
 "Nonsense," he said briskly, as tenderness stran- 
 gled truth. "You're overwrought, and I've been a 
 pig. Forgive me, and I '11 stand any Peachton party, 
 even the worst it affords." 
 
 "But I invited them mostly for you," she ex- 
 plained, with a slight return of spirit. 
 
 "Of course." Now that the clouds were breaking, 
 his spirits took a sudden bound. "You remember, 
 
78 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 once I said you were the ' best fellow in the world ' ; 
 well, you have n't changed." 
 
 "But I thought you had," she said, "and I 
 could n't stand it. Tell me again it is n't true." 
 
 He kissed her instead, and she was satisfied. 
 
 After the little storm their lives ran more har- 
 moniously for a while. But apprehension gnawed 
 at Strong's breast. He was increasingly conscious of 
 folly in taking under false pretenses a life richer than 
 his own. That was what it amounted to. He had 
 promised to love and cherish, and he could do 
 neither. It was not a mere material obligation to 
 clothe and feed, and shelter from the cold. These 
 were but details of duty that made, when true love 
 touched them, a sacrament of the prose of life. He 
 himself had pictured such estate. He had a vision 
 no woman materialized. It was a vision of some one 
 gracious and tender, awaiting his coming in a soft 
 gray mist. He had never clearly seen her face. 
 
 There were women a-plenty who cherished an 
 ideal, and lived for a man. Why were men denied 
 this gift? And why was he cursed with a finicky soul? 
 He was under no illusion. He saw himself unworthy 
 of the heart's largess. 
 
 It would have been better for both had one been 
 less loving and the other less introspective. There 
 were few invasions now, for Peachton realized itself 
 unappreciated, "Mrs. Strong is charming, ' ' matrons 
 would explain, "but he is — just a little uppish, you 
 know." There was the city, of course, but Manhat- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 79 
 
 tanese were reluctant to leave their island, and one- 
 sided hospitality was bound to languish. Gradually 
 they fell back upon themselves, their unhappiness, 
 and their discontent. 
 
 A Peachton woman who knew a woman whose 
 friend had been painted by Eleanor before her mar- 
 riage gave her a commission for a portrait. The work 
 was a time-killer, but a fresh cause of pain. Once 
 she would have put some stamp of individuality 
 upon any face. But she had lost her touch. She 
 realized, though her sitter did not, that she was 
 painting a commonplace person in a commonplace 
 way. When the picture was finished she put her 
 colors and brushes away. Only her painting apron 
 was kept where she could touch in passing its dauby 
 front. 
 
 They came to dread the evening and to greet the 
 morning with relief. There was no explanation, no 
 reproaches. Strong felt himself solely responsible 
 for the impasse. That it was an impasse he did not 
 doubt. For he did not love her, could not love her, 
 and she deeply loved him. He would have pretended, 
 but could not. The thought of doing so left him 
 miserably cold. And she would not beg for what 
 should be a free gift. 
 
 When winter had died and the mellow weather 
 had come, they walked much together, because the 
 strain of walking was less than the strain of sitting 
 dumb and still. They walked the shady ways that 
 lovers walk, but it was only dread of the curious. 
 
8ol A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Numbing reticence reduced speech to bald common- 
 places. Still, it was less painful than sitting on their 
 veranda and listening to the cheerful hum of groups 
 picked out in the dusk, by the fluctuant glow of 
 cigarette and cigar. 
 
 Before their marriage Eleanor had dwelt upon 
 charms of the region, a rolling country with unmani- 
 cured stretches, as sufficiently refreshing to make 
 long vacations unnecessary. Now both felt a crav- 
 ing for the society of strangers, of persons who did 
 not know and would not guess they had gone foot- 
 sore early in their journey on a road that stretched 
 dusty and ribbon-like to the grave. 
 
 "Work is slack in the office, and isn't likely to 
 pick up much for a while," he said with elaborate 
 carelessness, when they had sat in absolute silence 
 for leaden minutes, after hearing "The Bedouin 
 Love Song" from a neighboring house. Its passion- 
 ate declaration was piercingly personal to them. 
 
 Not eagerly, rather with the air of one distantly 
 interested, Eleanor asked, "Would you like to go 
 away?" 
 
 " I think it would do us both good. What do you 
 say to Narragansett Pier?" There was a hint of 
 eagerness in his voice. 
 
 "When do you want to go? " she inquired, passing 
 preliminaries. 
 
 "As soon as you're ready." Then he added ex- 
 plosively, "Peach ton is getting on my nerves." 
 
 She smiled mirthlessly. "I guess it got on my 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 8i 
 
 nerves first. My clothes are ready, with a little 
 work. This is Thursday. Would you like to go next 
 week?" 
 
 "Of course." The chair in which he had been bal- 
 anced came down with a bang. " I guess I 'd better 
 write at once about rooms," he said as he went, not 
 too hastily, indoors. As he returned from posting 
 his letter a little later, he caught himself puckering 
 his lips to whistle. "What a fool I am ! " he muttered 
 disgustedly. 
 
 Eleanor, too, was less heavy of heart. There was 
 no happiness, but something like peace. It was as 
 if a warm wind had swept mist away. When the key 
 turned in the lock it was not the house of dreams 
 that they left behind. Rather it was a haunted 
 place, where the ghost of love pleaded incessantly 
 to be let in. 
 
 The Pier was lively, and cordial to the entertain- 
 ing. Almost as a stranger Strong noted Eleanor's 
 social gift. With the aid of Peachton he had taken 
 from her buoyancy and the indescribable something 
 Barrie styles "bloom." In the society of others this 
 process of a year was undone in days. She seemed 
 again to look laughingly upon the world, and to 
 delight in sharing her enjoyment. Men who regarded 
 him a little timorously flocked about her, and women 
 paid her the rare compliment of admiring one of 
 their own sex. 
 
 "Am I too gay?" she said, a little challengingly, 
 after her third dance of an evening with a naval 
 
I 
 
 82 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 lieutenant so deeply impressed that he forgot the 
 bar. 
 
 " No," he said deliberately, " I give you unlimited 
 liberty. But I am a little sorry for other women." 
 The wonder of his coldness to her glowing charm 
 smote him as he saw her before him. Then he saaa 
 a college lad standing anxiously at her elbow, 
 wish I were a dancing man," he added, and, bowjjjg, 
 turned away. 
 
 He did not see her again until the time when 
 creaky middle-age collects its youthful daughter^ 
 and sighingly leaves its sons to temptations of man 
 estate. She was sitting in an arbor with a man, ani 
 as he approached Strong noted, sensitive as he was 
 to any aspect of his eternal problem, that they 
 seemed on familiar terms. Eleanor did not start. 
 Pointed by her companion's look, she jSij^d her eyes 
 and saw him standing beside her. Her.fraiik smile 
 swept both him and the other man, who was ap- 
 praising him with practiced eye. 
 
 , " I 'm glad ypi^'ve come," she said. " I wa"Ht you 
 to know Mr. Cartwright. He w&s so kind to me, 
 you remember, when we lost each'other, last year." 
 
 Cartwright had risen as she spoke, and as she 
 finished he extended his hand. "It is a pleasure 
 now," he said cordially, "to extencfthe congratula- 
 tion circumstances prevented me from offering 
 before." ^ 
 
 They exchanged handclasps, with perfunctory 
 response on the part of Strong, and passed into the 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 83 
 
 drift of casual conversation. Judging at leisure, 
 Strong found Cartwright an exceptional man. He 
 seemed fifty, or thereabouts, with a slight silvering 
 of dark hair, and a lean, lightly bronzed face domi- 
 nated by dark gray eyes that, without marked 
 Jbnlliancy, conveyed an impression of poise and 
 P^er. He was a tall man of rather robust physique 
 a^ easy manners. His talk was wide-ranging, with 
 an^ccasional touch of pure Yankee wit. And he 
 had the gift of attention rarer than the gift of speech. 
 It appeared that he had stopped at the hotel for 
 
 I he night on his way to Bar Harbor, and been pre- 
 ented to Eleanor by a friend. " It was superfluous," 
 he said with a laugh, "but none the less agreeable. 
 Now I '11 stay a day or two, if I may. At Bar Harbor 
 I go to my brother's house, and one's relatives may 
 be put off with impunity. If I trespass politely, do 
 you mind?" 
 
 His interrogative glance embraced both, and 
 Strong'jsvas first to answer. " I 'm sure Mrs. Strong 
 would enjoy it," he responded, "and I usually like 
 what she likes." 
 
 Eleanor smiled, her eyes on Strong rather than 
 Cartwright. "You know how pleasant it will be," 
 she said simply. 
 
 There was a question that trembled on Strong's 
 lips: "Why did you not prefer him to me?" That 
 Cartwright had offered himself he did not doubt, 
 and comparison he made placed himself at a dis- 
 advantage with the elder man. And so he wondered. 
 
84 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 As a judge, he would have assented to the proposi- 
 tion that love knows neither law nor logic, yet he 
 could not give it personal application. Every heart 
 knoweth its own bitterness, but the transfiguration 
 of love is only explicable to the heart that has bled. 
 
 What Strong could not ask Eleanor, since shame 
 restrained him from prying into the nature of a gift 
 he had sadly used, came by frank observation of 
 Cartwright himself. They were smoking together, 
 with the little lapses in conversation that constitute 
 a luxury only lovers of Lady Nicotine experience. 
 
 " I suppose you know," said Cartwright suddenly, 
 "that I was once your rival." 
 
 " I must confess I did n't," Strong responded with 
 equal readiness. Then honesty compelled him to 
 add, " But I suspected it. And I can't quite see how 
 the choice went as it did." 
 
 Cartwright pulled hard at his cigar. "She loved 
 you," he said simply. There was silence for a mo- 
 ment, then he went on: "I'm not ashamed to say 
 that she meant more to me than any woman I had 
 ever known. She does still. Naturally, I told her. 
 She said she loved you. I 'm frank to say I tried to 
 erase the impression you had made. I am a little 
 heathen in my feeling that a man is entitled to hap- 
 piness if he can get it without violent breach of 
 honor. But I failed. She was too stanch. And now 
 I'm not desperately sorry that I did fail. Soon I 
 shall be what mincing ladies call a 'well-preserved 
 man.' Had she married me, a time of painful dis- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 85 
 
 parity would have come. You are a better mate. I 
 am honestly glad to see her happy with einother man. 
 I would n't have thought it possible." 
 
 Strong made no reply. Cartwright had opened his 
 heart. What would he say to reciprocate? He wres- 
 tled with an impulse to tell the truth: "She isn't 
 happy. She is desperately unhappy, because I do 
 not love her. I married her knowing it, and was 
 foolish enough to think I could take without giving, 
 and not leave her bankrupt. She would have been 
 better off with you, for at least there would have 
 been no heartbreaking neglect." 
 
 The words raced through his brain. Presently 
 Cartwright spoke again. 
 
 " I trust you do not think me presumptuous," he 
 said with a touch of pride. 
 
 "By no means." The impulse had passed, and 
 Strong's voice was as steady as the hand with which 
 he flecked the ash from his cigar. " I thank you for 
 your frankness. And believe me when I say I, too, 
 would be happy in knowing her happy with you." 
 
 There was no more intimate talk. The next day 
 Cartwright departed early. His note of farewell 
 mentioned an urgent telegram. 
 
 That Eleanor had been much admired Strong 
 knew when he met her. Mrs. Decrow in substance 
 described her as a fisher of men. But, until he met 
 Cartwright, he was never acutely conscious of 
 her charm to others. She had been unfeminine 
 enough to spare him mention of her conquests. Now 
 
86 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 the feeling of guilt in having obtained under false 
 pretenses, inferentially at least, the gift others had 
 sought was strong within him. Something that 
 blended pity and regret softened his manner to the 
 semblance of tenderness. Perhaps it was tenderness. 
 For it was of her wasted life, the precious wine of 
 life spilled upon the sand, that he thought, and that 
 only. 
 
 Eleanor for a time seemingly regained relish of 
 life. Upon Strong the problem of their future pressed 
 with leaden fingers both night and day. Deprived of 
 the routine of work in the city, and the no less in- 
 evitable routine of domestic misery at home, he 
 lacked power to submerge in distraction of the hour 
 the threat of years. Wherever he went, he saw 
 before him an ominous interrogation point. 
 
 The question seemed his alone. Acutely as each 
 realized how pitifully short of a true union they had 
 fallen, they had exchanged no word of acknowledg- 
 ment. Eleanor was too proud to beg for love as 
 alms. Strong realized that, but she understood less 
 clearly his feeling, complicated by an element of 
 shame. They were too young to be utterly hopeless. 
 Yet fear of inflaming further their aching hearts 
 locked their lips. 
 
 i Now her burst of apparent gayety, which was 
 partly an effort for his relief, impressed upon him 
 afresh the thought that some way must be found for 
 her release. But he made no headway. For himself, 
 separation would be a boon in escape from constant 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 87 
 
 realization of a hopeless mistake. He thought, too, 
 of divorce, and stood ready to place power of sever- 
 ance in her hands. He would have been happy in 
 knowing she was the admired wife of Cartwright. 
 It was not in his composition to feel jealousy with- 
 out love. What did that matter? All plans of self- 
 sacrifice were dashed against the same wall. 
 
 Eleanor might assent to a proposal of separation ; 
 and she might accept a divorce. But he knew it 
 would not be her choice. As well as if he had heard 
 it from her lips, he knew she would rather cling to 
 the shell of marriage. In being with him, unrespon- 
 sive as he was, she had sad pleasure, like that of an 
 outcast mother viewing from a distance her lost 
 child. 
 
 The most desperate remedy of all he did not over- 
 look. There were moments in which suicide seemed 
 a simple and not too terrible solution. But he feared 
 some blunder in giving it the complexion of accident. 
 To die, seemingly as the only way of escape from 
 her, would be the crowning injury of all. And to 
 explain the act would equally bar her from any 
 benefit. He could see no option. He must go on. 
 
 From sad and futile meditation came a period of 
 calm, almost of tranquillity. Softness he had vainly 
 prayed for came to him unsought. There was no 
 mirage of passion, no semblance of devotion; but 
 their mutual life was sweetened by gentleness lack- 
 ing before. They had lost true friendship in failing 
 to become true lovers. Now they were thankful for 
 
88 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 a measure of companionableness. Perhaps Eleanor 
 accepted the change coincident with their return to 
 Peachton as an earnest of something more precious. 
 Strong was under no delusion, but he nourished 
 their new intimacy. Had he been able to counterfeit 
 love, he would have done it joyously. To hear 
 Eleanor sing, to see her again interested in flowers 
 and hopeful of resuming her art, gave him a sensa- 
 tion of justified existence. 
 
 Whom God hath joined no man can put asunder. 
 That marriages in general are not canceled in fact, 
 irrespective of law, is due to favorable circumstance 
 more than to human perfectibility. In the most 
 important relation of life the average human stops 
 studying when he has only mastered the alphabet. 
 It was not the fault, but the misfortune, of Strong 
 that he saw unblurred the ugliness of intimacy with- 
 out love. No drapery of duty concealed the fact. 
 What he assumed could not be permanently main- 
 tained. Psychic deceit is not easy to the male. But 
 fate spared him confession of defeat. 
 
 In the autumn Eleanor visited Mrs. Decrow in 
 her Adirondack lodge. Strong declined on the 
 ground of business pressure. His real reasons were 
 dread of vivid reminders of days of fatal fondness, 
 and fear of some jar disturbing the delicate balance 
 of their readjustment. Eleanor did not care to go 
 alone, but he urged her strongly. 
 
 " You '11 enjoy it," he said, " and confer a blessing. 
 Mrs. Decrow wants you, and Dr. Darling needs you. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 89 
 
 He '11 never be happy till he gets a chance to make 
 that declaration of burning and hopeless love side- 
 tracked by Cartwright's arrival at the Pier. So 
 everybody will be pleased. It will make me easier to 
 know you are being amused while I buckle down 
 to work. I'll come on Saturday, if I can." 
 
 That he would not go he knew before Saturday 
 arrived. He enjoyed too much the luxury of being 
 alone. To sit unconcerned and off guard was as rest- 
 ful to his nerves as lolling at ease to the body after 
 severe exertion. The week-end arrived, and he wrote 
 a telegram of regret. It lay on his desk when the 
 telephone checked him in ringing for a messenger. 
 He recognized Mrs. Decrow's voice in response to 
 his "Hello!" and instantly moved to marshal his 
 excuses. But she was not urging him to come. It 
 was something about Eleanor he gathered before 
 crossed wires threw at him the clamorous com- 
 plaint of a man accusing his broker of disobeying an 
 order to sell. Strong declined to hear details of 
 Umpico Common, and labored to reestablish his 
 connection. When he heard Mrs. Decrow's voice, 
 a little feverish, once more, he sought to direct the 
 conversation. 
 
 "What was Eleanor's message? " he Inquired. " I 
 lost it when they shut you off." 
 
 "It isn't a message from her," came over the 
 wire with an accent of desperation, " It 's about her, 
 and I did n't want to telephone; but I was afraid 
 you'd take the train." 
 
90 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Of course it's all right," he said, a little appre- 
 hensive and somewhat bewildered. "What's it 
 about?" 
 
 "She's ill." 
 
 "Where?" he said, trying to keep calm. 
 
 "Here in the city." He could feel her agitation. 
 Separated as they were, he knew she fought to con- 
 trol her voice. "I can't say another word here. 
 Wait till I come to you. My motor is at the 
 door." 
 
 "Very well," he assented. "Don't worry about 
 me. I shall be waiting." 
 
 What had happened? Manifestly it was some- 
 thing important that Mrs. Decrow had to communi- 
 cate. Probably some accident had befallen Eleanor. 
 He did not try to guess what it was, but related 
 speculation crept into his mind. As he sat toying 
 with a paper-cutter he wondered whether Fate, hav- 
 ing dealt with him ironically, were sitting opposite 
 with another trick up his sleeve. 
 
 Mrs. Decrow entered flurriedly, obviously relieved 
 to find him. She gave him both hands, and spiked 
 his natural questions. 
 
 " Not now," she said. "Put on your hat. Time is 
 precious, and we can talk in the car." 
 
 "The Slater Hospital," was the order given the 
 chauffeur, as he helped her in. Once under way, she 
 talked with more than her customary velocity. It 
 was rheumatic fever, and Eleanor was desperately 
 ill. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 91 
 
 " But she never had a touch of rheumatism in her 
 life," he said. "At least, I never heard she did." 
 
 " I can't say as to that. She has it now, poor dear, 
 and the doctors are afraid." 
 
 It appeared to have come from a slight chill. 
 Eleanor had been on the lake with Dr. Darling, and 
 a sudden shower overtook them. Distressed as he 
 was. Strong's mind leaped back to his own experi- 
 ence, that night in the wind and rain when he had 
 mistaken the call of the feminine for love. He won- 
 dered whether Dr. Darling, who had the copious 
 gallantry of a professional squire of dames, found 
 opportunity to declare the devotion he did not feel. 
 How much easier for Eleanor it would have been 
 had he himself possessed the gift of affectionate 
 deceit. While these thoughts eddied in a corner of 
 his mind he listened to Mrs. Decrow's story. 
 
 Nobody had taken Eleanor's wetting seriously. 
 She laughed at Dr. Darling's suggestion of a stimu- 
 lant to ward off danger. But next morning she did 
 not appear, and there was no response to calls. So 
 they entered at last, and found her unconscious. It 
 appeared that Dr. Darling knew something about 
 medicine as well as love. He diagnosed the case as 
 rheumatic fever and advised removal at once as less 
 dangerous than trying to care for her in the moun- 
 tains. So Mrs. Decrow ordered a special train, and 
 got it promptly, since one of her nephews was an 
 operating executive of the railroad. 
 
 "And I took her to the Slater," she continued, 
 
92 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 " because Cousin John is chief physician there. Was 
 I too presuming in doing all this without consulting 
 you?" 
 
 "You were most kind," he said gratefully. "How 
 can I properly express my appreciation?" 
 
 " Don't try now. You see," — she hesitated and 
 put her hand a little timidly on his arm, — "I feel 
 in a measure responsible for you two. You were my 
 prize experiment, and it must n't turn out badly. 
 Please don't resent my saying I know you've not 
 been quite harmonious. It was n't conspicuous, of 
 course, but persons who are a little old, and have 
 nothing to do but watch others, grow sharp-eyed. 
 So I know you've started a little awkwardly. It's 
 so often the case where both are sensitive and high- 
 spirited. But they're the happiest of all when they 
 understand each other. That's why I'm insistent 
 for you. Please forgive me for preaching when I 
 ought to be only full of sympathy," 
 
 He could not say, "There is only one way for 
 either of us to be really happy," and state the propo- 
 sition. He could not say anything. So he pressed 
 her hand, and she liked him more for his inarticu- 
 lateness. 
 
 In the hospital they were taken at once to 
 Eleanor's room. The young doctor who escorted 
 them was quiet and deferential, and not obviously 
 anxious to discuss the case. Possibly he fathomed 
 their connection with Cousin John. Another doctor 
 was in consultation with a nurse as they entered the 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 93 
 
 room, both studying a chart. Neither gave the visit- 
 ors more than a casual nod at first, and Strong felt 
 intensified the impression of something soulless that 
 had come of his brief interview with a crisp-speaking 
 clerk in the hospital office. He labored with the 
 inexperienced person's expectation of atmosphere 
 charged with solemnity, hushed and reverent in the 
 house of Pain and Death. That schedules must be 
 kept, nurses disciplined, and elaborate apparatus 
 run on schedule; that system is essential to effi- 
 ciency, does not occur to the harassed mourner. 
 
 Eleanor lay there heedless of his entry. Her face 
 was flushed, and her hair streamed over the pillow. 
 At first glance, in subdued light she conveyed an 
 impression of superabundant vigor. Then he noted 
 her eyes staring into vacancy, and how her fingers 
 aimlessly picked at the counterpane. 
 
 The doctor turned from his conference with the 
 nurse, and appraised them swiftly. "Mr. Strong?" 
 he said. "And Mrs. Decrow? Dr. Decrow told me 
 you were on your way. He will see you later." He 
 hesitated, and gave them an inquiring glance. " Per- 
 haps you know nearly as much about the case as I 
 do. If there is anything I can tell you?" 
 
 Neither spoke and he went on. "Of course, it's 
 a very serious attack, but we are hopeful. The 
 delirium will have left her to-morrow." 
 
 "Meantime—" 
 
 "There is nothing you can do." The doctor was 
 ready with the customary assurance. "She will be 
 
94 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 under constant observation, with the best of care. 
 Should there be any important development, which 
 is unlikely, we will notify you at once." Both voice 
 and manner were charged with professional suav- 
 ity. 
 
 It was evident that the men of medicine preferred 
 to fight the battle alone. Strong accepted dismissal, 
 yet was loath to go. Separation from Eleanor in 
 health had been relief. Separation from Eleanor 
 ill and unconscious seemed like desertion of duty. 
 He stepped to her side for a last look, and stooped 
 to brush aside a strand of hair straying over her 
 eyelid. As he touched her cheek her right hand 
 sought and clasped his hand. He thrilled with feel- 
 ing that was neither husbandly nor paternal, nor 
 the exquisite yearning of a lover. It was protective 
 tenderness evoked by a call from the deep. Some- 
 where in the dark her blindfolded soul knew and 
 claimed him for its comfort. She was not conscious 
 of his presence, but a strained look, as of one grop- 
 ing affrightedly, was succeeded by an expression 
 of peace. She lay quietly at rest. 
 
 When he sought to disengage his hand she 
 clutched it tightly. To break her grip he had not 
 the heart. And so he stayed. Divining his mood, 
 the nurse placed a chair at the bedside. 
 
 "I seem to be drafted," he said to the doctor. 
 "Do you think I will do any harm if I remain?" 
 
 The doctor looked at his patient, and took her 
 pulse. For domestic considerations he had no mind. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 95 
 
 "No," he replied judicially. "In fact, you seem to 
 have a tranquillizing influence." 
 
 With this tacit permit Strong turned to Mrs. 
 Decrow. " I know you '11 excuse me for leaving you 
 to get home alone." 
 
 "There's nothing to excuse," she said. "My car 
 is still at the door." She fumbled in her purse and 
 extracted a latch-key pressed upon him as she rose 
 to go. "You must make my house your home for 
 the present. Don't refuse, for I won't listen to you. 
 There's nobody needing you in Peachton, and no- 
 body has a better claim in New York. Besides, I 
 really need a male creature, somebody the butler 
 can respect. Come and go as you please, only let 
 me know how it is with Eleanor. Good-bye!" 
 
 She was outside the door before Strong had oppor- 
 tunity to reply. After her went the doctor on his 
 rounds, and the nurse betook herself to a sitting- 
 room within sound of the bell. He was left alone 
 with the body that blindly fought disease. 
 
 It was twilight when his vigil began, and soon 
 night nurses came to replace those of the day. "With 
 much rustling and whispering, responsibility was 
 shifted and quiet reigned again. It was a calm preg- 
 nant with apprehension, with watchfulness that 
 was electrical, with the straining of minds conscious 
 of suffering and reaching for consolation. Sometimes 
 a faint moan came to his ears, and at stated inter- 
 vals a white-coated young doctor paced silently down 
 the corridor. The slow-bekting heart of the city 
 
96 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 that never soundly sleeps stirred the night with light 
 pulsations. 
 
 When dawn came, turning artificial light pale 
 yellow, he still sat there, and Eleanor's hand still 
 tightly clutched his own. Through the long hours 
 she lay in coma so deep it almost seemed that life 
 itself had fled. A moment only the veil was lifted. 
 He felt her glance, as he sat staring at the floor, and 
 lifted his eyes to meet it. Bewilderment and relief 
 were mirrored in her eyes. She struggled for under- 
 standing. 
 
 "I'm so glad," she whispered, and slipped into 
 oblivion again. 
 
 He slept himself, for nature would not be denied. 
 
 "I guess I'm a poor nurse," he said confusedly, 
 when the doctor tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 "We're all mortal," observed the doctor, "and 
 you have about reached your limit." 
 
 "But I can watch a while longer," Strong pro- 
 tested. 
 
 "You are not allowed to. One patient is enough 
 in a family of two. If you come back before noon, 
 the nurse won't admit you." 
 
 Though his manner was jocose, his earnestness 
 was evident. Too weary to resist. Strong permitted 
 himself to be bundled into a taxi. Neither the shak- 
 ing he got from a chaufifeur rejoicing in speed, nor 
 sights and sounds of early morning could unseal his 
 eyes. He only wakened sufficiently to pay his fare 
 at Mrs. Decrow's door, and to follow a servant evi- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 97 
 
 dently instructed about his room. The next he knew 
 was midday and the sun streaming across the bed. 
 Slowly at first, and then with convulsive grasp, he 
 recalled events of the last twenty-four hours. There 
 was a telephoile within reach and he at once turned 
 to call the hospital. 
 
 "Doing as well as can be expected," came the 
 stereotyped reply. 
 
 He knew there was nothing to be learned that way, 
 and impatiently began a hasty toilet. Luncheon 
 awaited him, and with it Mrs. Decrow. 
 
 "Don't try to tell me any news," she said. "I 
 know all that from Cousin John. Just eat, and 
 remember you are responsible for the health of 
 two." 
 
 She rattled on entertainingly, and Strong was 
 grateful for distraction. At the hospital there was 
 little change. Eleanor was conscious at times, with 
 the fever still crescent. They would not let him stay. 
 He might watch again at night, but until that time 
 he was barred. What to do until then was the ques- 
 tion. He craved action. His office seemed the only 
 outlet. It was deserted on Sunday, so there was 
 nobody by whom his action might be misconstrued. 
 Where he left it on Saturday he resumed work on 
 plans for a country house. It was a commission from 
 a man preparing for marriage. Since his own crop- 
 per. Strong always speculated on the chances of 
 those venturing matrimony, with an impersonal 
 wish for their well-being. 
 
98 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 After the light failed, and he put aside his draw- 
 ings, he sat a long time, smoking and drifting in 
 narcotic dream. Then he realized it was late and 
 sought the nearest hotel for dinner. Not that he 
 was interested in eating, but it was something one 
 had to do. 
 
 That night the hospital seemed less strange. He 
 was rid of the feeling of an intruder in purgatory. 
 While not always lucid, Eleanor was always in a 
 measure conscious of his presence. He could feel the 
 pull of her dependence, whether she tossed in fever 
 or had restless sleep. There was little said, for she 
 was too ill to think, and he was afraid to speak. But 
 something unanswered buzzed in the back of her 
 head, and at last she framed the question: — 
 
 "Were you here last night?" 
 
 He stooped to listen, then answered gravely: 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 She sighed with content, and pressed his hand 
 feebly. 
 
 "You are so good," she murmured. 
 
 He could not answer, and seemingly she did not 
 expect him to reply. Her eyes closed, she drifted in 
 vague consciousness of existence. Whether she slept 
 he could not tell, save when the fever ran higher and 
 she tossed in pain. So the battle went on through 
 the night. That it was a hard fight for life was evi- 
 dent even to Strong's untrained intelligence. He 
 felt the unexpressed solicitude of doctors and nurses, 
 who seemed in their quiet conferences unconscious 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 99 
 
 of his presence. The fortnight that followed stood 
 out in after years as the most singular of his life, — • 
 it was so full of pain, so crowded, and yet remote, as 
 the clearly observed experience of another man. He 
 slept only in snatches, for he was in the hospital 
 each night and at his desk for the day. To remon- 
 strance he turned a deaf ear. Pride he mistook for 
 consideration made him resolved no one should be 
 saddled with his trouble. 
 
 He discharged his duties with painstaking care, 
 and went about the routine of life with unruffled 
 front. And through all his wakeful hours hammered 
 self-accusation. Pity and regret so flooded his heart 
 that he thought he felt love blooming there. Would 
 he have a chance to redeem his blind indifference? 
 We are what we are, not what we want to be. But 
 Strong's delusion was sufficiently lasting for the 
 blessing it could confer. 
 
 Day by day he saw Eleanor wasting away, and 
 day by day grew his tenderness, his vigilant care. 
 Finally the fever departed, leaving the wreck of her 
 former self. The end of the pitched battle brought 
 a natural let-down in attacking forces. In Strong 
 it was marked by reappearance of a tinge of natu- 
 ral reserve. Thus, seeing what ravages disease had 
 wrought, she feared loss of newfound happiness. 
 
 One day he found her holding a mirror. She did 
 not hear him as"he entered quietly and stood watch- 
 ing her, bolstered in bed to catch the favoring light. 
 She confronted herself without consolation. The 
 
lOO A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 glass dropped from her hands, and a tear rolled down 
 her cheek. Another followed. She did not sob, but 
 wept quietly, hopelessly, with wide-open eyes. 
 
 "This is a moist greeting," he said lightly, hoping 
 to lighten her somber mood. 
 
 She did not answer, but held out her hands. He 
 took her in his arms, cuid held her for a minute, 
 smoothing her hair. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked, when she had 
 ceased to tremble. 
 
 "I'm so ugly," she said sadly, "and so weak. I 
 used to think that at least you had a healthy wife. 
 I had a superior feeling about ailing women. Now 
 I'm broken down completely. You'll be sorry, I 
 know, but you won't be really fond of me." 
 
 "Nonsense." He kissed her, and drew her closer. 
 "You're morbid. You have been through a hard 
 siege, but we'll have you on your feet again 
 soon." 
 
 "Do you think so?" she said wistfully. "I'm 
 afraid." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " I don't know. Perhaps it's fear of losing what I 
 wanted more than anything on earth, or in heaven, 
 either. Last night I dreamed I was carried to 
 heaven against my will, for you were left behind. I 
 struggled to go back, and woke crying. I could n't 
 tell the nurse. She 'd think me silly, and I did n't 
 mean to tell you." 
 
 "Is that all?" he inquired, regarding her indul- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM loi 
 
 gently. "Then let me tell you that such a change of 
 residence won't be tolerated. You may leave Peach- 
 ton, if you please. I could stand that. But wherever 
 you go, just count me in." 
 
 For an instant her soul looked forth unafraid. 
 Then she veiled her eyes, and seemed to study the 
 counterpane. As she traced its pattern absently, 
 a ring slipped from her finger. 
 
 "Please keep it for me," she said, extending it in 
 the palm of her hand. 
 
 "But it's your wedding ring," he expostulated. 
 
 " I know, dear, but it's so loose. Last night I lost 
 it. It just rattles around the bone. Keep it until I 
 have a presentable finger again. I can afford to let 
 it go now — " 
 
 She paused, as if seeking a word, and he finished 
 the sentence, — " Better than when you had nothing 
 else." 
 
 "We won't speak of it again," she said. " It's all 
 past now. You 've done so much for me lately. Will 
 you do one thing more?" 
 
 "Name it," he challenged promptly. 
 
 " Go home and sleep to-night. Not a peaceful 
 night since I 've been ill. And you show it, dear. I 
 love the lines for what they mean, but I '11 worry 
 now till you are rid of them. Remember, if you fall 
 ill, I'll have a relapse." 
 
 "Don't you want me?" he asked, a little hurt. 
 
 "Yes, but I don't need you now, and you need 
 rest. Will you take it?" 
 
I02 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "To please you, I will, if the doctor says you are 
 all right." 
 
 The doctor gave assurance. There was no reason 
 to expect any changes, he said. Mrs. Strong's sug- 
 gestion was wise. So he went to bed that night in 
 orthodox fashion. It seemed a little queer at first, 
 and his thoughts strayed to the hospital. Once his 
 hand went to the telephone, but he did not call. 
 
 It was still dark when he awoke with a start, and 
 sat up in bed. His numbed mind harbored the 
 impression that some one had called him. Then the 
 telephone rang again, a little longer and insistently. 
 He clutched the receiver, instantly alert. 
 
 "Yes," he said, laboring to keep his voice steady. 
 "This is Mr. Strong. What is it?" 
 
 "This is the Slater Hospital. Mrs. Strong has had 
 a relapse, and the doctor thinks you had better 
 come." 
 
 "How serious is it?" he demanded, reaching 
 with his disengaged hand for any article of clothing 
 within reach. 
 
 "I can't say. This is the telephone operator." 
 
 There was no animation, no sympathy, no re- 
 sponsive intelligence. It was just the voice of a 
 machine in mechanical discharge of duty. Strong 
 clenched his fingers in exasperation. 
 
 "Very well," he said; "I'll come as quickly as 
 possible." 
 
 As he dressed with nervous speed, conjectures of 
 disaster jostled one another in his mind. He mechan- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 103 
 
 ically reached for his brushes, then turned away 
 with an exclamation. With the stealth of a thief he 
 descended the stairs. There was no need of robbing 
 Mrs. Decrow, or any servant, of sleep. Some night- 
 hawk cabman would be prowling about. He began 
 walking in the direction of the hospital. The street 
 was remarkably quiet. One block, two blocks, and 
 he had encountered only an inebriated w4nderer. 
 He was wasting precious time. Perhaps he was los- 
 ing his last chance to see Eleanor. He had refused 
 to harbor the thought that Death itself might be 
 behind his summons. Now it took him by storm. 
 Instinctively he quickened his stride, then broke 
 into a run. Three blocks, and no cab in sight. But 
 he heard the humming of a motor that rounded the 
 corner ahead and quickened speed with a bark, its 
 searchlights streaking the pavement with white. . 
 
 Whose motor, and what kind of car it might be, 
 Strong did not reflect. He acted primitively; in a 
 minute, or half a minute, the car would be gone. 
 Heedless of consequences, he plunged into the street, 
 waving his arms and uttering inarticulate cries. The 
 brakes went on with a click, and the car slid with 
 locked wheels until its blinding light shone full into 
 his distorted face. 
 
 "What in hell is the matter with you!" snapped 
 the man who sat at the wheel. 
 
 Panting with exhaustion, Strong threw at him 
 ■the all-absorbing fact:— "I've got to go to the 
 hospital."^ 
 
I04 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "You'll get there all right, and go in an ambu- 
 lance," said the motorist roughly. "What's the 
 matter with you?" 
 
 " My wife is dying." Strong was no longer hyster- 
 ical, but the burden upon him made him careless of 
 everything but fact. 
 
 "The devil ! " said the motorist in a softened voice. 
 "Get in." 
 
 Silently Strong obeyed, and upon the pressure of 
 a button the engine again panted to be free. "Where 
 to?" inquired the drafted escort. 
 
 "The Slater." 
 
 No word was spoken while they raced through 
 deserted thoroughfares and rushed up the hill to the 
 hospital doors. 
 
 "I can't thank you enough," said Strong, as he 
 stepped to the ground. 
 
 " Don't try. Do as much for any fellow in a box. 
 Luck to you." 
 
 He was off again, still unknown. For a moment 
 Strong stood watching his dwindling tail-light; its 
 dulling red suggested what paling lights of the city 
 confirmed, that it was near dawn. As he passed the 
 office door, a sleepy-eyed girl put down a book she 
 was dozing over and accosted him: — 
 
 "Is this Mr. Strong?" 
 
 "Yes," he said, only slackening his gait. 
 
 "The doctor wishes to speak with you." 
 
 "Where?" he asked, coming to a stop. 
 
 " In the reception room, ahead on the right." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 105 
 
 The doctor was easily discovered. He had han- 
 dled Eleanor's case from the start, and Strong had 
 found him uncommunicative in detail. He was skill- 
 ful and honest, no doubt, but Strong had sometimes 
 felt that even his beard was worn as a check on 
 indiscreet utterance. Now he felt an almost savage 
 impulse to wrest from him the truth. 
 
 "You wish to see me," he said bluntly. 
 
 The doctor cleared his throat and fingered his 
 watch-chain. "Yes," he explained with slight hesi- 
 tation, then made the plunge. "I thought it best 
 to prepare you for seeing Mrs. Strong." 
 
 So it was true, the worst he had feared. He sum- 
 moned strength to meet the shock. In the painful 
 silence a clock's ticking and the jingling of keys in 
 the doctor's pocket seemed vociferous disturbances. 
 When Strong spoke again his voice was strained and 
 flat with his effort to be matter-of-fact. 
 
 "Prepared for what?" 
 
 "For the worst," said the doctor, falling into la- 
 conic vein. 
 
 " You sent me away. You said there was nothing 
 new." His manner was that of a judge to a convicted 
 man. 
 
 "That was true." Put on the defensive, a shade 
 of resentment sounded in the doctor's voice. 
 
 "Then why was n't I told?" 
 
 It came out then, the effect of the fever and the 
 reason why he had been kept in the dark. It was 
 her heart, the doctor said, a double leakage. Such a 
 
io5 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 result was not uncommon, and in Mrs. Strong's 
 case it was particularly pronounced. Still, up to the 
 present they had hoped to save her. They had not 
 reported this trouble because she insisted that it be 
 kept from him. Perhaps it was wrong to humor her, 
 but she was a very persuasive person. He would 
 have said more, but Strong cut him short. 
 
 "There's no use in rowing over the wrong and 
 right of what you did," he said quietly. "She needs 
 me, I'll go in now." 
 
 "Perhaps I 'd better go with you," said the doctor, 
 rising as he spoke. 
 
 " I 'd rather you would n't. Is n't the nurse able 
 to do what can be done?" 
 
 "Yes. There is n't much." 
 
 "Good-night," said Strong, and turned away. 
 
 Sharpened by anticipation, he grasped details of 
 Eleanor's sadly altered appearance in a long glance. 
 There was the mysterious something that heralds 
 death, and holds the robust living by impalpable 
 barrier. She lay slightly bolstered, her black hair 
 flowing over the snowy pillow from her hardly less 
 pallid face. Her eyes were closed, but they opened 
 as she sensed rather than heard his approach, and a 
 measure of their natural luster returned. 
 
 " I 'm so glad you ' ve come, ' ' she whispered. ' ' Take 
 me in your arms." 
 
 With infinite gentleness he enfolded her, and she 
 seemed vitalized for a moment. His tears fell upon 
 her face. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 107 
 
 " It can't be true, Eleanor," he said brokenly. " It 
 can't be true." 
 
