Revelations of a Wife Part 16

"Well! well, Mrs. Graham, I suppose you are on your way to our shack.

Won't you give me the pleasure of riding with you?"

Hat in hand, black eyes dancing in malicious glee, I saw standing before me, Harry Underwood, of all people!

At that instant Jack came rus.h.i.+ng out of the restaurant and up to the taxi.

"It's no use, Margaret. They can't find them anywhere."

"Jack, I want you to meet Mr. Underwood, a friend of my husband's," I said hastily, hoping to save the situation. "Mr. Underwood, my cousin, Mr. Bickett."

The two men shook hands perfunctorily.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Bickett," Harry Underwood said, in his effusive manner. "Have you lost anything valuable? Can I help in any way?"

"Nothing of any consequence," I interrupted desperately.

"Oh, yes, I see, nothing of any consequence," he replied meaningly.

His eyes were fixed upon my ungloved left hand, which showed only too plainly the absence of my rings.

"But don't worry," he continued. "Your Uncle Dudley is first cousin to an oyster. Wish you luck. So long," and lifting his hat he strolled on up the avenue.

Jack was consulting his note-book. I heard him give the address of my apartment to the driver. "Drive slowly," he added.

"Who was that man?" he demanded sternly. "He is no one you ought to know."

"I know, Jack," I said faintly. "I dislike him, I even dread him, but he and his wife are old friends of d.i.c.ky's and I cannot avoid meeting him."

"He will make trouble for you some day," Jack returned. "I don't like him, but there is nothing I can do to help you. I've messed things enough now."

"What shall I do, Jack?" I wailed. All my vaunted self-reliance was gone. I felt like the most helpless perfect clinging vine in the world.

"We're going straight to your home to see your husband," he said.

"You will introduce me to him and then leave us. I shall explain everything to him."

"Oh, Jack," I said terrified, "he has such an uncertain temper, and, besides, he isn't at home. He was to take dinner at the Underwoods at 2 o'clock."

"Well, we must go there, then," returned Jack. "Put on your gloves, then the absence of the rings won't be noticed until I have a chance to explain about them."

I picked up the gloves and unfolded them. Something glittering rolled out of them and dropped into my lap.

"Oh, Jack, my rings!" I fairly shrieked. Then for the first time in my life I became hysterical, laughing and sobbing uncontrollably.

That night I told d.i.c.ky the whole story--not one word did I keep back from him--and when I came to the loss of my rings and the meeting with Harry Underwood, there developed a scene that I cannot even now bring myself to put down on paper. But at last d.i.c.ky managed to control himself enough to ask what I had told Harry Underwood.

"I told him that my rings had not been lost, that my gloves were too tight and that I had removed them to put on my gloves."

"Good!" d.i.c.ky's voice held a note of relenting. "That's one thing saved, any way. Wonder your conscience would let you tell that much of a lie."

His sneer aroused me. I had been speaking in a dreary monotone which typified my feeling. Now I faced him, indignant.

"See here, d.i.c.ky Graham, don't you imagine it would have been easier for me to lie about all this? I didn't need to tell you anything.

Another thing I want you to understand plainly and that is my reason for not telling Jack at first that I was married.

"If I had had a real brother, you would have thought it perfectly natural for me to have waited for his return before I married. Now, no brother in the world could have been kinder to me than was Jack Bickett. We were indebted to him for a thousand kindnesses, for a lifetime of devotion. I never should have married without first telling him about it. Do you wonder that realizing this I delayed in every way the story of my marriage until I could find a suitable opportunity? I give you my word of honor that I did not dream he cared, and I expect you to believe me."

I walked steadily toward the door of my bedroom. I had not reached it, however, before d.i.c.ky clasped me in his arms, and I felt his hot kisses on my face.

"I'm seventeen kinds of a jealous brute, I know, sweetheart," he whispered, "but the thought of that other man, who seems to mean so much to you, drives me mad. I'm selfish, I know, but I'm mad about you."

I put my arms around his neck. "Don't you know, foolish d.i.c.ky," I murmured, "that there's n.o.body else in the world for me but just you, you, you?"

XIII

"IF YOU AREN'T CROSS AND DISPLEASED"

Today my mother-in-law!

That was my thought when I awoke on the morning of the day which was to bring d.i.c.ky's mother to live with us.

I am afraid if I set down my exact thoughts I should have to admit that I had a distinct feeling of rebellion against the expected visit of d.i.c.ky's mother.

If it were only a visit! There was just the trouble. Then I could have welcomed my mother-in-law, entertained her royally, kept at top pitch all the time she was with us, guarded every word and action, and kept from her knowledge the fact that d.i.c.ky and I often quarrelled.

But d.i.c.ky's mother, as far as I could see, was to be a member of our household for the rest of her life. She herself had arranged it in a letter, the calm phrases of which still irritated me, as I recalled them. She had taken me so absolutely for granted, as though my opinion amounted to nothing, and only her wishes and those of her son counted.

But suddenly my cheeks flamed with shame. After all, this woman who was coming was my husband's mother, an old woman, frail, almost an invalid. I made up my mind to put away from me all the disagreeable features of her advent into my home, and to busy myself with plans for her comfort and happiness.

I hurried through my breakfast, for I wanted plenty of time for the last preparations before d.i.c.ky's mother should arrive. d.i.c.ky had gone to his studio for a while and then would go over to the station in time to meet her train, which was due at 11:30.

As I started to my room I heard the peal of the doorbell.

"I will answer it, Katie," I called back, and went quickly to the entrance. A special delivery postman stood there holding out a letter to me. As I signed his slip, I saw that the handwriting upon the letter was Jack's.

What could have happened? I dreaded inexpressibly some calamity.

Only something of the utmost importance, I knew, could have induced my brother-cousin to write to me. He was too careful of my welfare to excite d.i.c.ky's unreasoning jealousy by a letter, unless there was desperate need for it.

Finally, I sat down in an arm-chair by the window, and breaking the seal, drew out the letter.

"Dear Cousin Margaret:

"I have decided, suddenly, to go across the pond and get in the big mix-up. You perhaps remember that I have spoken to you frequently of my friend, Paul Caillard who has been with me in many a bit of ticklish work. He was with me in South America, and like me, heard of the war for the first time when he got out of the wilderness. He is a Frenchman, you know, and is going back to offer his services to the engineering corps."