THE HONEY BEE BY SAMUEL MERWIN THE HONEY BEE OF CALIF. LIBBARY, LOS AHGELEST She was conscious of intense solitude" THE HONEY BEE A Novel BY SAMUEL MERWIN AUTHOR OF ANTHONY THE ABSOLUTE, ETC. ILLUSTRATED BY R. M. CROSBY N E W |Y O R K GROSSET & DUN LAP PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT 1915 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY CONTENTS CHAPTEB PAGE I Hilda Wilson Makes the Acquaintance of Adele Rainey, of Harper and Rainey; and Also of One Blink Moran, Whom You Would Hardly Expect to be Dignified I II She Attends a Novel Entertainment; Wearing, However, the Wrong Clothes .... 20 III Two Persons of Distinct Public Importance, With a Moment's Idle Speculation as to Which Might Prove the Better Man, Should They Meet in a Business Way .... 37 IV In Which It Appears That Dame Nature, Prompted by Her Traditional Abhorrence of a Vacuum, Has Already Acted in the Matter of Hilda 46 V Blink Moran on Diet and the Human Machine, Also on the Honey Bee. And a Faint Analogy 55 VI On Certain Difficulties in the Way of Being Natural and Truthful at the Same Time . 73 VII Hilda Feels That She Has Disposed of Stanley Aitcheson. Moran Talks With the Managers of a Person of Importance. And Will Harper Goes to Budapest ....... 82 VIII Man Through a Woman's Eyes. And How Even Bitterness May Have Its Uses . . 94 IX Hilda Wishes Adele Would Keep Her Hands Off. And is Surprised to Hear Her Name Spoken 106 X Hilda at Last Has a Glimpse of the Real Mo- ran; and What Follows so Moves Her That She Thinks She Will Give Adele Something to Wear - 115 2131240 CONTENTS Continued CHAPTEB PAGE XI Hilda Receives a Letter, Which She Will Open in a Few Minutes . 133 XII In Which Hilda Perceives, Just Ahead, the Crossroads of Life, and Speculates Rather Deeply. Also There Is a Small Conflict in Her Room, Won, as It Happens, by Adele . 149 XIII Disturbing News, Tempered by the Pleasant Sight of Ed Johnson 161 XIV More Disturbing News; and Still More. Prodigal Returns, Smoking Cigarettes . 182 XV The Returned Prodigal, Seeking Something in the Nature of a Fatted Calf, Meets With an Experience That Would be Amusing Were It Not so Serious .... . . . 195 XVI In Which Ed Johnson Tries to Put Over a Dif- ficult Proposition, and Fails. The Return of a Person of Importance; a Pressure of Hands; and the White Lights Out by the Porte Maillot . . , : .. . . . 210 XVII In Which the Two Persons of Importance Finally Do Meet in a Business Way; With Impressions of a Little World That Is, to Put It Mildly, Rather Bizarre . . * v 224 XVIII Twenty Rounds To a Decision . . " '"* . 239 XIX In Which Hilda and Blink Conclude That It Has Been a Good Deal of an Evening, Taking It By and Large .263 XX Hilda, in Her Turn, Tries to Put Over a Dif- ficult Proposition; and Is More Successful Than Ed Johnson Was 276 CONTENTS Continued CHAPTER PAGE XXI In Which News Is Expected, and Comes; but From an Unexpected Quarter .... 289 XXII The Baby's Bath is First Delayed, Then Inter- rupted for a Moment, by Events in Which That Small Person Feels No Immediate In- terest 303 XXIII In Which Hilda Exhibits Her Judgment and Capacity; but Finds It Distinctly Easier to Act Than to Think 31& XXIV Hilda Comes to a Bridge, and Crosses It . . 33& XXV How a Man and a Woman Meet After Many Years, and Manage to Talk Only of Trunks and Taxis and Chicken and Salad . . . 344 XXVI Hilda at Last Feels That She Is Herself; Plights Her Word; and Falls Asleep With Sobering Thoughts 357 XXVII The Day That Was Perfect; and Its Ending . 373 XXVIII How Letters Came, and Made It Plain That the Life One Has Lived Follows One Like a Shadow. Also How Hilda Taps at a Door; and How She Comes to Sit by the Window, Reading, While a Man Smiles in His Sleep . 388 XXIX How a Man Smiles Again, and Not in His Sleep This Time. With a Glimpse of the Happiness That Lies Beyond Tears . . 404 XXX By an Open Window at Night; Life in Its Ebb and Flow; a Lock of Hair; Blink Makes a Trip to France; and Hilda, a Little Later, Writes Home :.. . 426 XXXI In Which Hilda Opens a Door on Fate . . 444 THE HONEY BEE THE HONEY BEE HILDA WILSON MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OP ADELE EAINET, OF HARPER AND RAINEY ; AND ALSO OF ONE BLINK MOEAN, WHOM YOU WOULD HARDLY EXPECT TO BE DIGNIFIED ONCE in the taxi, she took the little oval mirror from her wrist-bag and studied the grayish, faintly wrin- kled half moons under her eyes. "'Color's off, too," she mused. "It's all wrong, Hilda Wilson. You're not there ! You certainly are not there !" The taxi whirled into the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle and darted westward, twisting and skidding with that noncha- lant disregard of all living things that contributes in no small measure to the desperate gaiety of Paris streets ; but Miss Wilson gave not a thought to the spectacle. The thou- sands of masculine pedestrians, with their sedulously kept beards, their flapping trousers, and (here and there) their monocles, moved slowly along the sidewalks under the bare trees and studied the thousands of women with the casual boldness of ancient habit; but for Miss Wilson they did not exist. The cafe waiters, blue and cold in their indoor garments and white aprons, hovered among the outdoor ta- 1 8 THE HONEY BEE bles, keeping close to the charcoal braziers and the patches of winter sunlight ; the cinemas blazed their white fronts ; the curb kiosks flared their provocative jumble of advertise- ments; a battalion of cuirassiers rode by, helmet plumes waving and breastplates glinting ; a motor-bus collided with the tricycle of an epicerie boy, and blocked all traffic for nearly a minute : Miss "Wilson was aware only of that tired face. She locked her fingers tightly in her lap. Then, suddenly aware that her nerves were absurdly tense, she unclasped her hands and let them drop by her sides. "To think/' she said aloud, in the crisp slang of the store that was always amusing and usually expressive, "that that harmless old rubber stamp could" she hesitated, then came down, with a self-conscious little grimace, on the phrase "could get my goat like that !" During eight consecutive winters and eight consecutive summers Hilda Wilson had spent a fortnight to three weeks at Paris, buying model gowns, wraps, suits and blouses. Naturally her business headquarters .had always been with Armandeville et Cie., in the Eue d'Hauteville, for these gentlemen were the traditional Paris commissionnaires for the Hartman store. Naturally, too, old M. Armandeville himself, during these four to six weeks of eight consecutive years had tried elaborately and, at times, rather laboriously to introduce a personal note into their business relation- ship. Beyond an instinctive repugnance to the awkward fact that men will persist in making themselves well, dif- ficult, at times, she had never before given him more than a passing thought. Indeed she had considered him, be- cause of his Gallic elaborateness, rather easier to forestall than the more reticent, subtler men of America. But now , . . ! She had certainly upset things. THE HONEY BEE 3 And she was running away. After what she had said it was really impossible to stay on in that office. For the rest of the afternoon, anyway. A picture of the old gentleman's face came to her mind's eye sitting there, so frankly bewildered, so ingenuously grieved, while she stood over him, flushed and angry, re- minding him of his family as well as of the advantage he was taking of herself. She might quite as well have talked the ethical system of the Choctaws. She wondered, with an oddly cold detachment of mind, what had become of her poise and her humor. Her vigor was still evident. No doubt about that. But she had lost control of it at last, after all the annoying little warnings of the last year or so that just this thing might some day happen. This was the day, it appeared. The taxi crossed the Place de 1'Opera and turned to the right along the wide Rue Auber. At the next corner it swung in to the curb before the offices of the American Ex- press Company that familiar "11 Rue Scribe" through which, during a long generation, have drifted so many thousands of wandering Americans. She went directly up the stairs to the big mail room; called for her letters at the "M to Z" window ; then dropped into the nearest unoccupied chair. She simply did not see, with any inner eye, the half a hundred other persons scat- tered about at the two-sided writing tables and in the easy chairs by the windows ; indeed she was only dimly conscious of the man opposite when she had seated herself. Miss Wilson drew off her gloves, and went at her letters. One, addressed in her mother's hand and with the famil- iar Indiana postmark, she put in her bag for later attention. Another, also addressed in longhand, she pursed her lips ever; then laid it aside. The business letters claimed her 4 THE HONEY BEE attention first. She ran through the little heap of envelopes with quick eyes and nimble fingers. Then she paused, frowned slightly, and for a moment held her hand against the back of her head ; then brought it down to her chest, pressed it there, and drew a long breath. She had expended a good deal of emotional energy in that foolish little scene with M. Armandeville. She realized this now. And she knew that it was energy wasted. Her eyes rested on the man across the table. He looked up, too. He had a square strong face, with heavy bunches of muscle on each jaw and rather high cheek-bones. His brown hair came down over his forehead in a rebellious thatch. There was a slight twist in his nose, as if it had been broken. The eyes were large, and of a steady blue, unusually attractive eyes; but one eyelid had been cut at some time, precisely in the middle, and stitched so that it was now drawn up in a permanent and faintly grotesque suggestion of a Gothic arch. A curious face and head ; but solid and strong. Made you wonder a little what he could be. He was young, certainly not much over thirty, if that. His blue serge suit had been made by a good tailor an English tailor, she thought. Over a chair beside him lay a long overcoat of broadcloth heavily lined with sable. The top letter was from Joe Hemstead, typed under the familiar head of the Hartman store (of recent years she had made a point of having her personal mail sent here and not to M. Armandeville's .office). She read this first; then sat motionless considering it, pursing her lips as she had over the unopened envelope that lay at her elbow, and slightly tapping the big blotter. A young woman came up and whispered to the odd-look- ing man. He promptly gave her his seat and went away, getting into his overcoat as he passed out the door. THE HONEY BEE 5 The girl dropped a muff and stole of imitation ermine on the chair and began a letter, writing hurriedly. Miss Wilson looked at the furs. A smile flickered about the corners of her mouth and brightened her eyes as she in- dulged in a mental "Meaow!" Then her face sobered. She reached for her pen and wrote as follows, in a strong slanting hand : "DEAK MR. HEMSTEAD : Your letter of the seventh has just come. I fully appreciate the consideration in your suggestion, but I do feel some chagrin at the thought that others have noted my condition. It is only within the last few weeks that I've fully realized it myself. I seem to be getting about three hours' sleep a night. And my head has taken to aching, in the back. I lost my temper to-day. "Don't know when I've done such a thing. I see now that I should have taken that solid month off last summer, when you wanted me to. "But I really don't feel that I can take it now. One rea- son is I see I've got to face this that when I do stop it may take more than a month to make me fit again. An- other is that May Isbell, while she is taking hold better every day, isn't quite ready yet to carry responsibility. I 4on't dare load it on her now not with the spring busi- ness just ready to hit us. "So she and I will sail for home on the 25th or 26th. I will cable date and steamer some days before this reaches you. For the present she is down at Nice and Monte Carlo studying the fashions. I am impressing on her the importance of keeping close to the real centers. She will come up via Calais and meet me at London. We are not making Berlin this trip. I sent you a letter last night re- porting on business matters. "The week on the ocean will tone me up well enough for the present. And I promise you to let go the minute the spring business begins to slacken. "And now regarding Stanley Aitcheson. I'm sorry you had to know about it. But of course, if he broke out like THE HONEY BEE ttiat to Mr. Martin, it had to come up to you. Yon ask if he has made me any trouble. Well no. Not what you would call trouble. I'll tell you just what I think it is. He's really a bit of genius. You know