 " It is true, dear." Her voice was faint but steady. 
 "Don't cry. I did n't mean to leave you so sud- 
 denly. I thought if it came to this, there would be 
 more time." 
 
 The nurse moved to apply some restorative to her 
 nostrils. She waved it away. 
 
 "Not yet," she said. " I don't need it now." She 
 was silent for a moment, then went on with a slight 
 access of energy. " It 's strange to be going just as 
 the day comes. And I 'm young. I 've hardly lived 
 at all. But I 'm not afraid, and I 'm not unhappy, 
 now that I know you love me. I thought you never 
 would." 
 
 "Precious," he said, and kissed her lips. 
 
 A smile of love hovered about her eyes, still vital 
 with the spirit that could not animate her body. 
 
 " I don't want you to mourn — too much. If you 
 find some one you care for, by and by, don't think 
 of me as a ghost." 
 
 "Please don't," he entreated chokingly. 
 
 "But you're human, dear. And, anyway, I've 
 been the first. I 'd like to rest in the place where I 
 have lived with you. Peachton was hateful, but 
 now it seems like home. Will you keep me there, 
 and not let them make you send me away?" 
 
 His tears were falling unheeded now. 
 
 "Was n't it queer I had that dream of heaven. It 
 comes back. Hold me closer. I can't feel you, dear." 
 
io8 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 She trembled slightly, and her eyes closed. The 
 nurse stepped to the bedside. "You'd better give 
 her to me," she said quietly. 
 
 "What?" he said uncomprehendingly. 
 
 "She's gone," explained the nurse gently. 
 
 He neither moved nor answered, but sat with the 
 body in his arms. The soul's sudden flight was for 
 the moment beyond his comprehension. All that 
 remained he clasped closer in a sudden access of 
 protective impulse. But there was no movement of 
 the shuttered eyes, no fresh curving of lips that 
 seemed arrested in a question. 
 
 The voice of the nurse, sympathetic, but business- 
 like, recalled him to reality. 
 
 "If you will make your arrangements, I will 
 attend to matters here," she suggested. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, and relinquished his bur- 
 den. 
 
 As he left the hospital a group of young doctors 
 were frolicking with a football in the yard. He 
 thought of them, not with envy, but with fleeting 
 wonder at tragic contrast. Then the utter misery of 
 absolute loneliness swept over him. Streets he 
 walked blindly teemed with men and women pour- 
 ing out to their day's work. But they brought no 
 sense of kinship. He had the feeling of one left in a 
 world, with all its monuments, alone. 
 
 Mrs. Decrow awaited him. Evidently she had 
 heard the news. 
 
 " I don't want to bother, but I do want to help," 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 109 
 
 she said in her warm-hearted way. "Tell me what 
 I can do." 
 
 "Nothing, thank you. I think I can attend to 
 everything, and it is better for me to be busy. Do 
 you understand?" 
 
 "Of course." She hesitated, then ventured a sug- 
 gestion. "Perhaps you would like to have the fun- 
 eral here. It would be Eleanor's preference, I think." 
 
 "I'm sure it would. And I'm very grateful for 
 your kindness." 
 
 He turned away abruptly, feeling he could say 
 no more. The sound of his voice, strained and 
 strangely monotonous, somehow overthrew self-con- 
 trol. Things seemed topsy-turvy, and a yellowish 
 mist, shot through with black, annoyed his eyes. 
 He had a sensation of oscillation, as if his head 
 wagged after the fashion of grinning automatons in 
 a shop window. 
 
 Mpre through sense of direction than power of 
 conscious observation, he made his way from the 
 house. Outside it was better. The keen air steadied 
 his brain, but his legs were laggards. Perhaps it was 
 food he needed. It occurred to him that he had eaten 
 nothing since the preceding day. There was a dairy 
 lunch in sight, and he entered. Nobody in the caf6 
 regarded him curiously, which was a comfort. For 
 he had a feeling that he was singled out and set 
 apart, a marked man. To each human life's great 
 experiences are as original as if no other had loved 
 and suffered. 
 
no A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 We are like trees that bow to the gale, and 
 straighten when the shock is past. And those that 
 yield unreservedly are quickest to recover. In sad 
 business of the day Strong felt a faint satisfaction 
 of service. Had he analyzed it, he would have recog- 
 nized the diminuendo of a passionate pretense. 
 
 There were hospital authorities, as gravely im- 
 passive as linen merchants, to see, and the under- 
 taker, professionally sad, with the damper pedal 
 always on his voice. Messages to relatives he wrote 
 reluctantly, each curtly summoning a mourner for 
 what seemed to him a tragedy exclusively his own. 
 He dreaded perfunctory sympathy and privileged 
 curiosity. Most of all, he dreaded Eleanor's father, 
 anticipating his inferential reproaches and ostenta- 
 tious grief. 
 
 That night he watched with Eleanor alone. The 
 fire of purification still burned in his breast. With 
 her he was still shut off from the world. Knowledge 
 that she had died believing herself loved imparted 
 to his grief a subtile tincture of jubilation. His of- 
 fering had been laid upon the sacrificial fire. And it 
 had been effective in this, — she would never be un- 
 happy any more. Of supernatural intelligence after 
 death he had no thought. God was a convention 
 deferred to in crises, but otherwise not felt. He did 
 not think of this as he watched, but it underlay both 
 thought and feeling. 
 
 Eleanor was robed in her wedding dress and the 
 restored wedding ring glowed dully upon her finger. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM iii 
 
 It was as if she slumbered briefly. The seal of eter- 
 nal mystery struck no chill to his heart. They rested 
 together in communion beyond possibility of dis^ 
 ruption and deceit. Dim light within was slightly 
 strengthened by a street lamp. There were chang- 
 ing shadows, and sometimes he fancied that she 
 smiled. 
 
 Friends said he "bore up well" in days that fol- 
 lowed. He could not share his secret with any one, 
 much as he wished to do so. It was humiliating to 
 be credited with nobility he knew he lacked. The 
 journey to Peachton restored his poise, for Eleanor's 
 relatives acted as an irritant. It was evident that 
 they regarded burial in the East as the climax of a 
 campaign of estrangement for which Strong was 
 solely responsible. He endured their insinuations for 
 her sake. It was another service he could render. 
 
 For a young place, and a frivolous place, Peachton 
 was strikingly mindful of the hereafter. Its planners 
 had reserved for a cemetery a plateau of pleasant 
 prospect. Through the valley wandered a river and 
 the hills beyond were wooded in picturesque profu- 
 sion. In the cemetery itself trees were not lacking. 
 They were bare now, but in spring they would be 
 vocal with mating birds, and they would murmur 
 sociably in drowsy hours. If one must mingle with 
 the mould, it is well to be resolved into gracious 
 scenes. And Eleanor was one that had loved nature 
 well. 
 
 Near sunset of a perfect day they brought her to 
 
112 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 the grave. It was still and clear, with a glow of rus- 
 set upon the hillsides. Earth's mood soothed Strong 
 in the midst of poorly suppressed lamentation. Seek- 
 ing detachment, he recalled Straus's "Death and 
 Transfiguration," which Eleanor had loved. And 
 again she sat beside him, held captive by a lofty 
 voice. It was not "ashes to ashes, dust to dust," 
 that he heard, but strings indescribably thrilling in 
 the departure of the soul. 
 
 When it was over he came home again. It was his 
 home now in a new and special sense. He antici- 
 pated it, and coveted seclusion. That his behavior 
 was regarded as odd did not weigh heavily upon him. 
 His own relatives were accustomed to think of him 
 as a singular person, and Eleanor's people had no 
 wish to be with him unnecessarily. When they 
 boarded a train he heaved a sigh of relief, feeling 
 they were disposed of forever. 
 
 The house was as he had left it the day he first 
 heard of Eleanor's illness. It abounded in reminders 
 of her, and he luxuriated in them, going from room 
 to room. She had left things as if shortly to return. 
 There was her sewing-basket, with the needle in a 
 bit of embroidery, and a piece open on the piano. 
 He noted it was the song of Colinette, and memory 
 went back to the time he fancied she sang it to 
 mystify him. He touched her slippers caressingly, 
 and her dressing-gown hanging in its accustomed 
 place. Of a sudden he felt her presence, not wasted 
 by disease but eloquent with beautiful womanhood, 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 113 
 
 and marveled that he had been so unresponsive. 
 He dared to dream what life might have been. Thus 
 he sat until midnight had ushered in another day. 
 
 His appearance in the office next day was evi- 
 dently unexpected. The suggestion that he must 
 need rest he met with the statement that occupa- 
 tion would be best relief. So he went on with his 
 work, to and from Peach ton as though nothing alter- 
 ing life had occurred. He nursed his impressions 
 with care lest they fade. That they would fade was 
 in the nature of the inevitable. Peace was succeeded 
 by unrest, unrest by melancholy. All the days he 
 had helplessly wrought unhappiness circled him in 
 sad procession. 
 
 One day on impulse he sought rooms occupied 
 in bachelor days. They chanced to be vacant, and 
 he promptly engaged them. Through that night he 
 worked steadily at the task of sifting his belongings. 
 Only his personal effects and a few keepsakes were 
 set aside for transportation. The next morning he 
 turned his key in the door of the Peachton house for 
 the last time. His mother, still aglow with maternal 
 idolatry nothing can change, attended to the chilly 
 task of breaking up housekeeping. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 The fruit of forgetfulness is peace. "One life, one 
 love," is preached to humans, and commonly prac- 
 ticed by geese. But feathered mates are slow to pair, 
 as well as to forget. Caution is not planted in the 
 heart of man. 
 
 The year following Eleanor's death was valuable 
 to Strong, both personally and professionally. He 
 plunged into work with eager application that 
 served as a substitute for brilliant talent. And as he 
 gained in prestige, he grew in grace. He had been 
 quietly intolerant. Now he was mindful of life's 
 undertow, the hidden current that drags at the 
 swimmer's knees. He no longer saw character in 
 black and white, but as a composition to which the 
 casual beholder is by no means certain to find the 
 key. 
 
 If his firm had not received a commission necessi- 
 tating study of the cathedrals of France, and the 
 partner best fitted for the task fallen ill with no time 
 to await his recovery, Strong would not have met 
 Mrs. Follinsbee. But he went and worked diligently 
 in several cathedral towns, and what he knew of 
 them was mostly architectural. Paris he had taken 
 as after dinner one takes a liqueur. In student days 
 neither joie de vivre nor the side celebrated by Ver- 
 laine had appealed to him much; and it was no 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 115 
 
 different after some years' absence. While he recog- 
 nized their surface charm, he felt a sort of antipathy 
 to a people whose children were so cheerfully con- 
 versant with the obscene. So he was not sorry to 
 see Calais, and he was pleased to see Dover, With 
 Liverpool he was more content. His thoughts were 
 on cathedrals rather than the feminine when he 
 boarded the Lewantic. 
 
 It was mid-fall, with the passenger list still heavy. 
 Knowing no one, he congratulated himself upon 
 securing a steamer chair protected by a corner. That 
 reduced the danger of boredom. The smoking-room 
 had no terrors. Man is a gregarious animal, but 
 with whiskey and soda and an illustrated weekly at 
 hand he will not mercilessly pursue his prey. 
 
 He went to his first dinner on the Lewantic as one 
 enters a wilderness of unknown perils. For he had 
 neither intrigued for exalted place at the captain's 
 table, nor taken pains to attach himself to persons 
 of interest aboard. He trusted to luck, and it seemed 
 that sanguine spirit had profited him. 
 
 The Carvers he dismissed upon brief inspection. 
 Ccirver was a small, sallow man with a gay nose and 
 a hesitating manner. He was said to be a lawyer in 
 some Western city, and Strong jumped to the con- 
 clusion that much of his practice was in the court of 
 domestic relations. A lady of imposing port and 
 unaccountable attire, Mrs. Carver wore a diamond 
 necklace and the Baptist faith with equal assurance 
 at breakfast. 
 
ii6 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 The FoUinsbees were better, much better. At 
 least, Mrs. FoUinsbee was. Some women are as 
 conspicuously thoroughbred as a fine horse. Others 
 are endowed with beauty so undeniable that to flout 
 it is as useless as mocking the sun. But the heaviest 
 execution is not by those that compel homage, but 
 by those that tap the spring of protective instinct. 
 Mrs. FoUinsbee was petite, and probably in the late 
 twenties. She had brown eyes and golden-brown 
 hair. A Miinsterberg, or another woman, might 
 have detected a hint of hardness in the corners of 
 her mouth ; but there was no warning for an ordin- 
 ary man in the deliciously upcurved lips. There was 
 something in her habitual expression at once piquant 
 and wistful. It was like a telepathic confidence. 
 
 Strong's first impression of FoUinsbee was not 
 harsh. It was only that he might be ignored. He 
 was short and smooth-shaven, ruddy and a little 
 bald. He looked amiable and unintelligent. That 
 night at dinner he spoke only once to Strong with 
 any evidence of real interest. That was after first 
 hearing his name. " Marsh, Strong & Co.? " he said, 
 mentioning a prominent New York banking firm's 
 name. 
 
 "No," replied Strong, "just an architect." 
 
 "That so," said FoUinsbee noncommittally, and 
 returned to his roast beef. It appeared that he was a 
 stock broker, but bridge and golf were his serious 
 interests. Of his manner toward his wife one might 
 almost have said that he had no manners at all. He 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 117 
 
 was not rude, but he could not have seemed less 
 mindful of the presence of a family pet. 
 
 Mrs. FoUinsbee was cordial and charmingly defer- 
 ential. It was quite obvious that she was not bril- 
 liant, and equally obvious that she was intelligent. 
 Of the play of the year in Paris, or the book of the 
 month in London, she could furnish a respectable 
 opinion. But she seemed anxious to find out what 
 Strong thought. By process of elimination she 
 reached the thing he had at heart. 
 
 As they rose from dinner FoUinsbee rediscovered 
 Mrs. FoUinsbee. That was apparently due to a 
 question of time. A casual glance at a clock led to 
 hasty examination of his watch. 
 
 "Promised to see a feller about a rubber this 
 evenin'," he said, reducing speech to suggestive out- 
 line. "Meet you later on deck. Perhaps Mr. 
 Strong—" 
 
 " Delighted," said Strong promptly, gathering the 
 drift of thought. "That is, if Mrs. FoUinsbee will 
 accept me as a substitute." 
 
 "That is impossible," she said. She arrested his 
 look of astonishment with a sudden smile. "But, 
 of course, you may come." ^ 
 
 "I've neglected to see who has the chair next 
 mine," she remarked as they reached the deck. 
 
 "That's queer. I'm equally ignorant. Pray for 
 my preservation from some giggling flapper, or a 
 Dreadnought in petticoats like Mrs. Carver." 
 
 " If you'll pray for my protection against fatherly 
 
ii8 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 graybeards, with a daughter like me, and sopho- 
 mores with cynicism sticking to them like fresh 
 paint." 
 
 "Suppose we organize the Lewantic Mutual Pro- 
 tective Association, Limited." 
 
 "How limited?" 
 
 He deliberated as they paced the deck with easy 
 strides. She walked well, with a springy step. 
 
 "How would a membership of two do?" he asked 
 at length. 
 
 "So quickly?" she said with an accent of raillery. 
 "You are a very amusing person for a serious 
 person." 
 
 " Pardon me," he said stiffly. " I was presumptu- 
 ous." 
 
 "And sensitive, too," she said with a little laugh. 
 " I would n't have thought you spry-tempered. It's 
 quite interesting." 
 
 He pulled up with an ironical bow: " ' IT' is deeply 
 grateful." 
 
 He saw the mischief in her eyes lost in a look of 
 friendly concern. 
 
 " Please don't be offended. I think a membership 
 of two would be large enough." 
 
 He regarded her doubtfully, and she extended her 
 hand. " It's a bargain, then," he said, and held out 
 his own. As they resumed their promenade, the 
 hand she offered remained in his possession. It 
 seemed a mark of comradeship that at once estab- 
 lished friendly intimacy. Neither spoke while they 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 119 
 
 paced half the length of the deck. Then Mrs. 
 FoUinsbee broke the silence, saying meditatively : 
 
 "I've a ridiculous feeling of having known you 
 always. Yet you were a stranger to me less than two 
 hours ago. How do you account for it?" 
 
 "Possibly you were bored," he suggested. 
 
 " Prosaic creature ! " With mock disgust she tried 
 to withdraw her hand. " Is that the best you can 
 do?" 
 
 "Is that the best YOU can do?" he returned 
 calmly. 
 
 "I wonder," she said, with a critical look, "whe- 
 ther it's natural or acquired." 
 
 "Naturalness is acquired," he said, as one consid- 
 ering a matter thoughtfully. 
 
 "Who taught you?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. The period that fol- 
 lowed was like a period at chess. Presently she made 
 her move. 
 
 "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" 
 
 "Not before you make it. It might save time." 
 
 "Are you married?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But you have been." Her tone was insistent. 
 
 "Yes," he said soberly. 
 
 Of a sudden his thoughts were far away. It was 
 not the deck of the Lewantic that he saw, with 
 snatches of faint music riveting the spell of a slum- 
 bering sea. The same moon looked down upon the 
 
I20 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 hillside of the lonely dead. It made deep shadows in 
 the quiet night, and there was no sound of joy, only 
 the rustle of leaves or stir of some dreaming bird to 
 relieve the stillness. And one grave was a reminder 
 of love that challenged eternity. A sensation of 
 instability swept him like a cold wind. He shivered 
 slightly. 
 
 "Forgive me," said Mrs. FoUinsbee softly. 
 
 " Rather, I must ask you to pardon my stupidity." 
 He came to attention with visible effort. 
 
 " I did n't mean to wound you." 
 
 "You've nothing to be sorry for. I encouraged 
 questions." 
 
 "Anyway, I am sorry," she said. "Now we've 
 dropped the personal." 
 
 "Not yet." His eyes were on the ship's foamy 
 wake that stretched to thinness in the moonlight. 
 "There's an explanation I'd like to make." 
 
 "But I don't ask ainy," she protested. 
 
 "That's not it," he pursued. "It's not for your 
 benefit or mine. Only, — I 'm afraid you may mis- 
 understand. I was married, but I'm not now. 
 There's nothing scandalous in it. She died. And 
 she was a splendid girl. There was never a truer 
 heart than hers." 
 
 He paused, and the urgent appeal of the "Blue 
 Danube" came to their ears as they stood in si- 
 lence. 
 
 "Was it long ago?" she asked. 
 
 "About a year." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 121 
 
 " I think you are very brave," she said. Her voice 
 was gravely tender. 
 
 "Don't misunderstand me — " he began. 
 
 " Of course not," she said quickly, laying an arrest- 
 ing hand upon his arm. " I understand perfectly." 
 
 What could he say? He was again invested with 
 the regalia of nobility. 
 
 "Would you like to dance?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "No, thank you. Not to-night. I 'm a little tired, 
 and in need of sleep." 
 
 "Shall I find Mr. Follinsbee for you?" 
 
 "No, thank you, again. It is n't necessary. He is 
 doubtless absorbed in bridge." 
 
 "Then I'll at least let him know you've turned 
 in," he suggested. 
 
 "He won't look for me." She smiled, but her look 
 was a little weary. "I'll only trouble you to take 
 me below." 
 
 She gave him her hand in parting. "Auf wieder- 
 sehen." 
 
 " I 'm very glad," he said, " it's not 'Good-bye.' " 
 
 When she had disappeared, he stood uncertain. 
 It was not late, and the beauty of the night called 
 him again above. So he walked and smoked. He 
 noted now what was not evident before, murmurs 
 from dusky corners and the confidential carriage of 
 pairs that went steadily back and forth. A few un- 
 attached women with a maritime license to flirt 
 regarded him curiously, but he had no eye for 
 adventure. 
 
122 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 He indulged in fragmentary speculation as he 
 tramped steadily on. "What manner of ass was 
 FoUinsbee, who so ignored his wife?" And how he 
 had misjudged Mrs. FoUinsbee, mistaking her for 
 a brassy flirt. She seemed a plucky, cheerful little 
 woman, with some big trouble in her life. Not that 
 she had suggested it. He had just glimpsed it in her 
 look and manner as they parted. He had unwit- 
 tingly appealed to her sympathy. But the uninten- 
 tional pose must stand. He could n't explain with- 
 out belittling Eleanor, who had so richly deserved 
 devotion he could not give. Nobody, not even 
 another woman, could understand. Mrs. FoUinsbee, 
 though, was uncommonly quick to feel and catch a 
 thought. He remembered her short upper lip and 
 her trick of slightly closing her eyes when she smiled, 
 so that merriment was reflected rather than directly 
 revealed. 
 
 His cigar was out, and he tossed it into the water. 
 There was no more music. Without looking at his 
 watch he knew it was late, and breathed deeply by 
 way of farewell to the night before going to his 
 stateroom. 
 
 On the stairway he met a woman, cloaked and 
 moving quickly. He had only a vague idea of her 
 appearance as he stepped aside to let her pass. But 
 he stopped and looked after her, a perfume of exotic 
 suggestion assailing his nostrils. He associated it 
 with a woman who looked like a Circassian, a golden- 
 haired beauty in a Paris caf6. There was no special 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 123 
 
 reason why he should remember her. He had merely 
 wondered at the waste of such loveliness on the 
 effusive little Frenchman with waxed mustache and 
 corseted figure, who apparently owned her. Now he 
 indulged in speculation on the errand that had taken 
 the cloaked woman on deck so late at night. But 
 he was not actively curious. 
 
 His mind turned to the perplexing fact that it was 
 so easy to be a little interested in any attractive 
 woman who happened in one's way, and so hard to 
 give one's self completely. Egotism was not the bar. 
 For himself he had no notion that he was more 
 worthy of respect and love than the majority of men. 
 They were all faulty fellows. But women were so 
 fatuously blind. They seemed bent on glorifying 
 the male creature, and happiest when the creature, 
 putting modesty behind him, consented to play the 
 r61e assigned. For the happiness of humanity, per- 
 haps it was better so. Man, turned poet in court- 
 ship, relapsed to matter-of-fact nature in the grind 
 of labor for livelihood. Content on one side and love 
 on the other, that seemed the basis of successful 
 marriage. But when there was content on one side 
 and discontent on the other, there was — the FoUins- 
 bees, for instance. 
 
 His leisurely reflections, as he prepared for bed, 
 were interrupted by a heavy sigh from his cabin 
 mate. It was a teacher of languages with a timid 
 tongue. When he saw him, spectacled and round- 
 shouldered with fingers curved as though clasping 
 
124 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 a book, Strong knew he had drawn a social zero. 
 But that was no cause for grief. He felt thank- 
 ful Fate had not visited him with a wine agent or 
 a student. Distant engines that drove tirelessly 
 through the night hummed pleasantly as he drifted 
 to sleep. 
 
 He woke to daylight and a feeling of oppression. 
 There was good air and elbow-room, but a stranger's 
 presence accentuated the impression of close quar- 
 ters. With the Atlantic Ocean outside, why lie lis- 
 tening to sedate snores? He dressed quietly and 
 went on deck. There were no passengers in sight, 
 only stewards and deck-hands beginning their 
 morning's work. It was clear and warm. Without 
 hindrance the waxing sun shone on waves that 
 sparklingly pursued one another like glittering notes 
 of a scale. Gulls played in their crests. Nature was 
 in jocund mood, and Strong responded to it. He 
 knew his corner would be sunny, and he sought his 
 chair for a morning smoke. 
 
 Was somebody in his chair? It seemed so at a 
 distance. Then he concluded it must be his neighbor 
 on the exposed left. Probably uninteresting or 
 repugnant, but the pill must be taken sometime; 
 best have it over. He kept on, and wondered what 
 was familiar in the woman whose back was presented 
 as she sat looking aft, not pensively but in sympathy 
 with the exhilarant scene. Then she turned, follow- 
 ing a flight of birds, and he saw it was Mrs. FoUins- 
 bee. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 125 
 
 "So it's you," he called, quickening his steps. 
 
 "And you," she answered with a little gesture of 
 welcome. "What luck. Our 'Protective Associa- 
 tion' was evidently preordained." 
 
 "I don't believe much in ordination, or fore- 
 ordination, or damnation," he said, as he sank into 
 his chair, "but just now I take a great deal of stock 
 in luck." 
 
 "And yet," she rejoined, with a glance of ap- 
 praisal, "you wear an opal." 
 
 "It's neutralized now by a 'Land Symphony' at 
 sea." 
 
 "I don't hear it." 
 
 "See it," he corrected, looking frank approval. 
 " No, you have n't a mirror. Brown hair, brown 
 eyes, brown dress, and brown shoes. Stockings, too, 
 I suppose. Thanks. And a brown flower, not to 
 mention a brown toque. Is it a toque? Thanks 
 again. All harmonious, all admirable. May I say, 
 charming?" 
 
 "You may." A crinkling smile grew to laughter, 
 and he saw her teeth flash white, with a charming 
 irregularity. " Last night I called you prosaic. This 
 morning you're as gallant as John Drew in a drawing- 
 room comedy. What is the explanation?" 
 
 "I can't say 'You,' for you were yourself, last 
 night." He drew strongly on his cigarette, and gave 
 a smoke spiral critical attention. "It's just my 
 alter ego, I guess," he said at length. "I grow 
 funereal at night." 
 
126 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "What would become of romance without it?" 
 she suggested lightly. 
 
 " I don't know. And is that so important? What 
 we need isn't more romance; it's more reality. 
 Fewer marriages, and more divorces." 
 
 "Do you believe in divorce?" 
 
 She tossed the question easily, but there was an 
 earnest undertone. 
 
 "Of course, never having had one," he replied 
 promptly. "Do you believe in romance?" 
 
 "Yes," she said pensively, "never having had 
 one." Then she added, turning with a look of 
 piquant challenge: " If I accept your belief, will you 
 adopt mine?" 
 
 He thrilled pleasantly, and bent upon her a glance 
 of half -humorous, half-tender interrogation, "I can 
 conceive of no better bargain." 
 
 From the tension of the moment they mutually 
 retreated. 
 
 ' ' Let 's walk, ' ' she said briskly. ' * We 're not earn- 
 ing our breakfast. Besides, I must guard against the 
 sad surplus." 
 
 "You don't look overweight," he pronounced 
 judicially, as they got under way. 
 
 "Thanks. But this is one of the cases in which 
 appearance does not precede fact." 
 
 "The poets," he observed, dexterously striking a 
 match, "cry out that things are not what they seem. 
 It seems to me much more deplorable that things 
 are what they seem." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 127 
 
 "Do you see straight?" 
 
 "I think so. Of course, none of us can fix the 
 neighbor next door with binocular vision." 
 
 " Paxton," she said promptly. " Do you paint? " 
 
 "No, I 'm one of the carping Pharisees. Do you? " 
 
 "A little. I like to think I can earn my living, if 
 need be." 
 
 He stepped ahead and bowed with deference. 
 
 "Are you in need of a model, ma'am?" 
 
 " I think the sea is more paintable," she said non- 
 chalantly. 
 
 " I need breakfast badly." He turned her dexter- 
 ously toward the companionway. "Only bacon and 
 eggs can sustain me." Then he added, over his 
 shoulder: "Do I get any reward for foregoing the 
 obvious pun?" 
 
 "Most persons," she replied, "get what they de- 
 serve, or deserve what they get." 
 
 "And this," he sighed, "before breakfast." 
 
 The Carvers were before them, eating a breakfast 
 he would have guessed that Mrs. Carver had 
 ordered. Through the veil of orthodoxy that clung 
 to her as morning mist, she regarded Strong and 
 Mrs. FoUinsbee with disapproval. 
 
 "Mr. FoUinsbee is not with you," she observed 
 presently, after an investigation into the character 
 of an egg. 
 
 " I believe not," responded Mrs. FoUinsbee, pla- 
 cidly appropriating a remark apparently addressed 
 to all comers. 
 
128 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Is he very ill?" pursued her inquisitor. 
 
 "I don't think so. I don't think he is ill at all." 
 As if on afterthought, she added: "If you happen 
 to want him, I think by this time he may be in the 
 smoking-room. ' ' 
 
 "Oh ! " said Mrs. Carver belligerently. She seemed 
 for a few moments to be impartially chewing her 
 food and the cud of thought, and deriving little sat- 
 isfaction from either. Her thirst for information was 
 by no means slaked. A copy of "The Purple Flower" 
 beside Mrs. Follinsbee's plate drew her next attack. 
 
 "Are you reading that immoral book?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 "Is it immoral?" asked Mrs. FoUinsbee inno- 
 cently. 
 
 "It is difficult," said Mrs. Carver with elephan- 
 tine delicacy, " to discuss the matter with gentlemen 
 present." 
 
 " I 've been married," interposed Strong cheerfully, 
 " and it looks as if Mr. Carver had been. I think we 
 can stand the shock of what you want to say." 
 
 "Men are bad enough," she said tartly, with a 
 knowing glance that traveled to Mrs. FoUinsbee. 
 "But some questions the sexes can't discuss." 
 
 " Perhaps," he suggested, "you think Ralsworthy 
 mixes them too much in his story." 
 
 "What do you think when a man trapses after 
 three women, and not one of them his wife?" She 
 put down her knife and fork to give more force to 
 the interrogation. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 129 
 
 "That would depend," he said easily, "upon 
 what kind of women they were." 
 
 Mrs. Carver rose majestically. "James," she 
 said, "have you finished breakfast." Her tone was 
 in no sense interrogative. 
 
 "Yes, yes," answered Mr. Carver, and departed 
 with egg resident in the corner of his mouth. 
 
 Follinsbee entered as they left. He was not the 
 kind of man that looks best in the morning after his 
 bath. And he was not the kind of man that looks 
 well in the evening, when wine and lamplight trans- 
 form. Strong wondered if he ever looked well at all. 
 The Lewantic afforded no opportunity to see him 
 on the links. He seemed at breakfast as he had 
 seemed at dinner, dull and amiable, with too much 
 flesh. 
 
 "Have a good evenin'?" he inquired of Mrs. 
 Follinsbee, after a casual nod for Strong. 
 
 "Fair," she said, rather listlessly. "How did you 
 make out?" 
 
 "Four rubbers. Good crowd." He examined a 
 plate of griddle-cakes solicitously. 
 
 "Do you play this morning?" she asked care- 
 lessly. 
 
 "Promised a feller satisfaction." He lifted his 
 eyes from his plate, and Strong fancied he saw in 
 their placid shallows a trace of surprise. "You don't 
 want me?" he said. 
 
 "Oh, I shall sketch," she remarked. "Mr. Strong 
 has promised to be my model." 
 
I30 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "All right. Maybe see you before luncheon." He 
 had the bulletin by wireless now, and read as he 
 ate. 
 
 "Don't let the news spoil your breakfast," she 
 said. "We'll go along now." 
 
 "Yes," he answered absently, not lifting his head. 
 "Bye, Alice." 
 
 "You wonder why I announced you as my model," 
 she said when they were outside. 
 
 "Why, no," he assured her. 
 
 "It was just to settle you in attendance," she 
 explained. "But maybe I take too much for 
 granted." 
 
 "Nonsense," he said. 
 
 "Of course, he doesn't care," she continued. 
 "He's always relieved to know I have any one to 
 amuse me." 
 
 "Do you feel so sure?" he asked, taking her arm 
 to steady her. 
 
 "Quite sure; and I abhor the wholly settled." 
 
 He did not return the ball of thought, and she 
 switched to the commonplace : ' ' Please send a stew- 
 ard for my sketching kit." 
 
 When she was comfortably settled, he smoked in 
 silence and watched her work. It was a study of a 
 rollicking sea, sketched vigorously with apt sugges- 
 tion of structure that astonished him. There was a 
 little frown between her eyes, and she puckered her 
 lips, as if to whistle, in the absorption of her work. 
 The sunlight on the water was rather deizzling. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 131 
 
 Strong shaded his face, indolently watching, and 
 presently she leaned back, closing her eyes. 
 
 "Will you have a cigarette?" he said, extending 
 his case. 
 
 "No, thank you." 
 
 "Have a compliment, then." 
 
 "Not ready-made." 
 
 "'Alice FoUinsbee,' " he suggested, "is a very 
 pretty name." 
 
 "You don't appear curious concerning its owner." 
 She regarded him with half-closed eyes. 
 
 " ' Serene I fold my hands and wait,' " he rejoined, 
 suiting action to word. 
 
 "That sounds more arrogant than I think you 
 intend it to." There was a hint of resentment in her 
 voice. 
 
 "If it sounds arrogant at all, it is misleading. 
 I am interested, but not curious." 
 
 His eyes were fixed on a lone cloud that sug- 
 gested a camel loping across a blue desert. Her 
 eyes were on the horizon, but she was not conscious 
 of its detail, as she sat tapping her chair without 
 rhythm. 
 
 " I'd like to know," he suggested presently. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Particularly, why." 
 
 "There's nothing extraordinary in it." Her eyes 
 narrowed reflectively "I suppose it's common 
 enough to be typical. I was a girl of good family, 
 and the family was impoverished. Honest labor for 
 
132 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 a living was never considered. You know Virginia, 
 andthe'F.F.V.'s.'" 
 
 He nodded, and waited expectantly. She went 
 on, twisting her brush with impatience at thronging 
 associations. 
 
 "I was held for the first eligible bidder. There 
 would be no coercion, of course, but a dutiful girl 
 was relied upon to be properly considerate of her 
 parents. Before I was twenty, Mr. Follinsbee ap- 
 peared on business and remained to make love. He 
 was amiable; he was rich. I never thought I loved 
 him, but — he was n't so stout then, and I was 
 charmed by his playing." 
 
 "His playing?" 
 
 Strong looked his astonishment. She met it with 
 a slightly bitter smile. 
 
 "Yes, he plays the piano beautifully. I still think 
 so. Of course, that's no reason for marriage. I'm 
 not one of the women to whom life is announced in 
 a universal menu. I 've devoted the better part of 
 eight years to increasing realization that it can't be. 
 There 's no tale of the brute, or dark mystery to be 
 whispered. Just plain incompatibility; lethargy on 
 one side, and discontent on the other. Come to see 
 us at Hastings-on-the-Hudson. We have an excel- 
 lent house, but no home." 
 
 He appeared unconscious she was no longer 
 speaking. His cigar burned steadily, and he seemed 
 enveloped in a haze. 
 
 "Do you blame me?" she asked at length. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 133 
 
 "I blame no woman," he said seriously. 
 
 "Either wrong, or right?" 
 
 "She is entitled to be either." 
 
 " I fear," she said a little coldly, "your sympathy 
 is too catholic." 
 
 "It's protestant for you." 
 
 He turned to meet her eyes that lightened at his 
 look and words. 
 
 "You're a dear," she said, settling herself for 
 work again. "But you're a bit difficult to under- 
 stand." 
 
 Afterwards there was little said. Conversation 
 came in spurts, with interludes of comfortable 
 understanding. 
 
 "What are you planning?" he asked, after a lazy 
 silence. 
 
 "Nothing. I'm drifting," she answered, turning 
 her head to get a wave effect. 
 
 "Why not try Lambury?" he suggested. 
 
 "Oh," she said, unwittingly disclosing a change 
 of vision. " Does he take pupils?" 
 
 "At Gonquit in summer their umbrellas are like 
 daisies in a field. He's a good teacher, I hear. Any- 
 way, he's the only man in America who can paint a 
 sea that makes one hold his breath." 
 
 "Yes, I know he is." She scraped a bit, and exam- 
 ined the result. "Next summer is a long way off, 
 and he's in Boston now, with no pupils in the field, 
 pied or otherwise. But I must do something." 
 
 He offered no further suggestion, and talk relapsed 
 
134 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 to idle observation. At luncheon there was peace, 
 with stagnation, Mrs. Carver and her personally 
 conducted spouse had come very early or were com- 
 ing equally late. The question of which impaired 
 nobody's enjoyment of their absence. FoUinsbee 
 contributed what was apparently his regular state- 
 ment, a total of rubbers at bridge. It occurred to 
 Strong that he remotely suggested a jelly-fish. He 
 was slightly restive and excused himself on a plea of 
 letters he must write. He chided himself for it a few 
 minutes later. Yesterday he had not known Mrs. 
 FoUinsbee. Now he trumped up an explanation as 
 if she were his wife. He spent the afternoon in the 
 smoking-room, where it was dull, and the card-room, 
 where it was worse. 
 
 He was seated at dinner when the FoUinsbees 
 entered. And Mrs. FoUinsbee was an attractive 
 stranger. The woman who has managed to charm 
 in the morning has an ace in reserve. Strong was a 
 little hazy on detail, though clear enough as to 
 effect. It was cerise or old rose that she wore, made 
 simply, with inconspicuous ornaments of dull gold. 
 She was almost beautiful. Suffering his eyes to 
 speak, he raised his glass in salutation. 
 
 "Very charming," he said. 
 
 "Which," she queried, "my frock or me?" 
 
 "Both," he rejoined, smiling. 
 
 "Do you like my dress?" she pursued, preening 
 slightly. 
 
 "More than any aboard," he said promptly. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 135 
 
 Follinsbee momentarily forsook his beef. 
 
 "I bought it," he observed, not pointedly, but as 
 one might mention proprietorship of a horse or 
 yacht. 
 
 "A most excellent choice," Strong commented 
 flatly. 
 
 Mrs. Follinsbee said nothing. The rest of dinner 
 was devoted to discussion of food and steamship 
 companies, which interested Follinsbee, and religion, 
 which interested Mrs. Carver, as would any bone of 
 contention. Usually indifferent to the uninteresting, 
 Strong was freakishly disposed to entertain. It 
 amused him to extract even from the down-trodden 
 Carver some uncensored comment. 
 
 "Let me decorate you," said Mrs. Follinsbee, as 
 he escorted her to the promenade deck. 
 
 "For what?" he asked, stooping to receive the 
 flower pinned to his lapel. 
 
 "For meritorious service." 
 
 " It was n't under fire," he said, "but I thank the 
 government." 
 
 "It will always be grateful." 
 
 She spoke lightly, as he pressed her hand. It 
 seemed a proper quid pro quo. A spirit of buoyant 
 irresponsibility wrapped them for the hour. Time 
 stood still and circumstance held aloof. The music, 
 the veiled moon, and softness of air through which 
 the liner rushed over a sedate sea, — all contributed 
 to intoxication that sharpened sense and softened 
 conscience. 
 
136 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Will you dance to-night?" Strong asked, a sud- 
 den burst of barbaric rhythm setting his nerves 
 a-tingle. 
 
 "On this night of nights," she said whimsically. 
 "Why have you been so slow to ask?" 
 
 "Because I am always slow, I suppose. Peccavi, 
 And now, let's lose no more time." 
 
 They danced well together. From the first Strong 
 had no doubt. Mrs. FoUinsbee responded to the 
 music with absorption that banished craving for 
 conversation. They followed the music down spa- 
 cious corridors tenanted by themselves alone. 
 
 "You are a silent partner," she said, as they 
 strolled on deck. 
 
 " I don't like to talk and dance at the same time," 
 he explained. 
 
 "Again the unusual man," she remarked. "But 
 I like it. If dancing interferes with conversation, it 
 should be given up." 
 
 "There seems to be a good deal in life that should 
 be given up," he observed irrelevantly. They halted 
 aft, and stood by the rail. 
 
 "Sometimes," she said, "we are sorry for the 
 surrender." 
 
 Neither spoke. His hand touched hers; his eyes 
 were on her face, as she looked with hooded eyes to 
 sea. Perhaps she inclined toward him slightly. She 
 did not resist as he drew her to him gently. It was 
 not a feverish kiss. Rather it was a pledge of some- 
 thing expected, and to be fulfilled. She gave it char- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 137 
 
 acter, as she had furnished Initiative. What Strong 
 had contributed was not quite clear to himself. He 
 tried to determine, after they had separated without 
 the indelicacy of verbal pledge. 
 
