The Crux E-Book

Charlotte Perkins Gilman

• Herausgeber: Gothic World Literature Editions
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 279

Beschreibung

"In place of happy love, lonely pain. In place of motherhood, disease. Misery and shame, child. Medicine and surgery, and never any possibility of any child for me." First published in her magazine The Forerunner, Charlotte Perkins Gilman's The Crux is an emotive tale on the nuances of female independence, social expectation and love in early 20th century America. Following an all-female group who move west to open a boarding house for men, The Crux focuses on the experience of Vivian ― and her desire for the undesirable. Deeply in love with Morton, a charismatic young man infected with both syphilis and gonorrhoea, Vivian's expected journey through her 'marriage' years is abruptly turned upside down. Torn by her personal intuition, the advice provided by her female companions and the knowledge that Morton will never give her healthy children, Vivian is faced with a permanent choice ― to forfeit love for the benefit of future generations. Balancing female and male perspectives on illness, personal preservation and nationalism, The Crux tracks Vivian's path through heart break, emotional development and female camaraderie. As an allegory for Gilman's own branch of utopian feminism, The Crux is a story of sacrifice and partnership deliberation within the framework of 20th century disease hysteria, eugenic ideology and developing modernism. Often omitted from her writing canon, The Crux is an integral aspect to understanding not only Gilman's own writing ― but the history of feminism as a whole. "The Crux is essentially a seminar in biological, feminine and social correctness. As stated in the original Forerunner publication, the novel was intended for a specific set of people - young and impressionable women primarily, followed by men and anyone else willing to listen. The Crux, in its barebones, is a nationalist parable for all of America to heed." from Ambrose Kelly's new introduction to The Crux * * * Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1860 – 1935) was an American humanist, novelist, writer of short stories, poetry and nonfiction, and a lecturer for social reform. She was a utopian feminist and served as a role model for future generations of feminists because of her unorthodox concepts and lifestyle.

Leseprobe

facsimile of title page of 1911 edition

THE CRUX

A NOVEL BY CHARLOTTE PERKINS GILMAN

CHARLTON COMPANY NEW YORK 1911

Copyright, 1911 by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

THE CO-OPERATIVE PRESS, 15 SPRUCE STREET, NEW YORK

INTRODUCTION

by Ambrose Kelly

“Thisisthewoman'scentury,thefirstchanceforthe mother ofthe world to rise to her fullplace … and the world waits while shepowders her nose.”

Charlotte Perkins Gilman was not one for sitting and powdering her nose. On the contrary, she gained widespread fame during her life for her distinctive writing, ideologies and feminist activism. Born in 1860 in Connecticut, Gilman would gradually emerge as one of America’s more innovative, sui generis female voices. Curious and enigmatic in style, she was a multi-disciplined woman with a complicated life story. Alongside being a talented writer, she was also a poet, lecturer, social thinker, activist, mother and creative. In many aspects, much of her life existed outside of expected social norms – before her death in 1935, Gilman had married twice, changed surnames three times and allowed another woman to partially raise her daughter. She was anything but the ‘average’ woman. Currently, Gilman is perhaps most memorable for her seminal work The Yellow Wallpaper (1892) – a short, harrowing story on female mental illness that was re-covered and vivified during the ‘second wave’ of feminism between the 1960s and 1980s. Similarly, her works In This Our World(1893), Women and Economics (1898) and Herland (1915) have granted her both contemporary and future recognition. Both praised and abhorred for her unique insights into the female question, work, the home, motherhood and social structure itself, Gilman’s canon remains a complex body of work.

Nestled within these more popular titles lies The Crux(1910). Published first in Gilman’s own periodical The Forerunner, The Crux comprises part of a seven-year spate of serialized stories and commentaries produced by Gilman between 1909 and 1916. Published after What Dianatha Did(1909 – 1910) and followed by Moving the Mountain (1911) and Herland, The Crux tells a seemingly innocent tale of love, loss and lessons in womanhood. Following the lives of an all-female group who move west to start a male boarding house in Colorado, the story focuses on Vivian Lane – an innocent, shielded young woman who is in love with Morton Elder. To Vivian’s upset, Morton soon proves to be an unlikely suitor and impossible marriage partner due to his infection with syphilis and gonorrhea. Advised by her female companions to make the right choice in terms of future prospects, generational impact and social correctness, Vivian undergoes a lesson in maturity, personal awakening and loss.

