The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1925-07-13
CHAPTER XIV
Those Who Judge

The flashing moment quivered
through the room, burning with HUI
initiation and anger Chickie's head
swept down-an instant. She bit her
lips, flung her chin up and smiled
into Edith Potter's face-smiled as
though this were a triumph.
Edith rushed to the door, Barbara
gave soft cry of mortified protest.
but her eyes, never meeting Chick
les, she followed. She went out as
her brother did, without a word.
To her finger tips, Chickie was
shaking. The blow had fallen on
her thought, left it stunned. No one
had ever struck her before And to
have this tall proud woman fling
out her hand and dash it in her
face, To have Barbara lower her
head-and leave,
Chickie touched her face. 1t felt
raw and smarting. She went over
to the mirror and looked at the blaZ-
ing red. At first her eyes filled, but
Immediately she felt again the in
stinct to raise her head; felt through
her an odd thrill of pride.
She stood looking at herself won.
dering at this sense of elation. She
no longer was ashamed. She re-
called Edith stripping the basket
from her ARMAND smiled-a little,
aching smile, yet proud.
For between Chickie and this
shabby violence of Edith Potter's,
this weak assent of Barbara's was
barrier and it was more impossible
than the wall between her sin and
their convention. She said TO her
self suddenly, II couldn't do that,
1 never could"
She judged them as they had
judged her. Now her guilt seemed
less-it was less than Edith Potter's.
Edith had no right to scorn her; no
right to send her from that home
like thing whipped, late at night!
Edith had no right to come here and
slap Chickie's face.
Thinking this, a calm dropped into
her mind. They had no right to do
it. They could not hurt her. She
would not be hurt. Yet she was
alone in this justification of herself.
And she knew that she was alone.
In this isolation of the spirit her
battle must be fought.
She went walking about the room,
picking up letters, putting them
back in their places. She said, alb
ruptly: Suppose he is dead" The
terror Of the night became oppres
siVe, like an anguish.
Yes-suppose he were dead? And
this consequence of her deed, even
of her existence, he now showed up
on her shoulders? She had come
down here to forget; to set her teeth
and work a strong, heroic way back
she had asked nothing; sought no
one All this had followed her. The
tragedy would be hers-hers alone.
Even her own thought would call
her to answer.
She paused at the window. Far
to the north went whirling lumin-
with fire. Jake told her not to love
the clouds so. Make friends-step
about-ha-she was better a thou
sand times than the next onel
Chickie trembled. Lee Whitman
might be lying out there-he might
be dying. Suddenly his face came
before her, suddenly it seemed will
full and cruel that he should have
left her so; that he should have
turned from her with such a hurt
and accusation in his look.
Oh-he had not stopped to think
of her-had not cared if she were
showed down and down. She had
spoiled his dream; had marred the
world for him. And his own young
hurt was more than he would bear.
Yet he had knelt and pressed her
hand, saying how gloriously he loved
her. He loved her
Chickie knew that kind of love
love that thinks only Of itself; only
of its own small dreanll That
young, imperious love demanding so
holly. She had suffered once be-
cause Of it.
She knew now this was not love-
it was but the cry of self-self only.
Yet she could understand it; she
could be filled with pity for him,
suffering it, She would have gone
gladly with the dog at her heels
and secured the countryside to find
him.