 "You damned fool," he said to himself, as he 
 stood before the mirror. 
 
 "I beg pardon," came a voice from the dusky 
 corner occupied by the teacher of languages. 
 
 "Talking to myself," said Strong without turn- 
 ing; "or rather, I was cussing a collar button. It's 
 a foolish habit." 
 
 Other foolishness he was guilty of continued to 
 rasp his nerves when he was in bed. To what had 
 he committed himself? And to what did Mrs. 
 FoUinsbee think he had committed himself? He was 
 not in love with her. But he had behaved as if he 
 were. It would be rather shabby to play the Artful 
 Dodger now. Anyway, it was quite possible that he 
 overestimated the seriousness of her view. Why 
 should he assume that she felt more than a passing 
 interest in him? It was cheeky to put a literal con- 
 struction on remarks by moonlight. With this nega- 
 tive comfort he drifted to sleep. 
 
 Next day nothing occurred to upset his self- 
 indulgent theory. Mrs. FoUinsbee was cordial, but 
 not clinging. She seemed to assume the permanency 
 of their relationship, that was all. So Strong, finding 
 no cause for alarm, permitted himself to experience 
 pique. Was it, then, a mere flirtatious episode that 
 he had raised to the dignity of a major adventure? 
 
138 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 He tested the situation with slight overtures. Mrs. 
 FoUinsbee was not cold; neither was she flax to the 
 flame. 
 
 If FoUinsbee saw anything disquieting, he kept it 
 to himself. Strong found his blankness irritating. 
 Sometimes he suspected the existence of active 
 intelligence behind a heavy mask. After FoUinsbee 
 played it was at least evident that nature, creating 
 his body gross, had played an impish joke. That 
 some one had supplemented it was evidently the 
 impression of passengers who heard he would con- 
 tribute to the ship's concert. Could anything beauti- 
 ful come from this mountain of flesh? 
 
 It was some minutes before they recovered from 
 surprise sufficiently to appreciate the quality of 
 FoUinsbee's touch and technique. Strong took note 
 of the rippling prelude, like the rapid flow of a sil- 
 very stream. He knew what was coming, with the 
 entrance of a melody mysteriously sweet as music 
 sifted through whispering trees. It was the " F minor 
 Ballade." On it went, with its solemn narrative, its 
 savage thunder, its glittering arabesques. It was 
 psychically queer. He had a notion of Chopin ani- 
 mating an automaton, only there was nothing obvi- 
 ously mechanical in FoUinsbee's playing. No vices 
 of the virtuoso, no shoddy sentimentalism. It was 
 playing elastic, warmly emotional, beautifully pro- 
 portioned. When he had finished he did not rise and 
 bow. Applause was spontaneous, but he did not 
 even turn his head. He only mopped his face. Then 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 139 
 
 he played again, — a Schubert Impromptu, brilliant, 
 sparkling. Again applause rained upon him and he 
 seemed not to heed. He rose laboriously, and came 
 placidly to where Strong sat with Mrs. FoUinsbee. 
 So he might come from breakfast, or a round of 
 golf. There was no elation in face or manner, no 
 emotion at all. 
 
 "You play superbly," said Strong impulsively. 
 
 "I used to play," he answered lifelessly. 
 
 He reached for a cigarette, and replaced his case, 
 remembering where he was. His hand was small and 
 well-shaped. Belonging to an attractive person, it 
 would have been called a sensitive hand. 
 
 The next day they picked up Nantucket by wire- 
 less, and the Lewantic's passengers began to think 
 of land. Here and there began intimacy associated 
 with preparation for customs inspectors. Having 
 nothing to smuggle. Strong was at ease. 
 
 "Can I take anything through for you?" he in- 
 quired of Mrs. FoUinsbee. 
 
 "I've burdened you enough, already," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "It is n't making me round-shouldered." 
 
 "When shall I see you in Hastings?" 
 
 "Whenever you want me." 
 
 "You know that is always." 
 
 He did not answer, but pressed her hand. 
 
 "I have a hard time ahead," she said presently, 
 " I don't like to leave you early, this last night; but 
 it must be done. You understand, don't you?" 
 
140 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "I'm very grateful for all you've given me." 
 
 He hesitated a moment, then kissed her on the 
 cheek. Suddenly, — he could not tell how it hap- 
 pened, — her arms were about his neck. He held 
 her closely. Their lips met, and he felt her soul. No 
 word was spoken. She slipped from his arms, and 
 his eyes followed her, walking swiftly down the deck. 
 He was shaken, as a boatman swept suddenly from 
 his moorings. 
 
 Mrs. FoUinsbee did not appear at breakfast. 
 FoUinsbee, however, was present, and seemed to 
 Strong less attentive than usual to food. Once or 
 twice he looked as if he had something to say. When 
 Strong rose he pushed his chair back and ponder- 
 ously followed suit. 
 
 "Like to see you a few minutes," he said in a 
 tone meant to be interrogative. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Strong. What was in the 
 wind now? 
 
 "The smokin'-room," said FoUinsbee, leading. 
 
 "Smoke?" he inquired, extending his cigar-case 
 when they were seated. 
 
 "Thanks," said Strong, settling back and waiting 
 for him to begin. 
 
 "Rather disagreeable, but got to do it." FoUins- 
 bee's tone was not belligerent. Rather it was ner- 
 vous, almost apologetic. "Can't have this affair 
 with my wife goin' on. Must object, decidedly." 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Strong. There was 
 no use in assuming anything. 
 
A. RELUCTANT ADAM 141 
 
 FoUinsbee pulled at his collar, and the red in his 
 face deepened. 
 
 "You know," he said, picking at his cigar-case. 
 
 "That Mrs. FoUinsbee is a charming woman. I 
 enjoy her society. Do you object to that?" 
 
 He spoke pleasantly and coolly .j FoUinsbee opened 
 his mouth, as a fish opens its mouth when taken from 
 water, but did not speak. Then he rose laboriously. 
 
 "You know," he reiterated, like one reciting a 
 lesson. Then he found more words. "Must stop, or 
 I shall tcike steps to stop it." 
 
 "I am very sorry you take that attitude," said 
 Strong stiffly. 
 
 FoUinsbee did not return his bow. He was has- 
 tening clumsily from an unpleasant situation. 
 
 Strong saw Mrs. FoUinsbee only once afterward. 
 They were disembarking and the pier was crowded. 
 She came suddenly to view, but they did not speak, 
 for FoUinsbee was with her. He got only an appeal- 
 ing glance. She entered a cab, and the door closed, 
 not sharply as in stories, but carefully after her cor- 
 pulent guardian. Strong wondered how there could 
 be room for even a petite person with so huge an 
 individual. He stood staring glumly after the reced- 
 ing vehicle when his partner. Grant, a hearty fellow, 
 slapped him on the back. 
 
 "What's the matter, old chap?" demanded the 
 jovial one. 
 
 "A touch of sun, I think," Strong explained with 
 careless air. 
 
142^ A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Sure it is n't a petticoat?" joked Grant. Then 
 he remembered Strong's comparatively recent 
 bereavement, and flushed with embarrassment. 
 "Ready for a good American cocktail?" he asked 
 hastily. 
 
 "Welcome words." Strong assented heartily. 
 "Lead on." 
 
 The club was the same; his rooms imchanged, and 
 work went on in the office as before. For a week or 
 two he lived in a state of expectancy, anticipating 
 he knew not what. Then the mood passed, and 
 memory blurred, once briefly revived by a sprig of 
 rosemary. It came from Hastings-on-the-Hudson, 
 and there was no message other than its mute 
 appeal. Not knowing what to do. he did noth- 
 ing. 
 
 It was winter, after the holidays, when he heard 
 from Mrs. FoUinsbee next. She was in Paris, she 
 wrote, waiting for "things to be straightened out." 
 She had not written before because the situation was 
 so chaotic. Now there were signs of clarification, in 
 a most unexpected way. "Fred" — that was Mr. 
 FoUinsbee — had become interested in an opera 
 singer, who seemed able to extend admiration for 
 his playing to his person. "Naturally, he likes it," 
 she wrote, "and I like it, too. Happiness for him 
 means, I hope, happiness for me." Then she asked 
 for a photograph or two of his rooms. " I know you 
 well enough to be sure the walls are not littered with 
 steins, and foils, and photographs of stage ladies; 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 143 
 
 but besides what you avoid, I 'd like to know what 
 you have. Then I can visuaHze you at home." 
 
 He sent her the photographs, with a semi-affec- 
 tionate letter. How to address her was a puzzle at 
 first. Finally he settled upon, "Dear Alice." He 
 could hardly do less with a lady who had intimated 
 her inclination to become his wife. Anyway, " Dear" 
 was elastic. It might mean a great deal, or it might 
 signify merely the familiarity of friendship. The 
 body of his letter was studiously discreet. He wrote 
 of the opera, the newest production and the freshest 
 scandal; of a comedy that succeeded without a 
 Coneyized version of Fifth Avenue, or an under- 
 graduate interpretation of a chorus girl's domestic 
 life. He touched Tammany with tongs, and dwelt 
 somewhat upon the open winter. But of anything 
 vital between them there was no word. He signed 
 it all, "Yours considerably," and sealed it with dis- 
 gust. No phantom of modesty any longer concealed 
 the fact that he was neither accepting nor disavow- 
 ing responsibility for a step he had tacitly encour- 
 aged. And that step was to alter for good or ill a 
 woman's life. 
 
 Face to face, he would not have shrunk from the 
 issue. He knew he did not love Mrs, FoUinsbee, and 
 he had not forgotten that marriage without love 
 was a sacrament of husks. But how could he write 
 denying what had never been affirmed. Could he 
 say, "Please do not take it for granted that I 
 meant anything serious in kissing you on the 
 
144 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Lewantic." A woman in his position might tact- 
 fully and tenderly serve an injunction on a man. But 
 a man could not move thus without seeming brutal. 
 It was not a prerogative of his sex. 
 
 Mrs. FoUinsbee was a clever woman. He banked 
 on that, and trusted she would understand. But 
 the defect of his quality defeated his desire. Timid- 
 ity was mistaken for reticence, as reticence had been 
 mistaken for delicacy. He was somewhat dismayed 
 by her reply. "You were a dear," she wrote, "to 
 send the photographs. The chair next the fireplace 
 I have taken for my own. You '11 find me there when 
 you come late from the office. I say ' late ' because I 
 am apt to be out at chiffon affairs; and anyway, 
 there's nothing so deadly in the long run as always 
 meeting the expected. Don't I know!" In the end 
 she wrote: "All this fantastic, but phantasy is truth, 
 is n't it? I've lived so long in unrelieved black and 
 white, I can hardly believe I'm going into colors. 
 There may be definite news soon." 
 
 A little later she sent him a photograph. It was a 
 charming likeness, not idealized but posed with an 
 artist's sagacity. The natural sheen of golden-brown 
 was hinted at in hair piled softly on the head that 
 topped a roundly slender neck. There was a hint 
 of roguishness in the mouth, but the eyes domi- 
 nated, anticipatory yet serene. Her dress was sim- 
 ple and square cut, somehow contributing to girlish 
 appearance. Not the photograph, one would have 
 said, of a woman weary and disillusioned. Rather 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM, 145 
 
 the face of a woman, young and lovely, who looks 
 forward without regret. "I hope you will like it," 
 she wrote; "it was taken for you, as a reward for 
 the photographs you sent, and your delicacy about 
 asking for mine. I wonder if you would always real- 
 ize that the light rein is the tightest." 
 
 Strong regarded her picture with admiration, and 
 her letter with dismay. "What is left to say," he 
 wrote, "to one who so completely anticipates and 
 understands? " He had a feeling that the expression 
 was alluringly enigmatic, but could not force his 
 hand to write plain prose. Having slept with the 
 problem, he resorted to a strategic stroke. The rose- 
 mary she had sent rested with Kitty's rose. Kitty 
 was gone beyond all but the last recall. But Mrs. 
 Follinsbee was a beautiful danger. He inclosed the 
 rosemary without comment, feeling a bit virtuous 
 the while. For was he not saving her in saving him- 
 self? She would free herself from Follinsbee, any- 
 way. He had merely accelerated the inevitable. 
 Again he had difficulty in parting salutationo 
 "Yours considerably" was rather neat, perhaps, but 
 would hardly bear repetition. "Yours sincerely," 
 "Yours truly," — were stodglly commonplace. 
 "Yours affectionately" had a domestic sound. It 
 was easy enough to be ardent on paper, but that 
 would n't do. He finally signed himself, "Yours." 
 No name or initials. 
 
 After the letter was dispatched misgiving assailed 
 him. Had he been too subtle? Return of the rose- 
 
146 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 mary might be construed as assurance of faithful 
 remembrance. But weeks went eventless, and the 
 baseball season opened. Apprehension evaporated. 
 
 Summer had slipped in when Strong received a 
 formidable document from Paris. It lay on his 
 desk when he returned to his rooms, one evening, 
 an official-looking communication, long and bulky. 
 Braced as a criminal to receive his sentence, he 
 opened it deliberately. It was an attested copy of a 
 divorce granted Fred and Alice Follinsbee of Hast- 
 ings-on-the-Hudson, in the State of New York, on 
 the ground of desertion, with mutual benefit in per- 
 mission to marry again. 
 
 There was no explanatory message, only the 
 official notice. The shackles had been struck off. 
 Mrs. Follinsbee was free from a husband she did not 
 love. Should he give her a husband who did not 
 love her? Once he had undertaken such a task with- 
 out realizing all it involved. "With eyes open, was he 
 foolish enough to try it again? "Foolish" was the 
 word he used to himself. He needed to be blunt, for 
 deceitful sympathy was desire to spare his own feel- 
 ings as much as disinclination to wound her. He 
 was tempted to cable, throwing discretion to the 
 wind. With her photograph before him, facing her 
 mute appeal, he sat till night was far advanced. 
 Then he paid a last tribute. He kissed her regret- 
 fully, and laid her away. To the notice of her releas 
 he applied a lighted match. Fanned by a ligh; 
 breeze, it burned briskly to ashes. He felt weary, 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 147 
 
 not as one exhausted in stirring combat, but dull, 
 and dreary as a drudge. He saw his own face in the 
 mirror as the face of a stranger. "I wonder," he 
 muttered, "that it does n't show." 
 
 Having accomplished the overthrow of impulse 
 to be generous and indiscreet, he retreated from re- 
 newal of pressure. He took to the woods, though it 
 was not the season for gunning, and fishing was 
 a bore. There was Damerel, with his steam-heated 
 game preserves for autumn, and his well-screened 
 bungalow for summer. Damerel called it a " bunga- 
 low," though it looked more like a cross between a 
 ch&teau and a city hall. Strong's firm had designed 
 it, or rather they had modified Damerel's perverse 
 plans. What he had wanted associated characteris- 
 tics of a bull ring and a cathedral. But Damerel's 
 friends were not finicky on questions of architecture. 
 They regarded rather the excellence of plumbing, 
 the capacity of his ice chest, and the quality of his 
 wine cellar. They were a horsey crowd, hard riders 
 and high livers, devoted to gambling and addicted 
 to women. They drank and hunted, rode and swore 
 like squires of the Georgian period. There were 
 women to match. 
 
 People featured in court reports and upon the 
 society page of the avid press were not Strong's nat- 
 ural associates. Not that he objected to them on 
 moral grounds. But their raucous gayety irritated 
 him, like a hair-brush drawn across the face. He 
 knew what to expect of them. It would be fishing 
 
148 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 or flirting in the morning, riding or tennis in the 
 afternoon, bridge at night, and drinking whenever 
 there was nothing else to do. Yet he accepted 
 Damerers invitation, given carelessly in casual 
 meeting, as it had been given and declined a dozen 
 times before. He was anxious to get away, some- 
 where, anywhere, and to establish a fresh chain of 
 thought. As one setting a block signal against dan- 
 ger from the rear, he boarded a train for Ontario, 
 with instruction that no mail be forwarded. 
 
 Frivolity in the wilds was what he anticipated. 
 He was not happy, but he was very busy. Distrust- 
 ful of chance, he played the r61e of universal substi- 
 tute. He was the ever available fourth at tennis and 
 bridge, and the morning squire of ladies who had 
 drunk less deeply, 'or with less deplorable results, 
 than their sworn cavaliers. That the female was the 
 weaker sex seemed by no means clear to Strong, as 
 he contemplated in morning's unflattering light the 
 dewy freshness of fair ones who had dallied with 
 wine the night before. He had respect for their con- 
 stitutions, and their grandmothers' lives. They 
 interested him as specimens rather than as individ- 
 uals. 
 
 The one exception was Mrs. Ormsby. He dis- 
 liked her. She was a widow by process of nature. 
 That she had not replaced the husband who broke 
 his neck in the hunting field seemed strange to 
 Strong, for she was attractive in a way and obviously 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 149 
 
 fond of masculine society. He thought, the first 
 time he saw her, of a painting of one of the Medici 
 women, who came to a commonplace violent end. 
 She was tall and athletically slender, with straight 
 black brows and hair of dusky black that seemed to 
 take its tone from the imperious nose and the wide, 
 firm mouth, a trifle hard. Her eyes were positively 
 black, a rare quality that arrested attention until 
 the primary fact was eclipsed by a suggestion of 
 smouldering fire. What would be the effect were 
 fires stimulated to free flame? He wondered without 
 any desire to undertake a stoker's work. At least, he 
 was not conscious of desire to do so. Her conspicu- 
 ous characteristics he disapproved as "unfeminine." 
 She smoked too many cigarettes; preferred highballs 
 to champagne, and poker to bridge. Both clothes 
 and vocabulary advertised her ostentatiously. There 
 was something fanatical in her persistent gayety. 
 Once in Algiers he had seen an Arab dancer straining 
 frenziedly towards the unseen until he fell, suddenly 
 as if a knife severed the cord of life. 
 
 What Mrs. Ormsby thought of him was not evi- 
 dent, for he neither offered allegiance nor suffered 
 enrollment by draft. Until the day of his departure 
 he had no reason to suppose that she thought of him 
 at all. They met by chance, if there is chance in 
 human relations. 
 
 He was walking before breakfast, for Damerel's 
 woods teemed with beauty Damerel never saw. 
 Soothed by filtered sunshine and the cheer of birds, 
 
I50 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 he kept to gravelled walks until sudden impulse to 
 follow a brook rollicking under a foot-bridge was 
 followed without demur. Sauntering along, he 
 rounded a point and came suddenly upon the woman 
 he least expected to meet. She was seated on a fallen 
 tree, barefoot and dabbling her feet in the stream. 
 
 They became aware of each other's presence at 
 about the same moment, and Strong was embar- 
 rassed. Mrs. Ormsby was not obviously so. She did 
 not change her position. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said confusedly, only 
 pausing to apologize. " I had no thought of intrud- 
 ing." 
 
 "Of course not," she conceded promptly. " Don't 
 go." Her look was slightly mocking as he stood 
 irresolute. 
 
 "You're not afraid, are you?" she inquired. 
 
 He flushed, defenseless. 
 
 " No," he said stiffly, but making no move to seat 
 himself. "If I can be of any service?" 
 
 "You can," she rejoined coolly, and stooped to 
 examine a foot withdrawn from the water. It was a 
 charming foot, shapely and without blemish. "I 
 want to ask you a question," she continued. 
 
 "I shall be delighted to answer," he assured her 
 without enthusiasm. 
 
 "Why do you dislike me?" 
 
 "But I don't," he protested. 
 
 "But you do," she asserted, not heatedly, as one 
 stating a self-evident fact. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 151 
 
 "It's impolite," he said bluntly, "to call a lady a 
 liar." 
 
 "I believe so," she conceded; then thrust again. 
 "But you don't regard me as a lady." 
 
 "If you have X-rayed my mind, there's no need 
 to question me." He bowed stiffly and turned to go, 
 
 " Only the substance is very thick in spots, and the 
 impression blurs." She made no effort to detain him, 
 but sat contentedly waggling her toes in the pool. 
 "You seem to me," she added, as one conferring 
 information, "a simple young man." 
 
 "Thank you," he said with evident choler. 
 
 The enemy pressed hard, with no chance of re- 
 prisal. 
 
 "And a very good young man," she added. 
 
 " It is a comfort to hear it," he retorted, "from so 
 good a judge." 
 
 Being thus stung to rudeness, he nodded curtly 
 and hastened away. He did not look back. A faint 
 smile hovered about Mrs. Ormsby's mouth as she 
 watched harsh treatment of bush or bough obstruct- 
 ing his path. He did not meet her at breakfast. 
 "She's sleeping it off," some one crassly suggested 
 when her absence was noted. That she did not 
 appear before one of Damerel's motors whisked him 
 over the long road to the railway station was a 
 relief. He suffered the chagrin of a man who feels 
 that a woman has laughed at him. Indifference 
 may be painful, but derision is unforgivable affront. 
 With Strong, however, anger was brief. After all, he 
 
152 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 would never see her again. What did he care about 
 what she thought of him? He took from his pocket 
 a well-thumbed copy of Conrad's "Lord Jim," and 
 presently forgot woman's perversity in fickle cruelty 
 of the sea. 
 
 Coming down the Hudson, his mind reverted to 
 the problem dodged but not disposed of. What if he 
 found a direct summons from Mrs, Follinsbee? It 
 would be his duty to refuse response, for her sake 
 more than his own. With some weeks of intervening 
 activity, the problem had grown easier of solution. 
 Still, it would be abominably awkward to humiliate 
 a woman in that way. At once hopeful and slightly 
 apprehensive, he pondered the possibility. 
 
 There was nothing to worry him in accumulated 
 mail. A few bills, a fistful of circulars, and an invi- 
 tation for a week-end already past, — that was all. 
 He felt guilty and relieved, but mostly the latter. 
 The room seemed very hot and stuffy. It would 
 be cool at the club, with something cool to drink. 
 Further, it was lunch time, and he needed the soci- 
 ety of rational men. It would be doubly good after 
 weeks with people who took life casually, though by 
 no means as innocently, as children. 
 
 The world is large to one in loneliness, but small 
 in the dovetailing of chance relationships. Mrs. 
 Follinsbee did not reappear on Strong's horizon. For 
 a time she came to mind frequently. He wondered 
 where she was, and what life had done to her. But 
 active interests pressed, and finally he thought of her 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 153 
 
 no more. It was spring again when she was suddenly 
 recalled to mind. 
 
 He was calling on Mrs. Decrow, lately returned 
 from abroad, and listening to praise of Paris. 
 
 "It chirks me up," she declared, with a vigorous 
 nod. "I know it's old, but its spirits never flag. It 
 makes me feel there is no need of giving up. One 
 lump or two?" She paused a second with the sugar 
 tongs, then impulsively plumped a second lump into 
 his cup. "Two is best," she rattled on. "You need 
 sweetening. I am shocked to think that even in your 
 Beaux- Arts days you had no eye for the grisette, who 
 lives to be loved. Sometimes I think the oldest 
 people on earth are the young." 
 
 She sighed humorously, and he regarded her with 
 a faint smile. 
 
 "Bless me!" she went on, with sudden access of 
 vivacity, "I forgot to tell you that I met a friend 
 of yours in Paris." 
 
 "Who was it?" he asked with polite interest. 
 
 "A Mrs. FoUinsbee. Oh, I 'm sorry you 've spilled 
 your tea. Those cups are so teetery. Let me give 
 you another." 
 
 "You're charitable. I fear I was awkward," he 
 said, mopping his knee. "Where did you meet Mrs. 
 FoUinsbee?" 
 
 "At the Salon first, and afterward at the Brices'. 
 Then I took to her, for she's a pretty dear. Never a 
 cat. Most of us, I must admit, are a bit vicious at 
 times." 
 
154 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "What was she doing in Paris?" he asked with 
 careful carelessness. 
 
 "Trying to decide whether she would get married. 
 An English secretary of legation was her shadow, 
 night and day. Why do you American men let Euro- 
 peans steal our best girls that way? You ought to 
 know. You're one of the inactive ones." 
 
 "Would you have me a professional Romeo?" 
 He regarded her ironically as he put the question 
 that so craved utterance. "Where do I come in?" 
 
 "Don't be vain," she said indulgently. "I have 
 no bonbon for you. I mentioned you one day at the 
 Brices', and she asked if you were an architect. I 
 said 'Yes,' and it came out that she crossed with 
 you on the Lewantic, two years ago. Of course, I 
 scented a romance, but there was nothing in the 
 trail." 
 
 "She did n't ask about me, then?" he said casu- 
 ally. 
 
 "She only asked if you were not a very retiring 
 man." 
 
 "It's later than I thought," he remarked with 
 sudden interest in his watch. "Time flies with you." 
 
 "Why don't you flatter young women prettily?" 
 she railed, as he rose to go. 
 
 "Because they are less deserving," he rejoined. 
 
 Outside he permitted himself a personal observa- 
 tion. " I made too much of it," he said as he lighted 
 a cigarette. "She was n't hard hit, after all." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 There is a period of slack water between the ebb 
 and flow, just at the turn of the tide. So it is in men's 
 lives. Strong swung into the thirties through placid 
 years. If he had not grown in grace, he flattered 
 himself he had advanced in discretion. By no means 
 shunning society, he avoided emphasizing atten- 
 tions. And mothers of the marriageable came to 
 regard him with slackening interest. He belonged 
 to the class carried in mental memorandum: "May 
 marry some day." So he amused the dibutante, took 
 up golf, and joined another club. 
 
 And professional life went no less smoothly. A 
 junior partnership with Carter & Hastings was a 
 large prize for one of his age. He might have been 
 elated, but he was only mildly amused. It seemed 
 rather droll that a plugger of no particular talent 
 should so succeed in one of the arts. Sometimes he 
 had a feeling that he would gladly exchange assured 
 position for a creative thrill with the plain of combat 
 ahead. But he always denied that later. He was one 
 to whom the major passions, the great joys and the 
 deep sorrows of life were denied. And Fortune, 
 chancing to be in compensatory mood, gave him 
 comfort in exchange. He saw his logical apogee, — 
 plump, well-groomed, stratified in intellect, and a 
 little short of breath, in the club window at four on 
 sunny afternoons. 
 
156 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Man is astute, but masked batteries of Fate are 
 cunningly placed. The summer Strong would have 
 gone to Norway, if Pearsall had not suddenly de- 
 prived him of a companion by inconsiderately tak- 
 ing a wife, he went to Mauwusset instead. Mau- 
 wusset was known to every one and everybody 
 visited it before he died. So Sammy White said, and 
 Sammy was supposed to know what everybody did. 
 If not the prime purpose of his being, that was at 
 least the main object of his life. He had known 
 Mauwusset, he said, in its simple days, when a sum- 
 mer boarder was regarded as a profitable curiosity. 
 Now Mauwusseters fleeced and amused delegations 
 from Kansas City and points farther West. One 
 who wanted a glimpse of its pristine peculiarities 
 should go at once, or as early as possible. 
 
 It was after dinner when Sammy thus emphasized 
 Strong's duty to self, if not to society. In the enthu- 
 siasm of recollection, and what was recently con- 
 sumed, he even sent for a time-table and pointed out 
 which, in his opinion, was the best train. As to let- 
 ters, he knew everybody worth knowing, and they 
 would welcome Strong, as his particular friend. 
 Strong was not Sammy's "particular friend," but 
 there was no need of saying so. Moreover, why not 
 go to Mauwusset? He had heard it praised by men 
 that were sober and far more intelligent than Sammy 
 at his best. It was a rather famous island, off the 
 Atlantic coast and far enough from land to escape 
 the recurring inundation of week-enders. It had a 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 157 
 
 museum, a windmill, a cool climate, moors, — so the 
 tinted steamship circular said, — and lanes more 
 crooked than the streets of Boston. If one required 
 more, there were whalebones deposited somewhere 
 on the beach and skippers dry as salt New England 
 cod. It was at least different from the ordinary sum- 
 mer resort composed of a handful of the rich entirely 
 surrounded by persons going bankrupt in trying to 
 seem wealthy. Its putative attractions outweighed 
 disinclination to test the unknown. 
 
 The next day he sailed. If Mauwusset proved 
 amusing, he would stay. If it bored, there was an 
 invitation from Narragansett. The people who gave 
 it were a good sort, but the place was associated with 
 Eleanor. It was well to let sleeping memories alone. 
 Of late he had pondered his proficiency in forgetful- 
 ness. While it was nothing to be proud of, it did ease 
 the strain of life. One's energies were conserved by 
 concentration on the present. If the dead past bur- 
 ied its dead, probably the future would be equally 
 obliging. According to rule of moral and logic, such 
 reasoning was narrow and selfish, and foolish to 
 boot. Still, some men did prosper with the doctrines 
 of laissez-faire and "Take what comes." He might 
 be equally lucky. He reflected that he must have 
 changed considerably to entertain such theories. 
 
 Where was the boy who had yearned for power 
 that he might benefit humanity? And where was the 
 youth with his vision of a woman of transfiguring 
 sweetness, the unknown who would unlock the sub- 
 
158 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 tlest mystery of life? He saw them as figures hesi- 
 tant, and far back in the pathway of life. And yet 
 they were not aliens. While a sunset thrilled him, 
 and a stray child tugged at his heart, he was still 
 within hail of tender realities. But he had gone with 
 the tide, and taken pot luck with chance companions 
 of the voyage. 
 
 A pretty way to begin a vacation with mooning 
 in the morning. There was little to interest one in 
 the sparsely populated deck, and he was thrown 
 back upon himself by the monotony of the sunny 
 sea. The only person obviously out of the ordinary 
 was an actress with "come-hither" eyes. He knew 
 she was an actress by the indefinable something that 
 seems to parade a line of footlights before daughters 
 of the stage. She was evidently bored, too, but he 
 did not scrape acquaintance. Coarse manners and 
 conspicuous dress were more repugnant than loose 
 morals. For they were forced to the front in casual 
 acquaintance, while standards of conduct were 
 reserved for those with a draft on the treasury of 
 character. 
 
 At East Boxford the New England delegation 
 came aboard, and he was entertained awhile by the 
 true-born Yankee in dead earnest after pleasure. 
 With their port of destination several hours ahead, 
 they yet had the air of men and women about to 
 dash madly for a train. Confined to men alone, this 
 characteristic might indicate inability to relax from 
 the strain of business and professional duties not far 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 159 
 
 behind. But their wives and daughters were equally 
 watchful, as they sat erect, instinctively spurning 
 the backs of their chairs. Small wonder that, as a 
 people, they did not vitalize any art. For they care- 
 fully kept soul and sensibility apart from life, that 
 grimly serious business. Strong felt he knew them, 
 for he himself was of their stock, with suflScient 
 detachment for perspective. It seemed to him that 
 they did a great deal of good in the world without 
 adding much to its pleasure. 
 
 The afternoon was near its close, and the steamer 
 trudged on steadily. "Trudged" seemed a fitting 
 word for a stout boat that ploughed the water like a 
 boy sturdily footing it through the snow. The vol- 
 ume of traffic was far from impressive. A fleet of 
 porpoise once flashed under the bow. Otherwise, 
 there was nothing more exciting than a string of 
 coasters, — low, dingy craft with their simple wash- 
 ing flapping aloft, a string in convoy of a puffing, 
 important tug. 
 
 As if slowly but steadily drawn by an invisible hand, 
 the sun dropped to the horizon line, where it hung 
 smoky red. Then it sank, its slow dwindling marked 
 by a narrowing lane of crimson. The quieting waters 
 briefly turned to amethyst, and a green-gray veil 
 came in attendance on the first star. Far ahead a 
 single light twinkled, and an elderly man sitting 
 beside Strong in the bow snapped his watch with 
 satisfaction. "Be in on time to-night," he said, 
 addressing the universe. 
 
i6o A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 The light held its promise and presently others 
 kept it company. Without appearance of regularity, 
 they seemed to shine in a long line, like brilliants 
 plastered on the handle of a dipper indicated by 
 larger and brighter lights in a cluster. A tower 
 beacon turned steadily, as if revolving in an English 
 waltz. There was a general stir after bags, umbrel- 
 las, golf sticks, tennis rackets, boxes, umbrella straps, 
 the impedimenta of a holiday crowd. 
 
 Almost grazing a point marked by a squatty light- 
 house, the steamer celebrated its achievement with 
 a hoarse hoot. Mauwusset was just ahead. Strong 
 picked out the wharf, with a jumble of indistinct 
 roofs and a few spires lined against the evening sky. 
 As the steamer ponderously sidled up to the wharf 
 it seemed that Mauwusset had assembled en masse 
 to greet her. A long shore walk black and white with 
 expectant summer folk, a maze of livery vehicles, 
 and the double line of urgent porters suggested 
 Atlantic City, or some other ant hill by the sea, 
 rather than a quaint island, the home of preserved 
 mariners. 
 
 He put his trust in the Seaside House. Its name 
 appeared to be a misnomer. It was up from the 
 shore, on a square agitant with persons whose ci- 
 gars and cigarettes, and soprano giggles, flanked by 
 heavier "ha, ha's," gave character to the darkness. 
 He felt that unseen eyes inspected the latest con- 
 signment of arrivals. He had no curiosity to return. 
 Sammy had recommended the Seaside, and Sammy 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM i6i 
 
 had pressed upon him letters of introduction war- 
 ranted to make Ufe in Mauwusset a bhssful swoon. 
 Even allowing for the fact that Sammy was exhila- 
 rated when he prophesied, and not brilliant at best, 
 there was probably some percentage of fact to bank 
 on in what he said. 
 
 He was not much disturbed on finding himself at 
 table with a party of teachers. To be sure, teachers 
 were apt to be torturingly serious or terribly gay. 
 But either might be escaped with the aid of a com- 
 passionate head waiter. So he ate in peace. The 
 food was good, and so was the room with a south- 
 west exposure the clerk harped upon. But a summer 
 hotel chamber is a place to sleep in, and of no other 
 use. He wandered forth to smoke and get the feeling 
 of the place. 
 
 A step from the sidewalk switched him to thoughts 
 of another place and far-off days. The paving was 
 of asphalt. "Granolithic" they used to call it in 
 Lyme. He remembered how it cracked and softened, 
 growing squashy in summer and yielding a faint 
 smell of tar on hot days. He never thought of Lyme 
 when he could help it, for it was indelibly associated 
 with loneliness that was misery, with questionings 
 of a young soul afraid. He was ashamed when he 
 remembered how many years had elapsed since last 
 he saw it. He had often half -intended to go, for his 
 mother was there. Now she was dead. He could 
 visualize the place where she was buried, the little 
 cemetery at the edge of the pines between the river 
 
1 62 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 that ran softly in summer and roared, briefly swollen, 
 in the early spring. 
 
 His mother had always understood him suffi- 
 ciently to sympathize with what seemed affectation 
 or vagary to other members of the family. He 
 regretted he had not known her better. He remem- 
 bered her as placid and almost invariably sweet. 
 But there was a daguerreotype sent him as a keep- 
 sake when she died. It was the likeness of a young 
 woman, probably in her twenties. While the face 
 was not one of remarkable charm, it conveyed a 
 suggestion of eagerness to read in the book of life. 
 What erased that look, and obliterated ardent inter- 
 est? Had she suffered the self-effacement of so 
 many women who bury their soul, tenderly, for it is 
 their first-bom, in the grave of commonplace exist- 
 ence? 
 
 Another problem it was too late to solve. He 
 returned to immediate surroundings. Mechanically 
 he weaved his way on sidewalks thronged with chat- 
 tering pedestrians who ventured freely in the street. 
 There were no trolley cars or motors to menace, 
 only private carriages and public carryalls drawn 
 by horses that jogged with a steady "kloop-kloop," 
 like a drumming of wings. Gas-lights spurted in 
 many little shops and the crowd flowed in and out. 
 Seemingly, nobody wanted anything in particular, 
 but everybody was in receptive mood. So a crowd 
 goes from aprons to home-made candy at a church 
 fair. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 163 
 
 Standing on a table, a man who looked like a jus- 
 tice of the peace auctioned off rush-seated chairs, 
 battered candlesticks, and andirons with the rust of 
 years. Down Main Street, lined with elms that 
 almost touched finger tips in friendly leaning, a 
 band played cheerfully. In that vicinity congre- 
 gated Portuguese bravas, — dark, handsome people, 
 lounging like statues. Still the crowd walked and 
 talked, and men smoked, and the women slowed 
 their steps before shop windows. 
 
 The difference between this throng and a collec- 
 tion of chattering humans at an ordinary seaside 
 place seemed to Strong like the difference between 
 plain water and a seltzer. He felt as if he had blun- 
 dered into a family reunion. Seemingly it was a 
 family of excellent habits. The last blare of the 
 band was accepted as a curfew signal. By ten 
 o'clock there were few abroad. An hour later the 
 town slept. The night was soft and dark, with a 
 drug in the light wind. When he sought his hotel a 
 bellboy with eyes glued to some piece of toothsome 
 fiction was the only person visible. 
 
 To guests of the Seaside "early to bed" evidently 
 meant "early to rise." By nine o'clock the break- 
 fast room was nearly empty, and piazzas were 
 fringed with the middle-aged obese. Strong could 
 not regard his escape from educators of youth as 
 wholly successful. He found himself seated with an 
 elderly gentleman who looked like Emerson and 
 talked persistently about vegetarianism. Also, the 
 
i64 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 elderly gentleman's wife, who talked about her 
 daughter and grandchildren, and the daughter, who 
 talked about her children and husband. Marcus. 
 Aurelius became his bodyguard from that meal. 
 
 The morning disclosed Mauwusset an attractive 
 place. Some learned geologist estimated that in two 
 hundred years it would be gradually blown into 
 the sea. But it seemed still substantial. Its streets 
 were wide and pleasantly shaded, or quaintly curved 
 passageways with odd little houses that almost 
 roosted on the irregular brick walk. Handsome 
 houses of Colonial design, and square, substantial 
 structures, distinguished in the roof promenade from 
 which the whaler's wife once sighted afar off her 
 lord's return, stamped the show section. There were 
 doorways to delight the artist, and behind high walls 
 old-fashioned gardens bloomed. Mignonette and 
 marigold, the poppy and fuschia, sunflowers and 
 geraniums, flourished with appearance of careless 
 profusion. And everywhere hydrangeas prospered 
 in the moist air. It was like a breath from boy- 
 hood. 
 
 Mauwusset was cigar-like, with summer resi- 
 dences strewn along a low hill known as "The Cliff." 
 A few houses on the shore, but it was mostly bare, 
 as if man had considerately refrained from crowding 
 the sea. The wharves were clustered, with small 
 fishing-boats and pleasure craft of bijou dimensions 
 furnishing an appearance of mild activity. What 
 the great majority of Mauwusseters did for a living 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM, 165 
 
 was not evident. Presumably they lived on the 
 summer boarder. 
 
 The place seemed given over to the young, the 
 rather middle-aged, and the old. Children in bewil- 
 dering abundance, the undergraduate and his bois- 
 terous girl, devoted young married pairs, and weary 
 old couples. What was there for a youngish unat- 
 tached man who did not care for mediocre strangers, 
 loved nature only in moderation, and himself not 
 at all? Sammy had undertaken to provide. Pointers 
 accompanying his letters had been alcoholically ex- 
 haustive, but they did not stick in mind. A letter 
 addressed to "Mrs. Rosalie Knight" Strong took 
 first for the name's sake. It was night that would 
 bother most, if he found no amusement. 
 
 Mrs. Rosalie Knight was not at home. She had 
 not been for two years. He ascertained that fact 
 from a man who watched his fruitless ringing with 
 speculative interest, one leg over the gate. "She 
 was one of my best customers," he added. "Thank 
 you," said Strong, as he began an investigation of his 
 pockets to find another open sesame from Sammy. 
 The mourning merchant took another chew of to- 
 bacco and moved slowly on. 
 