he can say in six words what Sumner and Deal's man needs sixty for. We've never had an advertising man who was so quick to catch the talking points of the merchandise, especially with these feminine things, or who could so consistently write the stuff that pulls the crowd. I don't know but what he is entitled to a little burst of 'temperament' now and then. He is young and imaginative, and this infatuation seems to have mixed him all up for the time. "I hope you won't think it necessary to do anything about it. Give him a little time. In the meanwhile, I think I can handle it. "Do you mind my sending this to your club address in- itead of the office ? It is rather personal "Sincerely, "HILDA WILSON/' She read this letter over twice, very slowly; and knit her brows. There were two or three things about it that felt distinctly wrong; her judgment, usually automatic in all personal as in business relationships, was unmistakably shaky to-day. She knew Joe Hemstead pretty well; and she knew he would not like the idea of her coming back and trying to work after her own admission that she did not feel equal to it. No, he wouldn't like that. He would begin from that moment to doubt if she was, after all, big enough for her job. That was just the point with Joe Hemsfcead. His confidence in you was a stimulus day in and day out; but you had to go right on earning that confidence, all the time. Then there was this disturbing affair of Stanley Aitch- THE HONEY BEE 7 eson. She was inclined to think she was saying too much" about him. Besides, she was taking a position in the mat- ter before considering all the facts there lay Stanley's letter at her elbow, unopened. She didn't want to open it. She had thought to shake off her curiously unsettling mood by dashing away from M. Armandeville's office into the open air. But now that mood was strengthening its grip on her. It was becoming a real depression, a sinking feeling as if the bottom had all at once dropped out of life. The absurdity of this sensation was obvious. It was the particular sort of weakness with which she had no pa- tience. She set her will against it ; but it grew, a creeping paralysis of the spirit. She began to realize that she def- initely dreaded going back and plunging into the spring rush. You had to drive so. It took so much out of you. "But then/' she mused, "we have to do a good many things in this life that we don't want to do." After which she rested her cheek on her hand and gazed down, very soberly, at the little pile of letters. It is not so easy to talk down one's own misgivings. Then she realized that some one was speaking to her the girl across the table. "I beg pardon," said Miss Wilson. The girl's voice faltered shyly as she repeated "How do you spell pasteurized?" Miss Wilson started to reply, hesitated, and laughed a little. "If you hadn't asked me so quickly it's oh, yes, of course." And she spelled it out. The girl wrote it down ; then looked up again. "I never was any good at spelling," she ventured. "But I could always get dates in history, you know. And I was al- ways over ninety in algebra and deportment." "It is a special gift, I think," replied Miss Wilson. 8 THE HONEY BEE "There are a good many highly educated people who can't spell." "Oh, is that so !" replied the girl, appearing greatly re- lieved. Then, as if fearing that she had spoken too loud, she bit her lip and glanced timidly about at the near-by tables. For a little time after that Miss Wilson watched her as she went on with her letter. Ordinarily girls bored Miss Wilson. There were seventeen hundred of them in the store, and they were always getting either themselves or you into trouble. Indeed one of her chief annoyances was that Mr. Martin, whose task it was to employ the help, was too easy with them. And Joe Hemstead backed him up in it. Take the case of Annie Haggerty, for instance. A sensible woman could see in a moment that Annie was simply bad. . . . But any idle speculation was a relief as Miss Wilson felt this afternoon. And this girl across the table was curiously difficult to place. She was very young hardly more than nineteen or twenty and slim, with a rather small head nicely poised on a long neck; a firm, almost muscular neck, when you looked closely. She had a wide friendly mouth, that showed a tendency to droop at the corners, an unobtrusive chin, and large green-brown eyes. "Cow eyes," thought Miss Wilson, "but they're honest enough. What on earth is she doing in Paris! Looks like Brooklyn. Or Bridge- port." Finding no answer to her question, she let her eyes rove over the girl's costume. This was every whit as puzzling as the face. The hat was small, with a single high feather set at not quite the right angle. "Trimmed it herself," thought Miss Wilson, "after a look around on the boule- vards." The very plain black suit had probably been picked THE HONEY BEE up in London. The "waist" was American. "Two-nine- teen on Fourteenth Street," Miss Wilson decided. There was not a single indication that anybody had ever spent a cent on the girl. But if that was the case, how did she ever get to Paris at all ? She couldn't conceivably be a tourist. And she didn't have the married look. Though you can't always tell. Still yes, that was the only conceivable explanation. "What a city Paris is !" she mused, at last in a measure drawn out of her moody introspection. "Every sort of person drifts in here. Anything can happen here. Any- thing does happen, all the time." She fell to resenting the fact that she had never really seen Paris onty a few of the hotels, certain of the res- taurants on the Eight Bank, the Folie Bergeres once with a crowd from Armandeville's, and always the Opera Co- mique in winter and Longchamp in summer for the fash- ions, the familiar dressmaking establishments, that was about all. She had never been in the famous old Quartier Latin. Ed Johnson, the glove buyer, had talked enthu- siastically, one lonely evening at Vienna, of Lavenue's and its violinist, of the merry irresponsible life at the Cafe d'Harcourt. She knew well enough that the men buyers looked around a bit. They didn't let their work cut into their evenings not to any uncomfortable extent. But then, they were men. They took the world as it came, the world that was at every point adapted to their needs, their qualities, their desires. They did not have that exceed- ingly delicate structure, reputation, to look after not so that you'd notice it. They were judged, not by their slips, but by their abilities and achievements. "Xo," she reflected, "men aren't in a net all their life with an enemy at every opening if they try to escape." At 10 THE HONEY BEE this point her thoughts became vaguer, more in the nature of inarticulate feelings. She was conscious of intense solitude ; of the woman's need, if she has chosen work, to work harder and harder and harder, to drive herself mer- cilessly, to build up an artificial life of routine and habit that shall finally overlay the silent deep stirrings and yearnings that come. . . . Then, with the thought, "I'm getting absolutely mor- bid !" she made an effort to bring her thoughts back to the bright busy surface of life, where a woman must dwell if Bhe is to dwell alone. i The girl looked up, and met her eyes. "Have you been here long?" asked Miss Wilson. "Two months in Paris. Fourteen months altogether on this side. I'll be glad to get back." The corners of the girl's mouth drooped as the easy smile died out. "That is a long while to be away." The man with the Gothic eyelid appeared in the door- way. He was coming toward the table until he observed that the girl and the woman were talking. He stopped short, then, took off his overcoat, and walked back to the newspaper table at the farther end of the room. Miss Wilson watched him. He was fairly tall five feet ten or eleven, she thought with noticeably good shoulders. And he moved with almost feminine grace. She decided to take a chance. "Your husband just came back," she observed casually. "My what!" exclaimed the girl blankly. Then, after a glance over her shoulder, she added "He isn't my hus- band. I'm not married. That's Blink Moran." "Blink Moran!" repeated Miss Wilson, unable to sup- press a smile. "Don't you know who he is ?" THE HONEY BEE 11 Miss "Wilson didn't know. "Why, the middleweight boxer. He's American, too." "Not Irish ?" Miss Wilson was still smiling. "Oh, that's only the name he took when he started fight- ing. He's really a Dutchman, from Holland, Michigan. Used to keep bees. His family name's awful funny Klopf s- horn, or Stoomboot, or something. It wouldn't do, you know, on the stage or in the ring." "No," agreed Miss Wilson, conscious of a quickened if rather startled interest in the man, "I suppose it wouldn't." "He's a nice fellow," the girl chattered on. "Takes won- derful care of himself doesn't drink or smoke. And he doesn't like women very well. You see, he has lived here three or four years. When he first came over he fell in love with a French girl and she got all his money away from him that he'd saved nearly eighteen thousand francs. Then she ran off to South America with a fellow Buenos Aires. I'd like to go there." She sighed. "He told Will Harper the whole story. Will Harper's my partner. He fights all over Europe now in Germany and Spain and Austria and Egypt and and Tunis and Algiers. Makes a good deal of money, I think. He was to have a match with Carpentier, but Carpentier's afraid of him." This was certainly a bit out of the common. Miss Wil- son felt the touch of momentary exhilaration that busy persons of routine habit are likely to feel when an occa- sional glimpse is vouchsafed them of that irresponsible region known as "Bohemia." She carried the conversa- tion on for a little time, but without success in arriving at an explanation of the girl. "She looks like something or other" so ran Miss Wil- son's thoughts "as if she could do some one thing well. She's straight, or at least honest couldn't tell much of a 13 lie. She doesn't want anything from me, just feels friendly. But she is certainly in with a queer crowd. Prize-fight- ers! . . . Maybe I'll have something to tell Ed John- son yet." "While she was studying the girl, the cow eyes came up again. "You spoke of your partner," said Miss "Wilson. "Are you a business woman ?" The girl shook her head. "I'm one myself," Miss Wilson continued, by way of re- assuring her. "I have a department in a New York store." The girl did not seem much impressed with this, though she smiled pleasantly. "No," she said, "I don't know any- thing about business. Be better off if I did. I'm a dancer." "Oh, a dancer !" "Yes one of the four Texas Twisters. "We're in the review at the Parnasse Music Hall, my partner and I. Probably you've seen us in New York Harper and Eainey, we are. I'm Adele Eainey." Miss Wilson shook her head. The girl was frankly surprised, and a thought disap- pointed. "You've heard of us, though?" Again Miss Wilson, though swiftly ransacking her mem- ory, had to give a negative response. "That so? I just thought probably you had. It takes a long time to get your personality across. Will's all the time saying that." She sighed. But in a moment she was chattering on. <( You know they're wild over American dances in Paris. And rag songs. At the Parnasse they have to have twenty English chorus girls because so many THE HONEY; BEE is of our American songs can't be translated. Like Hiicliy t Koo, I mean, and Some Boy, and Snoofcy OoJcums. Then we go on every afternoon at the tango tea. runny they call it 'the'." " "Tay ?" repeated Miss "Wilson, amused. "No, not that. 