The Sherrods Part 27

He tried to speak, but could only reach up and clasp her hands in his.

"Can you guess, Jud, of whom I was thinking to-day?" she went on bravely.

"I--I can't guess," he said, with misgiving in his soul.

"I was thinking of Justine Van, that pretty girl down in the country.

Her face was as clear as if it were before me in reality. Do you know, Jud, I shall always see her as she appeared on that day at Proctor's Falls. She was so pretty and you were so handsome. I thought you were sweethearts, you remember. How embarra.s.sed you were, both of you, when I so foolishly told you that the money I paid for the picture was to be her wedding present. I believe I began to love you on that very day."

Her hands were still pressing his cheeks and her heart suddenly stood still and grew icy cold when something hot and wet trickled over the fingers. Without a word she drew away from him, and when he looked up through the mist of tears, she was pa.s.sing from the room, straight and still.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE NIGHT OUT.

The next morning she telephoned to Dougla.s.s Converse. In response to her somewhat exacting request, he presented himself at the Sherrod home in the late afternoon. Her manner had impressed him with the fear that something had gone wrong in the little household. They were still the best of friends and he was a frequent, informal visitor. Jud admired him immensely--no one could help liking this tall, good-looking, boyish fellow. In the old days Celeste had known his love for her, but after her marriage there had been no evidence, by word or deed, that she still lived uppermost in his affections. To Dougla.s.s Converse, she was the wife of his best friend.

He had seen, with increasing alarm, the change in Jud's manner and appearance. The anxious look in Celeste's eyes was but poorly concealed of late; he feared that all was not well with them. There was no mistaking Jud's att.i.tude toward the world and the genial friends of old. The newspaper men who had been his boon companions a few months before now saw nothing of him. He and Celeste rarely were seen in society, seldom at the theatres and cafes; it was as though they had dropped entirely away from the circle which had known them so well.

The excuse that he was busy in his studio was sufficient until even outsiders began to see the change in him. It was impossible to hide the haggardness in his face.

Converse, sitting opposite Celeste in the drawing-room, saw depression under the brave show of cheerfulness in her face. His mind was filled with the possibilities of the moment. Over the telephone she had said that she wanted to see him on a matter of considerable importance. His first unuttered query on entering the hall was: Where is Sherrod? He had expected a greeting from him on the moment of his arrival. Before the short visit was over, Converse was plying himself with scores of silent and unanswerable questions.

"Where is Jud?" he asked, after the first commonplaces.

"At work in the studio," she replied. He noticed the change of tone, but tried to look uninterested.

"He's working a trifle hard these days, isn't he?" he asked, casually.

Somehow, he felt relieved on hearing that Jud was at work. He discovered that he had feared--something, he could not define.

"What is he doing, Celeste?"

"Something for the Milwaukee people I was telling you about not long ago. They insist on having the paintings before the first of February."

"Before February? Why, that's--" But he checked the exhibition of surprise and went on with admirable enthusiasm--"That's a surprisingly nice order. It proves that he has made a hit and that the market for his work is immediate."

"But he is working too hard, Dougla.s.s," she cried, unreservedly. The look in his eyes changed instantly.

"I was afraid so," he said. Then, eager to dispel any feeling of hesitancy she might have, he broke out, bluntly: "You are very much disturbed about him, aren't you, Celeste? I know you are, but I think you should find some comfort in knowing that the work will soon be completed and you can both run away for a good rest."

"I can't help being worried," she said, in low tones, as though fearing her words might reach Jud's ear in the distant studio. "Dougla.s.s, I want to talk with you about Jud. You will understand, won't you? I wouldn't have asked you to come if it were not that I am very much distressed and need the advice and help of some one."

"Isn't it possible that you are needlessly alarmed?" he asked, earnestly. "I'm sure it can be nothing serious. You will laugh at your fears some day."

"I hope you are right. But it doesn't cheer me a bit to talk like that, Dougla.s.s. I am not deceiving myself. He is changed, oh, so greatly changed," she cried.

