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CHAPTER III
THE VOICE

"BUT, Frieda, how could you possibly have arranged to arrive in the middle of the night like this?"

Jack had reached the waiting taxicab, which stood transfixed in the middle of the road and had pulled open the door of the vehicle, only to find her sister sitting inside, almost completely enveloped in steamer blankets and bags and boxes.

"The cab broke down," Frieda remarked plaintively, evidently attempting to explain last conditions first. It seemed not to have occurred to her that even in the event of this difficulty, she could have gotten out and walked up to the house. But it was eminently characteristic of Frieda simply to sit still and call for her sister, as she always had done in any emergency when they were both girls.

The next moment Lady Kent, with the assistance of the driver, had helped her visitor to alight. If Olive and the butler had not arrived just then, she might again have forgotten her dignity and begun dragging out Frieda's bags. But instead, she and Olive, escorted Frieda up the avenue, leaving the two men to bring her possessions.

"I was lonely after Olive left me in New York," Frieda explained. "So when I read in the paper one morning that a particularly comfortable steamer was sailing, I decided not to wait an entire week, if I could get a nice stateroom. I thought Olive would not need but a few days to tell you. You have told, haven't you, Olive?" Frieda demanded, with a slight change of tone.

When Olive answered "yes," briefly, she went on:

"Please don't ask me any questions tonight, Jack. I'm most dead. No; I didn't have a rough crossing, but I have never arrived anywhere alone before in my whole life. I knew I could call up Frank at his club in London, but I did not wish to see him first. Still, I don't care what he thinks, since I have lost all faith in men. But I don't see why some one did not meet me at the station here. I telegraphed from Liverpool that I was on the way."

Jack shook her head.

"Curious dear, but we never received your telegram."

"Oh, well;" Frieda added more indulgently, "I didn't exactly telegraph myself, but I gave the money to a boy and told him what to say. Perhaps he made a mistake, or kept the money, or something," she ended nonchalantly. For they were now entering the great hall at Kent House and Frieda realized that she did not care very much for small things, so grateful was she to be again with her sister.

Impulsively she turned and embraced her.

Perhaps it was because Frieda was tired, but Jack could see that she was not so unaffected by what she had been passing through as Olive had imagined.

It is true Frieda looked as much like an exquisite wax doll as ever. Her eyes were as large and delicately blue, and her hair was a mass of soft yellow curls; yet there was a subtle change in her expression.

Olive had led the way into the library.

"We won't talk about anything until you like, Frieda," Jack whispered.

"Will you go up to your rooms now or have something to eat first down here with Olive and me?" she asked.

Frieda permitted Olive and Jack to remove her coat and hat. A few moments later, however, she announced that she preferred going upstairs to bed. So Jack finally bade her goodnight, after arranging that she was to ring her bell for breakfast, when she wished it the next morning.

When Frieda rang for breakfast it was nearly eleven o'clock and Jack went into her room with the maid who carried the tray.

Frieda ate her morning repast languidly, while her sister sat beside her talking of trivial things.

"Where is Olive?" Frieda inquired finally. And when informed that Olive was in the nursery with the children, protested: "I suppose you know I am jealous of your baby's being named for Olive. Of course I know you and she are very dear friends; but, after all, I am your sister."

"I felt that way about it too, Frieda, but Frank seemed not to wish a German name," Jack answered, "and Vive has her own name now anyhow. Maybe the next time."

Frieda frowned. "Don't talk of next time, Jack. I can't imagine your having a family. I hate being married." And without any other warning two large tears rolled down Frieda's cheeks.

"I'd rather tell you what has happened between Henry and me this minute and get through with it. And I'd prefer to tell you without Olive's hearing. I don't mean to be impolite, but Olive is almost an old maid and old maids always take the man's part."

In spite of her anxiety Jack was compelled to laugh. Frieda had always been such a funny mixture of babyishness and worldly wisdom.

She was now sitting up in bed with a number of white pillows piled behind her and wearing a light blue cashmere jacket over her gown. The English air was cooler than that to which she was accustomed.

"I hope nothing very serious, Frieda?"