'Teh', more like. It's pretty near time for me to be getting around there." She consulted the nickel watch that was bound to her wrist with a black strap. "In half an hour. "Wouldn't you like to come ? It's nice there in the afternoon." Miss Wilson found herself somewhat taken aback. Things were moving rapidly. The girl seemed to have no reserve at all nothing of that instinctive caution, that instant readiness to mask one's feelings and pit one's wits against a hostile mind that is dominant in all competitive business. After all, it was distinctly refreshing. Though how on earth so ingenuous a child, knocking about in the crazy underworld of stageland, could last a year without being utterly smashed was a question. Come to think of it, they did get smashed, all the time. Though it occurred to her that a dancer, if she really knew the job, would stand a much better chance than a mere untrained chorus girl. It was the people without training that went to pieces, people without a real grip on something. It was that way at the store. "I don't know whether I can," she replied. "I have let- ters to write, and after that I ought to go back to the hotel and lie down. But thank you for asking me." The girl's face sobered. "I can't really take you in," she explained painstakingly. "Not in the stage door. They wouldn't let you through. You'd have to buy a ticket and come in the front. But it's only two francs and two 14 THE HONEY BEE more for the tea, of course. And you could come back and sit with us in the artists' corner." "Well," replied Miss Wilson, "maybe I will." She looked down at the letters; then, with compressed lips, picked up the one she had laid aside and turned it slowly over and over in her hands. It was a rule of her life never to slight the work of the day. She prided herself on a sort of healthy contempt for mental philandering. Yet she felt distinctly tempted to let everything slide and go to this absurd "the tango" with her rather interesting new acquaintance. The letter in her hands that she found such difficulty in opening sym- bolized the pressure that was driving her to let go in just that way. "I think I'll do it," she thought. "Just relax for once, before I get too old and set to relax at all. It's exactly what Joe Hemstead has been talking, and Ed, and Martin. They'll be thinking next that I've lost my resiliency, and that's just one more way of saying I can't handle my job. They do these things all the time. They go to ball games- all summer, while I'm sticking close at the store. Every fall they put on their old clothes and go hunting off in the woods and talk rough and let their beards grow. And it doesn't hurt their work. Not a bit. They keep efficient, and they keep human. Why, even when Ed gets drunk the men all look after him and ease things off for him. There's something men have among themselves and I don't be- lieve I shall ever know what it is." Then, with a deliberate exercise of will power, she cen- tered her attention on the unopened letter in her hands. It was a long letter, written in impassioned language that seemed altogether unreal to Miss Wilson as she read hastily through it. It was signed, "Stanley A." THE HONEY BEE 15 "Tell me this/' ran the conclusion. "If you did not care for me, why did you permit me to become so fond of you ? As it is now, the thing is beyond my strength. I'm half crazy with it. It wakes me at night. It depresses me, and rouses moods that I can't control. It certainly isn't my fault. Perhaps it isn't yours, either. But this is a real love. You take it lightly. You ignore me. You refuse to answer my letters. You try to make me out a mere boy. You are hard, hard, hard. You have let business deaden your feelings. For you must have had a heart once, or I couldn't have felt the quality in you that made me love you." And so on and on. Miss Wilson was flushing ; but be- hind this emotional mask her mind was cold. What an amazing mixture of ardor and reproach ! What on earth could she say or do ! She had never dreamed of this storm until the moment it broke, a few months back. She knew his age he was five years younger than she. And she liked him. But his outbursts left her speechless. "I can't go on like this." Thus the concluding sen- tences. "I have told Mr. Martin I shall leave before you return. I can't go on. Whatever becomes of me, remem- ber I love you and you alone Oh, these poor old phrases ! They've been said and written a million million times in this ugly, bitter old world ! A million million times have men poured out these phrases to women who have laughed or kept silent. I shall leave this part of the world. It won't do for me to be near you I should simply break out again. And you, with your coldness, would hurt me more than I could bear. Only once more I shall see you. I don't know where or when, but I shall see you once. After that it will be good-by. I don't know what will become of me then. But I must give you one more chance to show at least a human feeling toward me." She went back and read the letter all through again, 16 THE HONEY BEE slowly. It irritated her. For it stirred memories of the one real love story in her life memories she had been try- ing, during nearly eight years, to supplant with hard work and new interests. Stanley's outbreaks had roused her before, on a number of occasions. That was what irritated her his power to stir her feelings. That was what irritated her in the ap- proaches of old M. Armandeville and the many others. For they made her think about love. And for years she had told herself that she did not wish to think about love. Certainly this new letter of Stanley's had stirred her deeply. Confused feelings were rushing up from the re- mote corners of memory, recollections of the one great emotional storm that had swept over her and that had left behind it yearnings and a strain of bitterness. The man, in her case, had been her first employer, Harris Doreyn, of Chicago. He was married. Their attachment had grown, little by little, through several years of a close working companionship. It had very nearly swept both off their feet. Then, to save herself, she had left him ; and he had been man enough to let her go. She had for a time succeeded, especially during the years of her first success at New York, in driving these poignant, bewildering memories out of mind. But lately, since the enthusiasm of her middle twenties had passed and her nerves had begun to show the effects of those driv- ing years, they had with increasing frequency slipped back among her conscious thoughts. More than a year earlier she had become aware, through a bantering remark of Ed Johnson's, that she had fallen into the habit of quoting bits of the philosophy of Harris Doreyn. Since then she had on more than one occasion caught herself at this, and had made up her mind to be more careful about it. Even THE HONEY BEE 17 after the years, it was best that she should not appear to have much to say about that man. Her irritation deepened. She did not like to hurt this bewildered boy; but above all she resented being hurt her- self. She seized a pen, and with a hand that trembled wrote right across the first page of his letter "You have no right to say these things. Please do not do so again, as I can not discuss them with you. You are making it impossible for me to treat you with even ordi- nary courtesy. If you are not a poor coward you will stay at your desk and make good. And please try to understand once and for all that I do not care for you in this way and never shall. This is final. I do not wish to be forced to Hilda found the baby sleeping restlessly on a cot in the room occupied by Millicent and Blondie. The window was closed tight, and the air was heavy. The two girls were there, Blondie in bed, dozing heavily, with the remains of a petit dejeuner on a chair at her elbow; Millicent, in a somewhat ragged negligee, was brushing her teeth. Adele, who brought Hilda in, was dressed for the day. She looked white and tired. Hilda and Adele stood by the cot, looking down at the new little human being. "It isn't very fat," whispered Hilda. "Not very," said Adele, ruefully. The baby's eyelids opened and the eyes rolled, exposing the whites; then the lids closed again. The corners of its little mouth curved upward. The lips were none too red. "That's colic," observed Hilda. "No mistake about it." "I'm afraid so," replied Adele. Hilda looked at the rumpled hair and sleep-flushed com- plexion of the girl in the bed, and at the muss of breakfast things on the tray. She took in again the torn negligee of Millicent, who was now using a towel vigorously. She con- sidered the litter of clothing and newspapers on the chairs and the floor. For a moment she stared thoughtfully out the window at a nest of chimney pots. "I've certainly got to do something," she thought. "I can't just loaf. Never in the world. "See here," she said, "I'm going to move in here and take care of this baby myself. Probably I can get a room." 54 THE HONEY BEE "Oh will you !" breathed Adele, with suddenly shining eyes and a tremulous smile. "I've worried so. It would be such a help !" Accordingly Hilda engaged a room on the same floor. By early afternoon she had packed her wardrobe trunk and removed it from the big hotel on the Eue de Eivoli. She decided to keep her room there for the present. Otherwise May Isbell would wonder; and the men of Armandeville et Cie. Before evening a baby's sleeping basket, decorated with pink ribbons, had been delivered at the Hotel de I'Anler* ique; and an alcohol lamp, and a dozen graduated feeding bottles, and tins of food preparations; and many bundles of white clothing. Also a clinical thermometer and other small parcels from the drug store. Blue and white porce- lain bottles of very costly milk came from the laiterie in the Eue des Mathurins. And a book on the care of infants from the American book store. At all which signs of personal authority and organizing ability, Adele and Millicent looked with frank and com- plete admiration. Blondie said it was kind of the lady. BLINK MOEAN ON DIET AND THE HUMAN MACHINE, ALSO ON THE HONEY BEE. AND A FAINT ANALOGY IT WAS nearly six o'clock in the afternoon when Hilda responded to a tap at her door with a low-spoken, "Come in I" At the moment the baby was engaged in sucking the two middle fingers of her right hand and staring up at the snowy curtains of the basket that now constituted her little world. She had been objecting to this little world, only a few moments earlier, with a violence that opened her mouth wide and changed her color through the various shades of red and purple to something near navy blue. In another few moments, if the average experience of this ex- traordinary afternoon might be accepted as a reasonable basis for prediction, she would object again. At present she was calm. The door opened softly, and Blink Moran tiptoed in. Hilda smiled. She was glad to see him. If the way these dancing and prize-fighting persons plainly had of visiting one another's rooms at all hours and in various casual degrees of negligee did seem more extremely unconventional than any mode of life that she had hitherto known, at least they were all quite wholesomely unconscious of it. The obvious thing to do, since she had intruded herself into this odd atmosphere, was to accept it. This, with an occa- sional recurrence of the queer sensation of unreality that 55 56 THE HONEY BEE had first risen within her on the preceding day, she was now endeavoring to do. Moran, at least, was always fully dressed when she saw him. "Everything all right?" he asked. She nodded, still smiling. "Come and look," she said. Adding, "You needn't be so terribly quiet. She's awake." He stood by her, looking down at the wholly unreasonable but definitely individualized bit of humanity in the basket. "Funny little thing," he mused soberly. "I suppose we all looked like that once." Hilda laughed softly, and nodded toward a chair. SKe herself dropped to the stool that she had placed beside the basket. Moran glanced at her, thoughtfully. She was dressed in a simple white shirt-waist and dark skirt. Her chest- nut hair was done up about her head in a way that, while simple, emphasized its abundance. She still looked tired; but there was a rather firm set to her mouth, and her eyes were steady. He thought of these eyes now, really for the first time. They were gray-blue in color; and you re- membered them. He knew that he would remember them. Yesterday and last evening, at the Parnasse and the box- ing match and Lavenue's, she had not looked like this. He could not say what the difference was, but certainly she now appeared surer of herself. She had told him that she was a business woman. He now decided that she was a capable one. She had a book in her hand, and was mark- ing a place with a slim finger. She caught him looking curiously at the volume, and held it up. "The baby book," she explained. "I'm study- ing it." "Oh," said he. "But you told me last night that you knew about babies." THE HONEY BEE 57 "I helped bring up two," she replied. "But that was a good while ago." Her face sobered. "You don't remem- ber all the things you pick up at such a time medical knowledge, and all that. A baby's a job, you know ; a very definite job. And every baby's different. You've got to etudy your baby. And you can't make mistakes. You can't, you know. So the only thing to do is the right thing, every time." He thought this over during a long moment ; then slowl j nodded. "Yes," he said, "I suppose that's so. I never thought of it." She opened the book and turned the pages reflectively. "No," she repeated, "it's no good making mistakes with babies. And you can't bank on what you only think you know things you half remember, opinions and such. I worked for a big man once, Harris Doreyn, of Chicago," she checked herself, glanced swiftly up, then looked down again at the book "oh, I told you about him last night. He used to say, 'Your opinions are no better than your information. Let's have your