Half Portions | Page 8

look, as though what she had said had set
in motion a whole maze of mental machinery within his brain.

"When did he ask you?"
"He's asked me a dozen times. But it's different now. All the men will
be going to war. There won't be any left. Look at England and France.
I'm not going to be left." She turned squarely toward her father, her
young face set and hard. "You know what I mean. You know what I
mean."
Flora, sitting up in bed, was sobbing. "I think you might have told your
mother, Adele. What are children coming to! You stand there and say,
'I'm going to marry Daniel Oakley.' Oh, I am so faint ... all of a
sudden ... get the spirits of ammonia...."
Adele turned and walked out of the room. She was married six weeks
later. They had a regular pre-war wedding--veil, flowers, dinner, and all.
Aunt Sophy arranged the folds of her gown and draped her veil. The
girl stood looking at herself in the mirror, a curious half-smile twisting
her lips. She seemed slighter and darker than ever.
"In all this white, and my veil, I look just like a fly in a quart of milk,"
she said, with a laugh. Then, suddenly, she turned to her aunt who
stood behind her and clung to her, holding her tight, tight. "I can't!" she
gasped. "I can't! I can't!"
Aunt Sophy held her off and looked at her, her eyes searching the girl.
"What do you mean, Della? Are you just nervous or do you mean you
don't want to marry him? Do you mean that? Then what are you
marrying for? Tell me! Tell your Aunt Sophy."
But Adele was straightening herself and pulling out the crushed folds
of her veil. "To pay the mortgage on the old homestead, of course. Just
like the girl in the play." She laughed a little. But Aunt Sophy did not
laugh.
"Now look here, Delia. If you're--"
But there was a knock at the door. Adele caught up her flowers. "It's all

right," she said.
Aunt Sophy stood with her back against the door. "If it's money," she
said. "It is! It is, isn't it! Listen. I've got money saved. It was for you
children. I've always been afraid. I knew he was sailing pretty close,
with his speculations and all, since the war. He can have it all. It isn't
too late yet. Adele! Della, my baby."
"Don't, Aunt Sophy. It wouldn't be enough, anyway. Daniel has been
wonderful, really. Don't look like that. I'd have hated being poor,
anyway. Never could have got used to it. It is ridiculous, though, isn't it?
Like one of those melodramas, or a cheap movie. I don't mind. I'm
lucky, really, when you come to think of it. A plain little black thing
like me."
"But your mother--"
"Mother doesn't know a thing."
Flora wept mistily all through the ceremony but Adele was composed
enough for two.
When, scarcely a month later, Baldwin came to Sophy Decker, his face
drawn and queer, Sophy knew.
"How much?" she said.
"Thirty thousand will cover it. If you've got more than that--"
"I thought Oakley--Adele said--"
"He did, but he won't any more, and this thing's got to be met. It's this
damned war that's done it. I'd have been all right. People got scared.
They wanted their money. They wanted it in cash."
"Speculating with it, were you?"
"Oh, well, a woman doesn't understand these business deals."

"No, naturally," said Aunt Sophy, "a butterfly like me."
"Sophy, for God's sake don't joke now. I tell you this will cover it, and
everything will be all right. If I had anybody else to go to for the money
I wouldn't ask you. But you'll get it back. You know that."
Aunt Sophy got up, heavily, and went over to her desk. "It was for the
children, anyway. They won't need it now."
He looked up at that. Something in her voice. "Who won't? Why won't
they?"
"I don't know what made me say that. I had a dream."
"Eugene?"
"Yes."
"Oh, well, we're all nervous. Flora has dreams every night and
presentiments every fifteen minutes. Now, look here, Sophy. About this
money. You'll never know how grateful I am. Flora doesn't understand
these things but I can talk to you. It's like this--"
"I might as well be honest about it," Sophy interrupted. "I'm doing it,
not for you, but for Flora, and Delia--and Eugene. Flora has lived such
a sheltered life. I sometimes wonder if she ever really knew any of you.
Her husband, or her children. I sometimes have the feeling that Delia
and Eugene are my children--were my children."
When he came home that night Baldwin told his wife