 Evidently the second letter had been left behind. 
 Anyway, it was hot and near noon. He sauntered 
 back to the Seaside, where the piazza was dotted 
 with men bridging their backs in semi-recumbent 
 position and women who rocked and knitted unceas' 
 ingly. In the sun parlor a "Lady Orchestra" wfes- 
 
i66 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 tied with "The Palms," a stout young woman em- 
 ploying her cornet with explosive energy. Strong kept 
 straight on to his room with the southwest exposure. 
 
 He had selected Mrs. Rosalie Knight with fanciful 
 care. His second selection he made by grab-bag pro- 
 cedure. "William Simpkins, Esq.," came to hand. 
 Near the time for tea and tiie-d-tite he picked his 
 way to the address given. Mr. Simpkins saw him, 
 figuratively speaking. Literally, he lived behind 
 smoked glasses and perceived little. He had a wife, 
 an amiable lady who had bloomed in the days of 
 Adelaide Nielson. They were very hospitable and 
 exceedingly dull. With some difficulty Strong 
 escaped, depressed. If the patient waiter is no loser, 
 it may be so with the patient pursuer. But he dis- 
 trusted the remaining letters Sammy had pressed 
 upon him. He recalled that Sammy had said "Good- 
 bye" to fifty, and for several years had spent certain 
 hours of most days in the same club window. Prob- 
 ably he passed on illusions he had escaped having 
 disturbed. 
 
 That evening Strong was weak. It happened 
 through imprudence in lingering near one of the 
 bridge tables dragged out when dinner was over. 
 He smoked till Lady Nicotine turned bitter, and 
 found no amusement in the winking stars. Then 
 he was vaguely uncomfortable in hearing conversa- 
 tion with the mute on from so many corners. He 
 retired, however, with no intention of playing 
 bridge. It was too trying to the disposition, since 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 167 
 
 most persons played badly and everybody was con- 
 vinced he himself played well. As to ladies, at the 
 bridge table they heaped upon strange men the 
 blanket burden of responsibility reserved for hus- 
 bands at home. 
 
 Still, he played with strangers. It was a mixed 
 foursome from which a man withdrew at the end of a 
 rubber, with a picked-up apology and an air of 
 haste. The surviving male grasped Strong before he 
 could escape. He was a hearty man, whose look was 
 an advertisement. He had the appearance of a pro- 
 fessional back-slapper. 
 
 "Sit in, stranger," he said, with an expansive 
 gesture indicating the vacant seat. 
 
 " I ought to write some letters — " Strong began 
 evasively. 
 
 "You Easterners," boomed the stout man, "are 
 so darned stiff." 
 
 "You Westerners — " began Strong mentally, 
 but he did not speak aloud. For he experienced the 
 conventional person's occasional inclination to do 
 an unconventional thing. 
 
 " If the ladies — ?" he said with a bow. 
 
 "Oh, thank you," they chorused. 
 
 "My name's Wilkins," announced the stout man 
 as he took the vacant chair. "My wife," with a 
 wave toward one who looked as if she had been 
 sharpened by strong winds, "and Miss Pratt." Miss 
 Pratt was stout and light, with a look of expectancy 
 in her pale blue eyes. 
 
168 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "My name is Strong," he said with equal brev- 
 ity. 
 
 "Pleased to meet you," came from three throats. 
 
 The cut gave him Mrs. Wilkins for his partner. 
 The way her mouth tightened as she picked up her 
 cards produced in him the feeling of one weighed in 
 advance and found wanting. But he experienced 
 no reproach or disaster. Luck was with him too 
 strongly to admit of an acid test. Miss Pratt played 
 badly. A habit of hovering over her cards reminded 
 him of a fluttering bird disturbed on its nest. Mr. 
 Wilkins held his peace, at times with difficulty, till 
 a rubber was lost by her triumphant parade of 
 trumps that left them exposed to a long suit. 
 
 "I'm so sorry I did n't save a reentry," she said 
 while he gloomily figured the score. 
 
 Then Mr. Wilkins scored heavily. " A fool and his 
 trumps are soon parted," he observed with a bitter 
 air. 
 
 "His" did not disguise the shot, at which Miss 
 Pratt blinked her distress. If she insisted upon 
 weeping, Strong was in more danger than Wilkins, 
 being nearer. 
 
 " If you will excuse me, I will attend to my letters 
 now," he said. "Thank you so much," and made 
 his escape. 
 
 It was not a promising beginning. Mauwusset 
 must do better, or he would be off to Narragansett, 
 memories or no memories. With rambling reflection 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 169 
 
 upon the general uselessness of vacations, he fell 
 asleep. 
 
 The next morning he tried nature. Sammy's 
 friends had died or grown passi, but the island must 
 be about the same. "Walk to Taugut," Sammy had 
 said. "You get the moors on the way." He got the 
 moors promised, and it seemed to him that he met 
 billions of black flies that caused him to think kindly 
 of the Jersey mosquito. 
 
 Midday dinner inflicted upon patrons of summer 
 hotels did not greatly solace, though the cooking 
 was excellent and his appetite good. One could not 
 eat and sleep all the time. He examined a time-table 
 posted in the hptel office, and so learned of a tennis 
 tournament announced below it. The champion- 
 ship final in singles for all Mauwusset was to be 
 played at the Casino that afternoon. He had a card 
 entitling him to privileges of the Casino, except vot- 
 ing for officers and paying dues, and helping to 
 decide such momentous questions as, "Shall mem- 
 bers' wives have a right to invite guests?" and, " Is 
 it wise to serve pop beer, or other intoxicants on the 
 premises?" 
 
 "Our guests always receive this courtesy," the 
 clerk had remarked with an oleaginous smile. A 
 Mauwusset tournament was not likely to show any- 
 thing reminiscent of Newport or a Davis Cup 
 match. Still, it would be difficult for tennis players 
 to bore him as badly as he could bore himself. And 
 what was left of Sammy's "Who's Who," he feared 
 
I70 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 to use. The tournament was Hobson's choice, but 
 he smoked another cigar and walked as slowly as 
 possible to reduce the aggregate of weariness, in case 
 play proved dull. 
 
 In its general social complexion Mauwusset was 
 an unusual place, but all tennis crowds are the same. 
 He knew what it would be like, men in serge and 
 flannels and the women in white, lining the sides and 
 banking the ends of the court, leaning far forward 
 with a hum of polite comment; no applause save a 
 ripple of hand-clapping when some one served an 
 ace or leaped into the air for a brilliant kill. And the 
 players would be strenuously polite to each other, 
 and after It was all over the assembled enthusiasts 
 would drink tea. 
 
 He found a comfortable seat, and the playing was 
 almost good enough to enable him to Ignore jocosely 
 sentimental conversation of a few near-by freshmen 
 and bouncing girls of eighteen. It was about a hop 
 they had attended the night before, and the "crush " 
 Madge had on Harry, and why Lillian would n't 
 dance the one-step with Fred, and the reasons Sam 
 had for preferring Maude to Alice. It was all very 
 silly. 
 
 He felt properly scornful, but a bit sad, too. In 
 a sense, he envied these featherbrains. They had 
 something precious he had never possessed. How 
 had he missed it, the joyous foolishness of youth? 
 
 The sun seemed Intolerably hot, and the chatter 
 of the crowd was like the gabbling of parrots. On 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 171 
 
 sudden impulse he rose and started for the Casino. 
 He had no special purpose in view, only instinctive 
 desire to get away. Proceeding somewhat blindly, 
 he was seized by the arm. He raised his eyes to 
 Damerel's ruddy countenance. 
 
 "Hello," that worthy remarked with a cheerful 
 grin . ' ' What are you doing here ? ' ' 
 
 "Being bored." Strong was too depressed to lie. 
 "How do you happen here?" he added, making the 
 customary response. 
 
 " Came to get away from what you 've got." For 
 Damerel, whose hobbies were cards, polo, and ladies 
 of certain reputation, this was a brilliant speech. 
 Strong felt himself honored in being the recipient. 
 "Tired of the bungalow," Damerel continued, ten- 
 dering his cigarettes. "Tired of Newport. Tired of 
 going across the little pond. Trying the simple life 
 for a change." 
 
 "How does it go?" Strong inquired. He associ- 
 ated Damerel with the "simple life" as one would 
 associate a bird of paradise with scratching for 
 worms in a farmyard. 
 
 "Fine, fine," said Damerel, with a slap. "Better 
 come up to-night, and get cheered up. Where you 
 staying?" 
 
 "At the Seaside." 
 ■ The announcement had more than anticipated 
 effect. Damerel regarded him with the pity he would 
 have bestowed upon a hound with a torn ear, or a 
 pony with a stone in its hoof. 
 
172 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Not a damned thing to drink," he observed sol- 
 emnly. " Stayed there myself one day . No wonder 
 you look peckish. Come on." 
 
 ' ' What 's up ? " asked Strong. He had to inquire in 
 transit, for Damerel had him by the elbow, and 
 Damerel's, physical vigor was even more pronounced 
 than the weakness of his head. 
 
 "Going to present you to the ladies. Right over 
 there." He waved his disengaged arm. 
 
 "But I don't want to intrude," began Strong. 
 
 "Can't intrude. Mustn't interfere with my 
 Christian duty." 
 
 There was something comic in a conception of 
 Christian duty that embraced rounds of cocktails, 
 highballs galore, bridge till cockcrow, and any side 
 line of amusement that came to mind. And there 
 was something amusing in the sight of Damerel with 
 a fixed idea. Strong protested no more. 
 
 Damerel's party were seated on a drag. As they 
 approached, one figure detached itself, so that 
 Strong had no definite impression of the others. It 
 was Mrs. Ormsby. The feet last seen in a Canadian 
 brook were smartly shod now and saucily crossed. 
 With his habit of inventory, he noted that she wore 
 a dress of light purple stuff, with a lace hat that was 
 very becoming. At least she dressed with better 
 taste than the rest of the party. She met his bow 
 with a quizzical smile. Her eyes challenged more 
 than her voice. "My John the Baptist again," she 
 said with a mock sigh. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 173 
 
 In defense against this unexpected attack his eyes 
 chanced upon her overskirt of net. "But you," he 
 said, touching it with a finger, "have only one veil." 
 
 "That will be sufficient," she lazily said. He had 
 wondered at possibilities of her black eyes with their 
 banked fires. There was momentary illumination 
 as she spoke. 
 
 There was no more between them, for Damerel, 
 still full of enthusiasm for his mission, was intent 
 upon presenting Strong to the others in turn. "Has 
 n't had a drink since he came," he wound up im- 
 pressively. " You poor dear ! " chorused the women. 
 One of the two other men said, "The devil ! " A man 
 who somehow suggested a fireman's extension ladder 
 struck an attitude, and began to recite, — 
 
 " Drink, for you know not when or where — " 
 
 His name was Pennington, and his mind was an 
 intellectual ragbag. He spoke "Hog Latin" and 
 table d'hdte French with quenchless vivacity, with 
 an astonishing medley of Longfellow, Byron, Shake- 
 speare, Tom Moore, poets in general and nobody in 
 particular. He was popular with ladies of a light- 
 thinking set. They said he had "such go." The 
 second man, Mortimer, Strong knew by reputation. 
 He was an expert with the camera and an experi- 
 enced husband: two divorces before the age of 
 thirty-five. One of the women was an actress, a 
 mistress of comedy and of thrift. Her commercial- 
 ism was excused for the sake of her talent. There 
 
174 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 was Mrs. Lynne, who seemed happy with a banker 
 husband and a possible corespondent, and Damerel's 
 sister, Mrs. Barker, who had married a Knicker- 
 bocker and found sanctity unendurable. 
 
 Strong smiled inwardly as he hunted a shred of 
 stability in Damerel's assemblage for the "simple 
 life." That worthy was still intent upon rescue. 
 "Go aboard," he said. "First call for dinner." 
 
 "But my clothes are at the hotel," Strong 
 objected. 
 
 "We'll call for them. Take you right along." 
 Damerel's ardor was remarkable. 
 
 They bowled along, with a rattling of harness that 
 did not drown Pennington's falsetto singing. 
 
 " Rescue the perishing — " 
 
 he warbled. 
 
 Their arrival at the Seaside was to guests collected 
 for tea the equivalent of a cocktail. Strong felt the 
 excitement as he ran up the steps, and knew himself 
 a marked man. No doubt Damerel had acquired 
 reputation. He emerged with his dinner clothes. 
 Damerel had been quite clamorous for his trunk, 
 but he stood out against becoming a house guest. 
 There was prudence in that. 
 
 The house at which they pulled up with a flourish 
 was the most pretentious on "The Cliff." Strong 
 had marked it from the shore road, dubbing it "The 
 House of a Hundred Steps." It seemed a natural 
 enough habitation for Damerel, who always sought 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 175 
 
 something in keeping with the size of the fortune his 
 father had made in Pittsburg steel. He liked to 
 entertain somebody, anybody that was jolly. Strong 
 meditated upon the Fates that gave so empty- 
 headed a fellow thorough satisfaction in life, as he 
 dressed in a room considerably better than his 
 southwest exposure at the Seaside. A discreet 
 knock, and "Come in" brought a servant with two 
 cocktails on a tray. 
 
 "Compliments of Mr. Damerel, sir," he said. 
 
 " My thanks to him. Put them down." 
 
 Strong went on dressing. He drank one cocktail 
 and spilled the other in the fireplace, a little regret- 
 fully, for the one he had was very good. But two at 
 a time was going too fast. What he remembered of 
 Damerel's Canadian entertainment forbade thought 
 of pain through thirst. On reaching the drawing- 
 room, it seemed probable that his host had been less 
 partial than he assumed. Men and women alike 
 exhibited brightness of eye, a slight heightened 
 color, and amiable looseness of tongue suggesting 
 they had quaffed the waters of Lethe. 
 
 For no reason he could define he sought Mrs. 
 Ormsby . Again she delighted the eye, though he was 
 rasped a bit by rakish suggestion. "The queen of 
 the demi-monde, '' he said to himself. She wore black 
 unrelieved save by a diamond heart flashing its 
 challenge at her bosom. 
 
 "Well," she said, opening fire promptly, "what is 
 the text to-night?" 
 
176 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "What is the reason for your attitude toward 
 me?" he demanded bluntly. 
 
 "What is the reason for any woman's attitude 
 toward any man?" She laughed at the idea. 
 
 "You asked me a similar question once," he 
 reminded her. 
 
 "And did I get any satisfaction?" 
 
 She blew a ring of smoke with careful precision, 
 and regarded him with mocking eyes. He was in 
 danger of striking his flag when Damerel came to 
 the rescue with his cheerful "Line up." He took 
 her in to dinner, and for several courses they did 
 no more than join in the general and aimless verbal 
 fusillade. Then talk grew quieter, more restricted 
 and confidential. Damerel's champagne was very 
 good. 
 
 Strong learned that Mrs. Ormsby, like himself, 
 was only a "dinner guest." 
 
 "Yes, you heard right." 
 
 "Did I look surprised?" he asked. 
 
 "More than that. You looked shocked. Why 
 should n't I have a house here?" 
 
 "No reason at all. There are no restrictions I 
 know of on sales of real estate." 
 
 He was nettled by her obvious amusement. 
 
 "What a rude remark," she said, sipping her 
 champagne. " But I don't mind. Somehow; I don't 
 mind at all." 
 
 "It's fortunate we are even." He emptied his 
 own glass with a gulp. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 177 
 
 "Still, you would like to know how I happen to be 
 a regular resident of this proper place." 
 
 " I would n't expect you to select it for a home." 
 
 Fencing was no use. He had fallen back on truth. 
 It is man's last refuge with woman, and woman's 
 great strategy with man. 
 
 "And I would n't expect it of myself. But you see 
 I inherited it. I 'm somewhat responsible for Dam- 
 erel, and Damerel's friends, and the greatest tempta- 
 tion Mauwusset ever had." 
 
 "What are you two so chummy about?" called 
 the irrepressible Pennington. "Is another innocent 
 added to the Worshipers of Virginia?" 
 
 "As cheerful as usual, Percy," Mrs. Ormsby 
 responded, "and fully cis intelligent. I'm telling 
 Mr. Strong my life story." 
 
 "We all know that," he rejoined with a giggle. 
 " Comrades, a bumper to the three-decker novel." 
 
 The toast went with barks of approval, and, bottle 
 in hand, the impassive butler again visited the empty 
 glass. As conversation eddied away, Mrs. Ormsby 
 tapped her plate meditatively. 
 
 "Would you really like to hear it?" she asked. 
 
 "You need n't keep your promise to Pennington," 
 Strong said. 
 
 "I needn't keep my promise to anybody. You 
 don't know how good that is. I don't suppose you 
 were ever tied to anybody that wearied you night 
 and day." 
 
 The random thrust sent him into his shell. 
 
178 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "I suppose," he said, "that happens to all the 
 married." 
 
 " Cynicism is n't becoming to you," she remarked, 
 critically examining the tip of her cigarette. ' ' You 're 
 not that kind." 
 
 "Am I safely classified?" he inquired. 
 
 "Oh, yes. You're 'The Man Who Won't Ask.' 
 And since you won't ask, I insist upon telling you 
 about myself." 
 
 "Very well," he said resignedly. "I'm here to 
 listen." 
 
 "Even that won't stop me. To begin with the 
 beginning, I was bom here. My father was a clergy- 
 man. Are you interested yet?" 
 
 "Agape with interest. Please go on." 
 
 "I played my ace first. My father was a clergy- 
 man, and my mother was an opera singer. I suppose 
 she accounts for me. One can't, as they say 'take 
 after' both parents. She was an Italian, and my 
 father met her while he was being 'finished' in 
 Europe. Poor Dad. He could n't give up either her 
 or the Church. So he became a poor minister and a 
 tolerable husband. But as a father he was perfect. 
 We were always chums. Were you very close to 
 your father?" 
 
 "He tolerated me in the house." Strong pulled 
 hard on his cigar. She had a habit of asking un- 
 pl^ant questions. 
 
 "Then it was your mother?" she pursued. 
 ^ "It was neither," he said, driven to frankness. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 179 
 
 "That accounts for you, in a way." 
 
 He had again the feeling a gnat might have under 
 a microscope, and struck out at random to change 
 her line of thought. 
 
 "You said your mother was an Italian?" 
 
 ''Yes. Would you have guessed it?" 
 
 " I might have," he said, giving her the benefit of 
 full scrutiny. She was undeniably handsome in a 
 Latin style, and her eyes met his without evasion. 
 They gratified his curiosity at least. The resem- 
 blance he had noted on first sight came back to 
 mind. 
 
 "It's queer," he continued, "but you remind me 
 of an old portrait." 
 
 " Is it in the Louvre? " She spoke calmly, but her 
 eyes brightened to dagger points. 
 
 "Yes," he assented. "How did you know?" 
 
 " I 've been told. Do you know the history of the 
 painting? " 
 
 "Guide's patter, that's all. She was one of the 
 Medici family, I remember, and Leonardo painted 
 her." 
 
 "Was that all he told you?" She turned, her 
 elbow on the table, and he fell back defensively. 
 It was as if she were pulling off the covers of his 
 mind. 
 
 ' ' That 's all , " he rejoined evasively . ' ' There was 
 something about an intrigue, I believe." || 
 
 "The guide was more communicative the day I 
 went through." She relaxed her scrutiny to light a 
 
i8o A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 cigarette. The index finger of her right hand showed 
 a brownish spot. "The lady was killed by her hus- 
 band," she went on, "and he also killed her lover, 
 who was an Englishman. He was an architect, they 
 say, who had a commission from the Medici." 
 
 "Now my profession is involved," he said with 
 lightness assumed. 
 
 She did not take the cue. All about them banal 
 quips were falling like rain. They seemed isolated, 
 marooned. She sat looking at her champagne, see- 
 ing something in its sparkling life. 
 
 "Do you remember the Ponte Vecchio?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "All covered with little shops except near the 
 middle." He fell in with her mood. 
 
 "And the view there — Brunelleschi's dome, with 
 the shaft of pearl beside it." 
 
 She paused contemplatively, and he expanded her 
 vision. "With the red tiles and tawny towers against 
 the long olive slope climbing to Fiesole." 
 
 The wall of their seclusion fell with the crash of 
 Damerel's voice. 
 
 "Come, moonstruck ones," he called. "Got to 
 have you for a game of bridge." 
 
 The others had already risen, and were moving 
 noisily toward the door. For the rest of the evening 
 his conversation with Mrs. Ormsby was restricted 
 to talk at the bridge table. And with Damerel's 
 guests talk at bridge was comparative silence. They 
 lavished upon play such intellect as they possessed, 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM i8i 
 
 and ended much earlier than was their habit. Some 
 slumbrous influence in Mauwusset made midnight 
 seem later than daybreak in town. 
 
 "Send you home in the carriage," said Damerel as 
 Strong prepared to go. "Ordered it for Virginia,- 
 and it can just as well take you both," 
 
 "Thanks, but I'd like the walk to freshen me." 
 
 They all stood laughing and talking at the open 
 door, while the carriage waited for Mrs. Ormsby at 
 the steps. As she extended her hand to Pennington 
 he kissed it with pretended devotion. 
 
 " I would kiss your cheek, fair one. But," striking 
 an attitude for Strong's benefit, "I fear to teach the 
 innocent a trick." 
 
 "Hopeless child," she said, with a grimace to 
 Strong. "Is n't he?" 
 
 He answered her question with one of his own: — 
 
 "Don't you think somebody should give the cus- 
 tomary salute?" 
 
 It was over in a moment, and she was on her way 
 to the steps amid boisterous salutes. She vanished 
 in the dark with a wave of her hand. Strong, too, at 
 once departed, to the disgust of Pennington, who 
 proclaimed desire to decorate him with the order of 
 Virginia. 
 
 Mauwusset was abed as "he proceeded slowly, busy 
 with thought of what had turned an island of fea- 
 tureless activity into at least a speculatively inter- 
 esting place. Companionship, though it was not the 
 society he preferred, refreshed him like a cool plunge. 
 
i82 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 He had a relish for nature, and such human inter- 
 ests as Mauwusset possessed, not felt before. 
 
 On a corner commanding a harbor view he paused, 
 possessed by the spirit of the night. Sliding through 
 dark and scattered clouds, the moon maintained 
 subdued radiance occasionally turned to silver in the 
 placid harbor waters. Far to the right, and across 
 the vaguely spacious moors, a great light signaled to 
 coastwise craft and to lunging steamships that bore 
 passengers westward bound. Nearer, two smaller 
 beacons marked the tips of a bow, with little scattered 
 lights of fishermen's cottages indenting the crescent 
 shore. It was warm and still, with the almost im- 
 perceptible bouquet of miany blended gardens in the 
 air. 
 
 Solitude, and night, and the moon. The heart was 
 tuned to romance or turned to melancholy. Strong 
 felt the latter's approach and turned its flank. Mrs. 
 Ormsby was a somewhat interesting proposition. 
 What did she mean by the queer turn of her talk 
 about the portrait of the luckless Medici in the 
 Louvre? Did she consider herself a reincarnation? 
 And what did she mean in her questions about the 
 Ponte Vecchio, and the view from it? He was rather 
 sorry he had played up to her mood. For he had 
 never been in Florence, and he had no vision of 
 red tiles, and tawny towers, and long olives slopes, 
 save as they were presented to him in a Florentine 
 tale quite saturated with scenery which he had read 
 that very day. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 183 
 
 The Strongs were English stemming from Surrey 
 stock, but there was no tradition of an ancestor 
 romantically slaughtered. Personally he took no 
 stock in the theory that the dead positively live 
 again through transferal of personality. After all, it 
 was rather absurd to suppose that Mrs. Ormsby had 
 a notion that she was some sixteenth-century woman 
 and he a sixteenth-century man. One must not 
 attach much importance to random remarks uttered 
 under the spurious inspiration of shaded lights and 
 wine. Only he would keep away from the subject 
 hereafter. It would be awkward to confess that all 
 he knew of Florence came from magazines and 
 books. 
 
 There was a good deal in intuition. Sometimes he 
 thought there was too much. An obtuse male might 
 make a woman angry, but he never got into trouble 
 through understanding what a woman could n't 
 understand herself. The poet was a sound phil- 
 osopher when he spoke of being cruel to be kind. 
 One could not lend himself like a novel. Either the 
 book got badly damaged, or the borrower could not 
 bear the thought of return. As to being a circulating 
 library of love, that was only possible to a Benvenuto 
 Cellini or a George Sand. 
 
 The Seaside was a silent pile as he ascended its 
 steps and shut off reflection with a final personal 
 ty/ist. Mauwusset seemed likely to prove tolerable 
 through the Damerel crowd. But he must avoid get- 
 ting too thick with them. As to Mrs. Ormsby — well, 
 
i84 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 she had n't even asked him to call. He slept with- 
 out difficulty. 
 
 Having a place to go to, next day, he was quite 
 resigned to going nowhere. The tired business man 
 who golfed by prescription, and his stout wife who 
 walked for like reason; the elderly dyspeptic to 
 whom breakfast was a battlefield, and greedy boys 
 who turned it into a rout; the twittering woman 
 and the self-important man, — summer hotel types 
 familiar as Gibson drawings presented their humor- 
 ous rather than their trying aspects. He smoked 
 two cigars in the sun parlor, and did not flinch while 
 the Lady Orchestra tooted and scraped its way 
 through "Love's Dream after the Ball." 
 
 He was somewhat astonished to find the morning 
 advanced to ten o'clock. By that time Damerel and 
 his friends were riding. He had been invited to join 
 them the night before. 
 
 "Got a horse for you, and a drink for you any 
 time," Damerel had said with the slap that betok- 
 ened genuine amiability. "Use the house like your 
 own." 
 
 He did not care to follow the night's entertain- 
 ment with a morning arrival ; but the suggestion of 
 a canter in a place untroubled by motors was an 
 attractive one. A card in his room that told him 
 how to attach and use a knotted rope in case of fire, 
 and how many rings for ice water, and what would 
 be the extra charge for meals served in rooms, besides 
 mentioned an "excellent livery in connection with 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 185 
 
 this house." He ordered a horse, and when it arrived 
 he was glad he had wasted no breath in specifica- 
 tions that probably would not be observed. Not 
 that the horse was a bad one. It was astonishingly 
 good in style and steam. It even had the true saddle 
 horse's personal interest in an occasion. 
 
 It was a bright morning, and the air livelier than 
 usual, as he rode down to Captain's Row, where sun- 
 light through foliage made patterns on the pave- 
 ment ; by the Soldiers' Monument no self-respecting 
 New England community can do without; and by 
 the old windmill that stood out against the sky. It 
 was tied now, and the Commons it overlooked no 
 longer furnished free pasturage for anybody's cow; 
 but Mauwusseters took pride in the fact that both 
 might still be used. 
 
 The moors were visible, heather-clad and billow- 
 ing into a horizon that gave no hint of the Atlantic 
 washing a shore not far beyond. A narrow carriage 
 road wriggled across them, but it was evident that 
 traffic followed the traveler's will. Occasional wheel- 
 tracks to right or left showed where some driver had 
 struck out. Strong followed suit, and found the 
 going good. By the cant of its ears, light tossing of 
 its head, and a general sensation of exuberant energy 
 under him, he felt his horse's frolic mood. On a 
 touch of his heel they were off in an orgy of flight. 
 When hoofs no longer spurned the elastic earth he 
 pulled up with the muffled roll of water in his ears. 
 Not far ahead a slight elevation dovetailed with the 
 
i86 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 sky. When he came to its summit he overlooked the 
 sea. A blue-green in the sunlight, it came rolling 
 lazily, and there was nothing but what its undulant 
 expanses cradled between him and Portugal. Scud- 
 ding under shortened sail, a fisherman supplied the 
 human note. The tremendous vigor and cleanliness 
 of the scene filled him with refreshment. He turned 
 his horse and cantered toward the town. A pleasant 
 reverie wrapped him in undefined consciousness of 
 well-being. 
 
 The habit of midday dinner did not fret him as, 
 bathed and pleasantly relaxed, he looked in the box 
 consecrated to his room and the mail. There was a 
 newspaper, a business letter, the florid circular of a 
 wine merchant, and a note addressed in a sharply 
 angular hand. It was vigorous yet feminine, and it 
 was strange. Because time was a drug and he was 
 pleasantly curious, he held the note to his nostrils. 
 No perfume betrayed its authorship. Still unenlight- 
 ened, he broke the seal. It was very brief and mo- 
 mentarily perplexing. No date, no crest, no mono- 
 gram. Just a few lines vigorously written in the 
 middle of the page: — 
 
 Dear Mr. Strong: — 
 When can you come to see me? 
 
 V. 
 
 Who was "V," and why should he go to see her? 
 The first part of the question memory presently 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 187 
 
 answered. Damerel had called Mrs. Ormsby "Vir- 
 ginia." It must be she, since there was no other 
 possibility. But why did she extend in writing an 
 invitation she might have given in person? And why 
 haste about it, anyway? As he recalled it, most of 
 their conversation had been in pointed disagree- 
 ment. Some persons enjoyed quarreling with friends, 
 but they did not hunt differences with comparative 
 strangers. On the whole, it was a puzzling note, and 
 Mrs. Ormsby was a contradictory person. With that 
 conclusion he addressed the immediate and pressing 
 problem of consomm6 or thick soup, mackerel or 
 cod, roast beef or roast lamb, and so on. 
 
 That afternoon he went sailing in the boat char- 
 tered by Damerel principally, it appeared, because 
 its ice box was large. Sailing was slow with a puffy 
 breeze, but the flow of spirits was impressive. Be- 
 sides Damerel himself, there was Pennington, look- 
 ing somewhat like a flannel-clad angleworm ; Morti- 
 mer; and Whiting, a Boston millionaire with much 
 reputation on the polo field. Mrs. Lynne and the 
 footlights queen were the only women, and one 
 might have tossed a coin to decide which was more 
 artificial. Strong was hardly aboard when Penning- 
 ton demanded, "Where's Mrs. Ormsby?" 
 , "How do I know?" he answered, a Httle nettled. 
 
 Pennington cackled delightedly. "Listen," he 
 said, "to the latest favorite." 
 
 Jollity that passes muster with ample elbow-room 
 is vexatious in cramped quarters. Strong declined 
 
188 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 an invitation for dinner. He wanted to rest his ears. 
 Bearing somewhat reluctantly a bottle presented by 
 his solicitous host, he went his way to the Seaside. 
 There it was decorously dull, with most of the room 
 not preempted by bridge players given over to a 
 fancy-work exhibit and a lecture by a Zulu chief 
 whom civilization so denatured that he became a 
 Sunday-school superintendent. Debating whether 
 he had better bear one of the ills at hand, or flee to 
 others that he knew not of, he chanced to remember 
 Mrs. Ormsby's invitation. 
 
 She was unlikely to be in. If not, with a card left 
 his duty would be done. He would not telephone to 
 ask if she were at home, for he wanted a walk, any- 
 thing to escape from an atmosphere of heavily 
 domestic jocosity that inspired in him unreasonable 
 but almost irresistible desire to do something out- 
 rageous. There was no difficulty in locating Mrs. 
 Ormsby's house. "The third beyond Bostock's 
 Inn," the clerk told him. "Go straight along the 
 Cliff." 
 
 It looked rather picturesque by moonlight as he 
 paused at the gate. In the sizable garden divided 
 by a flagged walk geranium beds showed dully red, 
 and he had an impression that roses rioting over 
 eaves close to the ground were red, too. The house 
 was still and dark as he perfunctorily lifted an old 
 brass knocker. He did not follow its summons atten- 
 tively. The next thing was to leave a card. He 
 sought lodgment for it as the door opened, disclosing 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 189 
 
 a maid with a lamp and a hall indefinite as to 
 detail. 
 
 " Mrs. Ormsby is n't in? " he said, as if to confirm 
 his impression. 
 
 "Yes, sir," responded the maid, taking the card 
 from his outstretched hand. "Step this way, please." 
 
 By lamplight the room seemed pleasant in an 
 old-fashioned, comfortable way. Without disclosing 
 their titles, books lining one wall conveyed a sugges- 
 tion of mellow age. He noted a bust of Emerson, a 
 spindle-legged cabinet, a few landscapes and por- 
 traits framed in a generation enamored of heavy pie- 
 crust and thick mouldings, and a square piano in a 
 corner. A bird-cage hung by an open window, and 
 he crossed the room to see what it contained. Only 
 a canary roused by his approach to a tiny piping 
 that ended when hardly begun. 
 
 "Are you scraping acquaintance with Beppo?" 
 said Mrs. Ormsby behind him. 
 
 " I take it Beppo is a bird," he remarked, turning 
 to bow. He knew it was a banal remark, but Mrs. 
 Ormsby did not seem to think so. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "Don't you remember the can- 
 ary in the portrait?" 
 
 He shied at suggestion of the Louvre, and a possi- 
 bility of ancestral memoirs based on magazine fic- 
 tion. That turn must be avoided. 
 
 "I'm rather outrageously quick in following up 
 your invitation. In fact, I hardly expected to find 
 you at home." 
 
190 A RELUCTANT ADAM' 
 
 She smiled at the implied suggestion. "You are 
 not apologizing for a bad guess?" she queried. 
 
 "Of course not," he said hastily. 
 
 "Then, please sit down, I rather expected you. 
 So you see I'm a better guesser than you are." 
 
 " But once you guessed wrong." He hardly dared 
 to specify. 
 
 "We might go on this way forever. But would it 
 be any use?" She regarded him now with frank 
 amusement. "Don't you think your shattered 
 nerves require a drink? Yes, of course you do. What 
 man does n't at any time, on any excuse? Scotch, 
 rye, plebeian beer, — what's your choice?" 
 
 "It sounds like a bar." 
 
 "It is a bar, in the cabinet that used to hold 
 father's sermons. Pennington suggested it after 
 Katie had come for the third time to satisfy his 
 preposterous thirst. Since then I 've been barmaid. 
 Will I do?" 
 
 "You make me indifferent to what I drink." 
 
 She curtsied after the old-fashioned manner. 
 "From Pennington, if he could think of it, that 
 would mean nothing. From you, it means nothing. 
 So I put the question again. What shall it be?" 
 
 "Scotch, then. May I smoke?" 
 
 "A natural question, but unnatural behavior. 
 You are actually waiting for an answer." 
 
 "That is n't queer, is it? Why should I take 'Yes' 
 for granted?" 
 
 "Oh, most men take what they want for granted." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 191 
 
 She was measuring the whiskey in a tall glass with 
 a practiced eye. 
 
 " Don't you know it's unfeminine to be cynical?" 
 
 "I'm not cynical, only indulgent." 
 
 Their conversation approached the familiar basis 
 of affirmation and denial, cut and thrust. Such ver- 
 bal exercise was too measured, like the deadly cele- 
 brated " Chopsticks Waltz." With this reflection in 
 mind, he received his glass, noting she kept its com- 
 panion for herself. Whiskey and soda was not an 
 orthodox beverage for women, but probably it was 
 less harmful than cocktails they drank as their 
 mothers took tea. 
 
 "Your good health," he said, rising in salute. 
 
 "You solemn men make little things so ritualistic. 
 That was like a prayer. Are you religious?" 
 
 "Are you inquisitive?" 
 
 There was no resentment, only insolent amuse- 
 ment in her eyes. What he thought of was her charm 
 of pose. She was dressed simply in white, yet with 
 simplicity that did not argue economy. He had 
 some notion of the value of lace that followed the 
 sweep of graceful lines from shoulder to hip, as she 
 reclined in a lounging chair of green, with dull green 
 draperies for a background. He noted the slender 
 roundness of her arms, and how beautifully turned 
 was the wrist of the hand in which she held her ciga- 
 rette. In the soft light a certain hardness in hollows 
 of the nostrils and lips was unseen and forgotten in 
 enjoyment of clean contours. 
 
192 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 His inspection unconsciously intent she endured 
 with composure. "What are you thinking about?" 
 she asked, not coquettishly but casually, as one asks 
 another's opinion of the weather. 
 
 "That you are very effective," he replied bluntly. 
 
 "A grudging compliment. But I suppose I should 
 be grateful. Why is it so hard for you to be pleasant 
 tome?" 
 
 "What do you care whether I am pleasant or 
 not?" 
 
 "You can't be asking for information. Women 
 always care about neglect more than they care about 
 appreciation. It's only that, I suppose, that makes 
 me ask, 'What can I do to please you?' " 
 
 "I don't know," he said candidly. 
 
 She flipped the ash from her cigarette impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "You'll at least admit I can mix a drink accept- 
 ably? Which reminds me that you need one now. 
 No protest, please. You must be comfortable, or 
 you '11 be cross. But you never are comfortable with 
 me, are you?" 
 
 "Why not answer for yourself. William Gillette 
 always does." 
 
 "But that's in a play." 
 
 "Are n't you acting?" 
 
 He was beginning to feel the exhilaration of com- 
 bat. What Mrs. Ormsby meant by her note no 
 longer constituted a delicate question. But she her- 
 self was a problem to be solved. He felt no concern 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 193 
 
 over the situation. The cheer of alcohol was a 
 pleasant fire in his veins. 
 
 Mrs. Ormsby did not resent his skepticism. 
 Neither did she seem grieved. 
 
 "It takes two to make a serious discussion," she 
 observed judicially. 
 
 "I'm not serious," he volunteered. 
 
 "Of course I never am." She laughed as if jesting 
 with herself, and fingered carelessly a rose at her 
 belt. 
 
 "Do you like flowers?" she asked. 
 
 "As I like women. I don't understand them." 
 
 Under impatient pressure a thorn of the rose 
 pricked her finger, and a drop of blood stood on its 
 smooth whiteness. "A fair match," she said, criti- 
 cally comparing blood and blossom. "Come into 
 the garden. I like it best by moonlight. There's 
 nothing to prevent imagining each blossom at its 
 best." 
 
 "Will you be warm enough?" he asked as he rose 
 to follow her. 
 
 "Oh, yes," carelessly. "Please put out the light. 
 The heat of a lamp is too much in warm weather." 
 
 The garden to which she led him was not visible 
 from the street. It was a rear garden of that com- 
 fortable size between spaciousness and restriction 
 that imposes a feeling of being shut in. A high fence 
 kept out the world of prying eyes, and against it a 
 thick dark hedge stood, a softer barrier of nature. 
 There must have been lilacs without, for their per- 
 
194 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 fume was heavy in the air, and a great elm that 
 tempered the sun's rays by day softened the clear 
 brightness of the moon. All about them simple 
 flowers were asleep with the murmur of a quiet tide 
 in their ears. Some freak of meniory detached 
 Strong for a moment. It was the Capulet's moon- 
 drenched garden that he saw, and from her balcony 
 adorable Marlowe answered Romeo's plea with the 
 passionate candor of Juliet, — 
 
 " I gave thee mine before thou didst request it; 
 And yet I would it were to give again." 
 
 From the hotel near by came a strain of dance 
 music, and Mrs. Ornisby completed his restoration 
 to the present. 
 
 "Will you give me a light, please?" she said. 
 
 As he held a match to the tip of her cigarette, her 
 face came for a moment into sharp relief. Her eyes 
 were deep pools, fathomless in their shaded bril- 
 liancy. Her hair seemed a dark halo as she sat beside 
 him in the luxury of silence. Presently a tiny chirp 
 punctured complete calm. 
 
 " If it were not July, but August," he said medi- 
 tatively, "I should take that for the first cricket. 
 Crickets, then goldenrod, and asters, and the first 
 frost." 
 
 " Don't," she said, shivering. 
 
 "You don't enjoy anticipation." He was aston- 
 ished by her vehemence. 
 
 "Only anticipation of the past." 
 
 "That is a cryptic remark." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 195 
 
 "I suppose so," she said; then added, "What I 
 mean is that I only look forward to putting time 
 behind me." 
 
 " I should have guessed," he offered, "you were a 
 woman who had everything she wanted." 
 
 "I wonder if you know how many women are 
 trying to want the things they have." 
 
 "Are n't we all, men and women alike, trying to 
 make the best of it?" 
 