information.' I thought of that this morning, and so I'm getting up my information about babies." He rose and stood looking at the prettily arranged basket while thinking about the woman there on the low seat be- side it. He had never known quite such a woman. He didn't see why she should come in here and take hold in this fine way ; but he did see that the baby had brought her to life astonishingly. "But then, babies do take hold of women," he thought. "That's natural. It's their game." "I'm going over by the American Express," he said; "shall I ask for your mail?" "Thank you," said she. "If you don't mind." Then he left; forgetting that he needn't be so terribly 58 THE HONEY BEE quiet; tiptoeing out and closing the door with great care. Hilda watched him as he closed the door. Never in her life had she seen so big a man move with such lightness. He was back in less than an hour with her letters ; chat- ting for a moment, then going along. These had little in- terest for her. They were but fluttering bits of paper from a remote life in a remote land. Several times while she glanced hastily through them the baby's whimperings drew her attention. There was a cable from Joe Hemstead that called for a moment's thought. She mentally built out the gaps between the words. Stanley Aitcheson, it appeared, had left the Hartman store a week earlier. "That must have been just after Mr. Hemstead wrote the letter that came yesterday," she mused, with half a frown. But it had only this day become clear that he had sailed for Cher- bourg. His father was worried; and J. H. was cabling Armandeville's to look after him and send him back if possible. This was awkward. She thought it over while smooth- ing out the bedding under the restless baby, and draping a steamer rug over a chair-back to shield the little eyes from: the light. She knelt for a time beside the basket and studied the tiny head as it lay quiet for the moment, on the muslin-covered mattress. The nose was a mere button, as baby noses should be. The eyes, she thought, were going to be brown. She would have preferred blue. The little cheeks were none too plump. Very well she would see to that. And the knees, she knew, down there under the warm little puff, were hardly what you would call dimpled. But that, she considered, could be managed. A baby, as she had told Moran, is a job. It would be a matter of ex- perimenting with various foods until they could work out ''Babies do take hold of women," he thought. "That's natural. It's their game." THE HONEY BEE 59 the precisely right mixture for the delicate little body to digest and assimilate with the minimum of effort. They had had to work out a similar problem with her brother Harry ; and that was years back, before the modern understanding of baby problems had been arrived at. It was rather surprising, even to herself, that she should take such a deep enjoyment in the detail of ministering to this helpless little person after all these years of giving her attention and her strength to a very different sort of thing. One small hand lay outside the puff. She took it gently in her own. It was pitifully thin. There ought to be dimples here, as on the knees one dimple for each tiny knuckle. She looked again at the round little head. It was a dark baby, with almost black hair. She wished it were light. She liked blue eyes and bald heads covered with soft fuzz. The baby whimpered, caught its breath, opened its mouth and set out into an exhibition of an astonishingly strong equipment of lungs. Hilda patted the wriggling body, and spoke soothingly. The little face deepened in color and wrinkled. The noise grew in volume. Hilda looked about her, in momentary helplessness. "It isn't feeding time," she thought "not for half an hour. And the book says not to pick it up." But soothing words had no effect. Neither did the pick- ing, up process, when Hilda weakened. She replaced her little charge in the basket, lighted the alcohol lamp and set a pail of water over it, and placed a bottle in the water. The neck of the bottle was carefully closed with absorbent cotton. She had taken it from a small tin refrigerator, where its fellows nestled among several small cakes of that one rarest commodity in all Paris ice. 60 THE HONEY BEE As she moved back and forth, now trying to soothe the outraged baby, now testing the water with her finger and taking the bottle out to shake it, she thought of Stanley 'Aitcheson. Yes, it would be awkward should he find her. And very likely he would find her. He would be persistent exigent, even. He must not know that she had moved over to this queer little hotel. He must not know about the baby ; or about Blink Moran. She sighed and pressed her hand at the back of her head. She must be very careful indeed. The thought irked her. She frowned and compressed her lips, then shrugged her shoulders. She would face the facts as they might develop. The thing to do now was to wash her hands, take a rubber nipple from the cup of boracic acid solution on the window- sill and put it on the bottle. Already, she felt, she was growing less clumsy in these little matters. Within another day or so she would be deft enough at it. She seated herself beside the basket and slipped the nipple into the wide-open mouth. Instantly there was peace. At half past ten that night Moran tapped and tiptoed in. The baby was sleeping, restlessly, and at times snuffling a little. "Got a cold," Moran whispered, looking down at it. "A little," said she. "The doctor was in. He says he wouldn't think much of the cold if she were only a little stronger. The thing now is to work out this feeding prob- lem and build up her strength. Sit down the armchair. They don't go in very strongly for comfort in this hotel." "Not very," said he. Then, "Have you been right here all the time?" She nodded. "I don't mind." He thought this over. "You ought to get out. Weren't the girls back at all?" THE HONEYi BEE 61 "Only at dinner time. Adele was in. But only for a moment/' "Of course, she has to be at the Parnasse early to dress for the review. But couldn't you have left the floor maid here for a little while? Just so you could get in a short walk?" Hilda smiled and shook her head. "Not until I get this business in hand. I started weighing her to-day," she indi- cated a baby scale in white enamel that stood behind the closet door. "She's almost twenty ounces under weight, according to the table of weights in the book. I'll keep track every day now." He studied the scale during a long moment. "Look here," he observed, "aren't you getting into this thing pretty deep ? It must be a good deal of an expense." "I know," she replied. "But I'd likely be spending it some other way." She gazed down at the dark little head among the shadows of the diminutive puff. "It's got hold of me, I guess. I'm 1 not the loafing kind. I have to be doing something. I was all at sea yesterday. You see, I had had to make up my mind that I was too tired to go back to my job and didn't know what on earth to do with my- self." She interrupted herself with a nervous little laugh. "This baby is just the thing, you see." He inclined his head. "That explains it," said he. "Explains what?" "You looked tired last night. To-night you look reason- ably fit." He seemed quite unaware that his attitude was distinctly personal. She saw that, as usual, he was merely speaking out what was uppermost in his mind. But none the less, she changed the subject. "When do the the girls get back from the theater?" 62 "Two or three o'clock." "Two or three in the morning?" She was a thought startled. He nodded. "There's a supper show after the regular performance. They have to work at that, too." "But isn't that pretty hard?" "Oh, of course. But it goes with the job." She gave some thought to this. It was, to say the least, an irregular life these young folks were leading. Millicent and Blondie fitted into it naturally enough, and young Harper ; but Adele seemed different. She voiced this thought. He seemed to agree with her ; but said merely, "Adele's a good kid." "She doesn't seem so crazy as the others," Hilda went on, pressing the point a little. For new and confused specula- tions were stirring in her mind regarding the lives and rela- tionships of these young Americans, so curiously adrift in Europe. "She has some sense of responsibility." "Oh, yes," said he, "she's got that." "And she looks honest." "Oh, Adele's honest." It was no use. Blink was impenetrable. She pondered a little whether he employed the word "honest" in the same sense as she did. One fact regarding her prize-fighter she found down- right refreshing. He was simple; he was wholesome; he was, she decided, "comfortable." He had dropped his coat, hat and stick on her bed without a self-conscious thought. Aware every moment of the tenseness of her own nerves, she envied the perfect physical ease with which he sat in the shabby chair, resting his solid head against the back and his big hands on the chair-arms. She was hardly conscious now THE HONEY BEE 63 of the Gothic eyelid that had struck her, at first, as so gro- tesque; for she was beginning to feel comfortably ac- quainted with the calm blue eye beneath it. It did seem odd that he should be sitting here in her room, at eleven o'clock at night, visiting with her in the low confidential voice that the presence of the baby made advisable. But the conventional resistance to the fact that now and then flared up within her invariably flickered out when she looked at his big relaxed frame and found herself listen- ing to the observations that emanated from his slow but thoughtful mind. The moment came when she deliberately decided "He isn't even thinking about it. He's just natural. Then why shouldn't I be natural, too ? Even if they've never let me before." "Funny," he was saying. "I never thought about work- ing out a baby's diet this way. But when you do come to think of it why, it's the thing, of course. I haven't seen many babies ; but I know it's true of dogs and horses. And it's the way we boxers have to do all the time. It isn't just exercise, you know it's what we put into ourselves, the right proportions of foods and the right kinds. And just so much or so little water. I have to agree, you know, to make exactly a certain weight at a certain hour, one month, two months, six months off. And not only that I have to deliver myself in perfect physical condition at that exact weight. You say this baby is twenty ounces under weight : all right, let's bring it up to weight." Hilda regarded him with deepening interest. He had the power to take her out of her discordant self; for which fact she was grateful. He was reflecting. "The greatest things on diet are bees." 64 THE HONEY BEE I "Bees !" Hilda exclaimed softly. She was smiling. He nodded. "My father's in the business. Out in Michi- gan. It's queer you can't work around bees without get- ting interested in them. You know they seem to do a lot of things better than we do." "I don't know anything about them," murmured Hilda. "Why, they can make a queen bee out of an ordinary egg just by the difference in feeding. And they never make any mistakes." "Who are they?" asked Hilda. "The workers. They're the females, you know. But they don't lay eggs. Only the queen does that for the whole hive. The workers go out and get the honey and manufac- ture it, and make the was for the cells, and clean house, and feed the little grubs, and fight now and then, and fan air into the hive with their wings when it's hot. ... I was going to tell you about the feeding. When they figure out that they need a queen they feed the white grub, as soon as it hatches from the egg, a kind of jelly that they make in their heads." "In their heads?" "Yes. They give this jelly to the worker grubs, too, but only for three days. The grub that's picked for a queen is fed on this jelly until it's grown. They call it royal jelly in the books. But you see, they really make two different kinds of bees from the same kind of egg, just by feeding them differently. That's what I meant." "So the females are the workers," mused Hilda. Analo- gies rose in her mind. "Yes," said he. "Mostly they work all the time, every day, until they die. That's all they do just work." "Funny thing, though," he went on, after a moment, THE HONEY BEE 65 "they aren't so simple as that sounds. Sometimes they seem to go sort of crazy." "I should think they would/' mused Hilda; but she did not say it aloud. "It's generally when the flowers run out and they can't get much honey in the fields. They get to robbing other hives or jam pots in the pantry most anything, just so long as it's sweet. Sometimes, when mother was putting up preserves, it was fierce. She couldn't tell what to do. They get all demoralized. They get honey drunk. And you have to outwit them, one way or another, and make them take up their work again." The analogies were at large in Hilda's mind. She was looking down at the sleeping baby now. Her color had risen a very little. "Tell me," she asked abruptly, "how is her mother ?" At the word "her," she indicated the baby with a movement of her head. As usual, he was a little slow in following her apparent change of thought. But after a moment he replied, "Pretty sick." Hilda bit her lip, still gazing at the tiny form under the warm covers. Her eyes were bright. She got up now, and turned away from him, busying herself over the cups and plates that stood in a row on the window-sill. She heard him as he rose. "Don't get up," she said. "I just thought of something." * "I'm tiring you." "No," said she ; "on the contrary, you have rested me." He noted her bright eyes and the color in her cheeks, and shook his head. He picked up his coat hat and stick, moved over to the door, then hesitated. 