MATCHED PEARLS (20 page)

Presently she found herself to her own amazement telling the way of salvation just as Seagrave had told it, unconsciously using his very words, and her little audience of two hanging on her story, drinking it in, wiping their flowing tears away, relaxing just a little the agony and tension in their faces.

She hurried on to the end, telling of the light that dawned in Doris’s eyes at the last, of her surrender and prayer, and then of her last words, “Now I can go. Good-bye!” And she described the peace in Doris’s face, earnestly, tenderly, with a vividness that carried blessed conviction to the hearts of her eager listeners.

When she had finished, it was very still in the room save for the soft sobbing of Doris’s mother. Constance sat there embarrassed at what she had done. She realized that the story she had told had not been of her own will. Something outside of herself had carried her along, passing on the story to those who needed it so greatly. She would not have chosen to tell it. She was half frightened that she had. A great shyness was descending upon her, and to add to it she suddenly heard a book drop to the floor in the library just behind the heavy curtains that shut it away from the living room. Was someone in there? Who could it be? Her mother had gone out on an errand. Her grandmother was up in her own room she was sure, for she was not feeling well this morning. Frank, of course, was away on his own pursuits, and her father was in the city. It must have been a maid, of course, but now that she had come down to earth again and realized how strange any member of her family would think it for her to be talking of such solemn things, she felt most uncomfortable.

Suddenly Doris’s mother arose and came over to her, putting both her arms around her and, stooping, kissed her on the forehead.

“My dear,” she said softly, “I cannot thank you enough! What you have told me has greatly comforted me. I did not know my daughter was interested in religious things. That is what has worried me ever since the news came. You see, I was brought up in a church, and I’ve always been troubled that Doris wasn’t interested in it. But I should have been so much better satisfied if I had known that she had a Christian roommate.”

“Oh,” said Constance, raising a protesting hand, “you don’t understand! It wasn’t I who did anything—”

And Constance felt the mantle of hypocrisy drop down upon her shoulders once more. Ever since that awful day when she had joined the church for a string of pearls, people would persist in believing her better than she was. It was like a curse upon her. Her eyes filled with despairing tears. And Doris’s mother went right on in spite of her protest.

“My dear, don’t say a thing. I understand. Of course the young man you sent for was marvelous, and I am deeply grateful to him, always shall be, but it was you really who was the comfort to her. She must have known what a Christian you were or she would never have asked you to help her in her distress. It is the daily life that counts, you know, my dear, and I’m sure she loved and honored you. She often wrote about you. She loved you very much. Oh, Miss Courtland, you have been wonderful to my darling!
Wonderful!
“

But Constance rose now in deep distress. “Oh, please don’t say that,” she protested. “I’m not—anything at all. I never have been much of a Christian! I—You—You
don’t
understand. I don’t want to pose as something I am not.”

“It’s quite all right, my dear,” said the sorrowing mother. “You are very sweetly humble about it, but I thank God that my child had a Christian roommate and that she knew what to do for my darling when she was dying!” And the mother buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed quietly.

Then up rose the father.

“I’m not able to express my deep gratitude,” he said huskily. “I’ve never been much of a Christian myself, but my mother was one, and I’m glad my little girl died believing. I can’t thank you enough for having given us this blessed picture of Doris’s last moments. I, too, thank God that you are a Christian. You know, nobody but a truly consecrated person could have told that story in just that way. It has comforted us greatly. I don’t know how to talk about religious matters very well. I’m just a plain man of the world. But when I see a real Christian like you I bow before her, and I cannot express my thanks as I would like for what you did for our little girl.”

It was of no use to make further protest. They would not listen. They insisted that Constance was an angel of light, a wonderful young woman, the most wonderful Christian they had ever met!