On the surface The Crux is a slightly tragic love story. Possessing the usual tropes of lovers-not-meant-to-be, unforeseen twists and guidance from authoritative voices, the novel explores what it means to have and lose someone. Vivian personifies what many of us have experienced in life: the uncomfortable, gut-hurting experience of suddenly slackening grip on what you once saw as stable. Through her and other female characters, we also gain insight into the various emotional pressures felt by women in romantic relationships and the impact this has on self-belief, confidence and security. In Morton, we feel the emotions associated with rejection, immaturity and desertion alongside male-focused concepts of self-righteousness, expectation and presumption towards female docility. The plot itself mirrors events experienced in Gilman’s own life – a consistent aspect in much of her writing and poetry. Touching on themes of marriage failure, interpersonal complexities and the difficulties of raising children, much of Gilman’s personal journey from child to woman can be seen in The Crux. The novel even possesses aspects of her life in terms of setting and situational facets; in 1906 Gilman herself rented out her property as a lodging place, and some scholars have speculated as to whether Gilman’s inability to have children in her second marriage was due to personal impact by sexually transmitted infections from her first. As a work that lacks frivolity and is, at times, brazenly humanistic, TheCruxdoes not present itself as overly controversial or sinister.

Yet stories are rarely just that – stories. The Crux is more than a simple tale of romantic woe, but an allegory on self-preservation, motherhood and eugenic theory from Gilman herself. It is perhaps for this reason that the work has, unfortunately, failed to make its way into mainstream recognitions of her work. However, to ignore a text on the basis of its complexity or duality is imprudent. Like much of her writing, The Crux is revealing in terms of historical, ideological and personal understandings of Gilman’s own character and the context of her lifetime. While not as harrowing or outlandish as other novels, poems or lectures she produced, TheCruxis indispensible.

The text is particularly illuminating in terms of history. Published in 1911, the novel itself is largely representative to Gilman’s own lifetime throughout the late-19th and early-20th centuries. In a departure from her utopian or fantastical works like Herland – a fictional story depicting an all-female society who self-sustain via parthenogenesis and the exaltation of motherhood – The Crux is fairly transparent to 20th-century American life. Lacking any element of reverie, the novel is set and processed around concepts of normality. The majority of the characters echo those of real life men and women, alongside their related life experiences, emotional journeys and job roles. Naturally, some figures are exaggerated or altered to fit Gilman’s personal philosophies on life – especially with regards to women. Taking into consideration the network of attributes, theories and developments that comprised her as an individual, this can only be expected. Much of her work, both fictional and non, often sought to convey a lesson, ideology or message to its readers within the larger framework of a relatable fable.

Vitally, TheCruxexposes important intricacies surrounding health, intimate relationships and changing modern life in the early-1900s. Specifically, the novel exposes the then-prevalent hysteria surrounding disease. In the 1800s and prior, the globe endured an onslaught of plague, smallpox, yellow fever and typhus epidemics – just to name a few. Similarly, sexually transmitted infections like chlamydia, syphilis and gonorrhea were largely misunderstood, continuing into the 20th century as a thread to individual and community health. At the time, medical knowledge meant that such cases were mostly untreatable - infection with a sexually transmitted infection was seen as a life-long problem or, in the grimmest instances, a gradual death sentence. These fears permeated not only into concepts of partnership, sexual freedom and morality, but also the health of future children. Children born from infected parents, as exemplified in TheCrux, were feared by some to be blind, lame or disabled; an emotional and generational burden for decades to bear. In the novel, the main vehicle for this hysteria is Morton himself and how those around him confront his conditions. A charismatic and sweet man with a seemingly bright future, his hopes of partnership with Vivian are dashed quickly due to the threat his illnesses pose.

But what makes The Crux – and by default, Gilman herself – so interesting is the theoretical underpinnings of Vivian and Morton’s relationship demise. TheCrux, as aforementioned, is not just a love story or moral commentary. In fact, the novel arguably focuses much of its premise on pragmatism as opposed to moral awareness. Instead, at the heart of The Crux lies a very specific concept of awareness crafted carefully by Gilman into the form of a story. Indeed, if you take the time to read Gilman’s pre-word, her intentions are clear - The Crux is, above everything, an educational lesson. For Gilman, protection against illness was not just a matter of protecting oneself on an emotional or physical level. Depicted through the advice of Vivian’s companions, the couple are separated for fear of their impact on future generations – not that of Vivian’s personal health. Morton is constructed as a vehicle for potential biological corruption and an almost-certain catalyst for generations of unfit, unwell and undesirable offspring. Here, The Crux reveals its true nature as an ideologically motivated, allegoric fable from Gilman in favor of eugenic ideals.