66 THE HOKEY BEE 'Tell me," she asked, "what do they do in Trance with children that aren't well, when the parents weren't mar- ried?" "Different things," he replied. "There used to be a place where they dropped them into a sort of chute, to be taken care of by the city. Sometimes, I guess, the mothers keep them. There are a good many of them here, you know. The French people aren't so down on them as we are." Other questions were trembling on Hilda's lips. So she compressed those lips and shut the questions back. But he still hesitated, there at the door. "You know " he began, then paused. "What?" said she. "Well, I think you'd better let us come in on the ex- pense." "Oh, that's all right " she broke out; then saw that he definitely intended to "come in." He looked solid and strong in purpose, standing erect there by the door with his hand on the knob. "Of course, if you feel that way. . . ." "I do," said he. "And I know the others will. We all know Juliette, you see." "Of course," replied Hilda. "That is so." He had a strong sense of responsibility, this man. And he puzzled her more than a little. For a brief moment, she tried to divine him. Did he question her motives, in some way that she had considered? Or was he merely considerate and friendly? For a fluttering moment, even standing here in her own room, surrounded by a score of evidences that for the first time in its brief little life the baby was well cared for, Hilda felt herself an intruder. And he made her feel BO, this prize-fighter. A little rush of resentment against him flared within her; and following this, something very like resentment against the woman who had brought this 67 little life into the world, and who might at any moment re- assert her right in it. For already Hilda saw that she her- self might grow too fond of the child. This wouldn't do, of course. It would bring problems greater than any she had yet faced. And, too, she must not feel too harshly toward that poor waif of a girl-mother in the hospital at Auteuil. Even if she was a pretty questionable sort of person ! Even if the ideas of motherhood and marriage were inseparably linked in Hilda's mind ! She walked over to the window-sill and managed a pre- tense of setting something to rights. She turned back and bent over the basket, tucking the covers close in behind the little back. After all, in what respect was this very little girl different from other children ! Was it fair to blame a , child for the dereliction of its parents ! She looked up at Moran, over the basket. "I'll keep an account of the expense," she said, simply, with a softness in her voice so unfamiliar, even to herself, that her eyes unexpectedly filled "and let you know." "Thanks," said he. "I knew you would. I make it a .rule to go to bed early. But if you need me, or if there's anything I can do, my room is number ten, just down the hall. Good night." And he was gone. She went to bed herself then, but got little sleep. Shortly after midnight the baby woke, and became so restless that Hilda, dimming the electric light with wrappings of col- ored tissue-paper from her trunk, took it up and, settling herself in the armchair where Moran had sat, cuddled it to sleep in her arms. This sleep proved so deep and restful that she had not the heart to risk an awakening by replac- ing it in the basket. And she liked to feel the little body, wrapped about as it was in blanket and puff, a helpless weight in her arms. More than once, very gently, she 68 THE HONEY BEE pressed it to Her breast. She grew drowsy herself. Her thoughts rambled and took on the color of dreams. Her head drooped, then came up with a start and she looked about her at the unfamiliar room that was already so com' pletely dominated by the baby. Baby's things everywhere ii little garments that she herself had washed, drying over chair-backs ! What an extraordinary man her prize- fighter was to step into this strange, this exceedingly inti- mate, atmosphere and take it for granted, just as it was. Yes, he was natural. That was the word. It was why he liked Paris because he was natural. Tor Paris, with all its excesses, is at least that. Her head drooped again. The baby was warm on her breast. Her arms relaxed a little. She brought herself awake with a deliberate effort of will. It would not do to fall asleep. Not with baby in her arms. It would be safer to put her back in the basket. So she did this. Then, re- alizing that she herself was cold, except for that delicious warmness where the baby had lain so close, she got into bed and added a steamer rug to the rather inadequate covering. Again her sleep was short; but at least she had had the opportunity to get warm. This time she threw a heavy wrap about herself, and hurriedly set some water boiling over the lamp and got out her small drip coffee-pot. If this thing was to be a job, as it so evidently was, she would make a real job of it. Again she settled herself in the big chair and cuddled the little living thing close to her own warm body. It was half past two by the traveling clock on the bureau. Before three o'clock she had made and drunk her coffee; and felt refreshed. The baby certainly was sleeping better, this night, in her arms. Very well, in her arms the baby should sleep. THE HONEY; BEE eg 'At ten minutes after three she heard "the girls" come in. They said good night. One voice was Adele's. The other, she thought, was Millicent's. There was the sound of light footsteps and the rustle of skirts. Two doors closed softly. Ten or fifteen minutes later, there were other soft sounds in the hall. A man's voice, this time a man who was evi- dently intending to whisper and then forgetting the inten- tion. "No, I'm not drunk/' he was saying. "Only a few drinks tha's all. Jus' what those St. Louis men bought for me part of a bottle of wine. An' then jus' a few other drinks. I'm comin' in." The girl whispered her reply. But her voice, too, rose after a moment. Hilda heard her say "Now, don't you go starting anything ! Be careful, "Will ! Adele's in. She'll hear you !" The voice was Blondie's. And the man, Hilda believed, was young Harper. At his next remark, she was certain. "What do I care for her ! I can manage her. She does everything I say. She ain't goin' to make trouble. I'm comin' in." The girl whispered excitedly. Hilda thought she caught the sound of a small scuffle. Then another door opened, and Adele's voice said : "Can't you see the lady's light's lighted^ Do you want her to hear you ? "What do you suppose she'll think of us !" It was a point of view that Hilda could not fathom at the moment. There was weariness in Adele's voice, but she could not tell if there was any great amount of emotion in it. While she was thinking about it the little disturbance quieted down, and doors closed. Hilda sat quite motionless, holding the baby tight. That this atmosphere into which she had so impulsively intruded 70 THE HONEY BEE was distinctly queer, that it savored of an easy demoraliza- tion foreign to her own instincts and to the routine of her life, she was now certain. It was the sort of thing that at home, in her own environment, fast to her own moorings, she could not tolerate ; the sort of thing that irritated her, as inefficiency, any sort of a bad job, irritated her. But she was distinctly not fast to her own moorings. She wished Bhe were. Even now it might be possible to take the steamer back with May Isbell. May would reach Paris in a few days. For a time she considered this possibility. Then her rea- son stirred and told her, as it had told her before, that the one weakness she could not permit herself was irresolution. Deep, deep in her thoughts she knew that she could never go back to the store except as a changed rested woman. On no other terms could she face Joe Hemstead. He would be more than considerate. He would give her any reasonable amount of time at full salary a year, even. But there was nothing personal or yielding about J. H. Himself a finely organized, efficient working machine, he looked at her in the same light. As a working machine she was now a little out of repair. She herself had admitted it. He knew it anyway, without her admission. She must be put into re- pair, at once. That was all. The Hartman store was not a junk shop it was a great smooth-running power-house in which every wire, every casting, every bearing, every switch, every dynamo, was a human being or a finely organ- ized group of human beings. For the first time in Hilda Wilson's life this thought dis- turbed her, almost frightened her. And from this fact alone she knew that she couldn't go back. She couldn't go back, indeed, until the old feeling should return of glory- ing in her own part in the working of the great machine. THE HONEY BEE 71 This was a matter of getting into sound physical condition, that was all. She told herself that that was all. Her head ached. She looked about the room. There was her own wardrobe trunk, standing open, her own clothes hanging within it. There were her brush and comb and mirror and her silver box of toilet articles on the chiffonier. But all about were baby's things ! And the room was a chamber in a queer little French hotel, in Paris. She looked up at the thick red curtains that hung suspended from gilded cornices, before the two long casement windows. She looked at the none-too-clean white paint on the door frame, and the heavily-flowered red paper on the wall. Struggling with the almost overpowering sense of unreality that had gripped her during these two abnormal days, she looked down at the baby in her arms. And suddenly her eyes filled. A tear slipped down on her cheek. She let it go. Here was something real, something she could hold to for the mo- ment at least. For the moment . . . She started, and sat erect so suddenly that the baby stirred a little in her arms. She had caught a faint noise in the hall. She listened intently and heard it again. For the moment she was frightened. But everything was still again. Perhaps she had imagined it. She sat, still erect, for a little time ; then rose, moved carefully across the room, turned the key softly, and opened the door. Outside, in her nightgown, Adele was leaning against the wall. She looked white and tired. "I didn't mean to disturb you," she said, timidly. "I was just worrying a little, and thought I'd listen " "I was awake," said Hilda. She did not feel unkindness for the girl, but could not help speaking with a stiffness that was, in part, self-consciousness. Adele bit her lip, then looked down at the little dark head 72 THE HOSTEY BEE that was cuddled in the folds of the puff: "i*>he's all right?" Hilda nodded. "A little cold, that's all. The snuffles seem to interfere some with her breathing and wake her up. So I'm holding her. The colic seems to be a good deal better." Adele hesitated, turned half away, then, with a whis- pered "Good night," slipped down the hall. Hilda closed the door. VI ON CERTAIN DIFFICULTIES IN THE WAY OF BEING NATURAL AND TRUTHFUL AT THE SAME TIME A7TEE two or three days it became evident that the baby was not strong enough to throw off her cold easily; the infection must run its course. And for Hilda the problem of devoting herself to the wavering little life and at the same time accounting for herself to her business acquaintances showed evidences of becoming acute. She was determined not to give up the baby. Already the child, with its appeal to her deepest instinct (partly atrophied though this instinct may have been), and its helplessness, had found out and filled and warmed every hidden corner in her hitherto empty heart. She had told Moran that the baby was a job ; she could not have told him or any one how much more than a job it was to her now. She prepared the food, washed out the little garments, bathed and powdered the thin body, with a devotion that was almost fiercely primitive. The others felt her