When they took themselves away at last, Constance stood in the doorway and watched them drive off with a terrible sinking in her heart. Here she was a hypocrite again, posing as a great Christian, when she knew she was nothing in the world but a great sinner! Oh, what should she do? How should she get out from under this awful weight of spirituality that everybody seemed determined to put upon her? It was getting more than she could bear. She felt as if she must run away from home and from everybody she ever knew. She must get away from a reputation that she could not live up to. How could she have known that that one little act of standing up before a congregation and lightly taking vows upon her lips was going to have such wide-reaching consequences?

She remembered once reading a story in history of a prince who posed as a pauper and a pauper who took the prince’s place for a time, and when they tried to go back to their own lives they found they could not make people believe they were their true selves. Constance felt that her own case was similar. Everybody would persist in thinking her a saint. How should she make them understand that she was not? Would it be necessary for her to do some terrible deed, some wild, disreputable thing before she could make them understand?

Then suddenly she sensed that there was someone else standing near her in the hall, and turning quickly she saw her brother just behind her, a sweet, solemn look upon his face.

“Say, Connie, you’re great!” he said with a fervency she had never heard in his voice before, at least not when speaking of herself. “I hope you won’t think I was eavesdropping. I was in the library all the time, and I couldn’t very well get out without letting everybody know I had heard. You see somebody had locked the door into the back passageway, and there wasn’t any way to get out without going through the living room. I was in there drawing an outline for Dillie of where we had planted each kind of flower so she could have it to keep, and when those folks came I thought they had only come to call for a minute, so I just kept still and went on working. Then when you began to tell all about that accident it was too late to get out.”

Constance’s cheeks flamed crimson. So Frank had heard her all the way through!

“Oh, that’s all right, it was nothing.” She tried to laugh and failed utterly. “I had to do all I could to help the poor things.” She endeavored to make her voice sound casual but failed in that also. There was the sound of a sob in her throat.

“You poor kid!” said her brother, deep sympathy in his eyes. “I didn’t know you had to go through all that. But I just think it was great how you were such a good sport and stayed beside your roommate. I thought it was awfully fine of you to know what to do and to keep reading that Bible verse to her. I’m afraid I’d have skipped out! Connie, I didn’t know you had it in you to talk to people like that. I’ve always been thinking you were just a crazy kid, interested in the fellows and never thought about religion. But I’ve gotta hand it to you, and I guess I owe you an apology. I always supposed you just joined church ta get those pearls of Grand’s, but I see I was wrong and I’m sorry about all the things I said, kid. You’re the real thing and no mistake!”

“Oh, Frank, don’t!” said Constance, shivering. “I’m not. I’m just a sinner and a hypocrite! I’m so ashamed!”

Her face was red with shame and her eyes were filled with tears. She bowed her head and covered her face with her hands.

Suddenly Frank, half-shamefaced, laid his hand on her head.

“You’re a great kid!” he said solemnly. “I respect you, Connie. I mean it. I honestly do. I guess maybe religion is a good thing. I never thought about dying before, but you need it when you come to die, don’t you? Maybe I’ll get me some someday, too. I never thought religion had much to do with men before. I thought a guy that was religious was a sis, but if that man Seagrave is like that, I’m for it. He’s a great guy. Say, wasn’t that great of him to come up there and help you, and it was just the night before he had ta sail, did you know that? He musta been all kinds of busy.”

Constance lifted her head at that.

“The night before he sailed?” she said. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I figured it all out while you were talking in there. You see, Sam Howarth and I drove him ta the wharf.”

Then suddenly upon the scene arrived Delancey Whittemore in a priceless new sports car, bringing up around the curved driveway to the door with an “I have arrived” air that was both insolent and perfect.

“Who’s that poor fish?” growled Frank, stepping back into the shadow of the portiere.

“Mercy!” said Constance, catching a glimpse of the handsome, well-groomed face. “I’ve an engagement with him for luncheon at the club, and I forgot all about it. You meet him, won’t you, buddy, and tell him I’ll be down in a minute? That’s a dear! No, I can’t see him looking this way,” she protested as she saw refusal in her brother’s eyes. “See, dear, my eyes are all red. Go tell him; that’s a dear!” and she flew up the stairs.

