Willa Sibert Cather

“ Bartley turned away and sank down in his chair again. Hilda sat on the arm of it and put her hands lightly on his shoulders. “Just something, Bartley. I must have you to think of through the months and months of loneliness. I must see you. I must know about you. The sight of you, Bartley, to see you living and happy and successful—can I never make you understand what that means to me?” She pressed his shoulders gently. “You see, loving some one as I love you makes the whole world different. ”

“ Hilda was saying. “Everything is awfully grim and cheerless, our weather and our houses and our ways of amusing ourselves. But we can be happier than anybody. We can go mad with joy, as the people do out in the fields on a fine Whitsunday. We make the most of our moment.” She thrust her little chin out defiantly over her gray fur collar, and Bartley looked down at her and laughed. ”

“ It's like the song; peace is where I am not. How can you face it all with so much fortitude?”
She looked at him with that warm, clear gaze which Wilson had so admired, which he had felt implied such high confidence and fearless pride. “Oh, I faced that long ago, when you were on your first bridge up at old Allway. I knew then that your paths were not to be paths of peace, but I decided that I wanted to follow them.”
Bartley and his wife stood silent for a long time; the fire crackled in the grate, the rain beat insistently upon the windows, and the sleepy Angora looked up at them curiously. ”

“ The great open spaces made him passive and the restlessness of the water quieted him. He intended during the voyage to decide upon a course of action, but he held all this away from him for the present and lay in a blessed gray oblivion. Deep down in him somewhere his resolution was weakening and strengthening, ebbing and flowing. The thing that perturbed him went on as steadily as his pulse, but he was almost unconscious of it. He was submerged in the vast impersonal grayness about him, and at intervals the sidelong roll of the boat measured off time like the ticking of a clock. ”

“ There was literally a taste of life on his lips as he sat down to dinner and ordered a bottle of champagne. He was late in finishing his dinner, and drank rather more wine than he had meant to. When he went above, the wind had risen and the deck was almost deserted. As he stepped out of the door a gale lifted his heavy fur coat about his shoulders, and, buttoning it as he went, he fought his way up the deck with a keen exhilaration. ”

“ Alexander spoke soothingly. “And you'd come back late for all your engagements.”
Bartley began jingling some loose coins in his pocket. “I wish things would let me rest. I'm tired of work, tired of people, tired of trailing about.” He looked out at the storm-beaten river.
Winifred came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“That's what you always say, poor Bartley! At bottom you really like all these things. Can't you remember that?”
He put his arm about her. “All the same, life runs smoothly enough with some people, and with me it's always a messy sort of patchwork. ”

“ I like these little yellow irises.”
“Rooms always look better by lamplight—in London, at least. Though Marie is clean—really clean, as the French are. Why do you look at the flowers so critically? Marie got them all fresh in Covent Garden market yesterday morning.”
“I'm glad,” said Alexander simply. “I can't tell you how glad I am to have you so pretty and comfortable here, and to hear every one saying such nice things about you. You've got awfully nice friends,” he added humbly, picking up a little jade elephant from her desk. “Those fellows are all very loyal, even Mainhall. ”

“ So few women can. There must be a good ear, to begin with, a good chin, and a nose”—he waved his hand—“above reproach. Most women look silly in them. They go only with faces like yours—very, very proud, and just a little hard.”
Winifred laughed as she went over to the mirror and fitted the delicate springs to the lobes of her ears. “Oh, Bartley, that old foolishness about my being hard. It really hurts my feelings. But I must go down now. People are beginning to come.”
Bartley drew her arm about his neck and went to the door with her. “Not hard to me, Winifred,” he whispered. ”

“ They always make me feel jaunty. Are you comfy, and not too tired?”
“I'm not tired at all. 1 was just wondering how people can ever die. Why did you remind me of the mummy? Life seems the strongest and most indestructible thing in the world. Do you really believe that all those people rushing about down there, going to good dinners and clubs and theaters, will be dead some day, and not care about anything? I don't believe it, and I know I sha'n't die; ever! You see, I feel too—too powerful!”
The carriage stopped. Bartley sprang out and swung her quickly to the pavement. ”

“ Hilda seemed particularly fond of this quaint couple, and Bartley himself was so pleased with their mild and thoughtful converse that he took his leave when they did, and walked with them over to Oxford Street, where they waited for their bus. They asked him to come to see them in Chelsea, and they spoke very tenderly of Hilda. “She's a dear, unworldly little thing,” said the philosopher absently, “more like the stage people of my young days—folk of simple manners. There aren't many such left. American tours have spoiled them, I'm afraid. They have all grown very smart. ”

“ Wilson stood before the fire with his hands behind him and looked about the room. “You have been busy. Bartley, if I'd had my choice of all possible places in the world to spend Christmas, your house would certainly be the place I'd have chosen. Happy people perform a great service to their fellows simply by being happy. A house like this throws its warmth out. ”

“ Alexander had finished his coffee and was pacing up and down. His wife sat at the table, watching him. She was pale and unnaturally calm. When Thomas brought the letters, Bartley sank into his chair and ran them over.
“Here's a note from old Wilson. He's safe back at his grind, and says he had a bully time. 'The memory of Mrs. Bartley will make my whole winter fragrant.' Just like him. He will go on getting measureless satisfaction out of you ; by his study fire. What a man he is for looking on at life!” Bartley sighed, pushed the letters back impatiently, and went over to the window. ”

“ Hilda curtsied. “Is that why you think it pretty? I've no need for fine clothes in Mac's play this time, so I can afford a few duddies for myself. It's owing to that same chance, by the way, that I am able to ask you to dinner. I don't need Marie to dress me this season, so she keeps house for me, and my little Galway girl has gone home for a visit. I should never have asked you if Molly had been here, for I remember you don't like English cookery.”
Alexander walked about the room, looking at everything. ”

“ You see, the truth is, we are having to build pretty well up to the strain limit up there. They've crowded me too much on the cost. It's all very well if everything goes right, but these estimates have never been used for anything of such length before. However, there's nothing to be done. They hold me to the scale I've used in shorter bridges. The last thing a bridge commission cares about is the kind of bridge you build.”
When Bartley had finished dressing for dinner he went into his study, where he found his wife arranging flowers on his writing-table. ”

“ Bartley again so soon.”
“Thank you, Wilson. She'll be as glad to see you. Shall we have tea now? I'll ring for Thomas to clear away this litter. Winifred says I always wreck the house when I try to do anything. Do you know, I am quite tired. Looks as if I were not used to work, doesn't it?” Alexander laughed and dropped into a chair. “You know, I'm sailing the day after New Year's.”
“Again? Why, you've been over twice since I was here in the spring, haven't you?”
“Oh, I was in London about ten days this summer. Went to escape the hot weather more than anything else. ”