It is important to note that Gilman’s belief in eugenics was not consistent throughout her life. Nor was her entire body of work defined by it. Much of her earlier work, especially during her first marriage, focused on female economic independence, the home, motherhood and work. A sizeable portion of her work was perceived of as notably ‘liberal’, and she devoted much time to dissecting, discussing and re-shaping the place of women in traditional social structures. As her life progressed, Gilman became especially active in suffrage meetings and rallies, often partaking in speeches and votes. Even when considering to some of her more controversial essays – such as A Suggestion on the NegroProblem (1906) – her views on eugenics and race were comparatively moderate to some of her contemporaries. Figures like Thomas Dixon, for example, exalted white supremacy and blatant racism as the ideal. Of course, it is also vital to highlight that Gilman’s thought was not wholly inclusive – most of her theory, whether on women, work or the home, appealed mostly to upper-middle class white females. Other notable thinkers, like Jane Addams or Florence Kelley, were starkly more progressive than Gilman.

It is hard to place exactly when her interest in eugenics began. As an eclectic woman who’s voice shifted multiple times in her life, there is no set date or event that we can tie her ideology changes to strictly. Rather, her social philosophy can be seen as cumulative – a developing set of values that ebbed and flowed with new experiences, interests and influences. Some have speculated her opinions as having transformed following her move to New York in 1900, after which Gilman and her second husband Houghton witnessed the city’s ethnic landscape shift drastically across twenty-two years.

Wider scientific and political spheres were also changing face. From the late-1800s, concepts of selective breeding started to gain traction across America. This was predominantly due to the work of Sir Francis Galton – a biological determinist who asserted that humans could control their own evolution through selective partnership. Quick to follow Galton’s work was a rediscovery of Gregor Mendel’s theories on biological inheritance (first postulated by Mendel using pea-plant experiments between 1856 and 1863) by William Bateson in 1900. By the early-1900s multiple new voices had come to the fore in favor of the theory – ranging from scientists to white supremacists alike. Fuelled by the likes of Galton, Mendel, economic anxieties and fears surrounding rapid demographic change, eugenics quickly wormed its way into America’s socio-political framework. Three years after Gilman moved to New York, the ‘American Breeder’s Association’ had been formed and many states (e.g., Indiana) supported the implementation of new sterilization and immigration measures.

It is unsurprising that Gilman’s perspective shifted to include eugenics. The theory itself offered her and other like-minded feminists the opportunity to res-structure the lives of women on a collective level. Due to its central tenant of biological control, it appealed to many as a means of regaining power in relationships, restructuring gender ideals and asserting control in sexual choices. Gilman was not the only female thinker of the day to eventually grasp onto the concept – others, like Emma Goldman and Margaret Sanager, too looked to the theory as a means of bettering the female condition. Given that Suffrage was experiencing the ‘Doldrums’ – a period between 1896 and 1910 during which little impactful legislation was made and the feminist cause slowed in pace – it makes sense that many women viewed eugenics as a means of reviving the movement.

Additionally, Gilman’s own long-standing interest in collective society almost certainly leant itself to this development. She devoted much of her career to questioning the functionalities of humanity in terms of the individual and the group effort – in essence, she sought to dissect how one could live the best possible life in terms of work, relationships and social variables. Shown in works like ConcerningChildren(1903), TheCruxand Herland, Gilman played with many solutions to her perceived social ills via utopian models of idealized progress. While not immediate – for Gilman gave little thought to biological solutions in her earlier years – eugenics would gradually become a major aid to her questions and progressive arguments. In a sense, the theory perhaps helped her to muddle through the ‘best’ pathways facing future generations.