 "Men and women, yes. But not the men as the 
 women do. If she makes a mistake, what chance 
 has a woman with her life contained within the cir- 
 cumference of a man's? What chance had I?" 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said quietly, and took her hand 
 raised in protest against Fate. He felt her pulses 
 in the finger tips. She trembled and gripped his 
 hand convulsively. He sensed the imminence of 
 tears. But she steadied herself with a sudden effort. 
 She even laughed. 
 
 "Moonshine and mush. I 'm behaving like a sen- 
 timental girl. Will you forgive the imposition?" 
 
 "There's nothing to forgive," he protested. 
 
 "You lie prettily, but I know the truth. I nearly 
 involved you in a teary tableau. And only husbands 
 are called upon to endure that." 
 
 " I can only repeat — "he began. 
 
 "Please don't. I'll believe all you want me to 
 believe. We'll go in and drink a toast to friend- 
 ship. It is a little damp, after all, and I feel a bit 
 unstrung." 
 
196 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 They left the garden and entered the silent house. 
 It was very dark. 
 
 "There's Chippendale stuff about," said Mrs. 
 Ormsby ahead. "Let me guide you." 
 
 " Don't lead me astray," Strong cautioned lightly, 
 as she moved, a dimly defined shape. 
 
 "Would n't you like to be?" she answered with a 
 subdued laugh. 
 
 Moonlight tolerably dissipated darkness in the 
 room to which they groped their way. 
 
 " Is n't it pleasanter without a light?" she asked 
 when he opened his match-box with a snap. "Be- 
 sides, I suspect my eyes are red. Do you mind?" 
 
 "Of course not." 
 
 "Then get something to cheer you, and give me 
 the same. And let 's sit by the window. We can see 
 the harbor, and we won't have to see the people." 
 
 "Sit here," she said, as he bore two glasses pleas- 
 antly filled to her. 
 
 "Is there room? Be careful you don't spill it." 
 
 "Thanks. Yes, plenty of it." 
 
 It was an old-fashioned davenport, with high 
 upholstered sides and back. He settled himself with 
 a feeling of pleasant intimacy. There was neither 
 antagonism, nor apprehension, nor any disturbing 
 element in the atmosphere. They sipped and- talked 
 with inconsequential lightness, and two tips of red 
 glowed intermittently in the shadow. 
 
 " How does this view compare with that from the 
 Ponte Vecchio?" she said after brief silence, as they 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 197 
 
 sat looking at the shore below them, with its fringe 
 of yellow lights and the harbor satiny dark under 
 the moon. 
 
 "That reminds me I want to tell you something." 
 
 "But I know it already." 
 
 She turned impetuously, and her hand was on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Are you sure?" he persisted. He felt himself at 
 sea. 
 
 " I knew it from the first," she whispered intensely. 
 
 Her arms were about his neck, and instinctively 
 he held her closely. Flame-swept, he struggled to 
 retain reason. 
 
 "You'll be sorry," he said unsteadily. 
 
 "No, no!" she whispered, and drew him irresist- 
 ibly. In the consuming fever of his blood he was 
 abandoned to delirium. 
 
 When the storm was past, fear smote him. It was 
 less conventional fear of the consequences of mad- 
 ness than dread of chains weak arms may forge. 
 Constitutional prudence shrank from subjection to 
 Delilah. He held her passively, her face on his 
 breast. He already pined to be free. She felt his 
 aloofness and clung to him as if hands could hold 
 where the heart refuses to follow. 
 I "You don't despise me?" she whispered des- 
 perately. 
 
 "No, dear," he answered, very tenderly, for he 
 knew he did not love her. 
 
 "Tell me you love me." It was imperious appeal. 
 
198 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 " I am very fond of you, dear," he said, and kissed 
 her eyes raised in appeal with a mist of tears. 
 
 "You must be — you must." It was a declara- 
 tion, and an entreaty. She hid her face in his breast 
 and wept, not quietly but shaken with sobbing. 
 
 "Don't cry, dear," he said, and stroked her head 
 softly. But the comfort that conquers doubt was 
 not his to give. His thoughts were of the future 
 while she was wrapped in the present. Her weeping 
 gradually diminished until she quietly freed herself 
 and dried her eyes. 
 
 "You had better go now," she said. 
 
 "But I can't leave you like this." 
 
 Desire to know the worst, to have named the pen- 
 alty of recklessness, urged him to stay. 
 
 " I 'm all right now," she continued. " It's better 
 for me to be alone. You can come in the mom- 
 ing. 
 
 " I '11 go, if you wish it," he said. 
 
 He extended his hand in farewell, and it seemed 
 ridiculously inadequate. Consciousness of the great- 
 ness of a woman's surrender suddenly melted his 
 heart. He kissed her impulsively, and she clung to 
 him, feeling she could not let him go. 
 
 "Remember," she said, "I'm not sorry. Good- 
 bye until to-morrow." 
 
 Out of the gate he went, and down the hillside 
 street with few lights in the windows. His frame of 
 mind was not that of a hero in the lists of love. Nor 
 was it that of a man crushed by the burden of con- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 199 
 
 science. He held himself convicted of weakness, but 
 innocent of criminal intent. That he had jeopardized 
 his freedom was quite incontestably a fact. As an 
 abstract proposition, the situation disclosed to him 
 no reason why Mrs. Ormsby and himself might not 
 still regard themselves as free agents. In due time 
 he must make that clear to her. A certain contin- 
 gency, however, might give her an irresistible claim. 
 
 With purely personal conclusions he mingled 
 reflection upon idiosyncrasies of the double stand- 
 ard. What was conventionally worshiped in a 
 woman was conventionally laughed at in a man. 
 Woman resisting temptation moved in the incense 
 of tradition. But defense of male honor was given 
 over to comic-opera comedians. He did not think 
 that most men felt themselves robbed of a spiritual 
 birthright by this difference and distinction. But it 
 operated, nevertheless, as a weakness. How would 
 Parsifal fare in twentieth-century life? 
 
 By orthodox recipe. Strong should have suffered 
 a restless night. But he slept well. A fatalistic strain 
 enabled him to resign to to-morrow its burden. 
 
 He awoke physically refreshed, and, splashing 
 through his morning bath, events of the night before 
 seemed remote. It was almost as if they had been 
 told of another man. Sober sense, however, assured 
 him the r61e was his own. Memory had registered, 
 "Come in the morning." Breakfast heartened him 
 to endure an ordeal he could not definitely forecast. 
 It was a bright morning, with a warm, light wind, 
 
200 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 and he was not blind to its sweetness as he leisurely 
 proceeded toward Mrs, Ormsby's cottage. 
 
 A woman in white was busy with roses in the gar- 
 den. He knew it was Mrs. Ormsby. The figure, with 
 a certain vigorous elegance of carriage, was unmis- 
 takable. Evidently she had not fallen to moping 
 over the night before. Yet he experienced trepida- 
 tion as he swung open the garden gate. Upon its 
 click she turned quickly and her face lighted up in 
 greeting. 
 
 " You 're very prompt," she said, cordially extend- 
 ing her hand. "I think you deserve a decoration. 
 Let's see." She surveyed him with critical friendli- 
 ness. "You're all in gray. I think a pink rose will 
 do." As she clipped a bud she tossed an observation 
 over her shoulder. " Don't you think, anyway, pink 
 is your color rather than red?" 
 
 " I am wax in your hands," he answered, and won- 
 dered what she meant. 
 
 As she adjusted the flower in his buttonhole her 
 face was very near. It occurred to him that he had 
 never seen her so attractive. It was a vivid face, 
 and rest custom and nature enforced upon all 
 Mauwusset had erased traces of lively life of the 
 town. Quite naturally he kissed her, and she as nat- 
 urally responded. There was nothing painful about 
 this scene in a garden. 
 
 "What are you doing this morning?" he asked 
 haphazardly. All that he had half-planned to say 
 was obviously not for the present occasion. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 201 
 
 "Oh," she said, "our morning is taken. That is, 
 if you don't punish me for promising without con- 
 sulting you. OIHe Damerel telephoned me about 
 some tennis and I said you were coming. He at once 
 affably said," — she paused in assumed embarrass- 
 ment, — then continued mischievously, "Bring 
 along the newly anointed." 
 
 "But I have no racquet, no shoes, no tennis 
 clothes," he said. " I did n't bring them." 
 
 "That 's not an obstacle. Like the Lord, OUie will 
 provide. It is his business in life to entertain. If you 
 don't want to go, though, I '11 tell him it is impos- 
 sible." 
 
 "But I do want to go. Let's." 
 
 He had presented himself for the preliminary 
 scourging of Fate, and Fate for the present declined 
 to wield the whip. For that he was grateful. As 
 they walked along Mrs. Ormsby was in a sprightly 
 mood. She had a knack of racy expression ; her com- 
 ment on persons of the hectic circle in which she 
 moved was void of malice. Better than before he 
 understood her general popularity among men. 
 
 Damerel's guests were already on the courts, but 
 play was suspended to give them a somewhat bois- 
 terous welcome. Pennington turned his racquet into 
 a banjo as he chanted, — 
 
 " See, the conquering hero comes." 
 
 Strong was visibly embarrassed. Mrs. Ormsby 
 seemed not at all disturbed. 
 
202 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Be my partner," urged Pennington. "Mrs. 
 Lynne was playing, but she'd be glad to get out. 
 She's really too lazy." 
 
 "Thanks, Penny," she said easily. "But I came 
 to play with Mr. Strong." 
 
 "Are you perpetually tied to him?" with an 
 injured air. 
 
 "I don't know." She surveyed Strong critically, 
 and turned to Pennington with mock anxiety. " Do 
 you think it would be a good thing?" 
 
 "It might be helpful to the rest of mankind," he 
 rejoined with a grimace. "Come on, let's play." 
 
 Strong's feeling of an alien captive in Rbtoe, fol- 
 lowing at some conqueror's chariot wheels, vanished 
 with a racquet in his hand. He was a fair player and 
 Mrs. Ormsby sustained the reputation of her set for 
 proficiency in sports, their only religious interest in 
 life. She was even capable of an overhead smash. 
 Pennington, too, played well, with an altitude 
 deadly to lobs; and Mrs. Lynne, slightly indolent, 
 was competent to handle what came her way. It 
 was nip and tuck, with Strong and his partner vic- 
 torious in a set that trenched upon the luncheon 
 hour. Of the morning was born a spirit of comrade- 
 ship. Not that Strong regarded Mrs. Ormsby fondly. 
 But he ceased to regard her critically, or with un- 
 confessed apprehension. She was no longer the 
 beast in the jungle. 
 
 Luncheon went merrily, with Victrola accompani- 
 ment. They had " Snooky Ookums " with their soup, 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 203 
 
 and were " Waiting for the Robert E. Lee " and their 
 salad at the same time. The barcarolle from "Tales 
 of Hoffmann" floated through the air as coffee 
 flowed down their mouths. And always the clatter 
 of cheerful conversation. It was not especially 
 diverting, but when he remembered populous stol- 
 idity of the Seaside, Strong mentally gave thanks. 
 
 Being taken for granted that he and Mrs. Ormsby 
 would stay with the party for the day, neither de- 
 murred. There were moments when conviction that 
 he moved in reflected light, the queen's favorite of 
 the hour, smote Strong, but he shook off unpleasant- 
 ness. Certainly, Mrs. Ormsby's attitude was not 
 proprietary. She was merely cordial, with an occa- 
 sional intimate accent for his ear alone. 
 
 The morning spent in exercise, they devoted the 
 afternoon to beholding exertions of others. In 
 Scooset, a summer settlement for storage of the 
 actor's ego in little cottages, a golf match was in 
 progress. 
 
 "Why fellers walk miles to swat a ball when they 
 can stand up to a punching-bag gets me," observed 
 Damerel, as he marshaled his party. "But it takes 
 all kinds to make the world." 
 
 "OUie, the Cicero of Mauwusset," commented 
 Pennington, writing gravely on his cuff. 
 
 "Stuff it," said Damerel good-humoredly, mount- 
 ing the box. 
 
 He took the reins and they were off. With a lively 
 tooting and cracks of the whip, at which the high- 
 
204 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 stepping grays shook their heads more proudly, they 
 swept through the village and out on the road wind- 
 ing to Scooset. Neither the past craving inspection 
 nor the future sealed troubled Strong that hour. 
 Life was a railway journey and he occupied a com- 
 fortable compartment. 
 
 Trailing a golfer proved even less interesting than 
 watching an actor off the stage. From the modu- 
 lated simplicity of assorted players they turned to 
 entertainment by one. He was an idol of the fudge- 
 eaters and an artist to boot. His prestige was largely 
 due to virile beauty, the gift of nature. For. his dis- 
 tinguished ability, which few admirers appreciated, 
 he had himself to thank. His name was Karl Willett, 
 and he claimed Mrs. Ormsby as an old friend. 
 
 "The last time — " he said, as he advanced with 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 "At Nice," she pieced out, "five years ago." 
 " It makes me happier to be so remembered." 
 Willett's smile was attractive, and his manner 
 modest. In the bungalow to which he conducted 
 them he was a model host. That he admired Mrs. 
 Ormsby was evident, but he was too sophisticated 
 to show how much. That Mrs. Ormsby liked him 
 was evident. How much, was not. Despite his judi- 
 cious decision that Mrs. Ormsby and himself were 
 still free agents. Strong experienced a twinge of dis- 
 content. It was not tactful consideration for friends 
 reunited that moved him to a tiie-cL-tite with Mrs. 
 Lynne, who had little information save what she 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 205 
 
 gleaned from the bridge table and pickings of so- 
 ciety reporters. He was in a gray mood when he 
 climbed to the seat beside Mrs, Ormsby for the ride 
 home. 
 
 "The world is a little place," she remarked cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 "Sometimes," he assented. 
 
 "Just think of meeting Karl Willett here after all 
 these years." 
 
 "He's an old friend, I suppose?" He queried the 
 obvious. 
 
 "Yes, he was Charlie's friend first." 
 
 "Charlie?" What did Pennington say about a 
 multitude of admirers? 
 
 She laughed at his expression. 
 
 " I forgot you did n't know. Charlie was my hus- 
 band." 
 
 He saw in her eyes a dawning smile. 
 
 "Well as I know you now, you still interest me," 
 she said. " I can't make out whether you 're original, 
 or merely clever. At any rate, there's nobody like 
 you. Are you satisfied with that?" 
 
 "I did n't mean to be inquisitive," he explained, 
 a little awkwardly. 
 
 "I did n't think you did," she assured him. 
 
 Being sui generis is not necessarily pleasing, but a 
 compliment is taken for granted. His self-esteem 
 thus caressed. Strong was in fair humor for dinner. 
 He even suffered with resignation the pains and pen- 
 alties of partnershipwith Mrs, Lynne at bridge. 
 
2o6 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "What do you think of my game, Mr. Strong?" 
 she inquired after losing a rubber by criminally care- 
 less play. 
 
 "That overbidding is paved with good intentions," 
 he replied. 
 
 "But I thought that was hell?" She questioned 
 with wrinkled brow. 
 
 " It IS hell playing with you, Bessie," Pennington 
 explained with cheerful impudence of the irrespon- 
 sible. 
 
 "I'm sure Mr. Strong didn't mean that," she 
 bridled. 
 
 "Nothing so mean entered my head," he assured 
 her. 
 
 "I do my best," she went on plaintively. 
 
 "And that's good enough, Bessie," called Dam- 
 erel genially from the next table. " I like your game. 
 It's different from the common. Play a rubber with 
 me. 
 
 The exchange of partners effected, real peace 
 reigned. Strong succeeded with Mrs. Ormsby, as he 
 had prospered at tennis. 
 
 "Hang it! You two play as if you had teamed it 
 for years together," said Pennington, slightly irri- 
 tated when the last trick was won. 
 
 Mrs. Ormsby smiled. "It almost seems that we 
 were made for each other, does n't it?" 
 
 It was Pennington that answered, though she 
 looked at Strong. 
 
 "When you grow sentimental, Virginia, I'm 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 207 
 
 afraid to stay in the room. Remember, 'Lucky in 
 love, unlucky in war.' Does it reverse?" 
 
 " I don't know," she said. "What is your experi- 
 ence?" 
 
 " Expensive to-night," he rejoined, figuring up the 
 score. "I can't play in this place. It's too hard to 
 keep awake. Even the mosquitoes go to sleep." 
 
 When the inevitable "night-cap" was consumed, 
 and they were on their way behind a spanking cob, 
 wisdom regained a hearing with Strong. 
 
 "There was something I wanted to explain," he 
 said, after what he felt as a boisterous silence. 
 
 "What is it?" She spoke cordially, and without 
 constraint. 
 
 "It was last night." He hardly knew how to 
 begin. 
 
 "Yes?" Her tone was encouraging. 
 
 "About the picture in the Louvre, and the Ponte 
 Vecchio, and the rest of it." He plunged in. " Fact 
 is, I was never in Florence. I only know it from what 
 I've heard and read." 
 
 On his pause she came to the rescue. 
 
 "You must have a good memory. You were accu- 
 rate on details. I envy you the prospect of seeing it 
 all for the first time. What do you think of ' Penny ' 
 as a bridge player?" 
 
 "That he is thoroughly feminine in spirit," he 
 replied. 
 
 "I think I know what you mean, but I'm afraid 
 to inquire." 
 
2o8 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 He caught her amused expression in the dim light. 
 What he could not quite grasp was her reception of 
 his confession. Or rather, she had not received it at 
 all. She made no more of it than a casual observa- 
 tion. When he thought he was deceiving her, was 
 she amusing herself with him? He arrived at her 
 gate somewhat bewildered. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot my parasol," she said as he helped 
 her to alight. 
 
 The parasol was secured, and he investigated his 
 pockets to tip the driver. When he turned again, 
 Mrs. Ormsby had vanished. The open door was 
 marked by an aperture of blackness, and her voice 
 came from above as he scraped his feet on the door- 
 step. 
 
 "Find a chair," she called. " I won't be long." 
 
 Where he sat the night before he rested again. It 
 was the same moon he regarded, and the same scene. 
 But his frame of mind was different. He had become 
 involved through shirking responsibility. Now he 
 must see that the situation did not become serious. 
 That would be easier than he anticipated. Mrs. 
 Ormsby was only joking in assumption that they 
 had known each other in an earlier generation. Per- 
 haps she felt less deeply about their sudden intimacy 
 than he had supposed. Presumably she was widely 
 experienced, while he was only a novice in affairs 
 of the heart. 
 
 " Where are you? " She was almost at his elbow, 
 a white figure in the dusk. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 209 
 
 "Here," he said, startled into monosyllabic re- 
 sponse. 
 
 A moment later she was in his arms. He did not 
 repulse her ; he did not reason with her. He was only 
 astonished at the intensity with which she clung to 
 him, and the wild beating of her heart. Mechani- 
 cally he sought her lips. 
 
 "The day has been so long," she murmured. 
 
 "Yes," he assented, smoothing her hair. 
 
 "Will it always be so when we can't be really 
 together?" 
 
 He preferred a kiss to telling a lie. 
 
 "You were n't disturbed about Karl Willett, were 
 you?" 
 
 "Of course not," he answered with unconscious 
 constraint. 
 
 She felt the change and labored to dispel it. 
 
 "I told you he was Charlie's friend, and he was 
 kind to me when Charlie died. It happened in Eng- 
 land, and I had n't many friends there. Then I liked 
 him for himself. He's really a good sort." 
 
 "He seems so," said Strong without enthusiasm. 
 
 She nestled in his arms. 
 
 " You 've made a confession ; now I 'd like to make 
 one to you." - 
 
 She hesitated, and her attitude was appealing. 
 
 "What is it?" He was braced for the shock. 
 
 "You are my first love." 
 
 He responded to her sudden piquancy, and she 
 continued. 
 
210 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 " It may seem queer, but it's true. I was married 
 when I was too young to know. Charlie was a better 
 sportsman than husband. He taught me about men 
 — just the average man — and I 've made them 
 friends. But it 's never been anything more. I was 
 afraid. Then you came. Now everything is differ- 
 ent. Don't you understand?" 
 
 "Do you doubt it?" 
 
 "But you thought I was rakish at first. If you 
 had n't, I would n't have been provoked, and you 
 would n't have been in danger, and this would n't 
 have happened. Are you sorry?" 
 
 " Don't you know? " he asked. He himself did not 
 know, but she found his reply satisfactory. 
 
 It was very late, or very early, when he returned 
 "to the Seaside. Even the night-blooming bellboy 
 nodded over his book. Strong's feeling was not one 
 of acute regret; rather it was dissatisfaction. He 
 thought of himself as a leaf in the current, occasion- 
 ally caught in an eddy, held for a while and then 
 released to float on again. There comes a time when 
 the leaf sinks. He did not care to continue the com- 
 parison. 
 
 Through fear of hurting a woman's feelings he 
 had blundered into the greatest possible injury but 
 one. Morals aside, it was an injury, because he had 
 deceived her. He had lied by his behavior while sav- 
 ing his tongue. But he could not explain now. With 
 everything else, it would be an insult to her intelli- 
 gence. He must trust to luck. Many summer loves 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 211 
 
 are blighted when winter winds blow cold. It might 
 please Fortune to save them with mutual relief. 
 
 But after all, his r61e was more difficult than he 
 anticipated. He was constitutionally temperate, as 
 the self-centered are apt to be. Of this fact he him- 
 self was well aware. He had long envied the heedless 
 their divine madness. He envied them the more 
 because superior clearness of vision did not save him 
 from playing the fool. Licensed by the head, weak- 
 ness is vice. Spiritual intelligence that could not 
 save him sat in judgment upon his conduct. 
 
 It was one of Fate's little ironies that reserve dic- 
 tated by his secret made Mrs. Ormsby more tender. 
 Gayly casual with others, in their hours together 
 she lavished love with humble pride in its prodigal- 
 ity. It was keener pain that he had a mental grasp 
 of the richness of her offering. Had he not experi- 
 enced the galling of a loveless yoke, he would have 
 been tempted to salve conscience by a gamble in 
 marriage. As it was, he took queer pride in reflect- 
 ing that Eleanor, whose face came before him now 
 in pleasant sadness, was likely to be the bride of 
 his life, as she had been the unhappy bride of his 
 youth. 
 
 A husband, he had been a failure through lack of 
 love and inability to pretend. As a lover, he was 
 measurably successful. He viewed his performance 
 with critical eyes. The years teach all artifice, that 
 society may be endurable. 
 
 Painful as it was, the satiric side of the situation 
 
212 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 appealed to Strong. His holiday had been turned 
 into harassing labor. To grasp a mood with which 
 he was not in sympathy, and variously respond in 
 the unspoken language of love, taxed his ingenuity 
 and kept him on the rack. He wondered at his suc- 
 cess. Where was woman's intuition? How could 
 Mrs. Ormsby fail to penetrate his pretense? He 
 worked the harder to blind her. After all, it was only 
 for a time. 
 
 That a blonde attracts a brunette; the stout, the 
 spare; the petite, the tall, is a theory of opposites 
 more demonstrable in character. The most striking 
 illustration is gravitation of the tropic woman to the 
 temperate man. Reserve increased devotion Strong 
 wished to die. He came to dread Mrs. Ormsby, as 
 many women dread the man they must deceive. 
 
 There was still a week of July when suddenly the 
 situation grew unbearable. Steaming in sultry heat, 
 New York seemed a haven of rest. Grant, the part- 
 ner on duty, promptly sent the telegram of recall 
 requested. 
 
 "What's it about?" asked Mrs. Ormsby, when 
 Strong presented the yellow slip. 
 
 " I don't know," he answered. " I think it 's about 
 a Montreal church." 
 
 "When must you go?" 
 
 "This afternoon, — I think." 
 
 He sought the semblance of blended concern, of 
 anxiety over some matter of professional importance 
 and keen regret at parting. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 213 
 
 "Oh," she said, as if startled. "That's sudden, 
 but you know best." 
 
 They were standing in her garden, and she went 
 on dipping blindly. Blossoms fell under her unheed- 
 ing fingers. There wa§ something symbolic in the 
 shining shears. So Fate, with bandaged eyes, cut 
 human blossoms from the tree of life. And some fell 
 young, and some went ungathered until they with- 
 ered. Luckiest were those cut off in their prime. 
 
 With a mental shrug he returned to reality. 
 
 "How shall we spend the morning?" 
 
 "There's your packing." 
 
 Her voice was natural, save for a throaty quality 
 that possibly denoted the tightness of repressed feel- 
 ing. A shrub seemed to require close attention, and 
 he could not see her face. 
 
 "That's done," he said; " I packed when the mes- 
 sage came, to give us more time. Shall we stay 
 here?" 
 
 "And spend the morning in mournful farewell?" 
 
 She turned, and her face was mirthful. 
 
 "I detest 'Good-byes,' and women who act like 
 sprinklers. We'll go to OUie's for some tennis, and 
 he '11 ask us to luncheon, and drive you to the boat. 
 Penny will deliver the valedictory. You'll have a 
 full escort." 
 
 "Then I won't see you again alone." 
 
 In spite of relief, he felt a bit chagrined at her 
 nonchalant air, 
 
 "Have n't you seen me alone enough?" 
 
214 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Of course not," he protested. 
 
 "Then you shall have a chance later." 
 
 He experienced again the sensation of critical in- 
 spection that had irritated in first stages of their 
 acquaintance. It was momentary. He dismissed it 
 as due to guilty conscience. There was no suspicion 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Let me decorate you now," she said. "Not for 
 the last time, but for the trip. What shall it be? 
 A bachelor's button, I think. Will you keep your 
 right to wear it until I see you again?" 
 
 "Promised." 
 
 He paid her a kiss, and remembered how much he 
 had omitted to tell her. He never mentioned his 
 marriage. It seemed hard to explain without leav- 
 ing at least an inference of bereavement, which 
 would be hypocritical, or confessing a mistake, thus 
 slighting Eleanor. General avoidance of the con- 
 fessional was due to lack of unlocking love. More 
 than once he thought it odd that Mrs. Ormsby 
 always came to mind as Mrs. Ormsby, never as 
 Virginia. Despite physical intimacy, she was a 
 stranger to his mind, as well as an alien to his heart. 
 
 " It's a pretty place," he said, with a last look, as 
 they turned away from the gate. 
 
 "More than ever to me now." She shared his sur- 
 vey. "I wonder if you'd like my other place." 
 
 "I guess so. But you never mentioned it." 
 
 "You never gaVe me a chance. I could n't come 
 to you with a list of my goods and chattels." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 215 
 
 "Am I forgiven?" 
 
 "There's nothing to forgive. I suppose the fact 
 that you never ask anything, and never demand 
 anything, makes me more eager to give." 
 
 "That's dear of you," he said. Feeling for the 
 sentiment more than the speaker softened his voice. 
 "I C£m only look my appreciation. We're in the 
 street. Now, where 's the house? New York?" 
 
 "No, I did n't mean that. The difference between 
 New York houses is that some are more vulgar or 
 more expensive than others. People like Ollie keep 
 them to entertain people like me. My place is a 
 little island in Maine. I call it mine because I 'm the 
 only outsider. Just fishermen's houses, and the 
 beach and the cliff, and a few acres where sheep 
 graze. It is n't on the map, and the yachts all sail by. 
 I can see them from my piazza. It's farther from 
 New York than earth is from heaven. I could n't 
 stand it in the winter. Do you think you could 
 stand it in summer?" 
 
 No vision of penal servitude was betrayed by his 
 expression. 
 
 " I '11 try to come in August, if I can get away," he 
 said, "and you want me." 
 
 "That last is unnecessary." She caressed his arm. 
 "When I go, I '11 write you, and you may come any 
 time. I'll be sitting on the piazza, waiting for a 
 strange boat. It will be you, because there 's nobody 
 else to have a guest from the mainland. Don't let 
 me know in advance. I want it for a surprise." She 
 
2i6 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 laughed a little; her voice was wistful. "Here I am, 
 behaving like a romantic schoolgirl. I never was 
 romantic when I should have been. Is it going to 
 hurt me now?" 
 
 "Not if I can help it." 
 
 He was himself unconscious of any double mean- 
 ing. Sympathy he would as readily have given a 
 stranger wi-apped her for the moment. Feeling it, 
 she was at peace. 
 
 At Damerel's hearty welcome awaited them; and 
 it was quickly supplemented with equally hearty 
 expression of regret. 
 
 "Though I 'm a liar," confessed Pennington, when 
 he had mopped his eyes. "The rest of us will get 
 some chance now. I 'm almost bursting with love." 
 
 "It has n't fattened you much. Penny," said Mrs. 
 Orsmby with an indulgent glance. 
 
 "You're grown cynical, Virginia," he mournfully 
 remarked. "You never used to find me lacking." 
 
 "To be truthful, I never found you at all." 
 
 "I think," he said briskly, "it's a good morning 
 for tennis." 
 
 "Do you fear Penny?" asked Mrs. Ormsby 
 humorously, as she walked with Strong to the court. 
 
 "He's too much like an illustrated weekly." 
 
 " I don't believe," she hazarded, "you know what 
 jealousy is." 
 
 " I '11 leave it for you to teach me," he suggested. 
 
 He saw her fingers tighten on the racquet handle, 
 and she spoke gravely. "I trust I never shall." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 217 
 
 The morning passed pleasantly, to Strong at least, 
 and the pace at luncheon was accelerated by assorted 
 toasts. Some were in worse taste than others, but 
 nobody noted that difference much. Mrs. Ormsby 
 seemed much like the woman he had seen in the 
 Canadian woods. He caught himself wondering if, 
 after all, that were not her natural self. 
 
 The attention of a collective farewell was grate- 
 fully received. He appreciated it the more when he 
 saw a forlorn couple awaiting in quiet misery the 
 hoarse whistle that announced the boat's departure. 
 It was their first affair, and the boy was to go. He 
 tried to be jocular, but his eyes betrayed him. The 
 girl was pale and quiet. She wore his fraternity 
 pin, and once she instinctively caressed his arm with 
 a protective air. Speculating upon what he had 
 never experienced, Strong wondered which was sad- 
 der, — knowledge that love cannot endure, or hope- 
 less devotion that deems itself immortal. His reverie 
 was broken when Pennington tendered a handker- 
 chief with a flourish and giggle. 
 
 "Cry in this," he urged solicitously. 
 
 "Is there any crying needed?" 
 
 Strong posed the question as he would have given 
 a begging dog a bone. 
 
 "Hear him," adjured Pennington, "with this 
 visible evidence of all he's leaving behind." 
 
 "You're the most visible thing on the wharf," 
 Strong suggested. "Are you thinking of your- 
 self?" 
 
2i8 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 " I 'm not thinking of a thing. I 'm thinking of a 
 goddess. Out of respect to her I decorate you." 
 
 From his pocket he drew a large crape bow. 
 
 "Take him away, please, Ollie," Sciid Mrs. 
 Ormsby, and Damerel moved obedient to her re- 
 quest. While a friendly scuffle occupied the others 
 she turned with a wry smile to Strong. 
 
 "I know you hate it, but it's easier than being 
 alone. It is n't necessary to say the things we feel. 
 Only tell me you are n't sorry." 
 
 All she had given was concentrated in her appeal, 
 and he sought involuntarily to draw the curtains of 
 his soul. The whistle's urgent summons came to his 
 aid. " I don't need to tell you," he said, as he took 
 her hand. The crowd eddied about them in the press 
 of farewell. 
 
 "Remember your promise about Maine," she 
 urged as Pennington led a farewell salute. 
 
 With a great churning the boat got under way. It 
 scraped by the groaning piles and picked up speed 
 in clear water, stirring the glassy expanse into waves 
 on which little boats bobbed like boys at see-saw. 
 The people on the wharf waved their hats and hand- 
 kerchiefs, and the passengers waved back. Strong's 
 last impression was of Pennington shooting his cuffs 
 as he waved his arms in leading some inane chorus. 
 He knew it must be inane if Pennington sang it. 
 
 With a half-circle, the boat rounded the light- 
 house and the wharf was lost to view. Strong turned 
 from the rail with the feeling of duty discharged. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 219 
 
 He connected it with duty because it was disagree- 
 able. Now it was over, he felt relief. The day was 
 very hot, and passengers more energetic than him- 
 self possessed all seats in the shade. A paper he 
 bought saluted him from its first page: "NEW 
 YORK IN THROES OF ANOTHER HEAT 
 WAVE." Yet he was nowise disturbed. 
 
 The sunburned faces of men and women about 
 him wore an expression of forced cheer, tht deter- 
 mined gayety of a returning vacationist. To them- 
 selves they seemed to say: "You cannot have your 
 cake, and eat it, too. The trip has done me a world of 
 good." Strong was pleased to feel a little superior. 
 He had come to Mauwusset without strong emotion 
 of any sort. But he left it more eagerly than a boy 
 released from school, and with kindred elation. If 
 there was a rod in pickle for him, danger was not 
 imminent. 
 
 With Marcus Aurelius for a pocket companion he 
 dismissed the immediate past. But he did not read 
 long. High thoughts and a high temperature did not 
 mate, with the sun beating down and fretful crying 
 of children uneasy in the strong swell of the Sound. 
 Presently adults with poor sea-legs began a down- 
 ward procession, forcing a painful air of unconcern. 
 A deck less cluttered with humanity made it more 
 comfortable to think. 
 
 They passed a lightship, swinging on its cable, and 
 Strong wondered how its crew could endure winter 
 and summer with no social relations save the vague 
 
220 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 tie of the daily press, and no occupation but basket- 
 making, or cards, for leisure that made up most of 
 their time. Many persons bored him, and he had 
 often bored himself. He attributed the difficulty to 
 lack of any strong interest. Why he did not care 
 more for anybody or anything he could not tell. 
 What he himself felt, instability with an appearance 
 of stability, was seemingly not evident to others* 
 The ground thus covered, he tucked the question 
 away. He had no passion for a proved answer. 
 
 The shadows lengthened, and twilight came on. 
 Gulls screamed their salutation to the sinking sun. 
 Quivering slightly, the steamer drove through 
 placid waters with a steady humming of its engines. 
 Strong found it soothing as he sat and smoked. 
 When day was done, it seemed like the closing of a 
 book. The first star was an ornament upon its cover. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Strong had never felt for New York that passionate 
 and possessive admiration seldom seen in the native- 
 born. As he disembarked, however, it seemed like 
 home. For it was his refuge from danger. 
 
 Grant greeted him at the office with mingled 
 pleasure and concern. 
 
 "Here I am," he observed, "packed and ready to 
 go ; but I did n't expect you. I could n't think of any 
 pleasant reason for coming back to this stoke-hole 
 ahead of time. Did a lady break and fry your heart? " 
 
 " No, I just got tired of loafing. The place was n't 
 as interesting as I thought it would be." 
 
 After playing a part with a woman for a fortnight, 
 it was simple enough to bluff a man. 
 
 Grant closed his desk with a cheerful bang. 
 "Well," he said, "I'm not curious. Only I promise 
 you not to intrude before the end of my vacation. 
 I '11 use it to the last second, and thanks for the gift 
 of part of yours. You 're a Santa Glaus out of season. 
 Keep out of the hot sun. I '11 send you cooling post- 
 cards of Bar Harbor in winter." 
 
 When he was gone, Strong settled down to work 
 with a sigh of content. Sensitive to environment, 
 his strongest affection was for familiar places. The 
 familiar desk, the familiar room, the work into which 
 he swung as if he had left it only yesterday, and the 
 
222 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 city's voice, a distant but mighty humming, fused 
 in atmosphere indescribably soothing. As he studied 
 a plan he surprised himself in a whistle. 
 
 He enjoyed the city as a convalescent fresh from 
 the hospital relishes home. It was good to sit relaxed 
 in the club, when evening came on and electric fans 
 cooperated with the contents of tall glasses in re- 
 freshing members whose wives and sweethearts were 
 still on the treadmill of domestic routine in summer 
 homes, or cooped in some expensive hive of moun- 
 tain or seashore. As a liberated man, Strong himself 
 found added zest in the somewhat vacuous gayety 
 of roof gardens. With the great brotherhood of 
 bleacherites he discovered intimate interest in New 
 York's baseball heroes, "The Giants." On a festive 
 day he even explored the wonders of Cairo in Coney. 
 
 The few who knew him enough to note his habits 
 marveled somewhat at the change. He himself was 
 hardly aware of it until Sammy White, whose only 
 holiday trip seemed likely to be the last excursion 
 with nodding funeral plumes, ventured a jest. 
 
 "You did n't happen to marry in Mauwusset?" 
 he suggested, after his customary prelude to conver- 
 sation, "Boy, take the orders." 
 
 " What makes you think so? " 
 
 Strong smiled, but shivered inwardly. 
 
 "You act like an escaped husband. Frisky as a 
 two-year-old." 
 
 " It's second childhood, or something of that sort, 
 I guess. Here's to the third childhood." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 223 
 
 " No more for me," said Sammy sagely, "unless I 
 can keep my thirst." 
 
 Sammy's insistent advice had sent him to Mau- 
 wusset, and Sammy's careless remark precipitated 
 reflection upon what had happened there. Now that 
 he yielded, he wondered consideration had been 
 postponed so long. A fortnight without any sign of 
 remembrance was rather shabby treatment of Mrs. 
 Ormsby. True, she had not written, and she had 
 not asked him to write. But some things were taken 
 for granted. Had she been merely the companion of 
 a summer flirtation, he would have written, possibly 
 expressing more concern than he felt. The difificulty 
 was the implied obligation to express a good deal 
 not felt at all. However, something must be' done. 
 That decided, he addressed himself to the task. 
 
 As he sat down to write, a quotation popped into 
 mind. "The least said, soonest mended." That 
 did n't fit. If he followed inclination, he would say 
 nothing at all. He heard the clicking of balls in the 
 billiard room overhead, and bit his pen in envious 
 frame of mind. Reticent in speech where his own 
 feelings were concerned, he was still more averse to 
 confidences on paper. He had a feeling there was 
 indecorum in such scuttling of self-control. 
 
 What he finally wrote and posted might have 
 passed muster with the careful mother of a dSbu- 
 tante. It was about the city in summer, when the 
 northeast and the southwest send regiments of tour- 
 ists to illustrate for one another what real New 
 
224 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Yorkers are like. He made his work very pressing 
 and pictured Sammy, the night-blooming bachelor, 
 as an illustration of what he himself would probably 
 become. And when he dropped the letter in the box 
 he felt as if he had wantonly kicked some affection- 
 ate four-footed companion. Of course, the compari- 
 son was not flattering to Mrs. Ormsby. On the other 
 hand, neither was it uncomplimentary. As a rule, 
 humans were incapable of self-abandonment. While 
 he was sorry he happened to be the recipient, he felt 
 admiration for the unquestioning generosity of Mrs. 
 Ormsby's surrender. With many miles of sea be- 
 tween them, he no longer feared a campaign of con- 
 quest to change an individual into a husband. 
 
 In his mail, next morning, was a letter addressed 
 in the firm, angular hand that had once puzzled him 
 in Mauwusset. He knew it now, and thought it odd 
 he had written just too early to know what she had 
 to say. Her letter must have arrived in New York 
 before his own left the city. The postmark was a 
 strange one. He had never heard of "Castine." 
 With more curiosity than apprehension he broke the 
 seal. 
 
 "Dearest," she began with characteristic frank- 
 ness. It was not her way to quibble. "It has been a 
 long two weeks, the longest I ever saw. For I never 
 missed any one so much I could n't spmehow fill 
 their place. This time the remedies have failed. So 
 here I am, in my island again. If I can't be with you, 
 I'd rather be alone. I'm hoping you'll be able to 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 225 
 
 come. You remember I said, 'any time.' From 
 Castine it is n't a long sail to the island. Just say 
 you want to go across to Brewster. I shall be wait- 
 ing. V." 
 