"Nevertheless it is so serious that I never intend to speak to Henry Russell again, if I can avoid it. You see," Frieda sighed, "I suppose it is better to begin at the beginning and tell the whole thing. But, then, who knows when anything actually begins? At any rate during the first two years after Henry and I were married you remember we lived with Henry's parents. They were awfully nice to me and gave me hundreds of presents, but after awhile I became tired of living in another's house. Oh, the house was big and I had plenty of rooms, but you know it isn't like having a home of one's own is it, Jack?"

After waiting for her sister to nod agreement, Frieda went on.

"So I told Henry I wanted a house to myself, and I must say he and his mother and father were very nice about it – at first." Frieda made a dramatic pause.

"It was Henry's fault all through though. You know he is the only child and his mother and father are dreadfully rich. But what do you suppose Henry decided? When we went to housekeeping for ourselves we were to live on the income he made as a Professor! Did you ever hear of anything so selfish?"

"Well dear," Jack hesitated "maybe in a way it was selfish, because of course Henry's father and mother must have been disappointed not to be able to do for you. But, after all, it was self respecting of Henry. I suppose a man – especially an American one – likes to feel that he is able to be responsible for his own family."

"That is exactly what Ruth and Jim Colter wrote me," Frieda protested indignantly. "I suppose it never occurs to any one of you to think of me!"

"Yes, but you have your own income from our estate, Frieda," Jack added quickly, not wishing to offend her sister at the beginning of her confidence.

"I know," Frieda continued more amiably. "So, at first, when I saw how much Henry's heart was set on our being independent, I agreed to try. But you know, Jack, I never have had much experience in managing money, and even when we were at school at Primrose Hall I got into debt. So, although Henry told me just what we had to live upon, I couldn't seem to make things come out even. Then, as I didn't want to worry him, I kept using my own income till that gave out. And then – "

"Then what?" Jack inquired anxiously. Really she had been right in disapproving of Frieda's marrying so young. And more important than Frieda's youth was the fact that she, and all the people who had ever had anything to do with Frieda, had never treated her as a responsible human being. In her entire life she had never had any real care, or any real demand made upon her. Jack felt deeply uneasy. But whatever had happened, whatever might happen in the future, Frieda was her own adored small sister, and she intended to stand by her.

"Oh nothing much," Frieda conceded, although her voice was less self assured, "only I told Henry's father. He used to be very fond of me before I left Henry; I don't know how he feels now," she murmured. "I believe he thought I was some kind of a joke, for he gave me a lot of money and told me not to worry. But he told Henry's mother and she did not think it was fair to Henry and must have let him know. Anyhow he was dreadfully angry and unkind to me."

"How unkind?" Jack demanded. For, of course, the fear that Professor Russell had been unkind to Frieda had been always at the back of her mind, since learning of her sister's unhappiness. However, when she recalled the Professor's shyness and gentleness, it was difficult to imagine him in the role of a brute. But Jack had learned enough of life not always to trust to exteriors.

"Oh, nothing very dreadful I suppose," Frieda conceded. "Henry fussed a lot and said I had not been fair to him and that it wasn't honest to keep things from him. He was always saying that I was very young and that I ought to confide everything in him."

"Was there anything else, dear?" Jack inquired gently.

Frieda nodded. "Yes. Oh, well, I might as well tell you the whole story since I have started. I was getting on a little better with the house, and Henry obtained some extra work to do, so that he made more money. But it kept him at home more in the evenings and besides he never did like to go out a great deal. He used to go sometimes because I liked it, but I never felt he was enjoying himself, and Henry never would learn to dance."

This struck Jack as a perfectly absurd reason for a vital difference between a husband and wife, yet she dared not smile, nor did she wish to smile, seeing how important this really appeared to Frieda.

But Frieda must have understood something of what was passing in her sister's mind, for she said:

"I know that may sound ridiculous to you, Jack, but it has made a lot of difference to me." There was a choking note in Frieda's voice. "A lot of our trouble has come from it. You know I dearly love to dance, so I used to go out in the afternoons as I didn't like staying at home by myself and did not want to trouble Henry to take me often."

"Not by yourself?"

"Certainly not," Frieda returned pettishly, "one can't very well dance alone."

"With any particular person?"

For a moment Jack held her breath.

