Mary Roberts Rinehart
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BE
(Copyright, by McClure Publications, Inc.)
(Continued from last week.)
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—At her home in the Street,
Bidney Page agrees to marry Joe Drums
mond ‘“‘after years and years’ and talks
to K. Le Moyne, the new roomer,
CHAPTER I11-Sidney’s aunt Harriet
who has been dressmaking with Sidney’{
mother, launches an independent modiste’s
arlor. Sidney gets Dr. Ed Wilson’s in-
uence with his brother, Doctor Max, the
successful young surgeon, to place her ir
the hospital as a probationer nurse.
CHAPTER III-K. becomes acquaintec
in the Street. Sidney asks him to sta)
on as a roomer and explains her plans foi
Snancing her home while she is in the
school.
CHAPTER IV—Doctor Max gets Sidney
into the hospital school.
CHAPTER V—Sidney and K. spend ar
afternoon in the country. Sidney falls
into the river.
CHAPTER VI—-Max asks Carlotta Har.
rison, a probationer, to take a motor ride
with him. Joe finds Sidney and K. af
the country hotel, where Sidney is drying
her clothes, and is insanely jeaious.
CHAPTER VII—While Sidney and K
are dining on the terrace, Max and Car-
lotta appear. K. does not see them, but
for some reason seeing him disturbs Car-
lotta strangely.
CHAPTER VIII—Joe reproaches Sidney
She confides to K. that Joe knows now
she will not marry him.
CHAPTER IX—Sidney goes to training
school and at home relies more and more
on K. Max meets K, and recognizes him
as Edwardes, a brilliant young surgeon
who has been thought lost on the Titanic
K.’s losing cases lost him faith in him-
self and he quit and hid from the world
CHAPTER X—Carlotta fears. Sidney
Christine Lorenz and Palmer Howe are
married. The hard facts of her new life
puzzl. Sidney.
CHAPTER XI—Max continued his fiir.
tation with Carlotta, who beeomes jealous
of Sidney. K. coaches Max in his work,
but remains a clerk in the gas office.
CHAPTER XII—Palmer and Christine
move into rooms in Sidney’s home. Sid.
ney’'s mother dies. Palmer neglects Chris.
tine.
CHAPTER XIII—On a joy ride witk
Grace, a young girl, Palmer is hurt anc
Johnny, the chauffeur, seriously injured
CHAPTER XI1V—Sidney nurses Johnny.
Carlotta changes the medicine that Sid:
ney is to give him.
CHAPTER XV—Johnny nearly dies. K.
who has brought Johnny’s mother to him,
saves the boy and comforts Sidney. . _
Her world was in pieces about her,
and she felt alone in a wide and empty
place. And, because her nerves were
drawn taut until they were ready to
snap, Sidney turned on him shrew-
ishly.
“I think you are all afraid I will
eome back to stay. Nobody real
wants me anywhere—in all the world!
Not at the hospital, not here, not any
place. I am no use.”
“When you say that nobody wants
you,” said K., not very steadily, “I—I
think you are making a mistake.”
She scanned his face closely, and,
reading there something she did not
gndersiand, she colored suddenly.
“I believe you mean Joe Drum-
mond.”
“No; I do not mean Joe Drummond.”
If he had found any encouragement
in her face, he would have gone on
recklessly ; but her black eyes warned
him,
“If you mean Max Wilson,” said
Sidney, “You are entirely wrong. He's
not in love with me. Anyhow, after
this disgrace--" .
“There is no disgrace, child.”
“He’ll think me careless, at the
least. And his ideals are so high, K.”
“You say he likes to be with you.
What about you?”
Sidney had been sitting in a low
chair by the fire. She rose with a sud-
den passionate movement. In the in-
formality of the household, she had
visited K. in her dressing gown and
slippers; and now she stood before
him, a tragic young figure, clutching
the folds of her gown across her
breast.
“I worship him, K.,” she said tragi-
cally. “When I see him coming, I
want to get down and let him walk
on me. When I see him in the oper
ating room, cool and calm while ev-
eryone else is flustered and excited, he
—he looks like a god.” :
Then, half ashamed of her outburst,
she turned her back to him and stood
gazing at the small coal fire. It was
as well for K. that she did not see his
face.
“It’s real, all this?” he asked after
1 pause. “You're sure it’s not just—
zlamour, Sidney?”
“It's real—terribly real.” Her voice
was muffled, and he knew then that
she was crying.
She was mightily ashamed of it.
Tears, of course, except in the privacy
of one’s closet, were not ethical on the
street.
“Perhaps he cares very much, too.”
“Give me a handkerchief,” said Sid-
aey in a muffled tone, and the little
gecene was broken into while K,
searched through a bureau drawer,
Then K. questioned her, alternately
soothing and probing.
“Who else had access to the medi-
cine closet?”
“Carlotta Harrison carried the keys,
of course. I was off duty from four
to six. When Carlotta left the ward,
asked Sidney to marry him.
the probationer would have them.”
“Have you reason to think that ei-
ther one of these girls would wish
you harm?’