 That was all. No protestation, not even an inti- 
 mation of neglect. She was true to the code of good 
 sportsmanship. A stout heart and a high head to 
 the finish. She moved him now more than ever 
 before. He wished he could go to her with the crown 
 of love she craved. That was the way it would end 
 in a story, a boat crossing the bay, a woman watch- 
 ing it with anxiety, the joy of recognition, lovers in 
 each other's- arms, and life throbbing with trium- 
 phal music. It was a pity he understood himself so 
 well. Or rather it was a pity he had so little to give. 
 He could figure to a nicety just how miserable they 
 would both be after six months together. To go to 
 her now would be an irretrievable step, and he dared 
 not take it. He knew what must be sealed to her. 
 For her sake, no less than his own, he must be cruel 
 to be kind. 
 
 At first he thought of letting her letter go unan- 
 swered. But that was too brutal. He could not bear 
 to have her think of him as utterly base. A note of 
 declination, with just a hint of his feeling that the 
 situation into which they had stumbled should be 
 taken as temporary, would serve and in some meas- 
 ure save her pride. What he finally wrote was a 
 friendly and slightly sentimental note, lamenting 
 pressure of business that made it impossible for him 
 
226 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 to leave the city. He lied in what he esteemed a 
 good cause. The Montreal church was bothersome. 
 Some snarl in specifications necessitated a trip in 
 that direction. It was nearly September then. By 
 the time he could leave she would be away from the 
 coast. The New England shore was cheerless in 
 autumn. It was hard luck, but he would have to 
 wait until she returned to town. 
 
 She did not question his sincerity, but acknow- 
 ledgment of his note of apology was more guarded 
 than her first letter. Strong fancied he detected the 
 birth of doubt. He wanted that, yet it made him 
 uncomfortable. He sent a book and some bonbons 
 to console her. Being alone on an island must be 
 dreary at best. 
 
 Chrysanthemums blossomed in the florist's win- 
 dow, and waving locks cushioned the football war- 
 rior's head, before he saw Mrs. Ormsby again. He 
 had been able to forget her for days, and experience 
 at Mauwusset seemed more like an episode than a 
 tragic adventure. 
 
 She did not summon him. She merely announced 
 her return. 
 
 I am in town again, and staying at the Wiltmere. 
 
 V. 
 
 It was almost as brief as the first suggestion of her 
 serious interest. She took nothing for granted, or 
 she took everything for granted. It was for him to 
 say what their relations should be. Because he 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM' 227 
 
 shrank from determining, he invited her to the opera, 
 where they occasionally listened to music when con- 
 versation about them was not too loud. It was not a 
 place inviting to discussion of intimate affairs, nor 
 was a restaurant crowded with spenders anxious for 
 the approval of a haughty head waiter a place in 
 which one felt himself irresistibly moved to disclose 
 heart secrets. 
 
 As they were whirled uptown, Strong nerved him- 
 self for what he had to do. Resolution was fortified 
 by remembrance of a careless remark. It was a 
 man's voice he heard as they entered the restaurant, 
 "Mrs. Ormsby's got a new one." If she heard it, 
 she gave no sign. For him it had poisoned the even- 
 ing. After all, he might be one in a procession of 
 lovers. He revolted at the thought of being worn as 
 a pet for a season. 
 
 At the Wiltmere he helped her to alight and raised 
 his hat in farewell. 
 
 "Aren't you coming in?" she asked. Her sur- 
 prise was evident. 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't," he answered; then added 
 lamely, "I'm sorry." 
 
 " I wish you would." 
 
 Her voice was low, with a note of entreaty. The 
 chauffeur stared up the street, but the cant of his 
 head betrayed lively curiosity. Strong took hap- 
 hazard the first excuse that came to mind. 
 
 "I have a business engagement at the club. It's 
 for one o'clock. There is n't time for me to stop." 
 
228 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Well," she said quietly, "you know best. I'm 
 sorry you can't stay. Good-night." 
 
 She turned away and did not look back. 
 
 "The Charlton Club," he said curtly as he entered 
 the cab. 
 
 Jolted about in spasmodic speeding, he did not 
 view his achievement with satisfaction. He had 
 made the break, but how awkwardly. It was possi- 
 ble to make her understand without playing the 
 schoolboy. He might have saved a little dignity and 
 made the thing less barefaced. At any rate, it was 
 done. And he would never be such a fool again. 
 
 He dismissed his cab at the club, but did not enter. 
 He was in no mood for the society of midnight "Oh- 
 be-joyfuls." Neither did he feel any inclination for 
 bed. Perhaps walking awhile would steady his 
 nerves. The world and his wife were at home, but 
 some of society was still abroad. For the most part, 
 it rode in cabs with no more than a glimpse of snowy 
 shirt-front or a woman's profile for the passer-by. 
 But sometimes it emerged from a glittering wine- 
 room, with devil-may-care assurance on the part of 
 the male and saucy hilarity from his bird-of -paradise 
 companion. On the primrose path that legendarily 
 leads to destruction they seemed to be having a 
 good time. Strong envied them their capacity for 
 animal pleasure. After all, were they less admirable 
 than members of more pretentious circles with one 
 commandment, "Thou shalt not be found out." 
 
 Continence, morality, fear of God, ■ — these were 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 229 
 
 preached eind doubtless respected by most. But how 
 many practiced them? Most men, and necessarily 
 women, too, were creatures of fate, or children of 
 circumstance, whichever one wished to call it. He 
 himself had been unlucky and lucky, too. He had 
 been involved with possibility of irretrievable dis- 
 aster. But each time the coil had loosened. One 
 could not depend upon continuance of such luck. 
 He must try to be careful. 
 
 He awoke next morning at broad daylight, and 
 lay staring at the wall. His eyes rested on a photo- 
 graph of Eleanor that caught and held his attention. 
 It was always there, but he seldom noted it. It usu- 
 ally passed with the bracket Minerva, the etching 
 of Cologne Cathedral, the bronze lion on green 
 marble, — with twenty other things he would have 
 instantly missed but seldom consciously perceived. 
 
 He did not know why, but that day the likeness 
 stood forth. He felt almost as if Eleanor herself had 
 returned in the flesh. There was nothing spectral 
 about it. It was a photograph taken before their 
 marriage and kept as a souvenir of a characteristic 
 happy mood. 
 
 Now the picture started a train of thought. Per- 
 spective improved by time showed her generous and 
 stanch. Certain comparisons not definitely formu- 
 lated brought her fine qualities into sharp relief. 
 She had deserved well of life, and through him life 
 had treated her shabbily. 
 ' He had been neglectful. She was buried in Peach- 
 
230 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 ton because she wished to rest near him. And he 
 had not visited the cemetery for two years. Except- 
 ing once, when he sent a check to the caretaker, he 
 had not even thought of the place. He would go that 
 day and make sure she suffered no advertised neglect. 
 
 It was the afternoon of an important football 
 game, the afternoon of an interesting polo match, 
 and so on. His world was busy with week-end 
 diversions. 
 
 "Where are you going this afternoon?" inquired 
 an acquaintance at lunch. 
 
 "To the cemetery," he literally replied. 
 
 " If you don't cheer up," said his inquisitor criti- 
 cally, "you'll be a kill-joy to the corpse." 
 
 It was not a long ride to Peachton, as the com- 
 muter measures time. He reached its brick-box sta- 
 tion within the hour, and set out for the cemetery. 
 Nobody he met remembered him, and he was glad 
 of it. He disliked to tell the idly curious what he was 
 doing, and where he was living, besides parrying 
 transparent efforts to learn, without asking point- 
 blank, whether he was married again. 
 
 Peachton was sufficiently urban to have evoluted 
 beyond regarding the cemetery as a trysting-place. 
 He saw no one as he opened the neat iron gate and 
 heard it click behind him. Advancing in the main 
 thoroughfare, from which paths branched to right 
 and left, he noted with approval the well-kept lots. 
 Suddenly he paused perplexed. He could not re- 
 member where his lot was. He could not tell where 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 231 
 
 his wife was buried. It was a humiliating lapse of 
 memory. He concentrated with knitted brows, and 
 what he sought came back to him. On the right, and 
 upon a knoll, the highest point in the cemetery, what 
 was left of Eleanor lay under the stone that refreshes 
 remembrance. The grass was still fresh and care- 
 fully trimmed, and upon the grave some one had 
 placed a handful of simple flowers. 
 
 It was mellow weather. Strong remembered it 
 was such a day in autumn when Eleanor was buried. 
 Six years ago, and all that time she had been at rest. 
 To him much had happened with little profit. As 
 far as he could see, that was the experience of most 
 persons, only the majority were fortunate in not 
 knowing it. Ignorance was not bliss, but it often 
 spelled "content." It kept people pulling in the 
 traces, so the world's work might be done. 
 
 Dimming of sunlight in a passing cloud suggested 
 thought of time. He had to go, if he wished to avoid 
 a pallid dinner in Peachton's only hotel. Starting 
 briskly, he paused after a few steps. When would he 
 come again? Perhaps never. So many things might 
 happen. He retraced his steps, and knelt beside the 
 grave. Hastily, even furtively, he kissed the turf 
 beneath which she lay. Then he rose and set out at 
 a rapid gait, walking as if anxious to leave something 
 behind him. He dined at the club that night, and 
 found comfort in its companionship. It was good to 
 be where nobody cared much about him, in the 
 society of unquestioning males. 
 
232 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Thanksgiving Day came and the busy season of 
 those who do their Christmas shopping early. Since 
 the night of their abrupt parting, Strong had seen 
 Mrs. Ormsby but once. Then she was motoring with 
 Damerel and fleeting vision assured him she was 
 normally dashing. He was glad to think so. 
 
 Whether the dead past has buried its dead no one 
 can determine. Such Yuletide spirit as Strong was 
 able to summon he had squelched abruptly. When 
 he took the letter from the pile on his desk he did 
 not open it at once. Neither did he continue on his 
 way to breakfast. What was in the envelope ad- 
 dressed with that angular energy so well remem- 
 bered? He thought of a Chinese victim of royal dis- 
 pleasure receiving his doom in a little inlaid box 
 containing a silken cord. Was a cord to be drawn 
 about his own neck? With a resolute slash he opened 
 the envelope and drew forth its contents. It was 
 not a voluminous note, crowding the margin and 
 choking the page. The sentence was inside. He 
 opened to a single line: — 
 
 I must see you. V. 
 
 What for? Sickening fear assailed him. Then he 
 called himself a fool and impatiently put it aside. 
 But it would not remain in exile. It returned to 
 penetrate his armor of resolve. He summoned cour- 
 age for the ordeal. What had passed gave her a 
 claim he could not deny, if she had need to assert it. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 233 
 
 He had recognized that contingency in the begin- 
 ning, and he admitted it now. If the worst had hap- 
 pened, he wanted to know, and to have it over with. 
 He found the Wiltmere in the telephone book and 
 asked for Mrs. Ormsby. When she answered the 
 call he stripped conversation of preliminciries. 
 
 "Are you free this afternoon?" 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 Evidently she knew his voice, as he recognized 
 hers. 
 
 "Will you meet me at Sherwin's at five?" 
 
 "Yes," she said. 
 
 "Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye," she replied. 
 
 He heard the click as she hung up the receiver. It 
 was now nine o'clock. He went about the normal 
 business of the day. Because he had a feeling that 
 to-morrow everything might be different, he was 
 scrupulously attentive to duties. When he closed his 
 desk, it seemed to him a farewell. 
 
 He was late at Sherwin's. Among many women 
 who read, or wrote or nibbled bonbons, all awaiting 
 the inevitable man, Mrs. Ormsby was hard to find. 
 At last he found her in a corner. Usually he had seen 
 her the center emd soul of hilarity. Now she was sit- 
 ting with a certain air of remoteness, alone. 
 
 "Please excuse me for being late," he said, when 
 he had run the gantlet of feminine curiosity. 
 
 " It does n't matter. I had nothing to do." 
 
 As they threaded their way out, he took swift 
 
234 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 inventory of her appearance. There was no conspic- 
 uous change, but he marked a tired look in her eyes. 
 He took in an impression of tension and fatigue. 
 The satrap of the tea room bore down upon them as 
 they stood at the entrance. "Where shall we sit?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Anywhere," she replied. 
 
 This was a new and passive woman. 
 
 "Let's get into the thick of things." 
 
 She-said nothing, but gave him the ghost of a 
 smile. As they followed a bustling waiter it occurred 
 to him he had made a tactless remark. 
 
 " Will you — " he began, as the waiter solicitously 
 shook out their napkins. 
 
 "You seem to remember," she said. 
 
 "Two Martinis." 
 
 When the waiter was gone, they looked at each 
 other questioningly . It was not antagonism they felt. 
 Dread sealed their lips while about them cups rat- 
 tled, glasses clinked, and conversation ran riot with 
 the staccato clatter of many women. The orchestra 
 was galloping through a tango, to which many half- 
 consciously responded with undulant motions. Then 
 it switched to more familiar syncopation, and all 
 about them began a nervous shuffling of feet. Led 
 by a girl whose voice was like a fretted violin string, 
 a party near by ventured to sing: — 
 
 "At the devil's ball, at the devil's ball, 
 Dancing with the devil — oh, the little devil! 
 Dancing at the devil's ball." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 235 
 
 Hilarious prelude to execution. Would the waiter 
 never come? When he did, they would drink — to 
 what? The suspense was intolerable. Mrs. Ormsby 
 seemed at once remote and oppressively near. Of 
 what was she thinking, with that veiled look? It 
 was as if he saw her spectrally in a troubled hour of 
 night. 
 
 "Why beat about the bush?" 
 
 The abruptness and form of his question aston- 
 ished him as much as the fact that he spoke at all. 
 It was involuntary, like the nervous pressure of a 
 finger on a trigger. Mrs. Ormsby did not start. She 
 came back to him as one who closes a book and turns 
 to a questioner. 
 
 "Have I done anything to offend you?" 
 
 It was a relief that she spoke directly, and without 
 emotional stress. He dreaded hysteric virtuosity. 
 
 "No." 
 
 It was a cold and curt reply, but he found no 
 words to amplify it. She seemed absorbed in the 
 pattern of the table linen, following soaring convo- 
 lutions of a vine. Air heavy with fusing perfumes 
 from many women was no longer charged with 
 febrile excitement. To the soothing measures of a 
 popular waltz heads moved in the great room. 
 Strong thought of the sea of millinery as a concourse 
 of tufted birds. Then his eyes came back to Mrs. 
 Ormsby. Her face was curiously calm. And her 
 voice, too, seemed devoid of emotion. 
 
 "I needed you very much." 
 
836 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Was it—?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He fumbled the question she perfectly understood. 
 
 "Of course I am ready — "he pulled up quickly 
 for the waiter was at his side. "Happy days," he 
 said, as he raised his glass, then put it down, con- 
 fusedly feeling the mockery of his toast. When such 
 privacy as confusion affords was restored he began 
 again. 
 
 "Whatever I can do — " 
 
 "There's nothing to do," she said quietly. 
 
 "But I thought you said — " Again he stuck. 
 
 "I went through it alone." 
 
 "You should have come to me," he said, relief 
 warming his voice. 
 
 "When you were not coming to me?" she ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 "But a thing like that," he urged. He found the 
 subject difficult. 
 
 " I did n't want that kind of hold. And I could n't 
 stand having you marry me to cancel a debt. You 
 must come to me free, if you do come. I suppose it 
 was foolish to ask for this meeting. I ought to know 
 what silence means. But I thought you might be 
 hurt somehow: that there might be something I 
 could explain." 
 
 " No," he said slowly, " I don't think there is any 
 misunderstanding." 
 
 "Then it's just that you don't care for me any 
 more." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 237 
 
 She leaned on the table, her face in her hands, and 
 asked her question frankly. There was no reproach 
 in look or tone, but he felt like one alone on a field 
 swept by grape and canister. He summoned forti- 
 tude to stand by his guns. She had attacked with 
 frankness. In defense only sincerity would serve. 
 
 " I don't think I ever cared for you — as you did 
 for me. I did n't understand at first. Then I thought 
 I might be mistaken. It seemed cheeky to suppose 
 you cared so much on short acquaintance. I ought 
 to have been frank, of course, but I hated to hurt 
 your feelings. And if it was only summer madness, 
 one of the attachments people like to forget, I meant 
 to leave you perfectly free. I took it for granted 
 you 'd come to me. I 'm not expressing myself well. 
 I never can talk well about anything of this sort. 
 But you understand — don't you?" 
 
 He put his question as a condemned prisoner 
 might address the court. She considered it with the 
 air of one weighing something remote from personal 
 interest, 
 
 "Yes," she said at length, "I think I understand. 
 It's a pity we both misunderstood before. You 
 thought I was gay." 
 
 "No," he protested; "I did n't say that." 
 
 "You didn't say it, but you impHed it. Never 
 mind. It does n't matter now. And I thought you 
 were shy when you were only cold. I don't know 
 why you drew me so. How foolish women are." She 
 smiled, and Strong felt it like a lash. "Little as you 
 
238 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 have to give, if you had loved me only that much, I 
 would have been happy. I always knew I could wor- 
 ship, and I was afraid. So I waited until I was 
 thirty-four, and threw myself into the arms of a man 
 whose second thought was how to get away," 
 
 "Now that you know the truth, I am ready to 
 marry you." 
 
 "Now I don't want you to marry me. Do you 
 intend to be droll?" She looked at him curiously, 
 and he felt himself contemptible. "This is the time 
 to be honest, if you never were with yourself before. 
 But don't misunderstand me, please. It wasn't 
 your fault in the beginning. It was my lead, and 
 you responded, as most men would. And most men, 
 I suppose, would shrink from telling a woman that 
 they only took her to avoid embarrassment. You 
 see, I thought you were not an ordinary man. I 
 thought I knew men, and I only knew a male type. 
 But don't be so modest, please, again. There'll be 
 other women." 
 
 "I don't think so," he said moodily. 
 
 "Oh, yes, there will, whether you seek them or 
 not. There's something about you that draws the 
 feminine. I can see it now, when it is too late to do 
 me any good. It's the indifference that seems like a 
 challenge. And you have learned to hide it. Other 
 women must have taught you that. I was never 
 curious about any predecessors, was I?" 
 
 "No one could be less so," he said. 
 
 "That is n't true. I was curious. Women always 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 239 
 
 want to feel they are a man's first love. Men are 
 anxious to be a woman's last. But I did n't ask 
 because I thought you would tell me anything you 
 wanted me to know. Now I don't want you to tell. 
 I only ask you to remember you owed me something, 
 and it was n't paid. So I 'm left bankrupt in heart 
 and body." 
 
 "What can I do?" He spoke in desperation. 
 
 "Nothing. That's the pity of it. I'm only an 
 affliction, to be turned into a memory you '11 want to 
 erase. And I don't want to be just that. With all 
 the pain, I 'm glad I 've known you. If I had n't, I 
 might have died without knowing what love is. That 
 would be worse. But I 'm talking a good deal about 
 things I never talked about before. Let's get back 
 to familiar ground. We '11 drink your health, and a 
 happy life." 
 
 "I'd rather drink to you." He hesitated, raising 
 his glass. 
 
 "Oh, no. Let's be reasonable, even in the toasts." 
 
 She smiled as she drank. "If you don't mind," 
 she continued, "I think I'll go now. I remember 
 Penny asked me to dine with him, and I said I would 
 let him know. It 's late, but he 's a faithful creature. 
 It 's a pity we impose on those that care most for us. 
 Please forgive me. I did n't mean to be ill-natured." 
 She put her hand on his arm, as he sat in mute dis- 
 tress. 
 
 "You aren't," he said huskily. "You're too 
 generous."; 
 
240 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "That's the nicest thing you ever said to me." 
 She smiled again. " Now come away from this place. 
 We'll leave the ghosts behind." 
 
 " I '11 take you home," he said when they reached 
 the street. 
 
 " I'd rather not. Time is limited, and we're going 
 different ways. Just put me in a cab, please." 
 
 "Very well," he answered, signaling a hawk-eyed 
 chauffeur, who came up with a flourish and opened 
 his cab with a bang. As she entered she turned and 
 gave him her hand: "Good-bye, and good luck — 
 always." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, and gripped her fingers. 
 
 Their last contact was her friendly look as the cab 
 started with a jerk and disappeared in the maze of 
 Broadway. He did not care to ride. He craved con- 
 tact, the jostling street crowd. Unstable as it was, 
 it seemed assurance of the aggregate solidity of 
 everyday life. In his own world there were no stand- 
 ards and no gods. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 Strong found in music what many find in the 
 Church. It was a drug that silenced remorse and 
 smothered thought. It was a perfume to his soul. He 
 abandoned himself to it as a drug-eater abandons 
 himself to dreams. He was not exalted by it, but he 
 was solaced. It shut out the world and obliterated 
 the hereafter. He heard it and saw it, too. With 
 closed eyes he beheld it rolling before him as masses 
 of color, as clouds, as bright landscapes and waver- 
 ing mist. And he saw it all lazily, casually, as the 
 solitary beholder of a leisurely pageant. 
 
 He had no hope of heaven, but Beethoven made 
 him think of it as possible. In weeks of dejection 
 following his last meeting with Mrs. Ormsby he 
 became a frequent visitor at the Cathedral of St. 
 John the Divine. In its shaded light he somehow 
 saw himself more kindly, and he heard the organ as 
 a mighty voice of love. Always he waited for the 
 fleeting touch of exaltation that sometimes came in 
 flute-like soaring of boys singing as angels dreamed 
 of sing. 
 
 That he would regain in fact poise never disturbed 
 to appearances he did not doubt. He knew by 
 experience transition in store. Anything different 
 Wcis quite out of the question. What he could feel 
 was as evident as what he could not be. He felt that 
 
242 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 he understood himself better than most men, per- 
 haps too well. He was frank in confession of spiritual 
 atrophy. He had not tried to serve two masters. 
 He had neither loved God nor hated Mammon. And 
 neither holding to one nor despising the other, he 
 had neglected both. It occurred to him as in a sense 
 humorous that he had never answered the question, 
 "Under which King?" So he was without strong 
 root in life. He had only himself to lean on, and 
 what strength was there in a bending reed? 
 
 What were the experiences of other men? Surely 
 his own were not typical. It seemed to him that the 
 average man's safety from many love affairs was his 
 capacity for absorption in one. Lacking that rudder, 
 he was abandoned to the currents of an uncharted 
 sea. From the shore of friendship he should never 
 again embark. That idea had occurred to him be- 
 fore, but not with sufficient strength. He felt con- 
 fidence in his ability to hold to it now. 
 
 His convalescence completed, he did an aston- 
 ishing thing. When the telegram was dispatched he 
 was only able to account for it by the fact that spring 
 stirs in the blood vague longing for native scenes. 
 But he had never before pined for Lyme. And he 
 was by no means sure that he pined for it now. But 
 his sister was there, the last of the family, and he 
 had not seen her for years. He had even invented an 
 excuse of business to avoid attending her wedding. 
 Her husband he remembered as the tow-headed son 
 of a tombstone dealer, a man of acid piety. There 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 243 
 
 were two children to whom he sent presents each 
 Christmas. He knew them only by name. With the 
 impulse of duty strong upon him, he felt he ought to 
 show some appreciation of family ties. 
 
 Of course his sister was there. To the best of his 
 recollection, she was always there, except for two 
 weeks in August, when she regularly went with the 
 children to some beach where the almost well-to-do 
 kept house somewhat less efficiently than they did 
 at home, and plumed themselves upon the pleasant 
 change. Her husband never had a vacation, except 
 to go to a medical convention. He was a general 
 practitioner where much was trusted to the mercy 
 of the Lord. 
 
 Strong was no sooner aboard the train than he 
 repented somewhat of his enterprise. Memories 
 quiet for years returned to remind him of unpleasant 
 childhood. Even now he could not regard it with 
 indifference, or humor, or complacency. What he 
 had felt was only seared over. But he resisted recur- 
 rence as humiliation. The train boy came through 
 the car, staggering under a load of chocolates, chew- 
 ing gum, and fiction. He was crying Robert Cham- 
 bers's latest, and George Barr McCutcheon's "great 
 mystery story. ' ' Among the others was ' ' Jean Chris- 
 tophe," the end of his stormy life. Strong took it for 
 an antidote. He felt kinship with one who stumbled 
 but always struggled on, an invincible soul. 
 
 Penetrating New England, the train entered a 
 region of frame houses and factories; of flag stations 
 
244 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 and farmhouses set on lonely hills; of agriculture 
 with bare subsistence; and of manufactures with 
 scanty livelihood for swarming hands. It was early 
 spring with Nature at her superficial worst ; sodden 
 soil, bare trees, mud and winter rubbish in unkempt 
 back yards. The squalid ensemble was forced upon 
 the traveler's attention. Strong regarded it with 
 repugnance. He had the hedonist's inclination, with- 
 out the hedonist's capacity for delight. 
 
 Nearing Lyme, features of the landscape fitted like 
 links in a chain. There was the pond miscalled a 
 "lake," the hill crowned with spruce and birches, 
 and the spire of the Congregational meeting-house, 
 seen first of all in the village before the train rumbled 
 through the cut. As it bore on, with a strenuous 
 whistle for a grade crossing, he picked out the houses 
 that he knew. And he knew nearly all. Building 
 was not brisk in Lyme, 
 
 The same station master, ticket agent, and freight 
 handler presided on the platform, unchanged save 
 in the grayness of his straggling beard. And the 
 loafers were the same, though they had different 
 names. His sister he recognized when she came 
 toward him, tugging a bashful boy and a girl. She 
 was pleasant-looking, and wore eyeglasses with 
 sedate dignity befitting the doctor's wife. It oc- 
 curred to him that he ought to kiss her, but he shook 
 hands with her instead. As they entered a carryall 
 drawn by a fat bay the station agent paused in 
 wrestling with a trunk. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 245 
 
 "Well," he observed, "you got back." 
 
 "Yes," said Strong. There was nothing else to 
 say. 
 
 "How have you been? " asked his sister when they 
 were jogging along. 
 
 "Very well," he said, as one answers a stranger, 
 then took his turn, 
 
 "How are you all?" 
 
 "Quite well," she answered. 
 
 "How is Dick doing?" 
 
 "He has all he can do," with wifely pride. " I'm 
 almost afraid he will break down." 
 
 From the health of the family they turned to the 
 generation in Lyme. One by one, worthies he had 
 known were ticketed dead or placed in present rela- 
 tionships. When that was over he felt uncomfort- 
 able and a bit irritated. After eight years' separation 
 there should be something personal to say to one's 
 sister. Yet he might as easily have been confidential 
 with the station agent. 
 
 Dick's arrival was a relief; though Dick was by 
 no means an exhilarating person. He was honest 
 and amiable, with prosaic mind and commonplace 
 experience. But he could talk about politics, and 
 motor-cars, and the menace of union labor, and 
 other stock topics of casual contact. It appeared he 
 was president of the Lyme Current Events Club. 
 After he had promised to attend that night's meet- 
 ing Strong learned too late it was a mixed organi- 
 zation. He knew what to expect. Masculine supe- 
 
246 /A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 riority, feminine deference, and general lack of en- 
 lightenment. Being frequently deferred to did not 
 soothe him. He had a feeling that he was posed like 
 a zebra in a one-ring circus. Some of the men and 
 women present were considerably his seniors, and he 
 wondered how much of his reputation for queerness 
 survived. 
 
 After his escape he went for a solitary walk, and 
 the chorus of frogs, jubilant in abundant water, 
 spoiled his cigar. They depressed him as many are 
 depressed by the cricket's insistent shrillness. He 
 did not sleep well that night. In unbroken stillness 
 he missed the city's never-ending hum. 
 
 The next morning he visited the cemetery, and the 
 post-office, and the library given by a millionaire 
 brewer, who thus marked the splendor of his ascent. 
 After he had inspected the Soldiers' Monument, also 
 presented by the brewer in gracious recognition of 
 those who gave their country blood instead of beer, 
 there was nothing else to do. Why should he stay 
 in a tiresome place where nobody wanted him? 
 
 His sister was astonished at the announcement 
 that he must go, but took it placidly. 
 
 " It is n't much of a visit," she said. " Don't stay 
 away so long again." 
 
 "I won't," he assured her. 
 
 "Maybe Christmas." 
 
 "If I can." He kissed her placid cheek. 
 
 The station agent regarded him with unabashed 
 interest. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 247 
 
 "Did n't stay long." 
 
 "No," admitted Strong. 
 
 " 'Spose you like New York pretty well." 
 
 "Fairly well." 
 
 "Didn't bring your wife," his inquisitor per- 
 severed. 
 
 "There is n't any to bring." 
 
 The station agent looked astonished. 
 
 "Thought you was married," he said, shifting his 
 quid. 
 
 "I was." 
 
 The agent rubbed his nose reflectively. "I never 
 heard — " 
 
 " Gimme a ticket, Zeke," called a man impatiently, 
 and Zeke turned reluctantly, as a dog would turn 
 from a bone. 
 
 The engine grunted, the bell clanged, and the 
 train began to move. It occurred to Strong that he 
 felt more pleasure in leaving than he could possibly 
 feel in going to any place. He recalled his departure 
 for Cocheeco, when affectation of indifference kept 
 him from looking back. Now he was glad to see 
 landmarks disappearing, one by one. The visit was 
 almost worth while for the satisfaction it afforded in 
 getting away. He was positively elated, and aston- 
 ished to find himself so. Life was good, if one really 
 lived. 
 
 Through the sedate metropolis of New England 
 and the anything but sedate metropolis of Rhode 
 Island, he kept on to New York, brilliant by night 
 
248 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 and incredibly active by day. When he dropped his 
 bag on the floor of his chamber, he felt that an 
 account had been satisfactorily closed. 
 
 At the office, next day, he was received with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Another case of Mauwusset, I suppose," said 
 Grant, with a cheerful grin. "You did n't find it as 
 interesting as you expected." 
 
 "Something of that sort," Strong acknowledged, 
 reddening slightly. "Will you take the rest of my 
 vacation?" 
 
 "Sorry I can't. But I'll take you for dinner to- 
 night." 
 
 "What's up?" 
 
 He was a little astonished, for he had never visited 
 Grant, who lived somewhere in West End Avenue 
 and had a wife visible in a miniature kept on his 
 desk. Strong had a theory that social intimacy with 
 office associates should be avoided. 
 
 "It's like this," Grant explained. "Just before 
 you appeared, a fellow broke an engagement with 
 me. He was to be a fourth at bridge with my wife 
 and some people named Wells, Good sort, they are. 
 You'll like them." 
 
 "Why aren't you the fourth?" asked Strong, 
 sparring for time. 
 
 " Because I don't play. And I know you do. Seen 
 you at the club. So you are elected. Call it charity, 
 if you like. Number's 214." 
 
 "All right." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 249 
 
 Strong felt he could not refuse without giving 
 offense. An engagement pleaded would be a trans- 
 parent lie. And a man resented diaphanous deceit, 
 which women took as one of the prime necessities of 
 social intercourse. Anyway, the evening would be 
 pleasant in comparison with the night before in 
 Lyme. Out of gratitude for deliverance, he was will- 
 ing to suffer a little. 
 
 As it turned out, he did not suffer at all. For a 
 back-slapping fellow Grant was not a bad sort. And 
 his wife was agreeable. Wells answered his host's 
 description, "a good sort." He taught some ology 
 in Columbia and calm consideration of science had 
 made him mild of manner in converse with man. 
 Not that he was loggy. But he had the air of invit- 
 ing judgment and apparent inclination to agree with 
 the opinion last expressed. He was blond and blue- 
 eyed, with a yellow mustache, a rather stout man of 
 forty or thereabouts. 
 
 When Strong saw Mrs. Wells, he was reminded of 
 a morning in the fall. Stepping from a train in the 
 subway, his eyes lingered on a woman ahead. She 
 was short and rather slight, with the kind of figure 
 sometimes called ' ' neat." And she was very straight, 
 with a jaunty freedom of carriage. Her hat — he re- 
 membered it was blue with a single feather — com- 
 pleted an appearance of saucy gayety. To confirm 
 his impression, he quickened his gait and passed her 
 at the head of the stairs. She was unquestionably 
 charming, and unquestionably individual. She had 
 
250 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 chestnut hair that positively shone in the sunlight, 
 and so did her eyes of greenish-gray, when she gave 
 him a passing glance candid as that of a schoolboy. 
 Tip-tilted, her nose contributed to piquant person- 
 ality. From head to foot she was clean and fresh. 
 It pleased him to find her so completely satisfactory. 
 
 Possibly because he did not expect ever to see her 
 again, he looked a second time, pausing to light a 
 cigarette. He saw a puppy race up to her, wagging 
 its tail. She stooped to pat it, and it followed, tug- 
 ging at her skirt. She did not seem to mind: neither 
 did the puppy's owner, who whistled a recall, until, 
 playfully repelled, it reluctantly returned. 
 
 Resuming his walk. Strong thought of her as a 
 good subject for a painter, with the puppy joy- 
 ously abased at her feet. He would call the picture, 
 "Phyllis's Subject." Several times that day he 
 remembered an agreeable vision. Then memory's 
 dark room received the film. 
 
 Now she had returned, not as a bad penny, but a 
 pleasant surprise. And she still satisfied fancy. She 
 wore a light blue, and it was very becoming. 
 
 "We've met before," he said, checking Grant in a 
 conventional presentation. 
 
 "The deuce you have!" ejaculated Grant. 
 
 "I don't remember," she said, not in the least 
 offensively. 
 
 "It was a subway acquaintance." 
 
 "But they don't count," chimed in Grant. "I'm 
 going to begin again." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 251 
 
 "Not yet, please," petitioned Strong. "It was 
 last October, a bright morning about ten o'clock. 
 You got off a south-bound train and met a collie 
 pup. Surely you remember the pup." 
 
 "Ido remember the pup," she acknowledged; 
 "but," with a glint of mischief, "I don't remember 
 you." 
 
 "I was the man that stopped and looked," he 
 suggested. 
 
 "So many men stop and look. Surely you did 
 something more original." 
 
 " I did," he confessed. " I found out your name." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Phyllis." 
 
 "But it's Alice." 
 
 "Then you can't know about Phyllis. She's an 
 old acquaintance of mine now. But I 'm very anx" 
 ious to meet Alice. If you will oblige me now, 
 Grant." 
 
 With mock solemnity the introduction was con- 
 cluded. 
 
 "Now," said Strong, "I hope you'll give me a 
 chance to prove a case of dual identity. I think you 
 are Phyllis without knowing it." 
 
 "I think you are mistaken. But I'm flattered to 
 be studied. Nobody ever has studied me. Dick took 
 me as a specimen for future examination, and I'm 
 still pinned to the wall." 
 
 She faced Wells with a grimace, and he responded 
 with a placid smile. They seemed on excellent terms. 
 
252 ^A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Strong noted the condition as unusual. Cases of 
 absolute devotion existed; mild affection and aver- 
 sion were equally common; but genuine friendship 
 in marriage was rare. And he was pleased to see 
 that they had no parlor accomplishments. Nobody 
 recited or sang, or played the piano with genteel 
 virtuosity, or challenged comparison with Hermann 
 in parlor tricks. The bridge they played was moder- 
 ately good; the supper was excellent, and the society 
 agreeable without mental strain. When it came to 
 adieus, he was convinced it sometimes paid to take 
 a chance. 
 
 "When are you coming to see us?" asked Mrs. 
 Wells, extending her hand. 
 
 "Am I to have that privilege?" 
 
 "Of course. What a question, when you begged 
 leave to study me. Then you did n't mean it at all." 
 She assumed an expression of mock sorrow. 
 
 "Of course I meant it," he hastened to assure her. 
 "But I was n't sure that you were serious. I never 
 bank on a woman's promise unless she gives it 
 twice." 
 
 "You don't deserve it again on the strength of 
 that. I '11 let Dick speak for me this time." 
 
 "I second it," said Wells amiably. "Will you 
 come?" 
 
 "With pleasure." It was the only thing to say. 
 
 "But when?" She was like a teasing child. 
 
 "When you want me." 
 
 "All right. Let me see, it's Tuesday. Don't tell 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 253 
 
 me you have an engagement. You're not studying 
 anybody else, are you?" 
 
 "Nobody," he said, capitulating with amuse- 
 ment. "If I have an engagement for Tuesday, or 
 rather, if I had one, I suppose I must break it. This 
 is duty." 
 
 "Thanks," she said. " I *m sure we are going to be 
 great friends." 
 
 She gave him her hand with cordiality that some- 
 how suggested the fearlessness of inexperience, and 
 went down the steps. Wells followed, saying, " Don't 
 forget." 
 
 Whether to forget was a question. He had de- 
 cided to know no woman well. That was a large 
 contract with reasonable expectation of many years 
 before him. But experience had made him fearful of 
 feminine nature, and profoundly distrustful of him- 
 self. Here was a woman he had remembered for six 
 months, and he had merely seen her in the street. 
 Further, she was a married woman. Still further, it 
 was quite evident that on first acquaintance she was 
 favorably impressed with himself. If the burnt 
 child dreaded fire enough, he would keep away. 
 He debated the question while smoking the night's 
 last cigarette. And as he tossed it away, he reached 
 Launcelot Gobbo's agreeable decision. He would 
 go because there really was no danger. Wells and 
 his wife understood each other perfectly. He was 
 a good fellow, and she was a jolly little tomboy. It 
 would be agreeable to know some people actually 
 
254 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 satisfied with life. Most of those with whom he came 
 in contact were either struggling for some major 
 prize, or devoting surplus energy to feverish pleasure. 
 There was relief in persons willing to live moderately. 
 He was rather grateful to Grant for bringing him 
 into touch with them. Thus disposed he fell asleep. 
 The next day brought a note: — 
 
 Dear Mr. Socrates, — 
 
 I forgot to say we live in West End Avenue. The 
 number's 300. This takes away your last excuse for 
 failing to appear Tuesday. 
 
 Phyllis. 
 
 He was amused by her naivetfe. It went with her 
 writing, a round and rambling hand. Writing inter- 
 ested him as an index of character. It was one of his 
 guides in appraisal, and he had formed the habit of 
 diagnosing personality as the physician diagnoses a 
 case. "Phyllis," as he already called her, appeared 
 emotionally undeveloped. Well, he would take care 
 not to instruct her. 
 
 That Wells, a sedate fellow with a chess-player's 
 temperament, if one could tell much by appearances, 
 had married a hummingbird was one of the innumer- 
 able surprises of matrimony. One would expect him 
 to partner with a serious girl, who would keep his 
 socks mended, his buttons sewed on ; see to it that he 
 ate at proper intervals and did not go out without 
 an umbrella on stormy days ; in short, generally con- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 255 
 
 secrate herself to the task of keeping him in a pleas- 
 ant haze. He could not picture Phyllis doing that. 
 Still, as he had noted, they seemed wholly satisfied 
 with each other. 
 
 Number 300 interested him in its mixture of styles, 
 with no particular style at all. It was like middle- 
 age and youth together. There was mahogany he 
 guessed came from Wellses of an elderly generation, 
 and furniture that suggested Wanamaker's. Charles 
 Dana Gibson chummed with what he took to be a 
 little Romney. A Persian rug held itself aristocrati- 
 cally aloof from an "art square." 
 
 His hosts did not disguise the fact, though they 
 did not lard him, that they regarded him as a prize. 
 More expansive at his own table. Wells talked intel- 
 ligently of architecture, which apparently interested 
 him on its scientific side. Stimulated by approval, 
 Strong was at his best. Once or twice it occurred to 
 him that he was talking well. 
 
 "You're rather funny," Phyllis observed as Wells 
 refilled his glass with a white port of which he was 
 justly proud. 
 
 "Why?" he asked, a Httle piqued. 
 
 "Oh," she explained, "you seem so young some- 
 times, and so old other times." 
 
 "When do I seem young?" It was a novel sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 "Lots of times. Like somebody trying to seem 
 grown up. I call you 'The Boy.' Do you mind?" 
 
 " Not in the least. Possibly it will keep me from 
 
256 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 getting more gray hairs. But if you call me ' Boy,' I 
 shall call you 'Phyllis.'" 
 
 "Good," she said promptly. "I think nicknames 
 are jolly. And let's christen ourselves." 
 
 Wells lifted his glass with them. 
 