At first Frieda shook her head. Afterwards she contradicted herself and nodded.

"There were three or four persons – young fellows – some of them students at the University, and most of the time other girls, too. At first Henry did not mind. Then he said people were beginning to talk and there was one person I liked especially, because he danced better than any one else, whom Henry said I could not go with at all. But I did go. Then I told Henry I was bored anyhow and wanted to be free. He was very disagreeable. So I ran away and just left a note. But I haven't been very happy for a long time, Jack, darling. I suppose you were right when you said I ought not to have married so young. Perhaps I am spoiled and selfish. Henry says I am, but some people like me anyhow."

Jack leaned over and took Frieda's chin in one of her firm white hands.

"There isn't anybody else, is there little, sister?" she demanded.

Returning her gaze straightforwardly, Frieda answered severely.

"Certainly not, Jack; what do you think of me? Don't you know I am married. I told you I didn't like men any more, and never intend to have anything to do with them again."

"Then I'll leave you now, dear, and send one of the maids to help you dress, if you like," Jack answered. "Let's don't talk any more today on this subject and please don't worry. You have lost all your color shut up by yourself in that wretched New York hotel. Hurry and come out in the garden with Olive and the babies and me."

But when Jack had left her sister, she did not dismiss the thought of their conversation so lightly as her words implied. Perhaps Frieda had not made out a very good case for herself against her husband. It looked as if Professor Russell must have a story to tell as well. But the main fact appeared that Frieda was not happy in her marriage. Whatever the reasons, or whoever was at fault, it was the thing itself which worried Jack. It was plain enough that Professor Russell was too old for Frieda, and that his scholarly tastes were not suited to her girlish ones.

"A Professor of Dead Languages married to Frieda!" Jack whispered, blaming herself once again for allowing the marriage. Well, nothing could be decided for the present at any rate. One must wait for at least a little more light!

Out in the garden Jack and Olive and Frieda played all morning with Jack's two babies. Jimmie was a little fair haired, blue eyed, rose cheeked English boy. Vive was a different kind of baby; she had light yellow hair, and dark eyes unlike either Jack's or Frank's. Perhaps she was going to resemble the lovely old time portrait in the library.

Frieda spent several hours with Vive in her arms, although she never had been particularly interested in any baby before.

When lunch was over, Jack said unexpectedly:

"I hope you'll forgive me, Frieda, if I leave you and Olive for a little while. I promised a friend, Captain MacDonnell, to ride with him this afternoon before I dreamed you were coming, and I have forgotten to let him know. Besides," Jack added, since never even in small matters could she be dishonest, "I really want the ride. Captain MacDonnell is the one person who likes to ride as hard as I do. Oh, of course, English women ride marvelously well – far better than I, and there is nothing they won't attempt in hunting. But what I like now and then is just a straight cross country ride – as near like the old rides across the prairies as I can manage, though I must say this country does not look much like the prairies," Jack ended, as she glanced smiling out the window at her own beautiful, well kept English lawn. "Wait, Frieda, and meet Bryan won't you? he is one of Frank's and my dearest friends."

So Olive and Frieda were standing together on the veranda at the side of Kent House when Jack and Captain MacDonnell finally rode off, accompanied by a groom.

"I declare Jack looks better on horseback than any one in the world," Frieda announced admiringly. "Her costume is more stylish than the old khaki or corduroy things she used to wear at the ranch, but I don't think Jack herself is very much changed, except that she is more attractive."

At this instant Jack turned to wave her riding whip back at her sister and friend. She had on a perfect fitting tan cloth habit with a long English coat and short trousers and high riding boots. Her yellow brown hair was braided low on her neck and she wore a small derby.

"Captain MacDonnell is handsome too, isn't he?" Frieda remarked reflectively, before moving to go indoors. "I wonder if he and Jack are very intimate and if Frank minds her riding with him like this? I suppose not, or Jack wouldn't," she acknowledged.

Then she turned to Olive. "Don't look so cross, for goodness sake, Olive. I am not criticizing Jack. I don't suppose you imagine she is any more perfect than I do, only I was just thinking how you and the entire family will probably blame me for doing pretty much the same kind of thing that Jack is doing. Of course, I don't think there is anything wrong in it. It is absurd and horrid of people to believe there is."