Yet the presence of eugenic theory within The Crux is not just illuminative of Gilman’s own ideological leanings. The story’s content directly confronts much mainstream history on the women’s movement, providing us with the opportunity to revise aspects of early feminism itself. When thinking about a movement like feminism, it is tempting to do so in a glossed-over manner; perhaps we think of swathes of protesting women inspired by Emily Davison’s martyr status or the impact of Mary Wollstonecraft’s philosophical genius. Yet like all social movements, feminism is historically nuanced with both good and bad. It is not uncommon for the main framework of a movement to become linked to another on the basis of leverage - in the instance of Gilman and those similar, eugenics was seen as a leg-up to achieving wider goals or motivations. Admittedly, thinking about women’s rights in this light is deeply uncomfortable. Selective breeding, with its negative connotations of racism and questionable sociopolitical history, feels odd to link to a framework founded on liberating women. Of course, the questions surrounding this are vast - attempting to confront them all here is near impossible. Primarily, The Crux’s inclusion of biological arguments and themes of nationalism, self-preservation and natural progress indicate that at least a portion of feminist thought was linked to ideas of race-improvement. The degree to which eugenics and feminism are related, linked or inextricably connected is widely debated, yet one thing remains clear - the text offers us the chance to have this debate and begin to ask the important questions.

The Crux is essentially a seminar in biological, feminine and social correctness. As stated in the original publication, the novel was intended for a specific set of people – young and impressionable women, followed by men and anyone else willing to listen. It is a story, ‘for young women to read… in order that they may protect themselves and their children to come.’ The tale’s core function is not to entertain or exhibit fictional prowess, but more so to direct and guide. In comparison to Gilman’s more imaginative and well-written texts like TheYellowWallpaperor Herland, TheCruxis significant for its internal messages. The fundamental importance of the text lies not in its simple plot, but within the political, social and ideological nuances intertwined within. At its premise is a simple lesson – to avoid disease and conduct partnerships in an informed, considerate manner that involves foresight to the safety of future generations. To Gilman, the success of this process largely depended on women and their childbearing abilities. Vivian’s character is thus deceptively clever; presented as a well-tempered, balanced individual, she mimics Gilman’s ideal of a quick-to-learn woman who follows the ‘right’ path through education, social awareness and the acceptance of sacrifice. The Crux, in its barebones, is a nationalist parable for all America to heed.

PREFACE

This story is, first, for young women to read; second, for young men to read; after that, for anybody who wants to. Anyone who doubts its facts and figures is referred to "Social Diseases and Marriage," by Dr. Prince Morrow, or to "Hygiene and Morality," by Miss Lavinia Dock, a trained nurse of long experience.

Some will hold that the painful facts disclosed are unfit for young girls to know. Young girls are precisely the ones who must know them, in order that they may protect themselves and their children to come. The time to know of danger is before it is too late to avoid it.

If some say "Innocence is the greatest charm of young girls," the answer is, "What good does it do them?"

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGEINTRODUCTIONPREFACEI.THE BACK WAYII.BAINVILLE EFFECTSIII.THE OUTBREAKIV.TRANSPLANTEDV.CONTRASTSVI.NEW FRIENDS AND OLDVII.SIDE LIGHTSVIII.A MIXTUREIX.CONSEQUENCESX.DETERMINATIONXI.THEREAFTERXII.ACHIEVEMENTSABOUT THE AUTHORCOPYRIGHT

Who should know but the woman?—The young wife-to-be? Whose whole life hangs on the choice; To her the ruin, the misery; To her, the deciding voice.

Who should know but the woman?—The mother-to-be? Guardian, Giver, and Guide; If she may not foreknow, forejudge and foresee, What safety has childhood beside?

Who should know but the woman?—The girl in her youth? The hour of the warning is then, That, strong in her knowledge and free in her truth, She may build a new race of new men.

CHAPTER I

THE BACK WAY

Along the same old garden path,

Sweet with the same old flowers;

Underthelilacs,darklydense,

The easy gate in the backyard fence—

Thoseunforgottenhours!

The "Foote Girls" were bustling along Margate Street with an air of united purpose that was unusual with them. Miss Rebecca wore her black silk cloak, by which it might be seen that "a call" was toward. Miss Jessie, the thin sister, and Miss Sallie, the fat one, were more hastily attired. They were persons of less impressiveness than Miss Rebecca, as was tacitly admitted by their more familiar nicknames, a concession never made by the older sister.

Even Miss Rebecca was hurrying a little, for her, but the others were swifter and more impatient.

"Do come on, Rebecca. Anybody'd think you were eighty instead of fifty!" said Miss Sallie.

"There's Mrs. Williams going in! I wonder if she's heard already. Do hurry!" urged Miss Josie.

But Miss Rebecca, being concerned about her dignity, would not allow herself to be hustled, and the three proceeded in irregular order under the high-arched elms and fence-topping syringas of the small New England town toward the austere home of Mr. Samuel Lane.