Frank looked up after her in dismay, and then his expression hardened, his lips set with an elderly manner he could assume on occasion, and he went out to look over another of his sister’s suitors. He reflected as he went that he just could not see why a girl wanted so many men underfoot. One girl was enough for him, especially if it was Dillie. However, since Constance preferred that way, he would have to take the consequences. But why, for Pete’s sake, when she knew a fellow like Seagrave, couldn’t she just rest at that without looking further?

In this mood he went frowning out to meet Whittemore, who regarded him from a superior altitude and tried to patronize him.

But Frank was not in a mood to be patronized. He invited the caller in, said his sister would be down soon, and when Whittemore declined to come in and said he would just sit in the car and smoke, Frank sauntered out and patronized Whittemore’s car. Incidentally, too, he studied its owner, sizing him up according to a special boy code he had, measuring him with Seagrave in his mind.

Constance freshened up quickly and presently came down cool and collected, with a forced smile. But Frank looked at her critically and saw still that dewy look of recent tears about her lashes.

“Take care of yourself, Sister!” he said almost tenderly and gave her a meaningful look.

“Why should she?” laughed Whittemore with a half sneer on his handsome lips. “I’m here to do that.”

“Oh, yeah?” remarked Frank comically.

Constance looked from one to the other of the two young men and wondered as she was driven away if there had been a passage of arms between them and whether Frank had really intended that look of almost warning he had given her.

F
rank stood looking after them as they drove away, his young brows drawn in a deep frown.

“I’ll have to look that guy up,” he remarked to himself in a low tone. “I don’t like his mug. I wonder what she wants to monkey with him for?”

Then he went into the house to finish the elaborate plan he was making for Dillie’s garden. Dillie was gone to assist at a festivity her mother was giving to her mission band in the church parlor or Frank would certainly have been with her. But meanwhile he had a great many things to think about.

For instance, who would have supposed his sister was religious? How well she told that story. There was a great blister on Dillie’s garden plan where a tear had fallen unawares from his own eye while listening to that story.

It must be awful to have death suddenly walk into your life and only leave you a few minutes to get ready. It was great that Constance had a head on her and got hold of Seagrave to make that girl die happy. Good night! Suppose he got in a jam like that and had to die suddenly! What would he do?

He drew a ruled line down the garden path where the delphiniums and lilies were supposed to grow, and whistled through his teeth.

That was a great little verse Constance recited to that girl before Seagrave got there. That was John 3:16. Frank had learned that when he was in the primary class. He hadn’t gone to Sunday school now for seven or eight years. He quit when they tried to run in a new teacher on the class that none of them liked. All the class quit. He hadn’t been since. Of course Grand made a terrible row about it and appealed to Mother and Dad. But he had overheard Mother telling Grand that she mustn’t say anything about it, that he would get over it and come back of his own accord someday; that you couldn’t manage boys the way you could girls. And he had let it go at that. He had not gone back.

Well, of course if one were going to die, maybe it would be as well to know a few verses to be handy when needed, but then he wasn’t going to die for a long time—why worry? Only, of course, if one could be a Christian like Seagrave, well, that wouldn’t be so bad. He wondered what made Seagrave that way.

Then his mind wandered back to Whittemore. Whittemore,
Whittemore
! Where had he heard that name? Oh, that was the name of the people who had the old Wilson estate out on the Pike, the place with a twelve-foot hedge of hemlock and inside that a young forest all around so you couldn’t see the house. Snobs, people who hid away like that, he thought. If they had a nice house, why didn’t they want people to enjoy it?

Well, he must look that guy up and see if he was fit company for Connie. Dad didn’t seem to realize what kind of brutes were running around these days. He seemed to just trust everybody.

So Frank finished his map and then sauntered downtown to hang around a certain drugstore where he could always learn a bit about everybody. All he had to do was buy a soda and then keep his ears open.