Olive was about to reply, but before she could speak, Frieda interrupted her.

"Oh, I know exactly what you are going to say, Olive. Jack and I are very different persons! I know that as well as you do. I know, too, that Jack would never do anything except what was right. She could not if she tried. But she might do something silly. I don't suppose there is any human being in the world who fails to be foolish at one time or other in this life," Frieda concluded.

CHAPTER IV
A LATE ARRIVAL

FRANK KENT returned unexpectedly from London early in the same afternoon. He had not yet heard of Frieda's arrival, so that they at once spent an hour talking together.

Lord Kent, as most men did, treated his sister-in-law as a very pretty and charming young woman, who was not to be taken seriously. His wife had told him of Frieda's difficulty with her husband, but not of the cause. At that time she was not aware of it. Also she had instructed him not to mention the prospect of Professor Russell's appearance in England. So Frieda and Frank chatted and teased each other, as they had since she was a little girl just entering her teens, but neither referred to any unpleasant subject.

Lord Kent had seemed tired when he first came home and was disappointed to find his wife absent.

After his conversation with Frieda he relaxed and appeared more cheerful and good natured. This was the effect Frieda usually had upon masculine persons. She was so gentle and pretty, and her eyes were such a clear blue that one felt she could be easily influenced or persuaded. But the truth was that Frieda was no more easily controlled than a kitten. If ever one tries to train a little domestic animal, it will be discovered that a dog is far more quickly influenced than a kitten. As a matter of fact a kitten is probably the most unchangeable of all domestic pets.

Since the early afternoon the July day had altered. A soft rain had begun falling, so that tea at Kent House was served in the library.

Olive, Frieda and Lord Kent waited half an hour later than usual, thinking that Jack and Captain MacDonnell would return. Then they drank their tea slowly, still believing that the riders would surely appear before they had finished.

At half past five, when there was still no sign of his wife and friend, Lord Kent got up and several times walked back and forth from his chair to the big French window.

For the moment Frieda had gone out of the room, so that he finally spoke to Olive.

"I suppose it is ridiculous of me, but I am always more or less uneasy when Jack and Bryan go off for rides together. Jack is the most fearless horsewoman in the world and Bryan the most all round, fearless man. He has killed big game in Africa and India and Australia, traveled in the Congo and in other equally uncivilized places. He never used to stay for any length of time in England. Now and then I have an idea of forbidding Jack to ride with him, I am so uncertain of what reckless thing they may do together."

"Oh, I don't think you need worry, Frank," Olive returned, "Jack is fearless but I don't think she has been reckless since the accident she had when a girl."

Although she could scarcely speak of it, Olive was smiling to herself over Frank's use of the word "forbid." She never recalled that any one had ever forbidden Jack to do anything she wished so long as she had known her. But probably Frank's forbidding was of the gentlest kind. Olive felt she must remember that the English attitude toward marriage was not the same as the American, although when an Englishman marries an American girl they are supposed to strike the happy medium.

Entering the room again just as Frank concluded his speech, Frieda was even more startled when she recalled that the use of this very word had been one of the reasons for the most serious quarrel she had ever had with her husband. Henry had never used the word a second time.

Another hour passed. Still Jack and Captain MacDonnell had not returned. Moreover, by this time the rain had become a steady downpour. Olive and Frieda were also uneasy.

"If you will forgive my leaving you, I believe I will go and see if I can find what has become of the wanderers," Frank suggested. Then, without further explanation or discussion, he went away.

Ten minutes later, mounted on his own horse, he was riding down the rain-washed road. He had found that the groom, who had accompanied Jack and Captain MacDonnell, had gotten separated from them and returned home half an hour before.

Frank was uncertain whether he were the more angry or uneasy. It seemed impossible to imagine what misfortune could have befallen his wife and friend, which would have made it impossible for them to have either telephoned or sent some message home. Yet it was equally impossible to conceive that Jack would be so careless as to forget every one else in the pursuit of her own pleasure. Even if she had been uncertain of his arrival from London, there was Olive, who had been her guest only a few days and Frieda not twenty-four hours. But as a matter of fact Jack had known he would be down sometime during the evening although she did not know the hour.