strong /sense of monopoly in the matter, but were so impressed by 'her ability and determination that they accepted the situa- tion in a spirit of complete and ingenuous friendliness. Moran was in and out, always quiet, always solid. Early each afternoon, following that confused first day, he in- sisted on taking her out for a walk, bringing her back in time to release Adele for her work at the Parnasse. Hilda 73 74 THE HONEY BEE permitted this rather passively. The strain of listening, most of the day and all the night, for the heavy breathing of the baby through its inflamed nasal and bronchial pass- ages, was telling on her; and she was glad to feel this strong person so calmly looking out for her health. That was what she liked best in Moran. He felt the same instinctive aver- sion from physical or nervous weakness that she felt from laziness or business inefficiency. And this influence was precisely what she needed now. They walked along the Champs Elysees, out to the Arc de Triomphe, through the Avenue Kleber to the Trocadero, and back by way of the Quai to the Place de la Concorde, the Eue Royale, and the Madeleine. She liked the view of river, Eiffel Tower and the Champ-de-Mars from the porches of the Trocadero; and she liked, too, the quiet reaches of the Seine, with its fine bridges springing so lightly from pier to pier, its sol- idly restful masonry embankment, and the absurd little passenger steamers, covered with advertisements, that darted impertinently up-stream and down. She found that Moran was watching her diet, too; and, rather to her own surprise, did not resent the fact. Prob- ably because there was nothing of the unpleasantly personal in his attitude. It was like having an expert physical trainer at one's elbow every day. In fact, it was just that. And now and then, when her mind wandered momentarily from the baby and herself, she fell to thinking that the men at the store who employed physical trainers to keep them fit (as Joe Hemstead did, year in and year out) had no such expert advice as was now being quietly pressed on her. She even jotted down some of his comments regarding diet and the mild sorts of exercise that a woman could properly un- dertake, for reference later on when this baby problem ehould be off her hands. THE HOXEY BEE 75 Adele helped all she could ; but her late night work made it necessary for her to sleep during the greater part of the mornings. Hilda was not comfortably certain that she approved of Adele. So strong was this feeling that she made it a point not to learn too much of her relations with that erratic youth, her "partner." She never went to Adele's room, be- cause she feared the confirmation of her guess that it was also Harper's room. Then, too, the disturbance, of which she had caught a few echoes during her first night with the baby, appeared to be gathering head. Hilda felt that a sit- uation at once unpleasant and quite beyond her own control was likely to be discovered any day. It was a situation in which she herself might very easily become involved. She did not like to think about it. Indeed, the slightly confusing fact was that Hilda could not help liking Adele, in spite of all the evidence against her. The girl might have been, evidently had been, caught in one of the rough and swirling undercurrents of life; but she was not "bad" not with those straightforward cow eyes and that gentleness of manner not untouched with shyness, that always disarmed one not "bad" in the sense that the flippant, often impertinent Annie Haggerty was bad, even though she might be guilty of the same offense. . . . Hilda found this line of thought rather bewilder- ing. Sin must be sin, of course. But Annie had a distinct touch of the adventurous in her. Adele had none, appar- ently; one felt that, despite her natural grace and distinc- tion on the dancing floor, she ought to have a home, and ba- bies, and sewing and cooking to do. One felt that she would be content ; and content with almost any fairly sober, fairly kind man for a husband. And yet, the adventurous quality is not necessarily sinful, in itself. . . . Hilda gave it up. 76 THE HONEY BEE On the third morning Hilda took a step which she saw plainly had to be taken. She rode down to the Armande- ville offices. Deliberately avoiding the gallant head of the house, she sought out M. Levy, the experienced Jewish em- ployee who had for years accompanied her on her buying expeditions as translator and business agent ; and set her- self at the task of apparently bidding him a casually friendly farewell while really endeavoring to fix in his mind a satisfactory explanation of her distinctly irregular move- ments. M. Levy was discreet. He did not share with his chief the privilege of making personal advances to visiting lady buyers. He was too closely associated with them in their intricate day-by-day transactions to permit of his in- truding the slightest feeling into his relationships with them. This, despite the fact that he was often obliged to lunch and dine with them, to accompany them to opera and races and on occasional sightseeing expeditions. Hilda, of recent years, after her experience with all sorts of men in 'France, Germany, England and America, had wondered often at his self-control. She had even wondered where and when he pursued the amours so important in the life of every Parisian she had ever known or heard of. Some- times, so busy was he, it seemed that you could account for all his waking time. Yet always he was smiling and blondly urbane, always patient, always impersonal; never in a hurry to be off about his own affairs. Thus he maintained among the flocks of lady buyers, the good will of Armande- ville et Cie., which had been not infrequently jeopardized by the exigent susceptibilities of old M. Armandeville himself. And so it was that Hilda outwardly cool, if a thought pale and tired; but inwardly blazing with resentment that the thing should be necessary at all passing M. Levy's desk as if it was the most natural thing in the world that THE HONEY BEE 77 eEe should be there, greeted him cordially, and accepted the chair he offered. "You have been away ?" said he, all smiles. Hilda thought quickly. They must have been trying to * find her at the big hotel on the Eue de Eivoli. So she \ nodded, then guarded the nod with the statement "Not out of Paris, but with friends." Her thoughts raced on and on, around and ahead of the present situation. It was going to be difficult. That mis- erably unstable thing, her reputation, would crash right here, were she not exceedingly skilful in creating a plausible impression. The one thing above all others that she could not tell, was the truth. It had come to lying no doubt of that, now. Downright wretched lying. So much had a warm impulse done for her on an empty rudderless day. No use even considering the matter now. And yet the truth was beautiful the most beautiful experience in her barren life. She was doing a natural thing, a human thing, an essentially decent and fine thing. And she had to cover it up lie about it. For one deep moment a great uprush of anger swayed within her. And she sat calmly there, smiling a little, and idly fingering a corner of the green desk blotter. She was as beautiful as ever, M. Levy thought, studying her through mild eyes. A fine woman a driver ; and with a good busi- ness head! Some of the others were cats. He wondered how she managed to look so young. Possibly she really was young. Who could say? At that, however, she did look tired. "You have worked hard," he observed. She nodded. "I'm going to take a vacation," said she "the first regular vacation in years." "Ah splendid ! You will remain on this side ?" 78 She nodded again. "For the present traveling a bit with friends. It will be nice to be a human being for a month or so." M. Levy sighed. "It is always nice to be a human be- ing." "Yes. I will send you a memorandum about the March shipments. We have covered everything else, I think." "Everything. You are not to concern yourself. I will attend to it all." "Thank you. I shall have to leave it in your hands, any- way. For I am dropping all work." She sobered. "Of course," he replied. "One can rest in no other way." "If any letters should come here, forward them through the American Express. I am leaving my hotel, of course." He noted this down. They chatted a few moments longer. Then she rose to go. "By the way," said he, "your Mr. Aitcheson is in Paris." Hilda stood there by his desk, silent for a flash. She was smiling again a cool self-possessed woman. A woman with a good business head ! "He was inquiring for you yesterday. I think he tried to find you at your hotel." So it was Stanley who had been looking for her. She wished now that she had not given this man her forwarding address. But she could not recall it. Above all, she must display no feeling against Stanley. She could only let it go. She had to move on now, anyway ; for May Isbell was ar- riving at eleven-thirty from the South. She must meet May, take her to luncheon, and pack her off for -Calais at three. She had planned this with considerable care, tele- graphing May just what trains she was to take. The ar- rangement spared her from spending with her assistant a THE HOKEY BEE 79 night that would involve more or less close personal con- fidences and explanations. She could not even have ex- plained the absence of her trunk from her room at the big hotel on the Eue de Rivoli. May knew every detail of her baggage and wardrobe, and besides had the sort of feminine mind that keeps all such details straight. Further than this, she had to get back to the baby shortly after three in order that Adele could dress and go to the Parnasse. The few hours with her assistant proved less difficult than she had feared. May was suspended between a fresh enthusiasm over the costumes she had seen on the Eiviera and a startled concern over the heavy responsibility that confronted her in returning alone. Hilda took her to the Cafe de Paris and, until time to leave for the train, kept her mind occupied with detailed instructions for the spring display. Not until the last ten minutes at the Gare du Nord did May's thoughts center on the rather curious prob- lem of Hilda Wilson. "But what on earth are you going to do, over here alone ?" she asked. Hilda smiled wearily. "I have a chance to travel a little with some friends. Pve always wanted to." A faint cloud flitted across May Isbell's not over subtle face. But Hilda's smile did not waver. "Well," said May then, "I suppose I'd better get to my seat before some Englishman takes it. Good-by. Do take care of yourself and have a good rest. And don't worry about us at the store. I'm sure everything will be all right." "Oh, yes," said Hilda, quietly and with a touch of firm- ness, "you will manage all right. It will be a good experi- ence for you." May was silent for a little. Hilda was her chief there 80 THE HONEY BEE could "be no reply. Then, with a moment's hesitation, she said: "I'm sorry you're not coming back with me, though. I was looking forward to the trip." "It isn't pleasant traveling alone. But we have to do it, now and then. You'll meet people. And it's always rather friendly on those slower English ships." "I suppose so/' mused May. She was on the car step now, but still lingered. "You hadn't thought of going back and taking your rest on the other side ?" she asked. Hilda gave a firm little shake to her head. "There's nothing in that," she replied. "It wouldn't be rest." She added no explanations, though much was passing through her mind. Were she to be anywhere within travel- ing distance of the store it would be impossible for her to keep away from her desk. She knew that. To join her mother at home would be to slip back among tangled little problems which would fray still more her worn nerves. And to travel south, or out to California, and sit, a solitary- tourist, on hotel verandas, would drive her mad. What she must have was companionship and fresh work. She com- pressed her lips, though her eyes were still smiling at her assistant. For despite the trying nature of her present sit- uation, it brought relief to reflect that she had both the companionship and the work. It was difficult, and it was queer ; but she had these. They gripped hands firmly; and Hilda turned briskly away. May Isbell, entering her compartment and dropping into her seat by the window, looked after the alert figure of Hilda until she lost it in the crowd by the concourse gate. It was curious, rather, that Hilda had never mentioned these friends with whom she now purposed touring Europe. THE HONEY BEE 81 For she and Hilda had been close traveling companions; and had talked freely, unguardedly at times, as traveling companions will. Hilda hesitated a moment with one foot on the taxi step. She had thought of