 "You're a case, Peter," he said indulgently. 
 
 So she had a domestic nickname. "Peter" was 
 somehow quite suitable. When they reached coffee 
 she took command of the situation. 
 
 "Smoke here, Dick. I like to see men smoke, and 
 if you take the Boy" — she hesitated prettily over 
 the " Boy " — "off to your den, I may never see him 
 again. You know what you're like. And anyway, 
 you have to study some old puzzle. You said so. 
 If you stay here now, you won't neglect your work, 
 and I won't be left a widow," 
 
 "All right." It was quite evident that Phyllis was 
 used to having her way. Presumably it was usually 
 a harmless one. 
 
 " Do you like the Victor?" she asked, when cigars 
 were comfortably aglow. 
 
 "When it is good," Strong answered. Obviously 
 the question was directed at him. 
 
 "Ours is very good." She went though a pile of 
 records, puckering her brows. "Tell me what you 
 want,"- she said finally. 
 
 "Whatever you like," he judiciously replied. 
 
 It was about what he expected, — the barcarolle 
 from "Tales of Hoffmann"; Elman in the "Prayer 
 and Meditation" from "Thais"; Caruso pouring 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 257 
 
 out Canio's lament in "Pagliacci"; the Sextette 
 from "Lucia," with competitive cHmbing for high 
 notes; Sousa's idea of "The Stars and Stripes"; and 
 then "rag." His mind jumped back to Mrs. Ormsby 
 and that afternoon at Sherwin's. His face must have 
 betrayed him, for Phyllis suddenly stopped the 
 machine. 
 
 "You don't like ragtime," she said, a little plain- 
 tively. 
 
 "Yes, I do," he said, hastily regaining composure. 
 " I think it is jolly." 
 
 " But you did n't look as if you did," she observed 
 doubtfully. "Let's try something else." 
 
 To a cheerful tinkle of unfamiliar melody she 
 tapped her feet. "Do you do the Castle Walk?" 
 
 "No," he answered. "Show it to me." 
 
 "All right. I '11 have to do it alone. Dick won't do 
 the new dances. He says they are 'rot.' " 
 
 " Not when you do them, Peter," said Wells good- 
 humoredly. 
 
 She danced exquisitely, with the light abandon 
 attributed to fairies. That she was passionately 
 fond of it was evident. When the record was lost 
 in a slight clacking, she started it again and held out 
 inviting hands. Strong embraced the mute invita- 
 tion. "This way," she said, and he abandoned him- 
 self to her guidance. She was a slight creature, but 
 vital with the delicate strength of feminine youth. 
 
 "What can I do in return?" he asked, when the 
 step went well. 
 
258 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Oh, a lot," she said, breathing rapidly. "Just 
 now you may fan me." 
 
 Wells rose, extinguishing his cigar with a scien- 
 tist's precision. 
 
 " If you will excuse me," he said, " I '11 finish some 
 work I could n't quite complete this afternoon. I 'm 
 sorry to seem uncivil, but I have to use the stuff in 
 class to-morrow morning." 
 
 "I understand," Strong assured him. "Don't 
 mind on my account. Mrs. Wells and I will try to 
 entertain each other." 
 
 "Run along, Dick," she said saucily. "It's going 
 to be very formal. Did you hear him say 'Mrs. 
 Wells'?" 
 
 He only smiled in reply. "See you as soon as pos- 
 sible," he said to Strong. 
 
 "Now, smoke," Phyllis commanded, when they 
 were alone. 
 
 "Why?" he questioned, producing his cigarette- 
 case. 
 
 "Because men are always more agreeable when 
 they smoke." 
 
 "And some women," he hazarded. "But you 
 don't smoke." 
 
 "I'm learning," she confessed. "I think I will 
 now." 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Wells objects." 
 
 She laughed at the idea. " No, Dick does n't care. 
 He doesn't mind anything I do. Please give me 
 one." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 259 
 
 She held it with the care of inexperience, and puck- 
 ered her Hps with each puff. "Is n't it cozy?" she 
 said. 
 
 "Very." He felt as if left with a pretty child. 
 
 "Now, tell me what you like," she commanded. 
 
 " A lot of things. I don't think much of ' age before 
 beauty.' Suppose you tell me first." 
 
 "Well," she said meditatively, "I like dogs, and 
 children, and tennis, and dancing, and Dick." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 She lifted one eyebrow comically. "And you, a 
 little." 
 
 "Thanks from the bottom of my heart." She was 
 quite delicious. 
 
 "Now it is your turn," she observed. 
 
 "I have n't a single enthusiasm." 
 
 " You poor thing. Let me be one." 
 
 She regarded him with mingled incredulity and 
 concern. 
 
 "I'm afraid you'd tire of me," he said. 
 
 "We'll see about that. Now tell me something 
 you like. There must be something you like." 
 
 "There's architecture." 
 
 She ruled it out. "That's your profession. It 
 does n't count." 
 
 "'And you, a little,'" he quoted. 
 
 "Of course we'll get on," she said. "I knew you 
 were a nice boy." 
 
 She failed lamentably to blow a smoke ring, and 
 looked depressed. 
 
26o A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Will you take me to a baseball game?" 
 
 " Delighted." He spoke with genuine pleasure. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "Any time." 
 
 "Then it's to-morrow." 
 
 "You are a sudden person," he could not resist 
 saying. 
 
 ' ' ' Never put oflf till day after to-morrow what you 
 can get to-day,' — isn't that the saying?" she 
 appealed. 
 
 "I never heard it just that way," he said diplo- 
 matically; "but I see what you mean." 
 
 "And I do so want to see the Giants," she con- 
 tinued, rubbing one eye into which a little smoke 
 had drifted. "That's the only thing Dick is obsti- 
 nate about. Sometimes I don't know whether he 
 cares more about me or golf." 
 
 " I could guess," said Strong with a smile. "Now 
 tell me what you like about dogs." 
 
 " In the first place, they don't pretend. And there 
 are other reasons, lots of them. You see I grew 
 up with them. Could you tell I was a country 
 
 girl?" 
 
 "When I first saw you I thought you were very 
 
 fresh looking," he replied. 
 
 " I know you mean that in a nice way. I was raised 
 in Westchester, and Dick's father was my mother's 
 first beau. You see it was quite romantic, though 
 we don't look it." 
 
 "I don't like moony stuff, or people," he said. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 261 
 
 "Neither do I. It's silly. But you don't want 
 to know about me. It was the dogs you asked 
 about." 
 
 "You and the dogs," he corrected her. 
 
 "Then the dogs come first. I'll begin with 
 Bettina." 
 
 It appeared that Bettina was her first playmate. 
 Then came Spark, a Boston terrier, and Bill, an 
 Irish setter, and a few others, each remembered as 
 affectionately as a person. 
 
 "And I have n't one now," she said pathetically. 
 "Not a single one. Since a motor ran over Fluff, 
 the cutest little Spitz you ever saw, last winter, I 
 have n't had the heart to get another one." 
 
 "On your pet topic, Peter?" said Wells, who had 
 come in unobserved. 
 
 "Of course, Dick," she answered. "I always talk 
 about dogs to people I really like. And the Boy is 
 nice, even if I did n't remember him before I knew 
 him. He's going to take me to see the Giants to- 
 morrow. Are n't you glad?" 
 
 "I had thought of a little golf," he admitted. 
 
 She laughed at his guarded admission. "Poor, 
 patient Dick. This time you need n't worry, I 've 
 got an escort that's really interested in the game. 
 You do like baseball, don't you?" She suddenly 
 appealed to Strong. 
 
 "Immensely," he said. 
 
 "Then we'll go. I know it's going to be fair. And 
 I'm sure Christy Matthewson will pitch. I like to 
 
262 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 see him. He seems so serious, like Dick doing an 
 example, or a minister preaching a sermon. I 'II be 
 ready. You'll find me very prompt." 
 
 "I don't believe you could be so unfeminine." 
 
 She regarded him with friendly disapproval. 
 "That's your grown-up talk. You must n't forget, 
 and use it with me. Dick knows I am prompt. It 
 was your principal reason for marrying me, was n't 
 it, Dick?" 
 
 "You know me so much better than I know my- 
 self, Peter, I would n't dream of disputing you," 
 Wells answered with his characteristic slow smile. 
 "I think Mr. Strong can count on your being ready 
 in good season. But I trust you have n't bullied him 
 into taking you. You know you are unscrupulous 
 about baseball." 
 
 "Nothing of the sort," said Strong hastily. "I 
 can spare the time, and I need instruction. It's 
 quite a privilege to go with an expert." 
 
 "Now you are making fun of me," she pouted. 
 " I really do know more than the girl who asked if all 
 the batters were pitchers." 
 
 "I'm sure you are extremely intelligent. I must 
 sleep hard and be fresh for to-morrow, to keep my- 
 self from being outclassed. And I '11 allow you the 
 beauty sleep you don't need, along with the rest." | 
 
 "You really can make pretty speeches," she con- 
 ceded as she gave him her hand. 
 
 "We're making a very good beginning," he haz- 
 arded. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 263 
 
 "Beginning! Why, you've known me for six 
 months." 
 
 "So I have, Phyllis. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night, Boy. Don't be late." 
 
 Wells beamed with ripe maturity's indulgence for 
 youth. 
 
 It was one of the nights with which, even in the 
 city, nature's creative fervor is felt. Mysterious 
 whispers in the park trees, and the very grass seems 
 audible in delicate murmur. Strong could not recall 
 when he had felt so young and so friendly with all 
 creation. He was not inclined to sleep. He let his 
 feet go when he found he had rounded a corner in 
 the direction of the club. 
 
 The reading-room was quite empty. That is to 
 say, it had no occupant besides Sammy White, who 
 greeted all men with indiscriminate affability after 
 ten o'clock at night. As usual, he was skimming 
 cable news for personals. Though he no longer ap- 
 peared "among those present," his principal interest 
 was in trailing deaths and marriages, and the de- 
 partures, via scandal or Wall Street, from society. 
 Presently he rustled his paper, which was his prelude 
 to announcement of a tid-bit. 
 
 "Won't you have something?" he inquired, keep- 
 ing a finger on his discovery. 
 
 " No, thank you," said Strong, emerging from that 
 condition in which one is agreeably conscious of not 
 thinking at all. 
 
 "Did n't you know Mrs. Ormsby?" 
 
264 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "What Mrs. Ormsby?" 
 
 Strong parried instinctively. The question was 
 like a chilling blast. And why the past tense? 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Charlie Ormsby." Sammy enjoyed 
 prolonging announcement of his discovery. 
 
 "Yes, I know her. What about her?" 
 
 By lighting a cigarette he avoided expression of 
 concern. 
 
 "She's dead, that's all." 
 
 "How did it happen?" 
 
 He clenched his hands in the effort to show moder- 
 ate interest, and no more. 
 
 "They don't seem to know. It was in Paris," 
 explained Sammy. He was evidently disappointed 
 in the effect of his news. "Want to see the paper?" 
 
 "Thanks," said Strong, taking the sheet extended. 
 
 He read the dispatch, a paragraph under Paris 
 date line. The heading was, — "NEW YORK 
 SOCIETY WOMAN FOUND DEAD." Then fol- 
 lowed the curt statement: "Mrs. Charlie Ormsby, 
 of New York, widow of the well-known amateur 
 jockey whose neck was broken in a steeplechase some 
 years ago, and herself identified with the Hollow- 
 brook Hunt set, was found dead, this morning, in 
 her apartment in the Hotel Ritz. She was in bed, 
 with an empty chloral bottle by her side. How much 
 of the drug had been taken, and whether she had 
 used it for medicinal purposes, remain to be dis- 
 covered. The American embassy has interested 
 itself in the case." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 265 
 
 "She was looking very well the last time I saw 
 her," he observed, returning the paper. 
 
 "Simply rippin', last time I saw her," Sammy 
 agreed. "That was at the Horse Show. She was 
 with OUie Damerel. You had n't seen her lately?" 
 
 " Don't remember just when. Some months ago, 
 in the winter time. At the opera, I think it was, and 
 she was with OUie Damerel then." 
 
 "Ollie was sweet on her, I always thought," said 
 Sammy sagely. "But she never cared much about 
 Ormsby, or any other man. One of those women 
 that take us as a joke, you know. 'T was n't love 
 she died of, anyway. Sure you won't take a night- 
 cap?" 
 
 " I don't think so. I ought to write a letter before 
 I turn in." He rose as he spoke. 
 
 "All right. Be careful of your looks while you 
 have any to save." 
 
 Sammy was already running his finger down the 
 London paragraphs. But Strong felt him as an un- 
 consciously accusing presence, even when he had 
 reached the street. He asked himself a question, 
 "Was it suicide?" He could not answer. And he 
 felt sure nobody would be able to answer. If she had 
 died by choice, she had left it hidden. She was not 
 the kind of woman who begs for sympathy, living or 
 dead. He saw her again, smiling as she did the last 
 time. That was after she said, " It is hard for a 
 woman to be left bankrupt in heart and body." 
 She was very fond of him. He would not belittle 
 
266 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 her by thinking, otherwise. Neither could he flatter, 
 himself to the extent of supposing that any woman 
 would die because he did not love her. He knew 
 himself too well for that. Being neither very good, 
 nor very handsome, nor brave and brilliant at all, 
 he was nothing to go mad over. Any man, of course, 
 could make some woman love him, and sometimes he 
 did n't have to try. It had just happened that way 
 with himself. He promised himself it should never 
 happen again. 
 
 What of PhyUis Wells? He had not proposed to 
 cross-examine himself about her again. That was 
 settled. She was only a child at heart, despite her 
 wedding ring; and her disposition toward him was 
 no more to be mistrusted than intentions of a squir- 
 rel that eats gayly from a friendly hand. For his 
 part, he would not fall in love with her. He could 
 guarantee that. He had never fallen in love with 
 anybody. There was friendship, real friendship with 
 a woman; something more precious and rare than 
 friendship with man. Why poke it with prying 
 fingers? 
 
 He was impatient with himself for morbid intro- 
 spection. He was reminded of Dorian Gray, creep- 
 ing upstairs to the locked room that had a mirror in 
 front of the portrait Basil Hallward had painted of 
 him, looking now at the evil' and ageing face on the 
 canvas, and now on the fresh young face that 
 laughed back at him from the glass. Gray's favorite 
 pastime had been examination of the corruption of 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 267 
 
 his own soul. It was possible to create evil by imag- 
 ining it. Should he throw away the most healthful 
 influence that had ever come to him for a neuras- 
 thenic notion? 
 
 He went to the baseball game, next day, with 
 unreserved enjoyment. So did Phyllis, very chic in 
 gray. 
 
 "A good match for your eyes," he said with a nod 
 of approval. 
 
 "Do you notice clothes?" She was manifestly 
 pleased. 
 
 "Of course. Any man does." 
 
 She smiled reminiscently. "Dick doesn't. He 
 could n't tell, if you telephoned him now, what I 
 wore when I lunched with him to-day." 
 
 "You bewilder him by the ensemble," hesuggested. 
 
 "Don't begin compliments." She tapped him 
 playfully. "Does Matthewson pitch?" 
 
 "I believe he does." 
 
 " Bully!" She said it charmingly. " I 'm going to 
 fall in love with him, if I ever want to feel romantic." 
 
 "Why go so far?" 
 
 "Well, he seems so steady and strong; so sure of 
 himself. I just feel he can't lose. And the players 
 feel it, too. Then, he's a great man. Even the 
 umpire dare n't be cross with him." 
 
 "That's logical enough," he allowed. "I wonder 
 if you're as well grounded on points of the game." 
 
 To his astonishment, she was. He felt her reflected 
 enthusiasm when the shortstop, with one ear almost 
 
268 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 touching the ground, shot the ball across to catch 
 the runner at first. And she was piquantly incensed 
 when a fielder fumbled, or a batter struck out with 
 men on bases. As much as any unshaven occupant 
 of the bleachers she was a "fan." 
 
 "Are you going to take me again?" she asked as 
 they were swept out of the Polo grounds in the hurry- 
 ing crowd. 
 
 "If I may," he answered promptly. "It's been 
 great fun." 
 
 "Then don't come home with me. Just put me on 
 a car. We'll be like relatives." 
 
 "Have you a nickel in your purse?" he inquired. 
 A car not crowded to the steps was approaching. 
 
 "How funny you are. You talk like a husband." 
 
 "They say poor lovers make good husbands," he 
 remarked carelessly, "but good husbands are apt to 
 be poor lovers." 
 
 She looked a little puzzled. "Sometimes I don't 
 understand what you mean." 
 
 "Sometimes I don't understand what I mean my- 
 self. And I suspect a good many times I don't mean 
 anything." 
 
 "Don't mind," she said pityingly. "I like to 
 guess. Thank you ever so much. Telephone me 
 to-morrow, if you get a chance." 
 
 Before he had time to reply the car was under way. 
 As he waited for his own car he revolved with mildly 
 affectionate amusement some little episodes of the 
 afternoon. She was the frankest and most honest 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 269 
 
 woman he had ever met. It seemed hardly possible 
 to live, say twenty-five years, — she must be as old 
 as that, — and have absolutely no veneer. He must 
 be more careful in what he said to her. She took 
 pleasantries as literally as a child. What did she 
 want to tell him by telephone? From any other 
 woman such a request on second meeting would look 
 like leading on. But Phyllis — ! He laughed at the 
 idea. 
 
 As to tielephoning, he was doubtful. It looked 
 different next day. There was nothing to telephone 
 about. Probably she did not expect it. Remarks 
 bridging the step of boarding a street-car should 
 never be taken seriously. These reflections came to 
 him from time to time in the morning. By noon he 
 had decided that, merely for appearance's sake, to 
 telephone would be unwise. When he was ready 
 to go in the afternoon it 'occurred to him that she 
 was probably out, at some matinee or shopping. It 
 would do no harm to comply with her request. 
 
 No maid answered his "Hullo!" It was unques- 
 tionably Phyllis's voice, sounding a little hurt. 
 
 "Why did n't you call before? Did n't you want 
 to speak to me?" 
 
 "Of course," he said, and fell back on a venerable 
 excuse: "I have been busy all day." 
 
 He heard her laugh, not quite a giggle. 
 
 "Fraud!" she admonished with mock severity. 
 "That's what Dick always says when he forgets to 
 bring me some chocolates." 
 
270 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "I can't show you how well I remember," he re- 
 sponded in proper vein, though somewhat uncom- 
 fortable because Grant's desk was near and Grant 
 himself was staring into space with the far-away 
 look that often betokens close listening. 
 
 "I wonder," she said, after a brief pause, "if it 
 would be cheeky for me to ask another favor of you? " 
 
 "I'm sure it would n't," he assured her. 
 
 "Of course you can say 'No,' if it is the least bit 
 inconvenient." 
 
 "But I don't want to say 'No.' What is it?" 
 
 "Will you take me to the HoUowbrook Steeple- 
 chase, next Friday? I 've asked Dick, and he has a 
 horrid lecture. And I do want to go. Next to dogs, 
 I love horses. Could you?" 
 
 " I can, and will. But you 're doing me the favor." 
 
 "You 're a duck." Over the wire he could feel her 
 elation. "Did you like the game?" 
 
 "It was the best one I ever attended." 
 
 Again she laughed. " It sounds like spoons. Fri- 
 day, then, and I '11 be very prompt. Good-bye." 
 
 When he turned from the telephone, Grant was 
 figuring industriously. As he finished a column he 
 put down his pen and leaned back with a yawn. 
 
 "Have a good time at Wells's, the other night?" 
 
 "First-rate," said Strong with unnecessary heart- 
 iness, and wondered at the question, as Grant 
 yawned again and took up his pen. 
 
 Then he was impatient with hinxself for think- 
 ing the inquiry could mean anything in particular. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 271 
 
 Having dictated a letter to postpone a business 
 engagement for Friday, he departed in good humor. 
 Though he regarded the houtonni^re as an affecta- 
 tion, he bought a pink of the lame girl who sold 
 flowers by the street entrance, and wore it in his 
 buttonhole. And after dinner he took Sammy White 
 for a bridge partner. Sammy's game was the worst 
 in the club with one exception, — a man so satu- 
 rated with poker that he persisted in calling for 
 three cards and feeling about for chips. But the race 
 is not always to the swift, nor a fistful of trumps to 
 men of large understanding. Sammy won because 
 he could not lose, and Strong accompanied him to 
 victory. That was very agreeable. It is doubly 
 pleasant to be materially rewarded for an act of self- 
 sacrifice. Strong went his way pondering some fel- 
 low's saying about getting in return what we give. 
 Anyway, getting into the game gave one a feeling of 
 companionship. He had been a little offish all his 
 life. 
 
 Nature smiled upon the HoUowbrook Steeple- 
 chase. It was a beautiful sight on a'sunny afternoon, 
 with the emerald turf as yet untouched by summer 
 heat; the grandstand mass of multi-colored millinery 
 that shaded into purple at a distance; the drags, 
 spots of brilliant color about the track; gay-coated 
 jockeys and the horses they rode, proud creatures 
 satin-skinned. There was more high-breeding under 
 the saddle than under plumed hats. 
 
 The band blared, the belles paraded, and men in 
 
272 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 neckcloths and riding-boots strode about with a pro- 
 fessional air. The Steeplechase was reserved till 
 last, for the reason that led the Romans to keep 
 gladiators and lions for a closing feature. Usually, 
 somebody was hurt, and sometimes a jockey was 
 killed. The crowd was thickest at the water jump, 
 the great hazard. Nobody wanted to see anybody 
 killed, but if it happened, everybody, apparently, 
 preferred to be present. Not that they reasoned 
 thus. Particularly the women, who craned their 
 necks, quite unconscious of being jostled as they 
 watched each flying horse lifted to the brush barrier 
 with a ditch beyond, would have warmly resented 
 any insinuation of bloodthirstiness. But each suc- 
 cessful jump was followed by a collective sigh. At 
 length patience was rewarded. A hoof ticked the 
 barrier and a horse jumped short, failed to clear the 
 ditch and went down, though it convulsively strug- 
 gled to firm ground. The jockey lay motionless. 
 There was a stir in the crowd. Willing hands impro- 
 vised a stretcher, and the horse was led away, its 
 head drooping, dragging an almost useless leg. 
 Now a question was on everybody's lips, — "Who 
 won?" 
 
 The crowd streamed to right and left, and in a 
 momentary jam Strong saw Damerel at his elbow. 
 Wearing his habitual expression of honest good 
 humor, he was piloting a lady with clamorous 
 clothes. He merely nodded, and said with a turn 
 of his head, "Tough about Virginia, was n't it?", 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 273 
 
 "Yes," answered Strong with surpassing brevity, 
 and strangers came between. 
 
 "What's 'tough' about Virginia?" Phyllis in- 
 quired when they had elbow-room. 
 
 "She's dead," he explained laconically. 
 
 "She was a friend of yours?" Her manner was 
 slightly timid. 
 
 "Yes, I knew her very well." 
 
 "I'm sorry," she said simply. 
 
 It was as expressive as the condolence of a child. 
 He felt it gratefully, for there was no covert curi- 
 osity, no unexpressed expectation of confidence. 
 With no rift in harmony between them, they were 
 borne away through the glory of sunset after a May 
 day. 
 
 "Such a beautiful time," said Phyllis with a little 
 sigh. " I hate to go home." 
 , "Why?" said Strong idly. 
 
 "Because I have to eat alone." 
 
 "Why?" he repeated. 
 
 "Because Dick is away. This morning I told him 
 I did n't mind. Now it makes me lonesome to think 
 of it." 
 
 Her tone was slightly forlorn, and he spoke im- 
 pulsively. 
 
 "Would you like to dine with me?" 
 
 "Would I!" 
 
 She was instantly animated. Then her face fell, 
 and she said self-denyingly, "But I must n't take 
 so much of your time."^ 
 
274 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "I'd like to have you take more," he insisted 
 warmly. "Really, I beg to be used. That is, if you 
 are sure Dick won't mind." 
 
 "Oh, he'll be grateful," she said confidently. 
 
 "You might telephone?" 
 
 " But I don't know the place. He does n't expect 
 to hear from me." 
 
 "In that case," he considered, "we must save 
 each other. Where shall it be?" 
 
 "Oh, anywhere." Such trust imposed heavy 
 responsibility. 
 
 "Sherry's?" he suggested. 
 
 "If you like it," she agreed. "Is that the New 
 Yorkiest place in town?" 
 
 "It's the most abandoned adventure of Knicker- 
 bocker dowagers; but the cooking is tremendously 
 good." 
 
 " I don't care so much for just food," she reflected. 
 "Do you know places that are n't terribly respect- 
 able?" 
 
 "A few," he admitted. 
 
 "I think I should like one." 
 
 "Let's see," he reflected. "If you were a very 
 bright — of course you are that — and sophisticated 
 lady, I would take you to Max's. But you don't 
 care to see the hand that wrote last month's best- 
 seller, and hear Signor Bombaste's opinion of him- 
 self as Don Jos6. We might go to the Stark Avenue, 
 if you don't mind navy people who talk mostly 
 about places they have visited. It has a sunken 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 275 
 
 Spanish patio that is charming on a warm night. 
 What do you say to the Stark?" 
 
 "I'd like any place you like. You choose," she 
 said, with a pretty air of dependence. 
 
 He saw her anew. The sparkling sparrow was 
 changed into a wren. Protective instinct long dor- 
 mant touched him to tenderness like nothing expe- 
 rienced before. He did not analyze his feeling. He 
 only thought of her as young and simple and sweet, 
 a charmingly natural little girl. It was his privilege 
 to entertain her, and he was happy in doing so. 
 . They came uptown in the subway. Phyllis in- 
 sisted upon it. 
 
 "I don't know why," she hazarded, "but to- 
 night I like to be with people." 
 
 "That is n't much of a compliment for me," he 
 said banteringly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, it is," she protested. " It 's because you 
 are here that I like the others." 
 
 "Who said 'spoons' the other day?" he asked 
 teasingly. 
 
 A deeper pink came to her cheek, and she looked 
 a bit troubled. 
 
 "That was just fun," she said. 
 
 "I know that," he assured her. "You mustn't 
 mind anything I say. I 'm the 'Boy,' and boys al- 
 ways make tactless remarks. What do you think of 
 the man just opposite us?" 
 
 " He's awfully funny. Somehow he reminds me of 
 Uriah Heep." 
 
B76 A RELUCTANT ADAM' 
 
 "He's a minister," said Strong positively. 
 
 "How do you know?" She was mischievously 
 alert now. "He has n't any minister's clothes." 
 
 "Not on. But see how he holds his forefingers 
 together: that's the habit of prayer. And his eyes 
 have a habit of rolling up a bit: that's the habit of 
 prayer too. And he has a look of professional 
 piety." 
 
 "He looks to me like the cat that has just swal- 
 lowed the canary. But I must n't be mean." 
 
 "You are n't. You're only observant. Don't we 
 live to dissect, and be dissected?" 
 
 "That's being clever." Her tone was slightly 
 reproachful. 
 
 ' ' Oh, no, it is n't. It 's only being talkative. Then, 
 what do you think of that young limb of a terrier, 
 chewing his mistress's skirt over there?" 
 
 " He 's a dear. I could hug him." 
 
 "Lucky dog," he said meditatively. 
 
 She regarded him with perplexity. 
 
 "You are n't going to be diflferent, are you?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered, "I'm going to be diflferent 
 this minute. 'Park Avenue! All out.' Come along. 
 Child. I '11 race you up the stairs." 
 
 " Is n't this fun," she said pantingly, when he had 
 barely beaten her at the top. " I feel as if I were in a 
 real adventure." 
 
 "So do I," he agreed. 
 
 Pleasant excitement possessed him. It was as new 
 wine to the palate. With his feeling of proprietary 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 277 
 
 tenderness he was like a fresh-cheeked schoolboy, 
 only more articulate than a juvenile knight. A little 
 self-cbrfscious, he smiled at himself in wondering 
 what Sammy White or some other club acquaint- 
 ance would say, could they behold him playing the 
 squire with Phyllis. It was a pleasant surprise to 
 himself that he so much enjoyed it. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts." 
 
 "They are n't worth it." 
 
 He came back to active observation of Phyllis. 
 She was giving him and an almond impartial atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "Still, I'd like to know," she persisted. 
 
 "The fact is, I wasn't thinking of anything at 
 all." 
 
 She took another almond, and regarded him judi- 
 cially. "Are you much of a bluff?" 
 
 "The most persistent," he confessed with alacrity. 
 
 "But not with me. Boy." 
 . "No, Phyllis. Not with you." 
 
 " I 'm glad," she said, with a sigh of content. " It 
 would spoil everything." 
 
 Her hand on the table was temptingly near, and 
 he covered it with his own, gently. She did not move, 
 nor did her eyes waver. Only the pink deepened on 
 her cheek. Behind them the waiter coughed apolo- 
 getically, and Strong released her fingers. There was 
 no word of explanation, but from that moment 
 dated closer understanding. Thought of entertain- 
 ment and sense of duty in attention departed. They 
 
278 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 talked casually, easily, with restful pauses. The 
 place itself was restful, one of the few left for 
 diners not confusing nervous irritation with enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 There was no turkey trot, no one-step, no maxixe. 
 No youth with educated legs or matron minus dis- 
 cretion competed for applause in eccentric gyrations. 
 At an agreeable distance a band played softly be- 
 hind a bank of green. Foliage skillfully massed sug- 
 gested a restaurant in some forest glade. The stars 
 of a blue-black sky were friendly, for they were 
 not defied by brazen lights. In vast reaches of the 
 city pillars of brightness emphasized dark gulfs, and 
 wavering projections of smoky red suggested great 
 fingers pointed heavenward. 
 
 In the distance a clock struck nine with heavy 
 strokes. 
 
 "I hate to go, but I suppose we must," said 
 Strong. 
 
 "I suppose we must," echoed Phyllis regretfully. 
 
 Their meditative mood lingered. The charm of 
 an occasion was still upon them as a spell. They 
 reached the street, the house, and it was dark, save 
 for a reflected hall light and a dim light in an upper 
 story. 
 
 " Dick's not home yet," Phyllis said, her hand on 
 the door. 
 
 "Too bad we're cheated. Here's your key." 
 
 His voice was suddenly bereft of warmth. 
 
 "Yes, I'm sorry." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM e79 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm, and he felt her sym- 
 pathy. How it happened he could not tell. But he 
 took her in his arms. For a moment he held her, so 
 slight and tender. Then slowly his arms dropped, 
 and she stood free. She had not struggled at all. 
 Through a stained-glass panel light came dimly. It 
 was enough to reveal her look of apprehensive won- 
 der. There was no anger, only the expression of one 
 dazed by sudden shock. 
 
 "Oh, Boy ! How could you ? ' ' 
 
 " I 'm sorry," he said. " Forgive me." 
 
 How his petition was answered he did not wait to 
 learn. He went blindly down the steps and up the 
 street. His brain ran wild. Suddenly he was dimly 
 conscious of some one barring the way. Chaos was 
 penetrated by Wells's mildly genial voice. 
 
 "You're exceeding the speed limit. Won't you 
 come back with me for a smoke?" 
 
 "No, thanks." With a wrench Strong summoned 
 energy for a conventional pose. " I 've just left Mrs, 
 Wells at home," he added; then supplemented his 
 statement again out of self-consciousness, "We were 
 late back to town, and she was kind enough to dine 
 with me at the Stark Avenue. Very good place, 
 don't you think? " 
 
 " I used to go there, but I guess it was new to Mrs. 
 Wells. Thanks for saving her from a dull evening. 
 Good day at the races?" 
 
 "Very fair. Hardly enough accidents to suit the 
 crowd, though." 
 
28o A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Wells smiled. "Same old mob spirit," he said. 
 "Sure you won't come in for a cigar?" 
 
 "I'd like to, but I can't. Promised to be at the 
 club by ten." 
 
 "All right. Drop in soon." 
 
 The shock of encounter steadied Strong like a 
 cold plunge. It clarified thought, and he was sick at 
 heart. Once in Paris he had seen a bearded brute 
 hectoring a slip of a girl, and he had never forgotten 
 the misery of her eyes so expressive of defilement. 
 Now he himself was guilty of a kindred crime. If he 
 was not guilty of a physical offense, he had still vio- 
 lated a shrine. And he had no defense against in- 
 dictment at the bar of conscience. There was not 
 even the legendary excuse of Adam: "The woman 
 tempted me." The woman had not tempted him. 
 
 In previous adventures of the heart he had never 
 viewed himself as a predatory male. But he had 
 changed. He saw himself as a sensualist, and a cold 
 sensualist, the worst type. 
 
 Despite early admiration for Omar, he had al- 
 ways been temperate in liquor. Now it did not 
 occur to him to drown his misery in drink. He ac- 
 cepted with indifference the "Imperial" cocktail 
 urged upon him by a hospitable acquaintance at 
 the club. 
 
 "What's in it?" he inquired, when the contents 
 of a tall glass had touched his flesh with fire. 
 
 "Brandy, and champagne," said the sponsor care- 
 lessly. " Nothing better for a peckish feeling. Better 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 281 
 
 have another. You looked rotten when you came 
 in." 
 
 Prudence struggled with unexpected relief. He 
 felt no sorrow, not even any responsibility. Con- 
 versation about was very pleasant, though some- 
 times a little indistinct. He took it in by snatches, 
 piecing out meaning. But that was rather laborious. 
 It was more agreeable to rest in music that he heard, 
 very syncopated stuff, much like the banging and 
 piping that accompanied dancing girls in Chicago's 
 famed "Midway Plaisance." 
 
 It would be mere politeness to drink once more 
 with the benefactor who had introduced him to a 
 sovereign concoction. Presently tall glasses of 
 sparkling amber in which ice clinked pleasantly 
 stood before them. With "Here's how!" in chorus 
 reason accelerated its little heeded retreat. 
 
 The music continued. It was like the sound of 
 water now, a mighty melodious roaring. Strong 
 tried to make out the key, but gave it up because 
 the wall interested him more. It was waving to and 
 fro like a great fan, and all the pictures went with 
 it. The oscillation became more pronounced. Now 
 the pictures swung out from the wall, as it came 
 nearer and nearer. He wanted to escape, but could 
 not move. With a movement more violent than any 
 that preceded it, it hung over him. This time he 
 knew it would fall. His ears were shocked by a 
 terrific crash. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 When Strong recovered consciousness he was in a 
 strange room. He did not grasp details at once. 
 There was water beside him, and he drank greedily. 
 It seemed as if he could never get enough. Slowly 
 and painfully, loathing the task, his mind toiled 
 over incidents of the night before. For the time 
 being his collapse in drunkenness absorbed him. 
 Symptoms of the body excluded troubles of the 
 mind. There were pick-ups he had never needed. 
 Club servants would know about them. But he was 
 slow in summoning resolution to press a button 
 within reach. Any exertion seemed too much. 
 
 The boy who answered his call looked disgustingly 
 healthy. His manner, however, was irreproachably 
 respectful. 
 
 Strong capitulated to necessity. 
 
 "Bring me the usual thing," he said. 
 
 "Yes, sir," the boy answered. He seemed nowise 
 astonished. 
 
 Presently he reappeared to mix something white 
 and foamy. 
 
 " I think you'll feel better soon, sir," he said; then 
 added, with a bedside manner, "It's a fine mom- 
 ing. 
 
 "Is it? I hope so." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 283 
 
 Strong was too wretched to care for coherence. 
 
 The forecast was right. After a time came a 
 sensation of comparative stability, if not of peace. 
 To rise seemed possible. And he managed a bath. 
 Each step was a victory against heavy odds. They 
 decreased, however, so that he entertained the 
 thought of labor. Though he did little, or nothing, 
 it seemed that being present in the office would 
 somehow minify his indiscretion. Looking at it 
 afterwards, he did not feel certain it was an indis- 
 cretion. 
 
 By no means proud of somewhat way-worn ap- 
 pearance, he heard no comment upon it, save 
 Grant's jocose insinuation : — 
 
 "You take the races too hard, old man." 
 
 "It is quite a strain," he answered, with a pale 
 smile. 
 
 It was not architecture that he thought of, as he 
 sat in apparent inspection of specimens in Gothic 
 style. Phyllis came before him with the grieved look 
 that he last saw. And because he had lost her he 
 recalled other and happy occasions with heightened 
 effect. The first day he remembered as if it were 
 yesterday. She was the incarnation of eternal youth. 
 And that evening at Grant's she fulfilled a stranger's 
 promise. Always she had been charming without 
 coquetry, as honest as daylight. For his presump- 
 tion there was no excuse. He had closed the door 
 behind himself. 
 
 He felt old. But his melancholia was not acute. 
 
284 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Physical disturbance and a period of unconscious- 
 ness had broken the first shock. Work he remem- 
 bered as a panacea, and he invoked it again. He 
 tore a leaf from his calendar with bitter satisfaction. 
 Thursday was done. He ached with weariness and 
 desired only to sleep. Friday it was the same. 
 Saturday she called him. It was so unexpected, he 
 was off his guard when her voice came over the wire, 
 after the formal preliminary of the summoned, 
 "Hullo!" 
 
 "Are n't you afraid of the 'S.P.C.A.'?" 
 
 "You're not an animal," he managed to say. 
 
 "Why have n't you called?" 
 
 "I 've worked very hard since I saw you." It 
 was possible to be literally truthful. 
 
 "Then, why did n't you telephone?" 
 
 "I did n't think you wanted me to." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 Long-range frankness was becoming too diffi- 
 cult. 
 
 "Don't you know?" he answered. 
 
 "No. What is it?" 
 
 "I 'm afraid I can't tell you now." 
 
 "Then come and tell me." 
 
 " I don't think I 'd better." 
 
 "Have I done anything to deserve being treated 
 like this?" 
 
 The note of hurt pride was unmistakable. 
 
 "No, you haven't done anything." He wanted 
 to explain a measure of what he felt, but could not 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 285 
 
 bring himself to do it. It seemed to him that the 
 telephone had both eyes and ears, and a capacity for 
 gossip. 
 
 "Then I shall expect to see you. This afternoon 
 is a good time. Can you come at four?" 
 
 "Yes," he answered. "Good-bye." 
 
 He had been despondent. Now he was confused. 
 When one had looked upon a tie as past, it was 
 startling to find it referred to as living without need 
 of burial clothes. Still, he dreaded to go. After 
 what had happened, their relations could never be 
 the same again. There would be caution on one side 
 and distrust on the other. The best he could do 
 would be to offer frank apology and put an end to 
 intimacy. But probably that would not be neces- 
 sary. She had had a lesson, too. 
 
 His doubt increased as he neared her house and 
 rang the bell. How would she receive him? There 
 was no constraint in her manner, nor trace of grief 
 in her face. With familiar directness she advanced, 
 and he took her extended hand. 
 
 "Now, what is it?" she asked. 
 
 "Why, my behavior, the other night." 
 
 He was driven to bluntness by her pointed in- 
 quiry. 
 
 "That was mostly my fault, and, anyway, it 
 was n't so dreadful. We jiist won't do it again, will 
 we?" 
 
 "But it was n't your fault. It was all mine, and 
 I was too ashamed to face you again."^ 
 
286 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "You mustn't abuse yourself. It isn't nice. 
 We'll just forget we were foolish. Shall we?" 
 
 "Can you?" .. 
 
 "Of course. Now that's settled, we can be com- 
 fortable. The last two days have been horrid. 
 You've had a hard time, too, poor Boy. Sit here 
 and smoke, and I '11 show my newest accomplish- 
 ment. I can blow smoke through my nose," 
 
 "Can you?" he said, trying to hide the fact that 
 he was a little dazed. 
 
 For what had he abased himself in bitter humilia- 
 tion? The lily he had soiled was unconscious of the 
 mark. Did the mark, then, exist? What he had felt 
 for her was real. What he thought she had felt for 
 him was imaginary. Of her native purity he had no 
 doubt. Simply, she was even less sophisticated than 
 he had supposed. She liked him as a companion, but 
 had no fondness for him as a man. It was not really 
 a woman's regard she gave him. 
 
