The Man Between | Page 5

truth, Ethel. I was thinking of your grandmother Rawdon.
You have your hat on--are you going to see her?"
"I am going to see Dora Denning. I had an urgent note from her last
night. She says she has `extraordinary news' and begs me to `come to
her immediately.' I cannot imagine what her news is. I saw her Friday
afternoon."
"She has a new poodle, or a new lover, or a new way of crimping her
hair," suggested Ruth Bayard scornfully." She imposes on you, Ethel;
why do you submit to her selfishness?"
"I suppose because I have become used to it. Four years ago I began to
take her part, when the girls teased and tormented her in the
schoolroom, and I have big-sistered her ever since. I suppose we get to

love those who make us kind and give us trouble. Dora is not perfect,
but I like her better than any friend I have. And she must like me, for
she asks my advice about everything in her life."
"Does she take it?"
"Yes--generally. Sometimes I have to make her take it."
"She has a mother. Why does she not go to her?"
"Mrs. Denning knows nothing about certain subjects. I am Dora's social
godmother, and she must dress and behave as I tell her to do. Poor Mrs.
Denning! I am so sorry for her--another cup of coffee, Ruth--it is not
very strong."
"Why should you be sorry for Mrs. Denning, Her husband is
enormously rich--she lives in a palace, and has a crowd of men and
women servants to wait upon her--carriages, horses, motor cars, what
not, at her command."
"Yet really, Ruth, she is a most unhappy woman. In that little Western
town from which they came, she was everybody. She ran the churches,
and was chairwoman in all the clubs, and President of the Temperance
Union, and manager of every religious, social, and political festival;
and her days were full to the brim of just the things she liked to do. Her
dress there was considered magnificent; people begged her for patterns,
and regarded her as the very glass of fashion. Servants thought it a
great privilege to be employed on the Denning place, and she ordered
her house and managed her half-score of men and maids with pleasant
autocracy. NOW! Well, I will tell you how it is, NOW. She sits all day
in her splendid rooms, or rides out in her car or carriage, and no one
knows her, and of course no one speaks to her. Mr. Denning has his
Wall Street friends----"
"And enemies," interrupted Judge Rawdon.
"And enemies! You are right, father. But he enjoys one as much as the
other--that is, he would as willingly fight his enemies as feast his

friends. He says a big day in Wall Street makes him alive from head to
foot. He really looks happy. Bryce Denning has got into two clubs, and
his money passes him, for he plays, and is willing to love prudently.
But no one cares about Mrs. Denning. She is quite old--forty-five, I
dare say; and she is stout, and does not wear the colors and style she
ought to wear--none of her things have the right `look,' and of course I
cannot advise a matron. Then, her fine English servants take her house
out of her hands. She is afraid of them. The butler suavely tries to
inform her; the housekeeper removed the white crotcheted scarfs and
things from the gilded chairs, and I am sure Mrs. Denning had a
heartache about their loss; but she saw that they had also vanished from
Dora's parlor, so she took the hint, and accepted the lesson. Really, her
humility and isolation are pitiful. I am going to ask grandmother to go
and see her. Grandmother might take her to church, and get Dr.
Simpson and Mrs. Simpson to introduce her. Her money and
adaptability would do the rest. There, I have had a good breakfast,
though I was late. It is not always the early bird that gets chicken and
mushrooms. Now I will go and see what Dora wants"--and lifting her
furs with a smile, and a "Good morning!" equally charming, she
disappeared.
"Did you notice her voice, Ruth?" asked Judge Rawdon. What a tone
there is in her `good morning!'"
"There is a tone in every one's good morning, Edward. I think people's
salutations set to music would reveal their inmost character. Ethel's
good morning says in D major `How good is the day!' and her good
night drops into the minor third, and says pensively `How sweet is the
night!'"
"Nay, Ruth, I don't understand all that; but I do understand the voice. It
goes straight to my heart."
"And to my heart also, Edward.