Fran

“ There was a violent movement of mutual repulsion on the part of Hamilton Gregory and his secretary. Fran stood very still, the sharpness of her profile defined, with the keenness of eyes and a slight grayness about the lips that made her look oddly small and old.
Fran was a dash of water upon raging fire. The effect was not extinguishment, but choking vapors. Bewildered, lost to old self- consciousness, it was necessary for Grace to readjust herself not only to these two, but to herself as well.
Fran turned upon her father, and pointed toward his desk. "Stand there!" ”

“ At the word of an Abbott Ashton, a disgraced school-teacher, you make me less than nothing!"
He cried out impetuously, "Shall I tell you why we must part?"
Grace returned with a somber look, "So Fran is to have my place!"
Gregory interposed passionately, "It is because I love you."
"So Fran is to be your secretary!" she persisted.
"Grace, you have read my heart, I have read yours; we thought we could associate in safety, after that—but I am weak. You never come into the room that I am not thrilled with rapture. Life hasn't any brightness for me except your presence. ”

“ He could not bring back, even in retrospect, the emotions inspired by Josephine Derry. Those strings had been tuned to other love-harmonies. To remember Fran's mother was to bring back not the rapture of a first passion, but the garrish days of disillusionment. He even felt something like resentment because she had remained faithful—her search and unending love for him made so much more of his desertion than ever he had made.
He could not tell Fran that he had never loved her mother. The dead must not be reproached; the living could not be denied—so he was silent. ”

“ His whole body shook. "I could be God, and I'm playing with burning carpets! Fran—oh, Fran, it's too much for me! I'm not God, I don't want it, I'm too small for it—I wish it was only a dream and now I could really wake up and find it never happened—oh, Fran, Fran, tell me what I am, tell me what to do!"
Aware only of pain and terror, he felt his face wet and did not even know he was sobbing.
"You're Max, Max," Fran wept, "You're Max, and I love you—"
Again the touch calmed him. ”

“ In the meantime, Grace was gone. Mrs. Gregory's smile once more reminded Fran of the other's half-forgotten youth. When a board has laid too long on the ground, one finds, on its removal, that the grass is withered; all the same, the grass feels the sunshine.
Fran thanked herself that Grace was no longer silhouetted against the horizon, and Gregory, remarking this attitude of self-congratulation, was thrown more than ever out of sympathy with his daughter. Fran was indefatigable in her duties as secretary, but her father felt that it was not the same. ”

“ I didn't furnish the cottage, though. Women always like to select their own carpets and things, and—"
Fran's face was a dimpled sea of pink and crimson waves, with starry lights in her black eyes for signal-lights. "Oh, you king of hearts!" she exclaimed. "And shall we have a church wedding, and just kill 'em?"
Abbott laughed boyishly. "No—you must remember that your connection with show-life is at an end."
"But—and then—and so," cried Fran rapturously, "I'm to have a home after all, with flower-gardens and carpets and things—a sure-enough home—Abbott, a home with you! ”

“ Fran snatched up the whip, and leaned over as if to lash the empty shafts. She had suddenly become the child again. "We must drive out of Sure-Enough Country, now. Time to get back to the Make-Believe World. You know it isn't best to stay long in high altitudes. I've been pretty high—I feel like I've been breathing pretty close to—heaven." She stood up, and the lap-robe fell about her like green waves from which springs a laughing nymph.
Abbott still felt stunned. The crash of an ideal arouses the echo—"Is there no truth in the world?" But yes—Fran was here, Fran the adorable. ”

“ No one who separated Gregory from his secretary could enjoy his toleration, but Fran had struck far below the surface of likings and dislikings. She had turned back the covering of conventionality to lay bare the quivering heartstrings of life itself. There was no time to hesitate. The stone ax which on other occasions might be a laughing elfish face was now held ready for battle.
"Hadn't we better go in a room where we can talk privately?" Fran asked. "I don't like this hall. That woman would just as soon listen over the banisters as not. ”

