The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1932-01-30
CHAPTER FORTY. SIX

THE front door closed and Ce-
Il oily and Barry we're standing
In the lower hall. Ann called from
midway Of the stairs, she's herel
She's all right, Cissyl She's sound
asleep. She's all right"
Cecily's hands were cold in AIMS
warm ones. Her voice, when pres
emily 1t emerged from the jabbering
sounds which she and Ann had
been making together, was chilly.
That's all very well, Ann. But
she can't be so entirely all right as
all that. / mean-such an expert
ence for child! She must be Bit
er, disillusioned."
Ann laughed, the heartless thing
"She insists that she is bitter, very
bitter. AS for the disillusionment-
I sincerely hope so, for a few years
at least"
Cecily refused to smile. Ann
glanced at Barry. He would not
smile. either. He kept rolling and
unrolling the do-dad on Cecily's
dress.
Ann wished he wouldn't. He'd
wrinkle it. Your own plans?" she
asked. you've had to postpone
them?"
indefinitely" Cecily said, and
smiled at last. She had to smile.
A word of that sort could not be
said markedly, with no covering of
any kind.
mo, dear" Ann said, and
turned TO go upstairs again.
You'll feel differently" she en-
couraged, tomorrow, when you're
rested, and after you've talked to
your youngest sister"
IN talk to her! Cecily threat
ened
you won't scold her. Ann
warned with her hand on the
newell post.
Barry mentioned, "Phns on
the front porch. We forgot To tell
you"
Goodness! I thought he left
ages ago, when Mary Frances
ecame."
Barry put an arm around &C.
ilys shoulders. They turned to-
gether and walked toward the par
Tor. Barry tried to slide the door
open, but it stuck after the first
three inches, as it always stuck.
Cecily said, Here" and took hold
of 1t, and raised it bit, and it
slid easily. The dark dusty velvet
portieres dropped into straight
folds again behind them. Ann
went to the front porch.
"UOU mean" Phil asked, aghast,
Il incredulous, that you don't
love me at all, any longer?"
Ann sighed. Phil" she rebuked,
''you don't seem to listen. I've told
you twice, now, that it is only that
/ can't start it all over again. The
waiting, and the hoping, and quar-
reling and the fault-finding, and
the"
''Oh, but, no, Ann! No."
but, yes, Phil This past month
I've been unhappy-goodneSs knows
have! But, someway, I've dragged
something out of it, and I'm going
to keep it-something that almost
approaches peace.
Suppose we were to begin again?
After while, but it wouldn't last
eight years this time, you'd grow
tired and hopeless, and all this--or
something very much like it-would
happen right over again"
Ann, dearest, I swear to YOU
it has meant nothing to me. Moth
ing but misery. I've been a thou
sand times more wretched than you
could have BEEN"
No, 1 think not. That doesn't
matter, though-our comparative
wretchedneSs, l mean"
Gould you tell me, dearest, ex-
actly what it is that matters-if
your love doesn't matter, and our
misery doesn't matter?"
Il can't tell what is important
for you. For me-my peace of
mind, and something I might call
dignity, or-Strength, perhaps. And
that 1 shan't, again, have to live
through that Sunday and this
month"
1T means, only, that you haven't
forgiven me-"
"Oh, Phil! Forgiving is such a
little thing, it scarcely seems worth
talking about in connection with
loving"
AS you like, Ann. But it comes
10 the same place. You don't love
me any more at all"
That isn't true" said Ann. But