driving around by way of the American Express and calling for her mail. But Levy would be giv- ing this address to Stanley Aitcheson. That was certain. Still, even the temperamental Stanley would hardly spend whole days there on the chance that she might appear. No, he would write her there. He was always writing, anyway. When in doubt, in elation, in temper or in love, he always seized upon his pen. It was a curious trait; one that she found it peculiarly difficult to understand. "Numero onze, Rue Scribe" she said, in her honestly American accent, and entered the taxi. She would go there anyway. She was tired of being furtive. For the moment she did not care whether she encountered Stanley or not. Though her reason told her that the chance was too remote for serious consideration* VII HILDA FEELS THAT SHE HAS DISPOSED OF STANLEY AITCHE- SON. MORAN TALKS WITH THE MANAGERS OF A PERSON OF IMPORTANCE. AND WILL HARPER GOES TO BUDAPEST THE cab stopped at the curb, across from the Ope"ra. Hilda hurried into the Express Company's building and directly to the winding double stairway that led to the mail and reading room above. Still deep within herself, her constant thought of the baby clouded at moments by surges of that spirit of rebellion against the confusing pressures about her, she gave not even a curious glance to the Americans at the various grated windows cashing trav- eler's checks, studying out circular tours and buying tickets, or chatting in groups near the door she simply brushed by and ascended the stairs with nervously quick feet. As she neared the top, a young man emerged from the mail room and stepped aside as if to descend the other stairway. Then suddenly he stopped short and fairly leaped back. Hilda looked up, and stood motionless, one foot on the top step, her hand gripping the rail. For an instant she could not bring her faculties clear. Then, pale and sober, an expression of guardedly unsmil- ing recognition on her face she extended her hand. He gripped it hard. "Oh/' he said, low, "thank God ... I left a note. I was afraid I had missed you." 82 THE HONEZ BEE . 83 "I am going in for my mail now," she said, conveying nothing ; and he moved on into the big room with her. Stanley Aitcheson was a good-looking young man, with something of the artist's softness of outline in his face and of the artist's fire in his brown eyes all this above a pair of athletic shoulders and a long, nervously alert body. Hilda went straight to the "M to Z" window and took her place in the line. All of five minutes passed before she turned away, letters in hand : there had been time to think. She walked slowly toward a writing table, opening an en- velope. The table she had deliberately chosen was close to others where other Americans sat writing or talking. She was giving Stanley no chance. It simply would not do to give him a chance. She had watched him as he stood by one of the long outer windows, staring down into the street, biting his lip and switching the light stick he carried against his leg. He came over now and dropped into the chair at the other side of the table. He laid his stick across the desk blotter, stared gloomily at it for a moment, then put his hat on it, looked up, and smiled nervously. Hilda was swiftly opening her other letters, throwing the envelopes into the waste basket one by one and arranging the enclosures in a neat pile. Aitcheson, biting his lip again, glanced covertly at the next table, and about at their other close neighbors. Hilda wondered if he had been drinking a little. He did that sometimes, she knew. But then, most men did. He leaned forward, elbows on table. "Car^t we have a little talk ?" he said, his voice low and not quite steady. Hilda placed her two hands on the little heap of papers, raised her eyes, and looked steadily at him for a moment. 84 THE HONEX BEE "I haven't mucH time to-day, Stanley." He bit his lip. "How about to-morrow, then ?" He spoke as one who is determined to remain calm. She thought this over. "I really shan't have much time for a few days." He flashed a glance of genuine surprise at her. "But Levy just told me to-day that you've quit work." "I have never accounted to Mr. Levy for my time." "But but " His voice was rising a little. Despite her resolution to handle this situation without any show of per- sonal concern, Hilda could not resist glancing about her. They must not be overheard. "Look here," said he. "I've come all the way from New York to Paris just to talk with you. Do you think you're being quite fair with me ?" Hilda mused. Perhaps it would be better to talk the thing clear out and have it over with. She dreaded the thought. It made her head ache. It was just another of those insistent pressures that were wearing her out. Cer- tainly she could not sit here and quarrel with an excited boy. It was plain that evasion on her part merely stirred and embittered him. Delay would doubtless have the same effect. "Very well," she replied, looking straight at him. "I really haven't the time now, but I'll take it." "We can't say anything here," said he. She agreed to this; and added, "The Cafe de la Paii is just down the block. We can sit there and talk quietly." So, in silence, they crossed the street and walked over to the corner of the boulevard. Only a few early tea drink- ers were in the restaurant. Aitcheson led her to the farthest corner, and in response to her nod ordered tea and toast. "Now," she said, "I've brought you here with a purpose. EHE HOXEY BEE 85 It was quite true that we couldn't talk there at the Amer- ican Express. And we can't talk here, Stanley not along the lines of your last letter. I must say that in some way that I am sure you will understand. This is to be the last time you and I ever discuss the subject. I don't feel toward you as you say you feel toward me. It is pretty certain that I never shall. You said it was unfair of me to refuse to talk with you after you have traveled so far to see me. Has it occurred to you that it was not fair of you to come ? I never encouraged such a thing. I have never encouraged you, except in a friendly way. You are annoying me now disturbing me. You have no right to do it. My advice is that you take the next ship back, go straight to your desk, stop thinking about yourself, and try to make good at your job." After saying which, she sat quietly there, her hands clasped against the table edge, her lips compressed, her eyes flashing a little, looking straight at him. She could see that he was stunned by this broadside. He flushed, and dropped his eyes; and more than once raised them with a fluttering question. He had sunk back in his chair, his hands plunged into his coat pockets. Gradually he whitened about the mouth ; and made a curiously unsuc- cessful little effort to smile. When he did speak, it was with a reversion to the slang of his boyhood, even now not so remote. "Gee !" he breathed. "That sounds rather final." "It is final," said Hilda. Again he tried to smile at her; but, failing, turned his head and gazed out through the window curtains at the empty, wind-swept sidewalk tables and the pedestrians and street traffic beyond them. Hilda watched him, and pondered. After all, the boy 86 THE HONEY BEE fiad come clear across the ocean to find her; or at least to find a response to the turbulent emotions within himself. Even granting that his imagination had as much to do with this erratic adventure as any devotion for a particular per- son, there was something rather appealing in the thought of it. Having struck him so solidly with her verbal bludgeon, she now found herself softening. She had seen other men in this condition ; and even when they were most completely sunk in their egotistic self-pity, they had stirred her always to her own surprise. This boy was stir- ring her now again to her surprise. She wondered how it would be to feel like that. Then an unexpected gust blew up disconcertingly from the deepest caverns of memory and fanned a little flickering blaze in her heart. She had once felt like that . . . years ago. In his last letter, the one she had been unable to answer, Stanley had called her hard. She wondered, with a mo- mentary tightening of the nerves, if it could be true. To- ward him, of course, she must continue to appear hard. There was no escaping that. It was out of the question that she should surrender her life into the hands of this in- experienced boy, whom she hardly knew. Quite out of the question. She knew had realized for a year or more, in her occasional dwellings on the problem that the time had definitely passed when it would be possible for her to cast in her lot with a struggling young man and help him make his way against the currents of life. Once she could have done this ; but now too much had happened. Her life had widened and, in a measure, richened. Her abilities had grown. "Well," he was saying "I guess that ends it all." He did not meet her glance of inquiry. "What do you mean by that ?" she asked. THE HONEY BEE 87 "Ifs over. I'm through. There's nothing left for me." "Don't be tragic, Stanley." He looked at her now. "Is that all ?" he asked huskily. "You just look at me, cold and hard as nails, and tell me not to be tragic ?" It seemed to her that he was indulging his emotions to the point of working up a scene. But she did not blame him. He was the sort that lives always in one or another emotional storm. She leaned forward on the table, and looked at him kindly, even gently. "Perhaps I understand better than you think, Stanley," she said. He brightened a little at the change in her. "I don't believe you are in love with me. No, please don't shake your head. And please make an effort to catch what I am saying. It is true that we can't go on talking about this. I can not go on having violent scenes with you and reading violent letters. It would simply wear me out with- out in any way making you happier. Indeed, you would lose ground by it, for you have at least had my cordial friend- ship . . . Now, please listen. You are not in love with me. You actually don't know me yes, that does make a difference. But you are in a state of mind that is danger- ous to yourself and others. You are not a man who should live alone. The thing you really do need, Stanley, is the companionship of a woman. Not my kind, somebody simpler and younger. You ought to marry, Stanley." "You don't mean," said he, slowly, after a long silence, "that you think I could turn my affections toward any one !" She was silent. "Where are your ideals ?" he went on. His voice was low and uneven. "At least I supposed you would know that love is a high and beautiful thing." 88 THE HONEY BEE She suppressed a momentary impatience. She must see this situation through. The boy appeared to be a quivering mass of youthful illusions. "You evidently don't know what love is," he added. She clasped her hands and rested them on the table-cloth. She could not reply to this. "You have never suffered," said he. The reproach in his voice fanned her inner blaze high and higher, until it roared at the ears of her mind. Her clasped hands tightened. She looked straight at him, and a mask dropped from her face. "There you are wrong, Stanley/' At the sudden low vi- brancy in her voice, he shifted his position and shot a puz- zled glance at her. This was the voice of a woman he had never known. But she seemed to brush this glance aside as, roused now, she swept on. "I have suffered. I have suf- fered because I do know what love is. I loved a man, and I had to send him away." "Oh," he murmured, "you sent him away, too." "Don't, Stanley please !" she said. He had never seen her eyes flash like this. He had never seen her so beautiful and so human. She continued. "I had to. He was mar- ried. And there were children. But I loved him. And I think he loved me then." She sank back in her chair, still looking straight at him ; and the fire slowly died in her eyes. "There, Stanley," she concluded, more gently "I have told you more than I ever told another living being. But if it helps you to under- stand me, I shall not be sorry. I do not like to hurt you, and yet I must stop you from pursuing me in this way/' Her eyes were swimming; but he did not look up just then. THE HOKEY BEE 89 it some one you worked with ?" he asked. "Yes" she replied. "But I think you had better not ask questions, Stanley. It was a long time ago. He was a big man the biggest I have ever known. He helped me. I gave him loyalty up to the time when it became a question of giving love. Then we had to break. He was bitter. He could not see what was so plain to me, even then that in these affairs the wife always wins. It seemed to me that she was a selfish woman. Perhaps I was not fair to her ; but it seemed so to me then. And during those years I know that she was not the helpmate to him that I