It was a large, uncompromising, square, white house, planted starkly in the close-cut grass. It had no porch for summer lounging, no front gate for evening dalliance, no path-bordering beds of flowers from which to pluck a hasty offering or more redundant tribute. The fragrance which surrounded it came from the back yard, or over the fences of neighbors; the trees which waved greenly about it were the trees of other people. Mr. Lane had but two trees, one on each side of the straight and narrow path, evenly placed between house and sidewalk—evergreens.

Mrs. Lane received them amiably; th minister's new wife, Mrs. Williams, was proving a little difficult to entertain. She was from Cambridge, Mass., and emanated a restrained consciousness of that fact. Mr. Lane rose stiffly and greeted them. He did not like the Foote girls, not having the usual American's share of the sense of humor. He had no enjoyment of the town joke, as old as they were, that "the three of them made a full yard;" and had frowned down as a profane impertinent the man—a little sore under some effect of gossip—who had amended it with "make an 'ell, I say."

Safely seated in their several rocking chairs, and severally rocking them, the Misses Foote burst forth, as was their custom, in simultaneous, though by no means identical remarks.

"I suppose you've heard about Morton Elder?"

"What do you think Mort Elder's been doing now?"

"We've got bad news for poor Miss Elder!"

Mrs. Lane was intensely interested. Even Mr. Lane showed signs of animation.

"I'm not surprised," he said.

"He's done it now," opined Miss Josie with conviction.

I always said Rella Elder was spoiling that boy."

"It's too bad—after all she's done for him! He always was a scamp!" Thus Miss Sallie.

"I've been afraid of it all along," Miss Rebecca was saying, her voice booming through the lighter tones of her sisters. "I always said he'd never get through college."

"But who is Morton Elder, and what has he done?" asked Mrs. Williams as soon as she could be heard.

This lady now proved a most valuable asset. She was so new to the town, and had been so immersed in the suddenly widening range of her unsalaried duties as "minister's wife," that she had never even heard of Morton Elder.

A new resident always fans the languishing flame of local conversation. The whole shopworn stock takes on a fresh lustre, topics long trampled flat in much discussion lift their heads anew, opinions one scarce dared to repeat again become almost authoritative, old stories flourish freshly, acquiring new detail and more vivid color.

Mrs. Lane, seizing her opportunity while the sisters gasped a momentary amazement at anyone's not knowing the town scapegrace, and taking advantage of her position as old friend and near neighbor of the family under discussion, swept into the field under such headway that even the Foote girls remained silent perforce; surcharged, however, and holding their breaths in readiness to burst forth at the first opening.

"He's the nephew—orphan nephew—of Miss Elder—who lives right back of us—our yards touch—we've always been friends—went to school together, Rella's never married—she teaches, you know—and her brother—he owned the home—it's all hers now, he died all of a sudden and left two children—Morton and Susie. Mort was about seven years old and Susie just a baby. He's been an awful cross—but she just idolizes him—she's spoiled him, I tell her."

Mrs. Lane had to breathe, and even the briefest pause left her stranded to wait another chance. The three social benefactors proceeded to distribute their information in a clattering torrent. They sought to inform Mrs. Williams in especial, of numberless details of the early life and education of their subject, matters which would have been treated more appreciatively if they had not been blessed with the later news; and, at the same time, each was seeking for a more dramatic emphasis to give this last supply of incident with due effect.

No regular record is possible where three persons pour forth statement and comment in a rapid, tumultuous stream, interrupted by cross currents of heated contradiction, and further varied by the exclamations and protests of three hearers, or at least, of two; for the one man present soon relapsed into disgusted silence.

Mrs. Williams, turning a perplexed face from one to the other, inwardly condemning the darkening flood of talk, yet conscious of a sinful pleasure in it, and anxious as a guest, and a minister's wife, to be most amiable, felt like one watching three kinetescopes at once. She saw, in confused pictures of blurred and varying outline, Orella Elder, the young New England girl, only eighteen, already a "school ma'am," suddenly left with two children to bring up, and doing it, as best she could. She saw the boy, momentarily changing, in his shuttlecock flight from mouth to mouth, through pale shades of open mischief to the black and scarlet of hinted sin, the terror of the neighborhood, the darling of his aunt, clever, audacious, scandalizing the quiet town.

"Boys are apt to be mischievous, aren't they?" she suggested when it was possible.

"He's worse than mischievous," Mr. Lane assured her sourly. "There's a mean streak in that family."

"That's on his mother's side," Mrs. Lane hastened to add. "She was a queer girl—came from New York."

The Foote girls began again, with rich profusion of detail, their voices rising shrill, one above the other, and playing together at their full height like emulous fountains.

"We ought not to judge, you know;" urged Mrs. Williams. "What do you say he's really done?"

Being sifted, it appeared that this last and most terrible performance was to go to "the city" with a group of "the worst boys of college," to get undeniably drunk, to do some piece of mischief. (Here was great licence in opinion, and in contradiction.)

"Anyway he's to be suspended!" said Miss Rebecca with finality.

"Suspended!" Miss Josie's voice rose in scorn. "Expelled! They said he was expelled."

"In disgrace!" added Miss Sallie.

Vivian Lane sat in the back room at the window, studying in the lingering light of the long June evening. At least, she appeared to be studying. Her tall figure was bent over her books, but the dark eyes blazed under their delicate level brows, and her face flushed and paled with changing feelings.

She had heard—who, in the same house, could escape hearing the Misses Foote?—and had followed the torrent of description, hearsay, surmise and allegation with an interest that was painful in its intensity.

"It's a shame!" she whispered under her breath. "A shame! And nobody to stand up for him!"

She half rose to her feet as if to do it herself, but sank back irresolutely.

A fresh wave of talk rolled forth. "It'll half kill his aunt."

"Poor Miss Elder! I don't know what she'll do!"

"I don't know what he'lldo. He can't go back to college."

"He'll have to go to work."

"I'd like to know where—nobody'd hire him in this town."

The girl could bear it no longer. She came to the door, and there, as they paused to speak to her, her purpose ebbed again.

"My daughter, Vivian, Mrs. Williams," said her mother; and the other callers greeted her familiarly.

"You'd better finish your lessons, Vivian," Mr. Lane suggested.

"I have, father," said the girl, and took a chair by the minister's wife. She had a vague feeling that if she were there, they would not talk so about Morton Elder.

Mrs. Williams hailed the interruption gratefully. She liked the slender girl with the thoughtful eyes and pretty, rather pathetic mouth, and sought to draw her out. But her questions soon led to unfortunate results.

"You are going to college, I suppose?" she presently inquired; and Vivian owned that it was the desire of her heart.

"Nonsense!" said her father. "Stuff and nonsense, Vivian! You're not going to college."

The Foote girls now burst forth in voluble agreement with Mr. Lane. His wife was evidently of the same mind; and Mrs. Williams plainly regretted her question. But Vivian mustered courage enough to make a stand, strengthened perhaps by the depth of the feeling which had brought her into the room.

"I don't know why you're all so down on a girl's going to college. Eve Marks has gone, and Mary Spring is going—and both the Austin girls. Everybody goes now."

"I know one girl that won't," was her father's incisive comment, and her mother19 said quietly, "A girl's place is at home—'till she marries."

"Suppose I don't want to marry?" said Vivian.

"Don't talk nonsense," her father answered. "Marriage is a woman's duty."

"What do you want to do?" asked Miss Josie in the interests of further combat. "Do you want to be a doctor, like Jane Bellair?"

"I should like to very much indeed," said the girl with quiet intensity. "I'd like to be a doctor in a babies' hospital."

"More nonsense," said Mr. Lane. "Don't talk to me about that woman! You attend to your studies, and then to your home duties, my dear."

The talk rose anew, the three sisters contriving all to agree with Mr. Lane in his opinions about college, marriage and Dr. Bellair, yet to disagree violently among themselves.

Mrs. Williams rose to go, and in the lull that followed the liquid note of a whippoorwill met the girl's quick ear. She quietly slipped out, unnoticed.

The Lane's home stood near the outer edge of the town, with an outlook across wide meadows and soft wooded hills. Behind, their long garden backed on that of Miss Orella Elder, with a connecting gate in the gray board fence.

Mrs. Lane had grown up here. The house belonged to her mother, Mrs. Servilla Pettigrew, though that able lady was seldom in it, preferring to make herself useful among two growing sets of grandchildren.

Miss Elder was Vivian's favorite teacher. She was a careful and conscientious instructor, and the girl was a careful and conscientious scholar; so they got on admirably together; indeed, there was a real affection between them. And just as the young Laura Pettigrew had played with the younger Orella Elder, so Vivian had played with little Susie Elder, Miss Orella's orphan niece. Susie regarded the older girl with worshipful affection, which was not at all unpleasant to an emotional young creature with unemotional parents, and no brothers or sisters of her own.

