returned. And kissing her, he hurried out, feeling, perhaps,
that he was not acting as wisely as he should, but not
seeing clearly how otherwise he was to do. A man couldn’t
break off with a girl as he was trying to do, or at least might
want to, without exercising some little tact or diplomacy,
could he? There was no sense in that nor any real skill, was
there? There must be some other and better way than that,
surely. At the same time his thoughts were already running
forward to Sondra and New Year’s Eve. He was going with
her to Schenectady to a party and then he would have a
chance to judge whether she was caring for him as much
as she had seemed to the night before.
After he had gone, Roberta turned in a rather lorn and
weary way and looked out the window after him, wondering
as to what her future with him was to be, if at all?
Supposing now, for any reason, he should cease caring for
her. She had given him so much. And her future was now
dependent upon him, his continued regard. Was he going
to get tired of her now—not want to see her any more? Oh,
how terrible that would be. What would she—what could
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she do then? If only she had not given herself to him,
yielded so easily and so soon upon his demand.
She gazed out of her window at the bare snow-powdered
branches of the trees outside and sighed. The holidays!
And going away like this. Oh! Besides he was so high
placed in this local society. And there were so many things
brighter and better than she could offer calling him.
She shook her head dubiously, surveyed her face in the
mirror, put together the few presents and belongings which
she was taking with her to her home, and departed.
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Chapter 29
BILTZ and the fungoid farm land after Clyde and Lycurgus
was depressing enough to Roberta, for all there was too
closely identified with deprivations and repressions which
discolor the normal emotions centering about old scenes.
As she stepped down from the train at the drab and aged
chalet which did service for a station, she observed her
father in the same old winter overcoat he had worn for a
dozen years, waiting for her with the old family conveyance,
a decrepit but still whole buggy and a horse as bony and
weary as himself. He had, as she had always thought, the
look of a tired and defeated man. His face brightened when
he saw Roberta, for she had always been his favorite child,
and he chatted quite cheerfully as she climbed in alongside
of him and they turned around and started toward the road
that led to the farmhouse, a rough and winding affair of dirt
at a time when excellent automobile roads were a
commonplace elsewhere.
As they rode along Roberta found herself checking off
mentally every tree, curve, landmark with which she had
been familiar. But with no happy thoughts. It was all too
drab. The farm itself, coupled with the chronic illness and
inefficiency of Titus and the inability of the youngest boy
Tom or her mother to help much, was as big a burden as
ever. A mortgage of $2000 that had been placed on it years
before had never been paid off, the north chimney was still
impaired, the steps were sagging even more than ever and
the walls and fences and outlying buildings were no different
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—save to be made picturesque now by the snows of winter
covering them. Even the furniture remained the same
jumble that it had always been. And there were her mother
and younger sister and brother, who knew nothing of her
true relationship to Clyde—a mere name his here—and
assuming that she was wholeheartedly delighted to be back
with them once more. Yet because of what she knew of her
own life and Clyde’s uncertain attitude toward her, she was
now, if anything, more depressed than before.
Indeed, the fact that despite her seeming recent success
she had really compromised herself in such a way that
unless through marriage with Clyde she was able to
readjust herself to the moral level which her parents
understood and approved, she, instead of being the
emissary of a slowly and modestly improving social
condition for all, might be looked upon as one who had
reduced it to a lower level still—its destroyer—was sufficient
to depress and reduce her even more. A very depressing
and searing thought.
Worse and more painful still was the thought in connection
with all this that, by reason of the illusions which from the
first had dominated her in connection with Clyde, she had
not been able to make a confidant of her mother or any one
else in regard to him. For she was dubious as to whether
her mother would not consider that her aspirations were a
bit high. And she might ask questions in regard to him and
herself which might prove embarrassing. At the same time,
unless she had some confidant in whom she could truly
trust, all her troublesome doubts in regard to herself and
Clyde must remain a secret.
After talking for a few moments with Tom and Emily, she
went into the kitchen where her mother was busy with
various Christmas preparations. Her thought was to pave
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the way with some observations of her own in regard to the
farm here and her life at Lycurgus, but as she entered, her
mother looked up to say: “How does it feel, Bob, to come
back to the country? I suppose it all looks rather poor
compared to Lycurgus,” she added a little wistfully.
Roberta could tell from the tone of her mother’s voice and
the rather admiring look she cast upon her that she was
thinking of her as one who had vastly improved her state.
At once she went over to her and, putting her arms about
her affectionately, exclaimed: “Oh, Mamma, wherever you
are is just the nicest place. Don’t you know that?”
For answer her mother merely looked at her with
affectionate and well-wishing eyes and patted her on the
back. “Well, Bobbie,” she added, quietly, “you know how
you are about me.”
Something in her mother’s voice which epitomized the long
years of affectionate understanding between them—an
understanding based, not only on a mutual desire for each
other’s happiness, but a complete frankness in regard to all
emotions and moods which had hitherto dominated both—
touched her almost to the point of tears. Her throat
tightened and her eyes moistened, although she sought to
overcome any show of emotion whatsoever. She longed to
tell her everything. At the same time the compelling passion
she retained for Clyde, as well as the fact that she had
compromised herself as she had, now showed her that she
had erected a barrier which could not easily be torn down.
The conventions of this local world were much too strong—
even where her mother was concerned.
She hesitated a moment, wishing that she could quickly
and clearly present to her mother the problem that was
weighing upon her and receive her sympathy, if not help.
But instead she merely said: “Oh, I wish you could have
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been with me all the time in Lycurgus, Mamma. Maybe—”
She paused, realizing that she had been on the verge of
speaking without due caution. Her thought was that with her
mother near at hand she might have been able to have
resisted Clyde’s insistent desires.
“Yes, I suppose you do miss me,” her mother went on, “but
it’s better for you, don’t you think? You know how it is over
here, and you like your work. You do like your work, don’t
you?”
“Oh, the work is nice enough. I like that part of it. It’s been
so nice to be able to help here a little, but it’s not so nice
living all alone.”
“Why did you leave the Newtons, Bob? Was Grace so
disagreeable? I should have thought she would have been
company for you.”
“Oh, she was at first,” replied Roberta. “Only she didn’t have
any men friends of her own, and she was awfully jealous of
anybody that paid the least attention to me. I couldn’t go
anywhere but she had to go along, or if it wasn’t that then
she always wanted me to be with her, so I couldn’t go
anywhere by myself. You know how it is, Mamma. Two girls
can’t go with one young man.”
“Yes, I know how it is, Bob.” Her mother laughed a little,
then added: “Who is he?”
“It’s Mr. Griffiths, Mother,” she added, after a moment’s
hesitation, a sense of the exceptional nature of her contact
as contrasted with this very plain world here passing like a