“ Tears dimmed Fran's eyes. "And I just love you," she cried. "My! What a woman you are!"
Grace Noir was silent. She liked Fran less than ever, but her look was that of a hired secretary, saying, "With all this, I have nothing to do." Doubtless, when alone with Hamilton Gregory, she would express her sincere conviction that the girl's presence would interfere with his work—but these others would not understand. They dwelt entirely apart from her employer's philanthropic enterprises, they did not sympathize with his religious activities, or even read his weekly magazine. ”

“ Fran, one foot on the first step of the stile, looked up at him; the sudden flare of a torch revealed the sorrow in her eyes. "I am nobody's little girl," she answered plaintively.
Her eyes were so large, and so soft and dark, that Abbott was glad she was only a child of fourteen—or fifteen, perhaps. Her face was so strangely eloquent in its yearning for something quite beyond his comprehension, that he decided, then and there, to be her friend. The unsteady light prevented definite perception of her face. ”

“ One beautiful moonlight night, he was nearing the suburbs, when he made a discovery. The discovery was twofold: first, that the real cause of his nightly wanderings was not altogether a weariness of mental toil; second, that he had, for some time, been trying to escape from the thought of Fran. He had not known this. He had simply run, asking no questions. It was when he suddenly discovered Fran in the flesh, as she slipped along a crooked alley, gliding in shadows, that the cause of much sleeplessness was made tangible.
Abbott was greatly disturbed. ”

“ Fran. 'Tis I.
Dor. Francis!
Fran. Fortunate Francis, that was wrapped in's mother's smock.
Dor. Give me your hand, Francis.
Fran. There 'tis. I melt already!
Dor. My lord! Count Lodovico, awake!
Fran. I am lost for ever, madam.
Dor. My lord! my lord!
Fran. If I pull too hard, I shall pull her out o' th' bed too.
Dor. My lord, will ye not wake?
Lod. What's the matter? what's the matter?
Fran. How I do dwindle!
Dor. Pray, hear me, sir; I cannot sleep, till you
Have resolv'd me one thing.
Lod. What is't, sweetheart?
Dor. Of all your men, which do you love best? ”

“ Fran. What! turn'd fury!
Isab. To dig that strumpet's eyes out; let her lie
Some twenty months a-dying; to cut off
Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth;
Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies
Of my just anger! Hell, to my affliction,
Is mere snow-water. By your favour, sir;—
Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;—
Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss;
Henceforth I 'll never lie with you, by this,
This wedding-ring.
Fran. How, ne'er more lie with him! ”

“ One may shout oneself hoarse at the delivery of a speech which, if served upon printed page, would never prompt the reader to cast his hat to the ceiling. No mere print under bold head-lines did Abbott read, but rather the changing lights and shadows in great black eyes. It was marvelous how Fran could project past experiences upon the screen of the listener's perception. ”

“ They stood before Hamilton Gregory's silent house.
"Good night," Fran said hastily. "It's a mistake to begin a long story on a short road. My! But wasn't that a short road, though!"
"Sometime, you shall finish that story, Fran. I know of a road much longer than the one we've taken—we might try it some day, if you say so."
"I do say so. What road is it?"
They had paused at the front gate, Fran in the yard, Abbott outside. It was dark under the heavy sugar-maples that guarded the gate; they could not see beyond each other's faces. ”

“ He caught her in his arms as she fell, straining her close. The physical contact of their bodies brought him back to the level of reality again, to a complete realization of Fran's plight. He tried to make his grip as firm, as reassuring as he could—to bring her back to a world in which men were not, one minute, cloaked in streaming flame, and the next minute alive and human and—
"Max!" She straightened, "You don't have any clothes on!"
"I know. I lose more pajamas that way," he said, lightly, keeping his voice casual. "Sit down, Fran, and I'll put on a pair of pants, at least." ”

“ But I tell you, girl, you will ruin me. Is all the work of my life to be overturned? I shall go mad."
"No, you won't," Fran calmly assured him.
[Illustration with caption: "I want to belong to somebody"]
"You'll do what every one has to do, sooner or later—face the situation. You're a little late getting to it, but it was coming all the time. You can let me live here as an adopted orphan, or any way you please. The important fact to me is that I'm going to live here. ”

