“Oh, but it’s true! Jon hasn’t any imagination, either.”
Jenny said nothing. She looked down at her hands. Harald laughed gently. “The only perceptive people in our family, Jenny, are my mother and myself. Jon’s idea of something interesting and beautiful is a corpse.” He laughed again. “He never appreciated Mavis’ beauty, for instance, and never understood her at all.”
“There was never anything to understand,” said Jenny with her old bluntness. “I knew that even when I was very young, four years ago. It was Jon’s trouble that he thought she had —had—well, other things that weren’t obvious. But she didn’t have anything that wasn’t obvious. She was what Mavis was.”
Harald was astounded. He was not sure that he liked this acute Jenny.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Jenny actually became quite animated. “Mavis was very simple, really. She wanted just what kittens want, food, play, amusement, sleep, fun, a soft place to curl, petting, pampering, and what used to be called ‘cosseting.’ Admiration, strokings. And to give nothing in return. And to fight for her luxuries, which she felt were deserved.”
Harald pondered this, narrowing his eyes on this Jenny he had never recognized before. He knew that what she had said was quite true. He only disliked it that Jenny had not been deceived by Mavis.
“Mavis hated anyone who wouldn’t indulge her or who expected anything real and human from her,” Jenny went on.
How true, thought Harald. But how beautiful she was! He said, “I’m surprised at you, Jenny. You’re being uncharitable.”
“No,” said Jenny, with a return of her old earnestness. “I’m just telling the truth, which Jon found out eventually.”
“How do you know he found that out?”
Jenny looked away. “I just know.”
“He treated Mavis abominably.”
Jenny swung the profound blue of her eyes to him again. “How do you know? Did she tell you?”
Harald became immobile in his chair, but his hands tightened on the arms.
“I knew,” said Jenny, “that you were with her often.”
“How did you know, Jenny?” He was terribly alarmed and now he sat up.
“I saw both of you along the river at night, talking.”
Harald inhaled slowly and carefully. His fingers twitched on the arms of the chair. Then he said, watching Jenny, “She had to have someone to confide in. And I was sympathetic.”
“I suppose so,” said Jenny, and one look at her ingenuous face convinced him that there was no danger to him in this girl. “It was very sad, all around,” said Jenny. “But I am more sad for Jon.”
Harald took out his scented handkerchief and carefully wiped his forehead. He said, “Mavis, though perhaps you won’t believe it, had a great interest in art.”
“That’s nice,” said Jenny with indifference. She had already dismissed Mavis. “But you wanted to talk to me about something, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Harald pulled himself out of his fear. It had struck across the sunlit terrace like the shadow of a black and avenging wing, but now it was gone. He leaned toward Jenny, his hands clasped between his knees, his smile charming and winsome. Then he became serious.
“Jenny, you never used to believe it when I told you
I
wanted to marry you.”
She stiffened. Her face became cold and distant.
“Jenny, it usually isn’t considered an insult when a man declares his love for a woman!”
“I—
I
suppose not.” She shifted to the very edge of the chair.
“Don’t you believe me?”
It was ludicrous, but she was considering, her thoughts going back to the past. Harald found himself smiling again. Jenny was embarrassed, and the faintest flush rose in her pale smooth cheeks. “I believe you. Now,” she said. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about it.”
“Why not? It’s the most important thing to me, Jenny, and it doesn’t concern money.”
“No. No. It doesn’t concern money,” said Jenny. Her color brightened. “I’m sorry I ever thought that.”
“Well, Jenny? What do you say now?”
She looked at the tangled fingers on her lap, and she was distressed.
“I—I can’t think of you like that.”
“Because of your mother?”
“No. It—is something else.”
“Jenny, I’ve noticed that that young doctor has rowed over here to see you occasionally. Jon’s replacement. You aren’t taking him seriously, are you?”
“He’s very kind,” Jenny was miserable.
“And very puerile.” Harald spoke indulgently.
