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Page 65

"I'm not grieving, child," she said; "I'm only realizing what a
selfish old maid I am. I'm crying because I'm a disappointment to
myself. Harry, I'm going back to America."

And that, after hours of discussion, was where they ended. Anna
must go at once. Peter must keep the apartment, having Jimmy to
look after and to hide. What was a frightful dilemma to him and
to Harmony Anna took rather lightly.

"You'll find some one else to take my place," she said. "If I had
a day I could find a dozen."

"And in the interval?" Harmony asked, without looking at Peter.

"The interval! Tut! Peter is your brother, to all intents and
purposes. And if you are thinking of scandal-mongers, who will
know?"

Having determined to go, no arguments moved Anna, nor could
either of the two think of anything to urge beyond a situation
she refused to see, or rather a situation she refused to
acknowledge. She was not as comfortable as she pretended. During
all that long night, while snow sifted down into the ugly yard
and made it beautiful, while Jimmy slept and the white mice
played, while Harmony tossed and tried to sleep and Peter sat in
his cold room and smoked his pipe, Anna packed her untidy
belongings and added a name now and then to a list that was meant
for Peter, a list of possible substitutes for herself in the
little household.

She left early the next morning, a grim little person who bent
over the sleeping boy hungrily, and insisted on carrying her own
bag down the stairs. Harmony did not go to the station, but
stayed at home, pale and silent, hovering around against Jimmy's
awakening and struggling against a feeling of panic. Not that she
feared Peter or herself. But she was conventional; shielded girls
are accustomed to lean for a certain support on the proprieties,
as bridgeplayers depend on rules.

Peter came back to breakfast, but ate little. Harmony did not
even sit down, but drank her cup of coffee standing, looking down
at the snow below. Jimmy still slept.

"Won't you sit down?" said Peter.

"I'm not hungry, thank you."

"You can sit down without eating."

Peter was nervous. To cover his uneasiness he was distinctly
gruff. He pulled a chair out for her and she sat down. Now that
they were face to face the tension was lessened. Peter laid
Anna's list on the table between them and bent over it toward
her.

"You are hurting me very much, Harry," he said. "Do you know
why?"

"I? I am only sorry about Anna. I miss her. I--I was fond of
her."

"So was I. But that isn't it, Harry. It's something else."

"I'm uncomfortable, Peter."

"So am I. I'm sorry you don't trust me. For that's it."

"Not at all. But, Peter, what will people say?"

"A great deal, if they know. Who is to know? How many people know
about us? A handful, at the most, McLean and Mrs. Boyer and one
or two others. Of course I can go away until we get some one to
take Anna's place, but you'd be here alone at night, and if the
youngster had an attack--"

"Oh, no, don't leave him!"

"It's holiday time. There are no clinics until next week. If
you'll put up with me--"

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Thu 25th Dec 2025, 1:18

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart