From the Housetops | Page 5

fatherless grandson of old Templeton Thorpe was cherished among
heirlooms that never had had a price put upon them. Of all the boys
who came to the Tresslyn house, young Braden Thorpe was the heir
with the most potent possibility. He did not know it then, but now he
knew that on the occasion of his smashing a magnificent porcelain vase
the forgiving kiss that Mrs. Tresslyn bestowed upon his flaming cheek
was not due to pity but to farsightedness. Somehow he now felt that he
could smash every fragile and inanimate thing in sight, and still escape
the kiss.
Not the least regal and imposing object in the room was the woman
who stood beside the fireplace, smiling as she always smiled when a
situation was at its worst and she at her best. Her high-bred, aristocratic
face was as insensitive to an inward softness as a chiseled block of
marble is to the eye that gazes upon it in rapt admiration. She had
trained herself to smile in the face of the disagreeable; she had acquired
the art of tranquillity. This long anticipated interview with her
daughter's cast- off, bewildered lover was inevitable. They had known
that he would come, insistent. She had not kept him waiting. When he
came to the house the day after his arrival from England, following
close upon a cablegram sent the day after the news of Anne's defection

had struck him like a thunderbolt, she was ready to receive him.
And now, quite as calmly and indifferently, she was ready to say
good-bye to him forever,--to this man who until a fortnight before had
considered himself, and rightly too, to be the affianced husband of her
daughter. He meant nothing to her. Her world was complete without
him. He possessed her daughter's love,--and all the love she would ever
know perhaps,--but even that did not produce within her the slightest
qualm. Doubtless Anne would go on loving him to the end of her days.
It is the prerogative of women who do not marry for love; it is their
right to love the men they do not marry provided they honour the men
they do, and keep their skirts clear besides.
Mrs. Tresslyn felt, and honestly too, that her own assurances that Anne
loved him would be quite as satisfactory as if Anne were to utter them
herself. It all came to the same thing, and she had an idea that she could
manage the situation more ably than her daughter.
And Mrs. Tresslyn was quite sure that it would come out all right in the
end. She hadn't the remotest doubt that Anne could marry Braden later
on, if she cared to do so, and if nothing better offered; so what was
there to worry about? Things always shape themselves after the easiest
possible fashion. It wasn't as if she was marrying a young man with
money. Mrs. Tresslyn had seen things shape themselves before.
Moreover, she rather hated the thought of being a grandmother before
she was fifty. And so it was really a pleasure to turn this possible
son-in-law out of her house just at this time. It would be a very simple
matter to open the door to him later on and invite him in.
She stood beside her hearth and watched him go with a calm and far
from uneasy eye. He would come again to-morrow, perhaps,--but even
at his worst he could not be a dangerous visitor. He was a gentleman.
He was a bit distressed. Gentlemen are often put to the test, and they
invariably remain gentlemen.
He stopped at the door. "Will you tell Anne that I'll be here to-morrow,
Mrs. Tresslyn?"

"I shall tell her, of course," said Mrs. Tresslyn, and lifted her lorgnon.
He went out, filled to the throat with rage and resentment. His strong
body was bent as if against a gale, and his hands were tightly clenched
in his overcoat pockets. In his haste to get away from the house, he had
fairly flung himself into the ulster that Rawson held for him, and the
collar of his coat showed high above the collar of the greatcoat,--a most
unusual lapse from orderliness on the part of this always careful
dresser.
He was returning to his grandfather's house. Old Templeton Thorpe
would be waiting there for him, and Mr. Thorpe's man would be
standing outside the library door as was his practice when his master
was within, and there would be a sly, patient smile on the servant's lips
but not in his sombre eyes. He was returning to his grandfather's house
because he had promised to come back and tell the old man how he had
fared at the home of his betrothed. The old man had said to him earlier