The Pit [67]
the floor to sort them carefully. At her little desk near by, Page, in a blue and white shirt waist and golf skirt, her slim little ankles demurely crossed, a cone of foolscap over her forearm to guard against ink spots, was writing in her journal. This was an interminable affair, voluminous, complex, that the young girl had kept ever since she was fifteen. She wrote in it--she hardly knew what--the small doings of the previous day, her comings and goings, accounts of dances, estimates of new acquaintances. But besides this she filled page after page with "impressions," "outpourings," queer little speculations about her soul, quotations from poets, solemn criticisms of new novels, or as often as not mere purposeless meanderings of words, exclamatory, rhapsodic--involved lucubrations quite meaningless and futile, but which at times she re-read with vague thrills of emotion and mystery.
On this occasion Page wrote rapidly and steadily for a few moments after Laura's entrance into the room. Then she paused, her eyes growing wide and thoughtful. She wrote another line and paused again. Seated on the floor, her hands full of gloves, Laura was murmuring to herself.
"Those are good ... and those, and the black suedes make eight.... And if I could only find the mate to this white one.... Ah, here it is. That makes nine, nine pair."
She put the gloves aside, and turning to the stockings drew one of the silk ones over her arm, and spread out her fingers in the foot.
"Oh, dear," she whispered, "there's a thread started, and now it will simply run the whole length...."
Page's scratching paused again.
"Laura," she asked dreamily, "Laura, how do you spell 'abysmal'?"
"With a y, honey," answered Laura, careful not to smile.
"Oh, Laura," asked Page, "do you ever get very, very sad without knowing why?"
"No, indeed," answered her sister, as she peeled the stocking from her arm. "When I'm sad I know just the reason, you may be sure."
Page sighed again.
"Oh, I don't know," she murmured indefinitely. "I lie awake at night sometimes and wish I were dead."
"You mustn't get morbid, honey," answered her older sister calmly. "It isn't natural for a young healthy little body like you to have such gloomy notions."
"Last night," continued Page, "I got up out of bed and sat by the window a long time. And everything was so still and beautiful, and the moonlight and all--and I said right out loud to myself,
"My breath to Heaven in vapour goes----
You know those lines from Tennyson:
"My breath to Heaven in vapour goes, May my soul follow soon."
I said it right out loud just like that, and it was just as though something in me had spoken. I got my journal and wrote down, 'Yet in a few days, and thee, the all-beholding sun shall see no more.' It's from Thanatopsis, you know, and I thought how beautiful it would be to leave all this world, and soar and soar, right up to higher planes and be at peace. Laura, dearest, do you think I ever ought to marry?"
"Why not, girlie? Why shouldn't you marry. Of course you'll marry some day, if you find----"
"I should like to be a nun," Page interrupted, shaking her head, mournfully.
"----if you find the man who loves you," continued Laura, "and whom you--you admire and respect--whom you love. What would you say, honey, if--if your sister, if I should be married some of these days?"
Page wheeled about in her chair.
"Oh, Laura, tell me," she cried, "are you joking? Are you going to be married? Who to? I hadn't an idea, but I thought--I suspected"
"Well," observed Laura, slowly, "I might as well tell you--some one will if I don't--Mr. Jadwin _wants_ me to marry him."
"And what did you say? What did you say? Oh, I'll never tell. Oh, Laura, tell me all about it."
"Well, why shouldn't I marry him? Yes--I promised. I said yes. Why shouldn't I? He loves me, and he is rich. Isn't that enough?"
"Oh, no. It isn't. You must love--you do love him?"
"I? Love? Pooh!" cried Laura. "Indeed not. I love
On this occasion Page wrote rapidly and steadily for a few moments after Laura's entrance into the room. Then she paused, her eyes growing wide and thoughtful. She wrote another line and paused again. Seated on the floor, her hands full of gloves, Laura was murmuring to herself.
"Those are good ... and those, and the black suedes make eight.... And if I could only find the mate to this white one.... Ah, here it is. That makes nine, nine pair."
She put the gloves aside, and turning to the stockings drew one of the silk ones over her arm, and spread out her fingers in the foot.
"Oh, dear," she whispered, "there's a thread started, and now it will simply run the whole length...."
Page's scratching paused again.
"Laura," she asked dreamily, "Laura, how do you spell 'abysmal'?"
"With a y, honey," answered Laura, careful not to smile.
"Oh, Laura," asked Page, "do you ever get very, very sad without knowing why?"
"No, indeed," answered her sister, as she peeled the stocking from her arm. "When I'm sad I know just the reason, you may be sure."
Page sighed again.
"Oh, I don't know," she murmured indefinitely. "I lie awake at night sometimes and wish I were dead."
"You mustn't get morbid, honey," answered her older sister calmly. "It isn't natural for a young healthy little body like you to have such gloomy notions."
"Last night," continued Page, "I got up out of bed and sat by the window a long time. And everything was so still and beautiful, and the moonlight and all--and I said right out loud to myself,
"My breath to Heaven in vapour goes----
You know those lines from Tennyson:
"My breath to Heaven in vapour goes, May my soul follow soon."
I said it right out loud just like that, and it was just as though something in me had spoken. I got my journal and wrote down, 'Yet in a few days, and thee, the all-beholding sun shall see no more.' It's from Thanatopsis, you know, and I thought how beautiful it would be to leave all this world, and soar and soar, right up to higher planes and be at peace. Laura, dearest, do you think I ever ought to marry?"
"Why not, girlie? Why shouldn't you marry. Of course you'll marry some day, if you find----"
"I should like to be a nun," Page interrupted, shaking her head, mournfully.
"----if you find the man who loves you," continued Laura, "and whom you--you admire and respect--whom you love. What would you say, honey, if--if your sister, if I should be married some of these days?"
Page wheeled about in her chair.
"Oh, Laura, tell me," she cried, "are you joking? Are you going to be married? Who to? I hadn't an idea, but I thought--I suspected"
"Well," observed Laura, slowly, "I might as well tell you--some one will if I don't--Mr. Jadwin _wants_ me to marry him."
"And what did you say? What did you say? Oh, I'll never tell. Oh, Laura, tell me all about it."
"Well, why shouldn't I marry him? Yes--I promised. I said yes. Why shouldn't I? He loves me, and he is rich. Isn't that enough?"
"Oh, no. It isn't. You must love--you do love him?"
"I? Love? Pooh!" cried Laura. "Indeed not. I love