 Such reflections came to him as he smoked and 
 talked, his mind disengaged in casual banter. He 
 saw Phyllis as a Dresden figure, lightly animated. 
 He was relieved, of course, to find no harm had been 
 done. He told himself that. What he did not make 
 clear to himself was the nature of feeling bordering 
 chagrin. When one has fancied himself a flaming 
 torch of destruction, it is not pure satisfaction to 
 realize he has been no more dangerous than a toy 
 balloon. 
 
 Strong's friendship with Phyllis continued un- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 287 
 
 clouded. She had no definite standards, no phil- 
 osophy. She was as Wells had found her, a blank 
 page. In writing therein Strong sought to supply 
 what he himself lacked, a coherent vision of life. 
 It could not be said that Phyllis was keenly recep- 
 tive. There was in her something of the incorrigible 
 kitten. 
 
 Nickeled steel cannot become a Damascus blade. 
 Naivetfe palls in the long run. The first time he wrig- 
 gled out of an engagement with Phyllis, Strong 
 imagined he was not in a mood to be agreeable 
 company. The next time he knew he did not want 
 to go. 
 
 He was a somewhat contradictory person of ner- 
 vous temperament and leisurely mind. Phyllis's 
 vivacity was like the incessant chattering of a spar- 
 row. Sometimes he felt like applying a gag. Then 
 he turned remorseful, she was so genuinely amiable, 
 so eager to please. 
 
 In their meeting Grant had been the agent of 
 what once resembled Providence. Now he entered 
 again, an unwitting factor. He was a man who 
 found it difficult to hold a piece of news. 
 
 "Seen much of the Wellses lately? " he asked with 
 elaborate carelessness, as he consulted with Strong 
 over a plan. 
 
 "Quite a bit." This time Strong's indifference 
 was real. 
 
 "I suppose they're feeling pretty happy now-a- 
 days," Grant pursued. 
 
c88 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Happy enough, I guess. Is there any special 
 reason for jubilation?" 
 
 Grant lighted a cigarette as an aid to moderation. 
 
 "Don't you know?" 
 
 "No, I don't know. What is it?" 
 
 He was a little amused by Grant's poorly dis- 
 guised impatience to tell. 
 
 "Come to think of it, I don't suppose you would 
 know. It's a little early. Phyllis told my wife." 
 
 "Phyllis told your wife what?" 
 
 He could not understand Grant's beating about 
 the bush. 
 
 "You 're a little dense, old man, not to get it now. 
 What I mean is that they're expecting a youngster, 
 of course." 
 
 "Is that all? I thought you had something sen- 
 sational up your sleeve." Strong mentally clocked 
 his pulse, and found it normal. "It will be a good 
 thing for Phyllis," he said judicially. "She needs 
 something to steady her." 
 
 "That's right," agreed Grant. He seemed to lose 
 interest in the subject. It was not mentioned again. 
 
 Strong reflected at leisure. The thought of matern- 
 ity for Phyllis had not shocked him, but the prospect 
 wrought a change of view. It made her physically 
 remote, and tangibly the complement of another 
 man. For the first time he really saw her as Wells's 
 wife. And he did not view her with loriging. That 
 was past. What he thought was there should be no 
 bar to close communion between husband and wife. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 289 
 
 When one has ceased to care it matters little upon 
 what peg an excuse is hung. 
 
 He went to see her that afternoon. Turning the 
 f Eimiliar corner, his spirits rose. It was the last time. 
 He awaited her in the library, hat in hand. Whis- 
 tling, she descended the stairs, with a light clatter of 
 heels in crossing the hall. She began conversation 
 at long range. 
 
 " I 'm so glad you came. It 's been terribly pokey. 
 I did want to see somebody. Why, you don't look 
 as if you meant to stay." 
 
 " I can't," he said. " I 've just dropped in to say 
 good-bye." 
 
 "What a surprise! Where are you going?" 
 
 "Europe. It's a surprise to me, too." 
 
 "When?" she questioned. Astonishment robbed 
 her of volubility. 
 
 "To-morrow," he explained. "And I must pack, 
 and get a stateroom, and do heaps of things," 
 
 "Will you be gone long?" 
 
 " Can't tell just how long. I have to see about my 
 brother. He's ill in Hamburg.'/ 
 
 On the spur of the moment he improvised with 
 gratifying fluency. 
 
 " I 'm sorry. But you '11 write, won't you? " 
 
 " I'll try. I 'm a shocking correspondent, though. 
 Only wrote to my mother once in four years." 
 
 "Well," she said, a bit flurried by something she 
 could not understand, " I hope you '11 do better than 
 that with me." 
 
290 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 " Do my best. Sorry I have n't time to see Dick. 
 Give him my best wishes. I '11 send you a string of 
 beads, or a Madonna and child, or something of the 
 sort. Good-bye." 
 
 "Good luck," she said, and blushed slightly. 
 
 Perhaps his allusion to the Madonna and child 
 was not quite delicate. But that did not worry him 
 as he strode briskly away. He had come through the 
 encounter, if it might be called an encounter when 
 the issue of severance was understood by only one 
 side, quite jauntily. Why not go to Europe? He had 
 not crossed since his adventure with Mrs. Follinsbee. 
 There would be nothing of that sort again. He had 
 been vaccinated. He was immune. Then where to? 
 His fancy lighted upon Holland. It was late for the 
 tulips, those beds of ordered brilliance he had never 
 seen. But the Dutch were there, the most self-con- 
 tained people of Europe, with their quaintly clean 
 villages fended from the sea. The sailing-list an- 
 nounced a boat for Rotterdam at nine in the morn- 
 ing. When he had pocketed his ticket and sent a 
 note to the office he felt he was almost on the way. 
 As he packed, he whistled riotously. The janitor's 
 wife, hovering about with motherly inquisitiveness, 
 was moved to comment. 
 
 "It's good news ye must have had, Mr. Strong." 
 "That's right, Mary. I brought it to myself." 
 "It's a great joker ye are. Do you really mean 
 that's for Pat?" catching a shirt carelessly tossed. 
 "Sure, he'll be that grateful." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 291 
 
 Strong went to sleep that night with a conscious- 
 ness of peace that was novel and very precious. And 
 when the Hedwig poked her nose into the Bay, next 
 morning, he paced her deck with positive buoyancy. 
 He felt like a man who has feared an operation and 
 suddenly learns he has no need of the knife. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 Woman has her "dangerous age," and some men 
 feel the quicksands of forty. Strong approached 
 twoscore with confidence that for himself life's emo- 
 tional adventures were done. To be sure, he some- 
 times paused in the street, momentarily obedient to 
 the witchery of a face, and sometimes at the opera 
 he felt lonely, as if he were on the very fringe of exist- 
 ence, when other men gave protective care to woman- 
 kind. But that, he assured himself, was only proper 
 respect for the sex. He was no more a "woman 
 hater" than a "ladies' man." So gradually it was 
 accomplished, before he fully realized it, he drifted 
 into the habits of a man whose interests are cen- 
 tered in work and club. More and more the profes- 
 sion for which he had felt no enthusiasm at first ab- 
 sorbed his energies. He was one of a firm that in 
 the city's monuments had made its creditable mark. 
 He had pride in sustaining its prestige. 
 
 Nearing middle age, the unattached man is apt to 
 be either a butterfly or a grub. Strong was neither. 
 But now the club rather than the drawing-room was 
 familiar ground. When he ventured forth socially, 
 it was usually to dine with some friend who had 
 married and pinned his great hope to posterity. 
 Viewing their children, he reasonably thought it 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 293 
 
 would brighten life to have such an interest. But 
 he never really regretted his lot. 
 
 With Mrs. Decrow, who had passed the Scrip- 
 tural allotment without much impairment of viva- 
 city, he was still on excellent terms. She encouraged 
 him to think of old age as possibly happy. Then she 
 was one of the few women of his close acquaintance 
 not infected with a matchmaking propensity. That 
 she remembered his marriage and had not forgotten 
 Eleanor, he felt sure when stray thoughts of old days 
 connected her with his one highly crucial experience. 
 But she had referred to that chapter only once in 
 years. It was across her tea-table, and after a com- 
 fortable pause. 
 
 " I wonder, Waldo, if you would allow an inquisi- 
 tive old woman a question." 
 
 " I 'd allow it to you," he promptly assured her. 
 
 "Why have you remained single all these years?" 
 
 She came to the point with habitual directness. 
 And he answered with equal frankness. 
 
 " Because I have n't wanted to marry anybody." 
 
 "It is n't on account of Eleanor, then?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 The explanation seemed inadequate, but it was 
 a bit difficult to amplify it., "Not that she was n't 
 worth it," he said presently. "You know that." 
 
 " If anybody is. The best of us would not keep a 
 man tied to a ghost. And Eleanor was one of the 
 best. I 'm sure she would n't wish it." 
 
 "She has n't tied me," he again assured her. "I 
 
294 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 haven't wanted to marry, that's all. Probably I 
 never will." 
 
 " Perhaps," she said briskly, "but not 'probably.' 
 There are born old maids, but I never saw a natural 
 bachelor," 
 
 " I 'm ready for the arrow," he smiled. 
 
 He did not suspect it would strike him soon. 
 
 It happened at Kinteco, which is one of the pic- 
 turesquely beautiful places of the White Mountains. 
 It could not be called a "spot," for there are seven 
 mountains encircling a broad upland, and they are 
 diversified in charm at once remote and friendly. 
 Their treasures of spruce and pine have thus far 
 escaped the lumberman, save for a patch that looks 
 like a great shingle in the distance, an opening wedge 
 on Pauguk, that mountain with a bald crown afford- 
 ing the most comprehensive view in New England, 
 The air is bracing and the trout fishing is very good. 
 The latter consideration had more weight in Strong's 
 decision to spend a holiday in Kinteco than its 
 lauded scenery, or the society of the Prescotts, who 
 urged it upon him. He was just then professionally 
 associated with Prescott, a nice fellow with a passion 
 for book-plates, Mrs. Prescott had a quiet hobby in 
 Persian rugs. 
 
 Kinteco was not a village. It was a summer hotel, 
 with the nearest native community five miles away. 
 Had Strong appreciated that fact in advance, he 
 would have stayed away. "The white light that 
 beats upon a throne" is no more glaring than atten- 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 295 
 
 tion bestowed upon the eligible male in a summer 
 depository of predatory women. One backed by the 
 baptism of experience understands no compliment 
 is necessarily involved. That was why Strong did 
 not welcome an introduction to Mrs. Bradley, the 
 evening he arrived. Mrs. Prescott suggested he 
 would find her agreeable, adding that she was "very 
 nice." 
 
 "You know I'm not lonesome," he said defen- 
 sively. 
 
 "But you can't spend all your time alone," she 
 said, "and men are scarce, and, of course, Harry and 
 I are no change for you. I don't want to drag you, 
 though. I 'm only suggesting it because Lisle is the 
 sort of woman you like. I knew her in school." 
 
 "Is she as unusual as her name?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed. She won't expect you to amuse her, 
 and she won't flirt." 
 
 He smiled at her earnestness. "The woman who 
 is n't dangerous is apt to be dull. Still, you excite 
 my curiosity. Will you be kind enough to present 
 me?" 
 
 She led him by knots of summer girls surrounding 
 the summer youth, and the stout and elderly, who 
 rested in estuaries of the current of promenaders. 
 "Oh, here is Lisle," said Mrs. Prescott, halting sud- 
 denly by a woman sitting alone. She was watching 
 the rising of the moon, a disc of silver above the 
 flank of Pauguk, and did not turn immediately on 
 hearing her name. 
 
296 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "Good-evening, Edith," she said, her eyes still 
 on a line of forest the moon defined sharply against 
 the sky. 
 
 "I 'd like to present a friend," Mrs. Prescott re- 
 marked, as if asserting man's claim against that of 
 nature. 
 
 Then she half-turned in her chair, and he saw her 
 face. Moonlight transfigures, but he gathered an 
 impression of unusual personality in the quick esti- 
 mate of a first look. She appeared quite tall and 
 slight, and there was unassertive dignity in the car- 
 riage of her head. Her abundant hair was seemingly 
 black. It made her look paler than she was in the 
 uncertain light, but evidently she had not much 
 color. Her features were delicate and sharply 
 chiseled. He could see her nose was pure Grecian, 
 and he felt sure her eyes were dark brown. All this 
 was not grasped at once, but unobtrusively noted 
 in the preliminaries of introduction. They also re- 
 vealed a voice low and well modulated. It would 
 never gush. It held a note of reserve. 
 
 Mrs. Prescott did not linger. "I must find 
 Harry," she said presently. "No, Mr. Strong," as 
 he rose to escort her, " I '11 get on nicely alone. You 
 stay and amuse Mrs. Bradley." 
 
 "Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked when Mrs. 
 Prescott's last footfall was lost in silence. 
 
 "Please do." 
 
 She did not say she liked to see men smoke, or that 
 she envied them the privilege. With her chin in the 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 297 
 
 palm of her hand, she kept her eyes on the crescent 
 moon, lightening as it rose the gold of the stars. Her 
 manner was not distant, but he sensed a veil of 
 musing between them. With intent to destroy it he 
 ventured a banal remark. 
 
 "I think Mrs. Prescott was right." 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "She said you were an unusual woman." 
 
 " I fear Edith is over-enthusiastic," she said. " Do 
 you see how that tall pine stands out, with its two 
 great branches, like a giant leading an army?" 
 
 "It is a striking suggestion," he admitted, think- 
 ing her indifferent. "You don't seem eager to hear 
 about your unusualness." 
 
 " Do you think you have known me long enough 
 to pass judgment?" 
 
 She gave him undivided attention now, and he saw 
 about her mouth a hint of a smile. 
 
 "I usually rely on first opinions," he said defen- 
 sively. 
 
 "And you never make a mistake?" 
 
 "Sometimes, of course. But people are not neces- 
 sarily complete puzzles. I feel sure, for instance, of 
 one unusual quality in you." 
 
 "What is it?" she asked quietly. 
 
 "Repose." 
 
 "We may all learn that by experience." 
 
 She volunteered no confidence, but he suddenly 
 drew a connection between black she wore and the 
 wedding ring alone on her finger. 
 
egS A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "I didn't mean to conduct a catechism. Let's 
 talk of something more interesting than ourselves." 
 
 He felt he had been guilty of juvenile presump- 
 tion, and exerted himself to efface a bad impression. 
 It was easy to talk with Mrs. Bradley. If she showed 
 no sign of brilliance, she exhibited receptive intel- 
 ligence. She had the art of listening that does not 
 hurry the narrator to mental bankruptcy. Strong 
 rose from a lengthy chat mentally refreshed. 
 
 "Are you staying through with the Prescotts?" 
 she asked, as they parted at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 "I think so," he replied. "" 
 
 "Then we shall have other talks. Good-night." 
 
 As she ascended he noted her assured grace of 
 carriage. And their moment at the foot of the stairs 
 had disclosed the quality of her eyes. They were 
 deep brown and softly lustrous. It occurred to him 
 they were as curtains to a chamber. The piazza was 
 quiet now and well-nigh deserted. As he paced it 
 awhile, with his cigar and the moon he felt himself 
 well companioned. 
 
 He had planned an all-day fishing trip for the 
 morrow, but his interest flagged before noon. It 
 was not the fault of the trout. They were present 
 in numbers, and maneuvered with all the ingenuity 
 a reasonable fisherman could expect. He returned 
 to the hotel with an unconfessed hope. Also it was 
 an ungratified hope. Neither before nor after lunch- 
 eon did he encounter any object of interest. Finally 
 he wandered away and aimlessly followed a winding 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 299 
 
 trail to a grassy shelf on the mountain-side. Charmed 
 by the spacious view, he sat down to rest. It was 
 warm and he heard domestic music of birds in the 
 foliage above. Presently he fell asleep. 
 
 It was near sunset when he returned. Already the 
 piazza was dotted with guests freshened for dinner. 
 He found Mrs. Bradley where she had sat the night 
 before. She was neither embroidering nor reading. 
 As before, she seemed to find sufficient interest in the 
 landscape. The sun still shone on the mountain- 
 tops, though it had long since left the valley. 
 
 "It's been a perfect day," she said with a nod of 
 welcome as he stood beside her. 
 
 " Not altogether," he replied, helping himself to a 
 seat. 
 
 "Was n't the fishing good?" 
 
 "Fairly good. How did you spend the day ? " 
 
 " In doing nothing. That is what I came here for." 
 
 " But how can you manage iti^^th so many hum£m 
 gnats around?" 
 
 " I don't," she said. " I go away." 
 
 "Show me the place. I came to rest, too." 
 
 "But there are times when I dislike to talk," she 
 explained. 
 
 "There are times when I crave silence," he re- 
 joined. 
 
 She smiled, again the smile that was like the flicker 
 pf reflected amusement. 
 
 "If you are admitted, the privilege may be re- 
 voked."^ 
 
300 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "As to that, I place my resignation in your hands 
 before election to membership. Am I elected, then?" 
 
 "You may come," she said, "to-morrow mom- 
 ing. 
 
 The appearance of the Prescotts prevented ex- 
 pression of gratitude. Then dinner came and the 
 Prescotts led him into captivity at bridge. But he 
 managed to see her for a moment, as she crossed the 
 parlor while his partner was playing a hand. 
 
 "At what time shall I report?" he asked. 
 
 "After breakfast. Would nine o'clock be too 
 early?" 
 
 "Make it sunrise, if you'll be so kind." 
 
 "You'd be dreadfully bored before luncheon," 
 she said j udicially . ' ' You are ordered to take a book. 
 I always do." 
 
 "The commander's order is law. But I don't 
 think," he ventured, "I shall need the book." 
 
 She did not answer, save by a questioning look, 
 as a call of "Deserter!" from the card table took 
 him away. He slept well and dreamlessly that night. 
 When the sun shining in his eyes wakened him, his 
 watch assured him it was nearly eight. She was at 
 breakfast before him, and they exchanged nods. 
 Though it was only a careless salute, it warmed him 
 with a feeling of intimacy. When she rose from the 
 table he discreetly hastened to join her. 
 
 "My book," he said, exhibiting Pater. J' What 
 
 else?" 
 
 "Nothing, but we must hurry. An early start is 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 301 
 
 salvation. Thus far I 've only been discovered by a 
 cow. And she was so mild I was n't afraid." 
 
 They set out briskly, and the vigorous air moved 
 them to quicken their pace. There was dew on the 
 grass, with little cobwebs of silver. Even the distant 
 mountains were sharply defined. Unseen birds sang 
 with careless energy. All nature was keyed high. 
 Over a stile they went and across a valley. They 
 skirted a ledge and climbed a steep hillside. She 
 took it without faltering, though she did not dis- 
 dain an occasional helping hand. The first time he 
 took her arm to steady her Strong was conscious of a 
 queer sensation. The tactual impression was some- 
 how registered in his heart. He had it again and 
 again. It pierced him deliciously. 
 
 At the top of the hill was a plateau fringed with 
 trees. As they gained it she said, "This way," and 
 turned to the right sharply. He followed her around 
 a burly boulder and a great panorama was unfolded 
 before them. It was as if nature had planned a 
 superb view and provided an observation platform. 
 There was a valley deep and wide, and through it 
 ran a lazy, crooked river, a thread of water in the 
 distance. The slopes of the valley were grandly 
 undulant and richly wooded. The first frosts had 
 painted the tree-tops. Here and there patches of 
 red, with a more general sprinkling of yellow and 
 browns that would darken. The background was 
 still green. And they looked beyond to peaks still 
 wreathed in morning mist. For human touch a few 
 
302 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 farmhouses widely scattered in the uplands. Clouds 
 like carded wool floated in the blue. 
 
 "How beautiful," he said after a long look. 
 
 " I thought you would like it." 
 
 Neither deemed it necessary to laud nature. With 
 their backs braced by a shelving rock they sat in 
 tranquil enjoyment of the scene. A few times a 
 squirrel barked above them, and once a freight train 
 puffed up the valley, its line of progress marked by 
 a long trail of blackish smoke. The clouds spread 
 and thickened slightly. It was bright still, but with 
 a light haze. 
 
 Afterward Strong could not recall much they said. 
 Almost at once they had fallen into the pleasant 
 habit of random observation that takes understand- 
 ing for granted. What one feels is as much disclosed 
 by what one does not say as by thoughts uttered. 
 
 "Have I passed?" he asked as they approached 
 the hotel in leisurely return. 
 
 She smiled at his humility, with sudden warmth 
 he had not seen in her face before. " It has been a 
 pleasant morning to me," she said. 
 
 "Then I may come to-morrow?" he pursued. 
 
 "If you wish." 
 
 " I '11 be on hand," he said promptly, — "with my 
 book." 
 
 Afterward he wondered if he had seemed unduly 
 eager, too presuming on trifling acquaintance. But 
 he felt as if he had known her always. He pondered 
 that impression more than once in the days that 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 303 
 
 followed. No other woman had ever been so com- 
 panionable. It was not that she was self-effacing. 
 She did not treat him as a lord of creation. She had 
 individuality so definite it compelled instinctive 
 respect. She was never restless, never irritable. He 
 had known women that were calm because they 
 were intellectually sterile and emotionally cold, and 
 others whose superficial serenity affected one as 
 might a promenade over a powder magazine. Of 
 Mrs. Bradley he had an impression, when he came 
 to analyze it, of disciplined feeling and strong poise. 
 She was a woman who might both soothe and stimu- 
 late. Why was he sure of this? He had never tried 
 to probe what lay behind the curtains of her eyes. 
 
 Matters of serious import had been little men- 
 tioned between them. One morning, however, he 
 learned what she thought of divorce. It came about 
 through careless mention of a woman who accumu- 
 lated three husbands before the age of forty. 
 
 "Her heart," he suggested, "must be like a re- 
 ceiving tomb." 
 
 "Such examples are shocking," she said with heat 
 that surprised him. 
 
 "Don't you believe in divorce at all?" he asked. 
 
 "Not for the sake of re-marriage." 
 
 "But marriage is a contract," he urged. "Why 
 should n't it be dissolved, if either party fails in 
 it?" 
 
 " Because it is more than a contract. It has bound 
 up with it all that connects us with the divine." 
 
304 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 "That may be true," he conceded, "when mar- 
 riage is what it ought to be. And how often does 
 that happen?" 
 
 Unaccustomed color came to her cheek. She 
 seemed to shrink a little at his question, but stuck 
 to her guns. 
 
 " I admit that sad mistakes — mistakes dreadful 
 in their consequences — are made. But I think the 
 individual must suffer for the good of society." 
 
 "How is society better off?" he pressed. " I know 
 something of social conditions in countries where 
 divorce is difficult to obtain, almost impossible for a 
 woman. And their moral standards are decidedly 
 lower than the standard of this country, where 
 courts rectify matrimonial errors with gratifying 
 dispatch." 
 
 She was silent for a moment, and he noted the 
 tension of her tightly clasped fingers. Then she re- 
 Icixed, with a little shake of her head. 
 
 "You out-argue me," she said. "I wish I could 
 better put into words what I feel." 
 
 "Please excuse my persistence," he said peni- 
 tently. "I don't care much for arguments, they're 
 so apt to turn into squabbles. Anyway, this thing 
 has no personal interest for us." 
 
 She accepted his apology and suggestion in si- 
 lence. Conversation was directed into another 
 channel. After luncheon he did not see her, and she 
 was not in her favorite spot when he returned from 
 a solitary tramp. Feeling somehow depressed, he 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 305 
 
 went in to dinner alone. She was not in her place. 
 The dining-room was crowded, for it was Saturday 
 night, but it seemed, for all its sparkle and chatter, 
 a singularly cheerless place. He cut his dinner short, 
 preferring solitude outside. A cigar lacked the usual 
 after-dinner flavor, but smoking and walking fur- 
 nished some outlet for restless energy. There were 
 other smokers on the piazza, week-enders, drawn 
 by wife or sweetheart. Some he picked out by the 
 white dress of their companions, as they strolled to 
 and fro. Others walked alone, as he did. Passing 
 two men lounging against the railing, he heard the 
 name of " Bradley." Without intending to play the 
 eavesdropper he stopped, taking a survey of the 
 sky. 
 
 "Bradley came up to-night," said one. 
 
 "What for, I wonder," remarked his companion. 
 
 "Just to annoy his wife, perhaps," hazarded the 
 first speaker. 
 
 Strong felt he ought to go, but could not move. 
 His feet seemed fastened to the spot. 
 
 " It's singular how he's gone to the devil," one of 
 the men resumed. "He was a promising enough 
 fellow, but now his future is behind him. He spends 
 more time in gambling-houses than in his law office, 
 and ladies of pleasure see more of him than his wife 
 does." 
 
 "What makes her stand it?" queried the other. 
 
 "Don't know. Pride, I guess, and straight-laced 
 ideas about divorce. I used to know her when I was 
 
3o6 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 a youngster. She was a ripping fine girl. I was sorry 
 when I saw her at the station to meet him to-night. 
 She can't care for him after the way he has behaved." 
 
 "Lots of queer mixups," his friend generalized 
 as he threw his cigar away. His companion fol- 
 lowed suit. 
 
 Strong's motor muscles again responded to his 
 will. He moved a sedate figure, but there was tumult 
 in his soul. Mrs. Bradley was not a widow. She was 
 tied to a brute, and she was very unhappy. He felt 
 sure of it. A word, a look, what passed for trifles 
 now assumed significance. And she did not believe 
 in divorce. What was it he had said of divorce? — 
 "Anyway, this thing has no personal interest for 
 us." It had all the interest in the world. 
 
 He did not at first consider whether she cared for 
 him. He was absorbed in what he felt for her. Love 
 came to him not as Cupid, the chubby archer, but 
 as passion that shook him like a strong wind. Fate 
 had postponed his hour, but it had not passed him 
 by. He clenched his hands for control, while his 
 heart hammered furiously and he trembled in fiery, 
 inarticulate protest. His blood grew cooler, but 
 jealousy tore his breast. He learned the feeling of 
 outrage in thwarted possessive instinct. And after- 
 ward came the unreasoning resentment of hurt love. 
 Why had she not told him? Why had she suffered 
 him to love her so? Where was the sweet genuine- 
 ness, the tender sympathy he had reverenced in her? 
 There was a terrible mistake. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 307 
 
 He shrank from a word, a look, any contact. But 
 pride stiffened his will. The guests were dancing, 
 and flirting, and card-playing now. He entered the 
 parlor aimlessly, since he must go somewhere, and 
 was at once entreated to complete a table at bridge. 
 Nobody seemed to note anything peculiar in his 
 appearance. He played recklessly and successfully. 
 
 "I thought you were conservative, Mr. Strong," 
 his partner said beamingly, "and you play such a 
 dashing game." 
 
 When he no longer heard the orchestra he knew it 
 was late, and that the majority of guests were dis- 
 persing for the night. On a plea of engagement he 
 made his escape. Not to see her, though only for a 
 moment, would be showing the white feather. He 
 thought he had fair control of himself now. At a 
 distance he recognized her as one of a group that 
 included the Prescotts and a strange man. She 
 raised her eyes as he approached and greeted him 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Where have you kept yourself this evening, Mr. 
 Strong? I want you to meet my husband." 
 
 " I have been playing bridge," he said briefly, and 
 extended to the stranger the hand with which he 
 ached to strike. "Husband," she had said. So this 
 was the man who possessed her. He had an insolent 
 air, with marks of good-breeding persisting in spite 
 of signs of life in the trough. He was handsome still 
 in a blond way, with thick brown hair and blue eyes 
 that habitually mocked. A mustache did not alto- 
 
308 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 gether hide certain ugly lines about his mouth. A 
 man would have hesitated to trust him. A woman 
 might easily have loved him. 
 
 "Very glad to meet you," he said indifferently, 
 and carelessly gave Strong his hand. 
 
 Conversation that followed was lightly general 
 and brief. It came to an end when Bradley yawned 
 and looked at his watch, remarking, "Beastly rail- 
 road service in New England. I 'm tired out with 
 the trip." 
 
 The Prescotts took the hint, and Strong of neces- 
 sity with them. As they moved away, a glance over 
 his shoulder showed Mrs. Bradley and her master 
 ascending the stairs. He sought the piazza again. 
 It was more agreeable, being deserted. Feverishly 
 his mind fell upon the scene just past. Her color had 
 been more pronounced than usual and her manner 
 lighter. Her smile had been frequent, and once he 
 saw her rest her hand for a moment on Bradley's 
 arm. Her "Husband!" Could it be possible that 
 she had still a spark of affection for this man whose 
 face bore the stamp of sensual indulgence? Pain 
 wrung his heart. 
 
 The night was cool and clear, but somehow it was 
 hard to breathe. He stepped down to the dew- 
 drenched lawn and stood for a moment irresolute. 
 His fretted nerves craved action. By force of habit 
 he set out in the direction of their mountain retreat. 
 He passed the stile and breasted a steep slope bor- 
 dered with trees. There he paused. Distraught as he 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 309 
 
 was, he realized he could never find that shelf over 
 the far-off valley in the dark. Then he could not 
 bear to leave her behind, though he could not be 
 near her. 
 
 The hotel was still in sight, a dark hulk save here 
 and there a luminous spot denoting one who ling- 
 ered late. He knew her room well, and marked the 
 light. It was unquestionably hers, the top story to 
 the right of the tower. His chin in his hands, he sat 
 upon a boulder, his eyes fixed on that point of light 
 in the blackness. It meant so much. 
 
 It had grown cold, but he did not heed it. Over- 
 head the clear sky was of that complexion neither 
 black nor blue, but somehow suggesting both. And 
 it was quilted with stars that blazed fiercely as 
 jewels bedecking some savage beauty. They were 
 like eyes that sparkled, and sometimes a strange 
 radiance threaded the heavens. But Strong saw 
 none of these wonders. His eyes were fastened upon 
 the light, the only one left in upper stories of the 
 hotel. He blindly clung to it, as one storm-tossed 
 and far from shore. When it was extinguished he 
 still sat motionless, staring into the dark. Devils 
 with their pincers made merry with his flesh. 
 
 He did not know the hour when he rose painfully, 
 stiff and cold, and made his way slowly down to the 
 hotel. The office was quite dark. A sleepy bell-boy, 
 the only person visible, eyed him curiously as he 
 began laboriously climbing the stairs. There was no 
 spring in his legs, no clarity in his mind. He felt 
 
3IO A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 dull and shrunken and old. He only wanted to sleep. 
 Any oblivion, better transient than none at all. 
 
 When he awoke the sun was high. But there was 
 no sound in the hotel. Though he had slumbered 
 heavily, he was little refreshed. His eyelids were 
 like lead, and his eyes burned. A hand lifted to his 
 head was curiously heavy, almost a dead weight. It 
 was painful to move, but more painful to face the 
 thought of a day cooped up with thoughts that 
 flocked like vultures. Slowly, since neither hand 
 nor foot was very obedient, he dressed and left the 
 hotel. 
 
 Once abroad, he sought to accelerate his pace, as 
 if speed meant relief. In a measure it did, for the 
 mere exertion of keeping in motion somewhat oc- 
 cupied his mind. And still he followed the path over 
 the stile and up the slope, the path to the valley. 
 That at least had been theirs alone. Would he feel 
 communion still? He tried to hurry, but he stumbled 
 sadly. The shelf above the valley was very distant. 
 When he reached it at last he was exhausted. 
 
 It was a morning much like the one on which he 
 first beheld the valley. But how different now. There 
 was no uplift in the mountains, no happy tenderness 
 quickening appreciation of splendor in the landscape 
 unrolled. Each memory stabbed him afresh, as a 
 staccato touch in dull, grinding pain. Sometimes 
 there were tears in his eyes, and they fell unheeded. 
 
 After a while nature gave him passing peace. 
 When he returned to consciousness it was past noon. 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 311 
 
 No food nor anything to drink had passed his lips 
 since evening of the day before. An outraged body 
 asserted its suffering, but he gave it little heed. It 
 was past years that he thought of. Inexorable 
 memory reviewed the women who had loved him to 
 their sorrow. He had been blind. He had not under- 
 stood. But how had that helped them? Was love 
 brought upon him as a penalty? Perhaps they were 
 revenged by Fate. 
 
 By and by, he rose painfully and began the long 
 trip to the hotel. It was even harder than in the 
 morning, for he was quite weak now. The sun had 
 set when he somewhat unsteadily crossed the lawn. 
 Fortunately, he met no one he knew on the way to 
 his room. A meal served there he ate ravenously. 
 Soon after drowsiness assailed him irresistibly. 
 
 In the morning natural stability of judgment as- 
 serted the claim of routine. He could not avoid peo- 
 ple forever. He turned to the mirror curiously, won- 
 dering if he were muqh changed. His eyes were 
 somewhat bloodshot, and there was blue beneath 
 them. He was unquestionably pale, and there were 
 minor discolorations somehow received. Altogether, 
 not very startling. He made his toilet with custo- 
 mary care and went down to breakfast. There were 
 few about, for Monday morning pilgrims had been 
 speeded on their dolorous journey. 
 
 When he had finished breakfast, he went to the 
 usual spot. He did not expect to find her, but she 
 was there, with her habitual air of detachment. 
 
312 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 Hearing his step, she turned, and her eyes flashed 
 quick concern. 
 
 "What is the matter?" In her voice was anxious 
 interest. 
 
 "What do you mean?" he replied, refusing to 
 understand. 
 
 "You look badly." 
 
 "I've had rather a hard time," he said heavily, 
 and fell to staring at his boots. 
 
 She gave him a look troubled and sympathetic, 
 but pressed inquiry no further. 
 
 After a little he said, "Would you like to take a 
 walk?" 
 
 "I don't feel much like it this morning," sh^ de- 
 murred, i, •' 
 
 "A little way, then," he persisted. 
 
 "Very well," she conceded, and they set out 
 slowly, walking in silence. They had not proceeded 
 far when she paused. 
 
 "Let us sit here," she suggested, "under this 
 tree." 
 
 He seated himself without speaking and began 
 pulling blades of grass. Then he shot at her a sud- 
 den question: "Why did n't you tell me?" 
 
 "What?" she asked. 
 
 "That you were married." 
 
 "I thought you knew." 
 
 "How?" he asked. His voice was strained. 
 
 "You came with the Prescotts, and I have known 
 Edith Prescott since I was in school." 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 313 
 
 " She never told me. I suppose she thought I was 
 bullet proof." 
 
 "I am very sorry," she said softly. There were 
 tears in her eyes. 
 
 There is no curiosity so pitiless as that of Love. 
 
 "You must have known I cared," he asserted 
 presently. 
 
 "Forgive me," she said. "I did not realize how 
 much." 
 
 " But you care for me." 
 
 She did not reply, but flushed under his eyes. He 
 tried to wrest his answer from her. 
 
 "Don't you?" he challenged. 
 
 "You have no right to ask me," she said without 
 flinching. 
 
 " I must know," he insisted. 
 
 " I have no right to tell you." 
 
 "Would you come to me, if you were free?" 
 
 He flung it at her desperately, and thought he saw 
 a melting moment in her eyes. When she spoke it 
 was in entreaty. 
 
 "Won't you be a little kind to me?" 
 
 In that moment she disarmed him. 
 
 "I'll try," he said; and added with a rueful 
 smile: " I'm afraid, though, it will have to be from a 
 distance." 
 
 He rose as he spoke. 
 
 " I wonder," he asked, "if you will give me your 
 four-leaved clover?" 
 
 "With my heart's best wishes." 
 
314 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 He took it from her open palm and pressed it to 
 his lips. 
 
 "Thank you, dear. You don't mind my calling 
 you that once, do you?" 
 
 "No," she answered, and her voice was tender. 
 
 "Good-bye," he said, when they reached the 
 hotel. " I 'm off at noon." 
 
 Her eyes looked more than her lips would utter. 
 
 "I want you to know," she said gravely, "that 
 it has made me happier to know you." 
 
 "Thanks," he said huskily, and turned away 
 abruptly. Once he looked back. She was where 
 he had left her, following him with her eyes. 
 
 His exit from Kinteco was commonplace enough, 
 save in the hope that he left behind. But had he 
 left it behind? On the long journey to New York 
 he turned and twisted the all-important question. 
 Finally he abandoned it through sheer fatigue. 
 
 It grew dark, and from the flying landscape he 
 turned to the press. He thumbed the pages idly. 
 What was at the theater? This and that musical 
 comedy, the "great American drama," and so on. 
 And the Philharmonic was playing that night. He 
 noted the programme, mostly Wagner, winding up 
 with "The Dead March" from " Gotterdammer- 
 ung." Slansky conducted that in broad style. If 
 the train arrived on time, he might be able to 
 hear it. 
 
 The train entered the city and thundered on to 
 the station. Almost in the appointed minute the 
 
A RELUCTANT ADAM 315 
 
 giant engine came to rest with a long sigh. Strong 
 surrendered himself to the nearest taxi pirate. 
 
 "See how soon you can get to Carnegie," he said. 
 
 He arrived somewhat shaken but content. He 
 was in season for " Gotterdammerung." He sought 
 a seat in the gallery. The "March" would be better 
 where music was really loved. 
 
 When Slansky raised his baton he closed his eyes 
 and waited. Already in his heart something pres- 
 aged comfort, a crumb of peace. The thundering 
 chords swept round Siegfried's bier. He heard the 
 far tread of the mighty dead. Their footfalls were 
 quiet, yet they moved exultant. Captains of legions, 
 popes and kings, mighty heads that had worn the 
 crown. And there were those hedged about by the 
 divinity of genius, its seal upon their brow. Banners 
 gleamed in the sun and he heard afar the echoing call 
 of triumphant bugles. It was not Death this army 
 came to. It had found Life at last. 
 
 Still that vast harmony. It buoyed him as the 
 sea. Now there came from the hereafter those he 
 had lately feared. There was Kitty Engel, her plain 
 face strangely beautiful, and Eleanor, and Mrs. 
 Ormsby. They were as individual as in life, yet 
 related in the wonder of eternal peace. They did 
 not speak, but he read their eyes. What he saw 
 was not forgiveness, but love. 
 
 On and on went the march in superb solemnity. 
 When it died away. Strong knew what had been 
 sealed before. Love was service, the hope that 
 
3i6 A RELUCTANT ADAM 
 
 redeemed humanity. He felt inexpressibly tender. 
 There was no loneliness in solitude with this new 
 fragrance in his soul. 
 
 The rooms he had dreaded greeted him in each 
 familiar object. He sought to ward off sleep, it was 
 such precious peace. The next day found him still 
 armed with composure. There was no question 
 what to do. He must go about the business of life. 
 Only he first bought and dispatched a silver four- 
 leaved clover. 
 
 To the woman who had denied him his heart went 
 out in longing. But he felt no bitterness. He had 
 received a great gift. And with happiness comes 
 hope. 
 
 THE END 
 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
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THE POET 
 
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THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS 
 By Mary Roberts Rinehart 
 
 A story of two young lovers — students in far-away 
 Vienna — and their struggle with poverty and tempta- 
 tion. Incidentally, a graphic picture of life in the 
 war-worn city of the Hapsburgs. 
 
 From Letters to the Author: 
 
 " Fresh and clean and sweet — a story which makes 
 one feel the better for having read it and wish that he 
 could know all of your dear characters." — California. 
 
 "Little that has been written in the last decade has 
 given me such pleasure, and nothing has moved me to pen 
 to an author a word of praise until to-day." — Utah. 
 
 " ' The Street of Seven Stars ' will be read fifty years 
 from now, and will still be helping people to be braver and 
 better." — Mw York. 
 
 " It stands far above any recent fiction I have read." 
 — Massachusetts. 
 
 " Quite the best thing you have ever written." — Connec- 
 ticut. 
 
 $1.25 net. 
 
 HOUGHTON f^^ BOSTON 
 
 MIFFLIN i-^T\n\ ^^^ 
 
 COMPANY ^^^^ NEW YORK