July is one of the long twilight months in England. Nevertheless, because of the rain, the evening was a kind of smoke grey with the faintest lavender tones in the sky. A heavy mist was also rising from the ground, so that with the falling rain one could not see many yards ahead.

Lord Kent's plan was to leave word with his lodgekeeper at the lodge gate to follow after him in case any word came from Lady Kent, or if she returned home before he did. But a moment or so before reaching the lodge, while yet in his own avenue, although at some distance from Kent House, Frank heard laughter and low voices. There was no doubting the laughter was Jack's.

Frank pulled up his horse abruptly and stood still. The oncoming figures were walking and leading their horses instead of riding. That instant, because he was no longer uneasy, Frank discovered that he was angrier and more hurt than he cared to show.

All at once he overheard Jack say:

"Do hurry, please, Bryan; I'm afraid everybody at home may be uneasy."

But instead of hurrying, they must have stopped again. For the second time Jack murmured, "I don't see how I could ever have been such a wretch, or how I'll ever confess to Frank."

Then Captain MacDonnell's inquiry:

"What are you going to say?"

And his wife's answer:

"Why, tell the truth and face the music; what else is there to do, Bryan?"

In the past few years since his marriage, undoubtedly Frank Kent had either altered or simply developed. Sometimes it is difficult to determine which one of these two things a human being has done. Frank had always been quiet and determined. If he had been otherwise he would never have tried for so many years to persuade Jacqueline Ralston to marry him. But now that he had grown older, he certainly appeared sterner. He seemed to have certain fixed ideas of right and wrong, and they were not broad ideas, to which he expected at least the members of his own household to conform.

The two wayfarers were now in sight and Frank dismounted.

"I am sorry to have been compelled to play eavesdropper," he said curtly, when they also caught sight of him.

Jack was soaked with rain and her boots and riding habit were splashed with mud. A little river of water filled and overflowed the brim of her hat. But her cheeks were a deep rose color and her grey eyes dear and shining.

Frank would never have confessed that he felt a slight pang of jealousy at the good time his wife and friend must have been having, while he had been making himself miserable with the thought that a disaster had befallen them.

Jack's hand was resting on the nose of her horse, while Captain MacDonnell held the bridles of both.

"You have come out to search for us, haven't you, Frank?" Jack began penitently. "I am sorry; I did not know you could have arrived from London so soon." She was now close beside her husband. "The truth is, Frank, I have had rather a horrid tumble. For a person who thinks she knows how to ride, I seem to do the stupidest possible things."

"You don't seem to have hurt yourself seriously, Jack," Frank answered grimly. For in spite of her penitence, which did not seem very profound, Jack looked extraordinarily happy and glowing.

"No, I wasn't hurt in the least. I managed to get clear as we went down. But my horse's knee was sprained – not so badly as Bryan and I at first thought. Still I did not like to ride him, so we have been walking along through the rain for a few miles."

"How did the accident occur? I am rather surprised, Jack," Frank answered, now plainly more sympathetic because a little uneasy at what could have happened to his wife.

Jack turned aside and even in the dusk one could see she was embarrassed.

"Oh, I was disobeying orders," she said with a pretence of lightness. "I went over a rather high fence, which I had never taken before, without waiting until Bryan could get up to me. I made the jump without trouble, but the ground on the other side was so soft that my horse's forefeet went down into it. He stumbled and fell. That is why I am such a spectacle," she concluded, touching her mud-stained habit with her whip.

Whatever he may have felt, Frank would naturally not discuss a difference between himself and his wife before another person. He therefore made no comment, but instead suggested:

"Suppose you get on my horse, Jack, and ride up to the house. Frieda and Olive are uneasy. Bryan and I will come along together."

According to the English custom, Lord and Lady Kent occupied separate bedrooms, which opened into each other.

A half hour later Jack was dressing for dinner when she heard Frank enter his room. But he did not come into her apartment or call out to her, although they were usually in the habit of discussing various questions through their open door, while they changed their clothes.