"You--you don't mean to say his--his love--" began Converse.

"There--there isn't any danger of--of _that_?" he subst.i.tuted.

"No, no! You don't understand me," she said, drearily. "He loves me as much as ever--I know he does. It isn't that. Dougla.s.s, we must get his mind off his work. He thinks of--of nothing else." She would have given anything for the courage to tell him what she had seen the day before. Her confidence in this tall friend was sufficient, but she could not acknowledge the pain and terror Jud's tears had brought to her.

"Well, it can't be for long. The work will soon be completed," urged he, knowing as he spoke how futile his words were.

"But it makes me so unhappy," she cried, with a woman's logic.

"Poor girl," he smiled. "Let the poor chap work in peace. It will come out all right. I know him. He's ambitious, indefatigable, eager.

His soul is in this work. Just now he is winning his spurs in a new line, and his mind, his heart is full of it. Can't you see it all?

Put yourself in his place, with his fine temperament, and see how intensely interested you would be. You would be just as much wrapped up in it as he--just as much enraptured, I might say. Brace up, dear girl; Jud can't help but turn out all right. He's bound to win."

"The trouble is--the trouble is--" She hesitated so long, staring with wide eyes at the grate fire, that he feared she would not continue--"His heart doesn't seem to be in the work at all."

"You mean----?"

"I mean, Dougla.s.s, that it is not ambition that inspires him just now.

There is something on his mind--something else. Oh, I don't know what it can be, but it is unmistakable. He is not the same--not the same in anything except his love for me."

Converse was silent for a long time, his eyes on her pale face, his mind busy with conjecture.

"I am glad to hear you say that, Celeste," he said at last, a deep sigh escaping involuntarily.

"He works feverishly," she went on, as though he had not spoken. "Of course, he is doing the work well. He never did anything badly. But I know he is positively driving himself, Dougla.s.s. There isn't anything like the old inspiration, nothing like the old love for the work."

"I see it all," he said, relief in his voice. "His heart is not in the work, simply because he is doing it for some one else and not for himself. They told him what they wanted and he is simply breaking his neck, Celeste, to get the job off his hands."

"But, listen to me, Dougla.s.s," she cried, in despair. "He told me they wanted five pictures--a series of studies from life. The series was to represent five periods in the life of a woman, beginning with childhood and ending in extreme old age. But, Dougla.s.s, dear, he is painting landscapes instead."

Converse bit his lip.

"You must have misunderstood him," he managed to say. She shook her head sadly.

"No; he was most precise in explaining the conditions to me the day after his return from Milwaukee. I remember that I was very much interested. The work, you know, upset our plan for going to Florida, and I was quite resentful at first. You can imagine my astonishment when I found that he was doing landscapes and not the figures the order calls for."

Converse was dumb in the face of this indisputable evidence. He could muster up no way to relieve her fears. There could be no rea.s.suring her after what she had seen and he wisely forebore.

"It was very strange," he said, finally. "He must have a reason for the change, and no doubt he has forgotten to speak to you about it."

"I wish I could believe that, Dougla.s.s," she sighed. "He likes you.

You can help me, if you will."

"With all my heart. Anything in the world, Celeste," he cried.

"Then get him away from his work as much as possible. He won't go out anywhere, you know. I've implored him to go out with me time and again. Dougla.s.s, can't you think of some way to--to get him away from himself?"

She was standing beside him, her hand clasping his as it rested on the arm of the chair. Converse looked up into the troubled eyes.

"Tell me what to do, Celeste, and I'll try," he said, earnestly.

"Make him go out with you--go out among the men he used to know and liked so well. I'm sure he likes them still. He'd enjoy being with them, don't you think? He seldom leaves his studio, much less the house. I want you to take him to luncheons and dinners--where the men are. It will get him out of himself, I know. Do, Dougla.s.s, do for my sake, make him forget his work. Take him back to the old life in the club, at the cafes--if only for a little while. Don't you understand?"