“You’re wrong,” said Jenny with some heat. “Kindness doesn’t mean you’re a fool. I like to talk to him. He doesn’t have—hidden—places. He’s honest. I like his company. We like the same things.”
“Enough to marry him?”
Jenny said nothing. Her appearance was wretched. Then when she saw that Harald was waiting, smiling, for her answer, she said, “I haven’t thought of marrying him.”
“Well, that’s encouraging. So, Jenny, what is your objection to me?”
“I told you. I can’t think of you like that.” She stood up, and looked desperate. “You mustn’t ask me. Never again.
I
could never marry you, Harald.”
He stood up, too. “Jenny, would you at least think about it, in justice to me?”
She looked about her as if searching for some hiding place. “I can’t think about it.”
“But there’s no one else. Jenny, I understand you. I’ve loved you for a long time. We could be very happy together.”
“You’ll have to excuse me!” cried Jenny, and before he could say anything else, she had run off in her old manner. He watched her flying away down the stairs of the terrace into the gardens. He felt some encouragement. At least she had not rejected him outright, and she had shown considerable confusion and distress. That must mean something. A man who disturbed a woman and sent her flying off had a lot in his favor. Moreover she pitied him because she had wronged him in her thoughts, and pity was first cousin to love.
When Howard Best entered the large office of Dr. Louis Hedler at St. Hilda’s Hospital, he found not only the doctor there but Father McNulty. They all shook hands, and Howard sat down. He saw that Louis was very grave and that his large froglike eyes gleamed with consternation. Louis said, “Thanks for coming, Howard. I know it’s late; right at dinnertime. But I wanted you and Father McNulty here when the hospital isn’t teeming as usual, and the corridors rushing, and too much curiosity aroused. This is a very serious and private matter. Private,” he emphasized, looking from one to the other slowly and pointedly.
“You can rely on my discretion,” said the priest, his golden eyes quietly alarmed.
“Yes. And you, Howard?”
“Give me a dollar,” said Howard, smiling. Dr. Hedler stared a moment, then took out his billfold, extracted a dollar bill from it and laid it before Howard, who said, “I am a lawyer. You have just given me a retainer. So anything you say to me and anything I hear in this room is completely private and confidential.” His kind boyish face stopped smiling. He put the bill in his pocket and settled his rangy body in the leather chair. He could see the shimmering mountains in the distance, deepening slowly to purple in the evening sky. The weather was still very hot though it was the latter part of August.
“Howard,” said Louis, “you were Jon Ferrier’s lawyer, weren’t you?”
“Yes. Here in Hambledon. I was the one who moved for a change of venue, as you know, and it was granted, considering the atmosphere in this town against Jon. Then I got it moved to Philadelphia and found the best lawyers for Jon there.” His face became as grave as Louis’. “Why, Louis?”
Dr. Hedler looked down at a thick folder on his desk. He sighed. He rubbed his eyes and stared through the windows, and his ringer tapped the folder. “There is one thing,” he said, “Jon can’t be tried for the same alleged crime, can he? Double jeopardy.”
Howard sat up alertly. “No, he can’t. What the hell is this, Louis?”
Louis said, “But it would ruin Jon, wouldn’t it, if fresh evidence were unearthed that he had really ‘bungled’ the abortion on Mavis—perhaps deliberately so—and killed her and his unborn child? It could result in the revocation of his license to practice anywhere?”
“I suppose so,” said Howard, and now he was as alarmed as the doctor. “You know more about that part than I do, though. Come on, Louis! Tell me.”
“Let me begin at the beginning,” said Louis, wiping his face with his handkerchief. He lit a cigar and Howard saw that his hands were shaking slightly. He opened the folder and stared at it grimly, nodding his head from time to time. “It begins with Kent Campion.”
Now the quiet priest sat up very straight in his own chair and both he and Howard fixed their eyes on the doctor.