Jack, of course, recognized that her husband was angry with her. Also she knew that he had a measure of right on his side. She had promised him not to attempt dangerous jumping in her cross-country riding. Her accident a number of years before had made him and all the members of her family more nervous about her than they would ordinarily have been, knowing that she had spent a large part of her life on horseback. Moreover, Frank had very rigid ideas about keeping one's word, not agreeing that one could swerve by a hair's breadth.

In a good deal of haste, since dinner was to be announced at any moment, Jack put on a white satin dinner dress. It was an old one, but chanced to be particularly becoming. The gown was simply made, with a square neck and a fold of tulle about the throat and a long, severely plain skirt. Only a woman with a figure as perfect as Jack's could have looked well in it. Her hair was arranged with equal simplicity, being coiled closely about her head and held in place with a carved ivory comb.

Half a dozen guests had been invited to dinner, nevertheless before going downstairs Jack went first into her husband's room.

Jack had always had a lovely nature. In the old days at Rainbow Lodge in any difficulty with one of the Ranch girls, although having a high temper, she had been quick to confess herself in the wrong. Since her marriage she had been more than ever inclined to do likewise with her husband. So it was but natural that Frank should be under the impression that she would at all times eventually come around to his point of view. He did not realize that under some circumstances Jack might be as inflexible as he was.

However, she waited a moment now with perfect good temper, while Frank pretended that he had not heard her enter his room. When he finally did look toward her, she went up to him and put her arms about him. Then, as he continued to frown, Jack smiled. She knew that her husband took small matters too seriously, having made this discovery soon after her marriage, just as all girls make similar discoveries. But Jack was wise enough to realize that she must try as wisely as she could to discount this uncomfortable characteristic.

"Don't be grouchy, please, Frank," she murmured. "I told you I was sorry, and you know that every now and then I have to get rid of some of my surplus American energy. After a hard ride with Bryan I can be a conventional English Lady for weeks."

In spite of her good intention, Jack's remark was not wise. No matter how devoted a man and woman may be to each other, there is obliged to be some difference of opinion in every international marriage.

Frank was extremely sensitive over the idea that Jack was not as happy in the English life he offered her, as she had been in the old days on her own ranch.

"That is unfortunate, Jack," he returned, "for I have made up my mind that it will be wiser for you not to ride with Bryan again. I am afraid you are both too fond of adventure to be trusted."

Then, as Frank had delivered his edict, his own good temper was restored. As he was already dressed, putting his arm across Jack's shoulder, he started for the door. He was really immensely proud of Jack and thought she looked unusually lovely tonight. In spite of the number of years he had been married he never introduced her to his friends, or saw her at the head of his table, without a feeling of pride. Also, Frank counted on Jack's sweetness of temper. It did not occur to him that she would disagree with his request, or rather with his command, since without intending it, he had expressed his wish in such a fashion.

Nevertheless Jack hesitated. She knew that Frank was not in an agreeable mood for a discussion then. Also, that they could not keep their guests waiting while one took place.

"I think that is rather arbitrary of you, Frank, since neither Bryan nor I are children and he is one of the friends I most enjoy. But perhaps we had better talk of this at another time."

Frank nodded, Jack's manner affording no idea that she would not ultimately give in to him, nor was she sure herself. It may be that Jack had become too much of a domestic pacifist – a woman who wishes for peace at any price.

On the landing of the steps, just before they went down to dinner, Frank remarked hastily:

"Oh Jack, I had a marconigram from Professor Russell. He must have heard of Frieda's sudden departure from New York. In any case his ship is due tomorrow, for he left the day after she sailed."

"Gracious, have you told Frieda?" Jack returned nervously, forgetting for the instant her own personal quandary. "Frieda announced that she never would agree to see Professor Russell again. In any case I had hoped we might have a few weeks of grace, to allow things to quiet down or perhaps to persuade Frieda to change her mind. The only thing now is not to allow Professor Russell to come to Kent House until Frieda gives her consent."

"Nonsense, Jack," Frank answered reassuringly, "Frieda cannot behave in any such fashion. You have not told me the trouble, but I suspect that Frieda has simply been a spoiled child. Besides, in any case, she has no right to refuse at least to see her husband and talk the situation over. Don't worry; I'll discuss the matter with Frieda myself in the morning and bring her around. You see, I telegraphed Russell at the dock to come directly to us, as I shall spend tomorrow at home."