“None whatever,” began Sidney ve.
aemently ; and then, checking herself,
“‘unless—but that’s rather ridiculous.”
“What is ridiculous?”
“I've sometimes thought that Car-
lotta—but I am sure she is perfectly
fair with me.
It would be murder.
“Murder, of course,” said K., “in in
tention, anyhow. Of course she didn"
do it. I'm only trying to find out whose
mistake it was.”
Soon after that she said good-nigh'
and went out. She turned in the door
way and smiled tremulously back a:
him.
“You have done me a lot of good
You almost make me believe in my
self.”
“That's because I believe in you.”
With a quick movement that was
one of her charms, Sidney suddenly
closed the door and slipped back intc
the room. K., hearing the door close.
thought she had gone, and dropped
heavily into a chair.
“My best friend in all the world!”
said Sidney suddenly from behind him.
and, bending over, she kissed him on
the cheek.
The next instant the door had closed
behind her, and K. was left alone to
such wretchedness and bliss as the
evening brought him.
Joe Drummond enme to see Sidney
the next day. She would have avoid-
ed him if she could, but Mimi had
ushered him up to the sewing-room
boudoir before she had time ‘to es-
cape. She had not seen the boy for
two months, and the change in him
startled her. He was thinner, rather
hectic, scrupulously well dressed.
“Why, Joe!” she said, and then:
“Won't you sit down?”
He was still rather theatrical. He
dramatized himself, as he had that
night the June before when he had
He stood
just inside the doorway. He offered
no conventional greeting whatever;
but, after surveying her briefly, her
black gown, the lines around her eyes:
“You're not going back to that place,
of course?”
“I—I haven’t decided.”
He stared at her incredulously.
“You don’t mean that you are going
to stand for this sort of thing? Every
time some fool makes a mistake, are
they going to blame it on you?”
“Please don’t be theatrical.
in and sit down.
You explode
time.” :
Her matter-of-fact tone had its ef
fect. He advanced into the room, but
he still scorned a chair.
“I guess you’ve been wondering why
vou haven't heard from me,” he said,
“I've seen you more than you've seen
me,”
Sidney looked uneasy. The idea of
espionage is always repugnant, and tc
have a rejected lover always in the
offing, as it were, was disconcerting.
“I wish you would be just a little
bit sensible, Joe. It's so silly of you.
really. It’s not because you care for
me; it's really because you care for
yourself.”
“You can’t look at me and say that,
Sid.”
He ran his finger around his collar—
an old gesture; but the collar was very
loose. He was thin; his neck showed
it.
“I'm just eating my heart out for
vou, and that's the truth. And it isn’t
only that. Everywhere I go, people
say, “There's the fellow Sidney Page
turned down when she went into the
hospital” I've got so I keep” off the
Street as much as I can.”
Sidney was half alarmed, half irri-
tated. This wild, excited i,oy was not
the doggedly faithful youth she had
always known. It seemed to her that
underneath his quiet manner and care-
”
Come
I can’t talk to you if
iike a rocket all the
“I'm Just Eating My
You.”
Heart Out for
fully-repressed voice there
something irrational,
could not cope with. She looked up at
him helplessly.
“But what do you want me to do}
You—you almost frighten me.”
“You're going back?”
“Absolutely.”
“Because you love ihe hospital, or
because you love somebody connected
with the hospital?”
Sidney was thoroughly angry by this
time, angry and reckless. She had
lurked
something she
Why, K., she wouldn't! ;
come through so much that every
nerve was crying in passionate pro-
test.
“If it will make you understand
things any better,” she cried, “I am
going back for both reasons!”
She was sorry the next moment. But
her words seemed, surprisingly enough,
to steady him. For the first time, he
sat down.
“Then, as far as I am concerned
| it’s all over, is it?”
“Yes, Joe.
ago.”
He seemed hardly to be listening
His thoughts had ranged far ahead
Suddenly :—
“You think Christine has her hands
full with Palmer, don’t you? Well, if
you take Max Wilson, you're going tc
have more trouble than Christine ever
dreamed of. I can tell you some things
about him now that will make you
think twice.”
But Sidney had reached her limit
She went over and flung open the
door.
“Every word that you say shows me
how right I am in not marrying you
Joe,” she said. “Real men do nol
say those things about each other un
der any circumstances. You're be
having like a bad boy. I don’t want
you to
grown up.”
He was very white, but he picked
up his hat and went to the door.
“I guess I am crazy,” he said. “I've
been wanting to go away, but mother
raises such a fuss—I'll not annoy you
any more,”
He left her standing there and ran
down the stairs and out into the
street. At the foot of the steps he
almost collided with Doctor Id.
“Dack to see Sidney?” said Doctor
Ed genially. “That's fine, Joe. I'm
glad you've made it up.”
The boy went blindly down the
street.
CHAPTER XVII.