was. I worked and fought with him in his deepest struggles and difficulties. He is successful now. But I worked through those years by his side. I never see him." Aitcheson was gazing down at the table-cloth, where his fingers absently and slowly traced the flower pattern in the fabric. She leaned forward again, elbows on table, hands clasped. "You told me I was hard, Stanley." He shifted uneasily, but she swept along. "Well I'm afraid it is true. Yes, probably I am hard. All these years and I am older than you I have been at the job of building up a new and soli- tary life. And what have I found ? Every man friend every man I thought big and honest enough to be a friend, these recent years has ended by trying to make love to me, by showing the beast in him " > She shuddered slightly. Aitcheson observed, "Perhaps you are judging them too harshly ;" but apparently without reaching her ear. "One by one," she continued, "I've had to let my men friends go. It wasn't possible. And their wives never would receive me. Among the wives there is always always that suspicion of a woman who lives an 9Q independent business life. Unless she is old. Or a hag. Everywhere I turn, always, there is nothing but pressure and suspicion. So Fve driven myself to work harder and harder. But look at the cost ! I'm wearing out at thirty- two. ... Do you wonder I'm hard ? Do you wonder I can't talk with you about love ? ISFo, Stanley, I'm not for you. But if you do feel gently toward me, you can help me by letting me alone. That's what I need." Round and round the flower pattern went Stanley's finger. His eyes followed it intently. But finally he looked up. "When you put it that way," he said, unsteadily, "it seems as if I ought to be able to do that. But I'm with you now. And we're talking real things. The trouble will come after I leave you to-mor- row, maybe. I shall want to see you. And those bitter feel- ings will come." "Don't be bitter, Stanley," said she, gently. "I've been. And it doesn't help. That's just my fight to keep from being bitter. You'd better fight it, too." She was drawing on her gloves. "I know," said he, "but I get so bewildered." A middle-aged couple, Americans, entered the restau- rant, followed by a fresh young girl an extremely pretty girl- Stanley caught sight of them first in the mirror be- hind Hilda. Then he turned. Hilda saw a momentary flush mount his cheek. The woman bowed then the girl. The man, at his wife's word, smiled and waved a friendly hand. Stanley excused himself and joined them. They re- ceived him cordially; but Hilda saw and felt the mother ehoot a questioning glance in her direction. In a few moments he was back. "Some people I met on THE HOXEY BEE 91 the steamer/' he explained. "ISTame of Macy. From Phila- delphia." Hilda had her gloves on now. "I must go, Stanley," she said. "Let me take you back to your hotel/' he suggested. She smiled, and shook her head. "You and I have got to part until there is some sort of a change and we can be friends. We may as well part here." He accompanied her to the sidewalk and hailed a taxi for her. She was conscious of a momentary elation. It seemed to her that she had handled the situation with something of her old power. But when the chauffeur leaned forward for the address, and again the necessity for con- cealment came to her, her smile faded and her mouth set itself firmly. "I have an errand or two," she said briskly. "I'll walk." She pressed Stanley's hand, with cordiality enough, and hurried away, leaving him there. As she walked, the resentment was high again. She wasted little thought on Stanley. He was an emotional young genius, and this was his mating time. Love is not always personal. And, besides, the man's freedom was his. Her thoughts turned as she walked along the boule- vard past the Parnasse and turned off behind the shadowy mass of the Madeleine toward the quiet solid Moran. His talk about the worker bees flashed back to her surface thoughts with unexpected vividness. They were the fe- males, those workers. "Mostly they work every day, un- til they die," he had said. "That's all they do, just work." And then, "Sometimes they seem to go sort of crazy." At which she had said to herself, "I should think they would." That would be when there was little honey to be got in the 92 THE HONEY BEE fields when all the sweet early flowers had died. They become demoralized. They get "honey drunk." They even take to robbing other hives. This thought brought swift vivid pictures of the baby. By the watch on her wrist it was nearly five o'clock. She walked more rapidly. She was surprised to find Adele in her room. When she opened the door, the girl was seated by the baby's basket, her arm over the back of the chair, her face pillowed on it. She looked up, startled, as Hilda came in ; then sprang to her feet and rushed out past her without a word, with- out even closing the door. She had been weeping. There was no explanation until Moran appeared in the arly evening. "I wanted to see you," he said. "But I had to have dinner with Carpentier's people. There was some rather important business." She thought him even graver than usual. "Is it is it about . . ." "They're talking a match, yes," said he. "It isn't settled?" "No. I don't much think they'll do it. But some of the papers have had a good deal to say, and I suppose his managers think they have to consider it. They've been accusing him of picking the easy ones, and they say he ought to meet me. It all depends on how strong the pa- pers keep at him. There's an English weekly, friends of mine, that is hammering pretty hard. You see, he thinks more of his reputation than some of our American men do. He's a decent fellow, Carpentier." He hung his hat on the nearest bed-post and for a mo- ment stood looking down at the baby, now asleep. "Sit down/' said Hilda. "I want to ask about Adele." THE HOXEY BEE 93 "Did you see her?" "Yes, but she wouldn't speak. She Had been crying. And it was five o'clock. Why didn't she go to the Par- nasse ?" Moran drew up a chair and seated himself. He crossed his legs, and clasped his knee in his strong hands. He was very grave indeed. It seemed to her that he was perhaps (something embarrassed. "Will Harper has gone to Budapest," he finally said. "Skipped. With Blondie. He's got a job there." "Oh !" Hilda drew in her breath. "But what becomes of Adele?" This question appeared to relieve his mind. "That's just it," he replied. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about only I couldn't be sure you'd be interested." VIII MAN" THEOUGH A WOMAN^S EYES. ANT) HOW EVEN BITTEE- 3STESS MAY HAVE ITS USES HILDA cautioned him to lower his voice. The baby was breathing hoarsely, and coughing a good deal in its weak little way. "I think I can get them to keep Adele on at the Parnasse for the 'the tango' work," he explained. "See the manager about it in the morning. But they won't pay much of any- thing for that. Girls are cheap in Paris. And she can't go on at night in the review without her partner. The 'Twisters' were a special troupe, you know ; and broken up this way, with young Harper gone, it's all off. Etheridge and Gay may stay on, or they may have to pick up some- thing else. But it leaves Adele flat, any way you look at it." Hilda considered. She felt like two persons. On the surface she was weighing this matter of Adele's immediate future from a practical standpoint. Back of these thoughts her mind was racing up new avenues of speculation. "There's nothing else she can do ?" He shook his head. "She isn't good enough to do a turn alone," he said, reflecting. "Adele's easy-going, you know. Harper is a good dancer, and she kept right up with him. But she hasn't got ambition enough. That's her trouble. She stays where you put her. She has to be led by some- body." 94 THE HONEY BEE 95 Hilda looked at him, straighter than she knew; and pressed a meditative finger against her mouth. "See here," she said. "Something's got to be done, hasn't it?" "Why," he replied, with irritating calmness, "I suppose so. It'll go sort of rough with the kid if we don't do something." Hilda was still intent. "Tell me this. I want to know. Were she and that boy well, lovers ?" "I don't know." His evasion was quietly perfect. Per- haps it was not consciously an evasion. "I don't think she loved him. But she'd be steady, just the same. She's the steady kind. Of course it has upset her, being thrown out of her work like this, and so far away from home . . . J> "I understand all that," Hilda broke in crisply. "You've got something in your mind some plan. What is it ?" He was slow to reply. He seemed to be thinking it all out; that he was deliberately keeping her waiting con- cerned him not at all. "Yes," he said, at last, "I have an idea about it." "What is it ?" "Well, you see, Adele's not like the others. Once I of- fered her some money the time Harper blew her pay and his in a gyp gambling place at Montmartre and she wouldn't take it. I couldn't make her. And she likes me, too." "Yes," observed Hilda, "she likes you." "Then, you see, all this baby business is going to run into money. And Adele knows that. She has talked to me about it. So I thought I'd try putting it up to you this way. You could offer to take her in might take the next room here for her. It's empty now. She'll have more time now, and she could help you. You could say it was 96 a loan. And then I could pay you, and we'd say nothing to her about that part of it." Hilda knit her brows. But he finished what he had to say, apparently with perfect faith that she would not fail to cooperate fully with him. She covertly watched him. She felt suddenly and curiously afraid of him; which, she told herself, was silly. He was, in his way, irresistible. He moved slowly and deliberately over your own ideas like > she almost indulged in a sudden smile like the steam roller of recent political analogy back home. She thought again of the immense vitality and reserve power in that strong frame; and again came the tense nervous thought that she would like to see him in action in the ring a gloriously beautiful figure of a man in short trunks and canvas shoes, all shining skin and hard muscle, tearing like a tiger at his opponent. What if he should fight Car- pentier ! "Or if that doesn't appeal to you," he was concluding, "suppose we, you and I, just lump the whole expense of Adele and the baby together and divide it between us." Hilda was finding difficulties in the way of thinking this little matter out clearly. She was being swept along faster than before. These new influences in her life the baby, and Moran, for he was distinctly an influence now were like an undertow sweeping her soul out to deep water. She could still cut loose. She had been clinging to that thought. But if she permitted herself to drift much deeper into this queer situation, that little matter of cutting loose might prove very difficult indeed. At any moment she might find herself identified with these people in some irrevocable way. What if Stanley Aitcheson should have a brainstorm and trail her to these odd haunts, finding her involved with chorus girls, a prize-fighter and a baby ! At this something THE HONEY BEE 97 tightened within her, and her thoughts raced. Before this, American women had dropped out of sight for a time in Trance or Italy; and there had been whispers of a child here or there. Her heart seemed to pause. . . . Stanley was not discreet; he might talk with Levy. And she had let May Isbell start on the journey home with an unan- swered question in her eyes . . . The complete other side of the curious picture in which she was a figure was now spread clear and wide before her startled vision; and what she saw and imagined there paralyzed her judgment. There was another factor in the situation that she felt vaguely; but simply could not face. This Blink Moran was quite impossible, except as a picturesquely casual ac- quaintance. But there he was, drawing closer and closer in that quietly irresistible way of his. And he made her think of warm wonderful experiences that stirred and startled her imagination. The influence of the baby en- tered here it had set a warm current moving in her heart, it had weakened the inner defenses that she had for years thought strong enough to resist anything. There was the one safe course to cut loose, go to the Riviera, to Italy, fill her mind with fresh impressions and the pleasant experiences of irresponsible travel. . . She looked down at the flushed restless infant. To Moran she appeared sober, calm. "I think she must have some fever," said Hilda. "And she is coughing more often. Listen ! . . . There, it's a shorter, harder cough. And two or three times she has twisted her face up as if it was hard to get her breath." Moran drew his chair closer, and stared down into the Jjasket.