Moreover, Susie was Morton's sister.

The whippoorwill's cry sounded again through the soft June night. Vivian came quickly down the garden path between the bordering beds ofsweet alyssum and mignonette. A dew-wet rose brushed against her hand. She broke it off, pricking her fingers, and hastily fastened it in the bosom of her white frock.

Large old lilac bushes hung over the dividing fence, a thick mass of honeysuckle climbed up by the gate and mingled with them, spreadingover to a pear tree on the Lane side. In this fragrant, hidden cornerwas a rough seat, and from it a boy's hand reached out and seized the girl's, drawing her down beside him. She drew away from him as far as the seat allowed.

"Oh Morton!" she said. "What have you done?"

Morton was sulky.

"Now Vivian, are you down on me too? I thought I had one friend."

"Me," she said more gently. "How can I be your friend if I don't know the facts? They are saying perfectly awful things."

"Who are?"

"Why—the Foote girls—everybody."

"Oh those old maids aren't everybody, I assure you. You see, Vivian, you live right here in this old oyster of a town—and you make mountains out of molehills like everybody else. A girl of your intelligence ought to know better."

She drew a great breath of relief. "Then you haven't—done it?"

"Done what? What's all this mysterious talk anyhow? The prisoner has a right to know what he's charged with before he commits himself."

The girl was silent, finding it difficult to begin.

"Well, out with it. What do they say I did?"

He picked up a long dry twig and broke it, gradually, into tiny, half-inch bits.

"They say you—went to the city—with a lot of the worst boys in college——"

"Well? Many persons go to the city every day. That's no crime, surely. As for 'the worst boys in college,'"—he laughed scornfully—"I suppose those old ladies think if a fellow smokes a cigarette or says 'darn' he's a tough. They're mighty nice fellows, that bunch—most of 'em. Got some ginger in 'em, that's all. What else?"

"They say—you drank."

"O ho! Said I got drunk, I warrant! Well—we did have a skate on that time, I admit!" And he laughed as if this charge were but a familiar joke.

"Why Morton Elder! I think it is a—disgrace!"

"Pshaw, Vivian!—You ought to have more sense. All the fellows get gay once in a while. A college isn't a young ladies' seminary."

He reached out and got hold of her hand again, but she drew it away.

"There was something else," she said.

"What was it?" he questioned sharply. "What did they say?"

But she would not satisfy him—perhaps could not.

"I should think you'd be ashamed, to make your aunt so much trouble. They said you were suspended— or—expelled!"

He shrugged his big shoulders and threw away the handful of broken twigs.

"That's true enough—I might as well admit that."

"Oh, Morton!—I didn't believe it. Expelled!"

"Yes, expelled—turned down—thrown out—fired! And I'm glad of it." He leaned back against the fence and whistled very softly through his teeth.

"Sh! Sh!" she urged. "Please!"

He was quiet.

"But Morton—what are you going to do?—Won't it spoil your career?"

"No, my dear little girl, it will not!" said he. "On the contrary, it will be the making of me. I tell you, Vivian, I'm sick to death of this town of maiden ladies—and 'good family men.' I'm sick of being fussed over for ever and ever, and having wristers and mufflers knitted for me—and being told to put on my rubbers! There's no fun in this old clamshell—this kitchen-midden of a town—and I'm going to quit it."

He stood up and stretched his long arms. "I'm going to quit it for good and all."

The girl sat still, her hands gripping the seat on either side.

"Where are you going?" she asked in a low voice.

"I'm going west—clear out west. I've been talking with Aunt Rella about it. Dr. Bellair'll help me to a job, she thinks. She's awful cut up, of course. I'm sorry she feels bad—but she needn't, I tell her. I shall do better there than I ever should have here. I know a fellow that left college—his father failed—and he went into business and made two thousand dollars in a year. I always wanted to take up business—you know that!"

She knew it—he had talked of it freely before they had argued and persuaded him into the college life. She knew, too, how his aunt's hopes all centered in him, and in his academic honors and future professional life.

"Business," to his aunt's mind, was a necessary evil, which could at best be undertaken only after a "liberal education."

"When are you going," she asked at length.

"Right off—to-morrow."

She gave a little gasp.

"That's what I was whippoorwilling about—I knew I'd get no other chance to talk to you—I wanted to say good-by, you know."