Winter relaxed its clutch slowly that
vear. March was bitterly cold; even
April found the roads still frozen and
the hedgerows clustered with ice. But
it midday there was spring in the air
in the courtyard of the hospital, con-
valescents sat on the benches and
watched for robins. The fountain,
which had frozen out, was being re-
paired, Here and there on ward win-
dow sills tulips opened their gaudy
petals to the sun.
Harriet had gone abroad for a flying
trip in March, and came back laden
with new ideas, model gowns, and
fresh enthusiasm. Grace Irving, hav-
ing made good during the white sales,
had been sent to the spring cottons.
She began to walk with her head high-
er. The day she sold Sidney material
for a simple white gown, she was very
happy. On Sidney, on K. and on
Christine the winter had left its mark
heavily. Christine, readjusting her
life to new conditions, was graver,
more thoughtful. She was alone most
of the time now. Under K.’s guidance,
she had given up the “Duchess” and
was reading real books. She was
thinking real thoughts, too, for the
first time in her life. :
Sidney, as tender as ever, had lost
a little of the radiance from her eyes;
her voice had deepened. Where she
had been a pretty girl, she was now
lovely. She was back in the hospital
again, this time in the children’s ward.
K., going in one day to take Johnny
Rosenfeld a basket of fruit, saw hei
there with a child in her arms, -and a
light in her eyes that he had never
seen before. It hurt him, rather—
things being as they were with him
When he came out he looked straight
ahead.
K. had fallen into the habit, after
his long walks, of dropping into Chris-
tine’s little parlor for a chat before he
went upstairs. Those early spring
days found Harriet Kennedy busy late
in the evenings, and, save for Christine
and K., the house was practically de-
serted.
The breach between Palmer and
I told you that long |
come back until you have,
Christine was steadily widening. She
was too proud to ask him to spend
more of his evenings with her. On
those occasions when he voluntarily
stayed at home with her, he was so
discontented that he drove her almost
to distraction. Although she was con-
vinced that he was seeing nothing of
the girl who had been with him the
night of the accident, she did not trust
him. Not that girl, perhaps, but there
were others. There would always be
others.
| Into Christine's little parlor, then,
K. turned, one spring evening. She
was reading by the lamp, and the door
into the hall stood open. The little
room always cheered K. Its warmth
and light appealed to his esthetic
sense; after the bareness of his bed-
room, it spelled luxury. And perhaps,
to be entirely frank, her evident pleas-
ure in his society gratified him. Chris-
tine’s small coquetries were not lost on
hin. The evenings with her did some-
thing to reinstate him in his own self-
esteem. It was subtle, psychological,
but alse it was very human.
“Come and sit down,” said Christine,
“Here's a chair, and here are ciga-
rettes and there are matches. Now!”
Behind him, Christine stood watch-
ing his head in the light of the desk
lamp. “What a strong, quiet face it
is,” she thought. Why did she get the
impression of such a tremendous re-
verve power in this man who was a
clerk, and a clerk only? Behind him
she made a quick, unconscious gesture
of appeal, both hands out for an in-
stant. She dropped them guiltily as
Ik. turned to her.
“I wonder if you know, K.,” she said,
“what a lucky woman the woman will
be who marries you?”
He laughed good-humoredly.
“lI wonder how leng I could hypno-
tize her into thinking that.”
“Ive had time to do a little think-
ing lately,” she said, without bitter-
ness. “Palmer is away so much now.
I've been looking back, wondering if 1
ever thought that about him. I don’t
believe I ever did. I wonder—"
She checked herself abruptly and
sat down. After a moment: “Has it
ever occurred to you how terribly
mixed up things are? ~~ Take this
Street, for instance. Can you think of
anybody on it that—that things have
gone entirely right with?”
“It’s a little world of its own, of
course,” said K,, “and it has plenty
of contact points with life. But wher:
ever one finds people, many or few,
one finds all the elements that make
up life—joy and sorrow, birth and
death, and even tragedy. That's rath
er trite, isn’t it?”
Christine was still pursuing het
thoughts.
“Men are different,” she said. “To
a certain extent they make their own
fates. But when you think of the
women on the Street—Harriet Ken-
nedy, Sidney Page, myself, even Mrs.
Rosenfeld back in the alley—some-
body else molds things for us, and all
we can do is to sit back and suffer.
I am beginning to think the world is
a terrible place, K. Why do people
so often marry the wrong people? Why
can’t a man care for one woman and
only one all his life? Why—why is it
all so complicated?”
“There are men who care for only
one woman all their lives.”
“You're that sort, aren’t you?”
“I don’t want to put myself on any
pinnacle. If I cared enough for a wom-
an to marry her, I'd hope to— But
we are being very tragic, Christine.”
“I feel tragic. There's going to be
another mistake, K, unless you stop
i”
He tried to leaven the conversation
with a little fun.
“If you're going to ask me to inter-
fere between Mrs. McKee and the
deaf-and-dumb book and insurance
agent, I shall do nothing of the sort.
She can both speak and hear enough
for both of them.”
“I mean Sidney and Max Wilson.
He's mad about her, K.; and, because
she’s the sort she is, he'll probably be
mad about her all hig life, even if he
(Continued on page 7, column 1.)
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