“Jon,” said Louis, “made a very bad error when he began to oppose ambitious politicians in Washington a couple of years ago. He joined the Anti-Imperialist League founded by George S. Boutwell, former Senator from Massachusetts, former Secretary of the Treasury under Grant. I remember that Boutwell said, ‘Our war to free Cuba must not be turned into wars for empire. If America ever does seek empire, and most nations do, then planned reforms in our domestic life will be abandoned, states’ rights will be abolished—in order to impose a centralized government upon us for the purpose of internal repudiation of freedom, and adventures abroad. The American dream will then die—on battlefields all over the world—and a nation conceived in liberty will destroy liberty for Americans and impose tyranny on subject nations.’ Boutwell also said, if I am repeating him correctly, and he quoted Thoreau: ‘If I knew a man was approaching my house to do me good, I would flee for my life.’ Then he went on to say, ‘Every ambitious would-be empire clarions it abroad that she is conquering the world to bring it peace, security and freedom, and is sacrificing her sons only for the most noble and humanitarian purposes. That is a lie, and it is an ancient lie, yet generations still rise and believe it!’”
Howard hesitated. He rubbed his long jaw. Then he said,
“I belong to the Anti-Imperialist League, too. I joined when that scoundrel lawyer, Albert Beveridge, now a Senator from Indiana, shouted that ‘Who dares to stop America now, now when we are at last one people, strong enough for any task, great enough for any glory destiny can bestow?’ He also yelled, ‘Our dream is the dream of American expansion until all the seas and nations shall bloom with that flower of liberty —the flag of the United States of America!’ He wasn’t the only one, Louis. He even had the antiwar Populists applauding him! Yes. So, I joined the League. I didn’t know Jon was
a
member, though.”
“It seems,” said Louis with a wry smile, “that not only did he join but he gave thousands of dollars to it and wrote little anonymous leaflets for it. Campion found out. He’s hated Jon ever since. Calls him un-American, antipatriotic, antidestiny, and such. Even a traitor. Yet I understand that all the League wants is peace at home and abroad, and needed social reforms put into practice, so as to end, justly, the war between labor and capital, assure the soundness of our currency, abolish unjust taxation, advance the cause of the American Negro and the Indians in the West, outlaw child labor, and punish and banish from office all corrupt politicians. I am quoting your League, of course.”
“Those are our objectives,” said Howard, “and very decent and worthy ones.”
“Yes. But that doesn’t help Jon. He made
a
terrible enemy of the empire-loving Campion and his fellows, though he doesn’t know. I also think there is something else—personal. Campion has complained that Jon induced his son to leave his seminary and ‘flee abroad to some disreputable place where
a
father cannot reach, comfort and sustain him.’”
The priest uttered an exclamation of anger. “That is most untrue, Doctor! I hope I am not violating a confidence—well, even if I am—but Jon saved young Francis Campion’s life!
I
know where Francis is. He could assure you of the truth, and not lies.”
“Then,” said Louis, “get him. Bring him back as soon as possible.”
The priest said, “He is in France.
I
will cable him tonight.”
Louis sighed. “At the best, he will be able to return in ten days. Send for him, Father. Tonight.”
“I will do even more than that,” said the priest.
“I
will explain, in my cable, why it is needed that Francis not only return at once, but that he send me a cable refuting the—er— errors of his father. That should arrive in less than four days after my cable is sent.” His young face was greatly disturbed.
Howard, equally disturbed, said, “What is all this, Louis? Why is this necessary?”
Louis looked down at the folder. “I am endeavoring to lay the foundation for what I must tell you.” He folded his arms on his desk and held Howard’s eyes.
“Jon has always been a contentious man, and controversial, in Hambledon, even from boyhood. We all know that. Even worse, he was always honest.” He gave his guests a rueful glance. “There were times when I could have smote Jon thankfully. There were times when I accused him of practically everything. He has no tact, no diplomacy. Unfortunately, too, he is usually right, and that’s unpardonable, isn’t it? You will remember little Martha, Howard.”