“ Fran allowed his soul to bathe a while in divine eye-beams of flattering approval, then gave him a little sting to bring him to life. "You are pretty old, not to be married," she remarked. "I hope you won't find some woman to put an end to your high intentions, but men generally do. Men fall in love, and when they finally pull themselves out, they've lost sight of the shore they were headed for."
A slight color stole to Abbott's face. In fact, he was rather hard hit. This wandering child was no doubt a witch. He looked in the direction of the tent, as if to escape the weaving of her magic. ”

“ Her words came bitingly: "You can't help it. You sowed. You can't pardon a seed from growing."
"I can help it, and I will. The past is no more mine than hers—our marriage was legal, but it bound me no more than it bound her. She chose her own companions. I have been building up a respectable life, here in Littleburg. You shall not overturn the labor of the last ten years. You can go. My will is unalterable. Go—and do what you can!"
Instead of anger, Fran showed sorrow: "How long have you been married to the second Mrs. Gregory—the present one?" ”

“ The one you have must go."
"She shall do nothing of the sort," he coldly responded.
"Yes," Fran retorted violently, "I tell you she must go!" He struck the table with his palm. "Never!"
"Shall I use my last resource?" Fran's eyes gleamed ominously.
The hand upon the table became a fist. That was his only reply.
"I would entreat you," said Fran, faltering, "and with tears—but what good would it do? None. There's no use for one woman to weep if another woman is smiling. Dismiss your secretary." ”

“ Gregory called through this ebony connector of souls, "this is Fran Derry, the daughter of Mr. Gregory's dear friend, one he used to know in New York, many years before he came to Littleburg. Fran is an orphan, and needs a home. We have asked her to live with us." ”

“ She will not go because she knows herself to be strong. We are going to hide our souls. And you can't tell what you've seen, on account of her—" He pointed in the direction of his wife.
Fran knew very well what he meant. If she told the secret, it would disgrace Mrs. Gregory. The revelation might drive Grace away, though Fran did not think so, but certainly whether Grace went, or stayed, it would break the heart of the one she loved best in that home. Gregory was right; Fran could never betray him.
She turned blindly upon Grace: "Then have you no conscience?—you are always talking about one. ”

“ That mustn't happen, Fran. They've had their chance—and they've failed. We have a right to ours, but it's a right we must fight for. We must stay hidden and keep from being found out until we're ready.... So be careful, Fran. Don't let those around you discover your new abilities. They'll keep growing, I think. In some of us there's no way of knowing what heights will be reached. ”

“ Gregory is one of the best men that ever lived."
Fran asked with simplicity, "Great church worker?"
"He's as good as he is rich. He never misses a service. I can't give the time to it that he does—to the church, I mean; I have the ambition to hold, one day, a chair at Yale or Harvard—that means to teach in a university—" he broke off, in explanation.
Fran held out her swinging foot, and examined the dusty shoe. "Oh," she said in a relieved tone, "I was afraid it meant to sit down all the time. Lots of people are ambitious not to move if they can help it." ”

“ Nobody can't last many years as a Human Nymph."
Abbott indicated his companion—"Here's one that'll last my time."
The wheel stopped. He and Fran were barred into a seat.
"And now," Fran exclaimed, "it's all ups and downs, just like a moving-picture of life. Why don't you say something, Mr. Ashton? But no, you can keep still—I'm excited to death, and wouldn't hear you anyway. I want to do all the talking—I always do, after I've been in the cage. My brain is filled with air—so this is the time to be soaring up into the sky, isn't it! What is your brained filled with?— but never mind. ”

“ Gregory, I have made the discovery that this Fran, whom you imagine only about sixteen years old, and the daughter of an old friend, is really of age. She's nothing but a circus-girl. You thought her joking when she called herself a lion-tamer; that's the way she meant for us to take it—but she can't deceive me. She's nothing but a show-girl pretending to come from Springfield. But I know better. So I've sent Mr. Clinton there to find out all about the family of your friend, and in particular about the girl that this Fran is impersonating. ”