The Pit [171]
any one."
"Well--well, what else does Mrs. Court say?"
"'I am glad to hear,'" read Laura, "'that Mr. Gretry did not fail, though Landry tells me he must have lost a great deal of money. Landry tells me that eighteen brokers' houses failed in Chicago the day after Mr. Gretry suspended. Isabel sent us a wedding present--a lovely medicine chest full of homoeopathic medicines, little pills and things, you know. But, as Landry and I are never sick and both laugh at homoeopathy, I declare I don't know just what we will do with it. Landry is as careful of me as though I were a wax doll. But I do wish he would think more of his own health. He never will wear his mackintosh in rainy weather. I've been studying his tastes so carefully. He likes French light opera better than English, and bright colours in his cravats, and he simply adores stuffed tomatoes.
"'We both send our love, and Landry especially wants to be remembered to Mr. Jadwin. I hope this letter will come in time for us to wish you both _bon voyage_ and _bon succes._ How splendid of Mr. Jadwin to have started his new business even while he was convalescent! Landry says he knows he will make two or three more fortunes in the next few years.
"'Good-by, Laura, dear. Ever your loving sister,
"'PAGE COURT.
"'P.S.--I open this letter again to tell you that we met Mr. Corthell on the street yesterday. He sails for Europe to-day.'"
"Oh," said Jadwin, as Laura put the letter quickly down, "Corthell--that artist chap. By the way, whatever became of him?"
Laura settled a comb in the back of her hair.
"He went away," she said. "You remember--I told you-- told you all about it."
She would have turned away her head, but he laid a hand upon her shoulder.
"I remember," he answered, looking squarely into her eyes, "I remember nothing--only that I have been to blame for everything. I told you once--long ago--that I _understood._ And I understand now, old girl, understand as I never did before. I fancy we both have been living according to a wrong notion of things. We started right when we were first married, but I worked away from it somehow and pulled you along with me. But we've both been through a great big change, honey, a great big change, and we're starting all over again.... Well, there's the carriage, I guess."
They rose, gathering up their valises.
"Hoh!" said Jadwin. "No servants now, Laura, to carry our things down for us and open the door, and it's a hack, old girl, instead of the victoria or coupe."
"What if it is?" she cried. "What do 'things,' servants, money, and all amount to now?"
As Jadwin laid his hand upon the knob of the front door, he all at once put down his valise and put his arm about his wife. She caught him about the neck and looked deep into his eyes a long moment. And then, without speaking, they kissed each other.
In the outer vestibule, he raised the umbrella and held it over her head.
"Hold it a minute, will you, Laura?" he said.
He gave it into her hand and swung the door of the house shut behind him. The noise woke a hollow echo throughout all the series of empty, denuded rooms. Jadwin slipped the key in his pocket.
"Come," he said.
They stepped out from the vestibule. It was already dark. The rain was falling in gentle slants through the odorous, cool air. Across the street in the park the first leaves were beginning to fall; the lake lapped and washed quietly against the stone embankments and a belated bicyclist stole past across the asphalt, with the silent flitting of a bat, his lamp throwing a fan of orange-coloured haze into the mist of rain.
In the street in front of the house the driver, descending from the box, held open the door of the hack. Jadwin handed Laura in, gave an address to the driver, and got in himself, slamming the door after. They heard the driver mount to his seat and speak to his horses.
"Well," said Jadwin, rubbing the fog from the window pane of the door, "look your last at the old place, Laura. You'll never see it again."
But she
"Well--well, what else does Mrs. Court say?"
"'I am glad to hear,'" read Laura, "'that Mr. Gretry did not fail, though Landry tells me he must have lost a great deal of money. Landry tells me that eighteen brokers' houses failed in Chicago the day after Mr. Gretry suspended. Isabel sent us a wedding present--a lovely medicine chest full of homoeopathic medicines, little pills and things, you know. But, as Landry and I are never sick and both laugh at homoeopathy, I declare I don't know just what we will do with it. Landry is as careful of me as though I were a wax doll. But I do wish he would think more of his own health. He never will wear his mackintosh in rainy weather. I've been studying his tastes so carefully. He likes French light opera better than English, and bright colours in his cravats, and he simply adores stuffed tomatoes.
"'We both send our love, and Landry especially wants to be remembered to Mr. Jadwin. I hope this letter will come in time for us to wish you both _bon voyage_ and _bon succes._ How splendid of Mr. Jadwin to have started his new business even while he was convalescent! Landry says he knows he will make two or three more fortunes in the next few years.
"'Good-by, Laura, dear. Ever your loving sister,
"'PAGE COURT.
"'P.S.--I open this letter again to tell you that we met Mr. Corthell on the street yesterday. He sails for Europe to-day.'"
"Oh," said Jadwin, as Laura put the letter quickly down, "Corthell--that artist chap. By the way, whatever became of him?"
Laura settled a comb in the back of her hair.
"He went away," she said. "You remember--I told you-- told you all about it."
She would have turned away her head, but he laid a hand upon her shoulder.
"I remember," he answered, looking squarely into her eyes, "I remember nothing--only that I have been to blame for everything. I told you once--long ago--that I _understood._ And I understand now, old girl, understand as I never did before. I fancy we both have been living according to a wrong notion of things. We started right when we were first married, but I worked away from it somehow and pulled you along with me. But we've both been through a great big change, honey, a great big change, and we're starting all over again.... Well, there's the carriage, I guess."
They rose, gathering up their valises.
"Hoh!" said Jadwin. "No servants now, Laura, to carry our things down for us and open the door, and it's a hack, old girl, instead of the victoria or coupe."
"What if it is?" she cried. "What do 'things,' servants, money, and all amount to now?"
As Jadwin laid his hand upon the knob of the front door, he all at once put down his valise and put his arm about his wife. She caught him about the neck and looked deep into his eyes a long moment. And then, without speaking, they kissed each other.
In the outer vestibule, he raised the umbrella and held it over her head.
"Hold it a minute, will you, Laura?" he said.
He gave it into her hand and swung the door of the house shut behind him. The noise woke a hollow echo throughout all the series of empty, denuded rooms. Jadwin slipped the key in his pocket.
"Come," he said.
They stepped out from the vestibule. It was already dark. The rain was falling in gentle slants through the odorous, cool air. Across the street in the park the first leaves were beginning to fall; the lake lapped and washed quietly against the stone embankments and a belated bicyclist stole past across the asphalt, with the silent flitting of a bat, his lamp throwing a fan of orange-coloured haze into the mist of rain.
In the street in front of the house the driver, descending from the box, held open the door of the hack. Jadwin handed Laura in, gave an address to the driver, and got in himself, slamming the door after. They heard the driver mount to his seat and speak to his horses.
"Well," said Jadwin, rubbing the fog from the window pane of the door, "look your last at the old place, Laura. You'll never see it again."
But she