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 IMPRACTICAL PYTHON PROJECTS
Playful Programming Activities to Make You
Smarter

by Lee Vaughan

San Francisco
IMPRACTICAL PYTHON PROJECTS. Copyright © 2019 by Lee Vaughan.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or
by any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of
the copyright owner and the publisher.

ISBN-10: 1-59327-890-X
ISBN-13: 978-1-59327-890-8

Publisher: William Pollock

Production Editor: Janelle Ludowise
Cover Illustration: Josh Ellingson
Interior Design: Octopod Studios
Developmental Editor: Zach Lebowski
Technical Reviewers: Jeremy Kun, Michael Contraveos, and Michele Pratusevich
Copyeditor: Rachel Monaghan
Compositor: David Van Ness
Proofreader: Paula L. Fleming
Indexer: Beth Nauman-Montana

The following images are reproduced with permission: Figure 4-1 courtesy of the
Library of Congress; Figure 7-1 created by vecteezy.com; rat silhouette in Figure 7-2
created by vecteezy.com; door image in Figures 11-1, 11-3, 11-4, 11-5, and 11-6 created
by Dooder at Freepik.com; goat and moneybag images in Figures 11-1, 11-4, 11-5, and
11-6 created by Freepik.com; Figures 10-1, 10-7, 13-1, 14-21, and 15-1 from NASA;
satellite images in Figures 14-13 and 14-24 courtesy of www.aha-soft.com/; output in
Figure 12-5 supplied by ifa.com

For information on distribution, translations, or bulk sales, please contact No Starch

Press, Inc. directly:
No Starch Press, Inc.
245 8th Street, San Francisco, CA 94103
phone: 1.415.863.9900; info@nostarch.com
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Vaughan, Lee, author.
Title: Impractical Python projects : playful programming activities to
make
you smarter / Lee Vaughan.
Description: First edition. | San Francisco : No Starch Press, Inc.,
[2019]
| Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018027576 (print) | LCCN 2018029119 (ebook) | ISBN
9781593278915 (epub) | ISBN 1593278918 (epub) | ISBN 9781593278908
(pbk. :
alk. paper) | ISBN 159327890X (pbk. : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Python (Computer program language)
Classification: LCC QA76.73.P98 (ebook) | LCC QA76.73.P98 V38 2019
(print) |
DDC 005.13/3--dc23
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No Starch Press and the No Starch Press logo are registered trademarks of No Starch
Press, Inc. Other product and company names mentioned herein may be the
trademarks of their respective owners. Rather than use a trademark symbol with every
occurrence of a trademarked name, we are using the names only in an editorial fashion
and to the benefit of the trademark owner, with no intention of infringement of the
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While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the
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the information contained in it.
For the Accidental Programmers, the Dedicated Non-Specialists, the
Dibblers and Dabblers: all the non-professionals who find themselves
writing code every day. May this help you on your way.
About the Author
Lee Vaughan is a geologist with more than 30 years of experience in the
petroleum industry. As the Senior Technical Professional for Geological
Modeling at a major international oil company, he was involved in the
construction and review of computer models; the development, testing,
and commercialization of software; and the training of geoscientists and
engineers. An advocate for nonprogrammers who must use
programming in their careers, he wrote Impractical Python Projects to
help self-learners hone their skills with the Python language.
About the Technical Reviewer
Jeremy Kun graduated with his PhD in mathematics from the
University of Illinois at Chicago. He writes the blog Math ∩
Programming (https://jeremykun.com/) and currently works on datacenter
optimization at Google.
 BRIEF CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Chapter 1: Silly Name Generator
Chapter 2: Finding Palingram Spells
Chapter 3: Solving Anagrams
Chapter 4: Decoding American Civil War Ciphers
Chapter 5: Encoding English Civil War Ciphers
Chapter 6: Writing in Invisible Ink
Chapter 7: Breeding Giant Rats with Genetic Algorithms
Chapter 8: Counting Syllables for Haiku Poetry
Chapter 9: Writing Haiku with Markov Chain Analysis
Chapter 10: Are We Alone? Exploring the Fermi Paradox
Chapter 11: The Monty Hall Problem
Chapter 12: Securing Your Nest Egg
Chapter 13: Simulating an Alien Volcano
Chapter 14: Mapping Mars with the Mars Orbiter
Chapter 15: Improving Your Astrophotography with Planet Stacking
Chapter 16: Finding Frauds with Benford’s Law
Appendix: Practice Project Solutions
Index
 CONTENTS IN DETAIL
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

INTRODUCTION
Who This Book Is For
What’s in This Book
Python Version, Platform, and IDE
The Code
Coding Style
Where to Get Help
Onward!

1
SILLY NAME GENERATOR
Project #1: Generating Pseudonyms
Planning and Designing a Project
The Strategy
The Pseudocode
The Code
Using the Python Community’s Style Guide
Checking Your Code with Pylint
Describing Your Code with Docstrings
Checking Your Code Style
Summary
Further Reading
Pseudocode
Style Guides
Third-Party Modules
Practice Projects
 Pig Latin
Poor Man’s Bar Chart
Challenge Projects
Poor Foreign Man’s Bar Chart
The Middle
Something Completely Different

2
FINDING PALINGRAM SPELLS
Finding and Opening a Dictionary
Handling Exceptions When Opening Files
Loading the Dictionary File
Project #2: Finding Palindromes
The Strategy and Pseudocode
The Palindrome Code
Project #3: Finding Palingrams
The Strategy and Pseudocode
The Palingrams Code
Palingram Profiling
Palingram Optimization
dnE ehT
Further Reading
Practice Project: Dictionary Cleanup
Challenge Project: Recursive Approach

3
SOLVING ANAGRAMS
Project #4: Finding Single-Word Anagrams
The Strategy and Pseudocode
Anagram-Finder Code
Project #5: Finding Phrase Anagrams
The Strategy and Pseudocode
 The Anagram Phrase Code
Project #6: Finding Voldemort: The Gallic Gambit
Project #7: Finding Voldemort: The British Brute-Force
Strategy
The British Brute-Force Code
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Project: Finding Digrams
Challenge Project: Automatic Anagram Generator

4
DECODING AMERICAN CIVIL WAR CIPHERS
Project #8: The Route Cipher
The Strategy
The Pseudocode
The Route Cipher Decryption Code
Hacking the Route Cipher
Adding a User Interface
Project #9: The Rail Fence Cipher
The Strategy
The Rail Fence Cipher Encryption Code
The Rail Fence Cipher Decryption Code
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Projects
Hacking Lincoln
Identifying Cipher Types
Storing a Key as a Dictionary
Automating Possible Keys
Route Transposition Cipher: Brute-Force Attack
Challenge Projects
Route Cipher Encoder
 Three-Rail Fence Cipher

5
ENCODING ENGLISH CIVIL WAR CIPHERS
Project #10: The Trevanion Cipher
Strategy and Pseudocode
The Trevanion Cipher Code
Project #11: Writing a Null Cipher
The List Cipher Code
The List Cipher Output
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Projects
Saving Mary
The Colchester Catch

6
WRITING IN INVISIBLE INK
Project #12: Hiding a Vigenère Cipher
The Platform
The Strategy
Creating Invisible Ink
Manipulating Word Documents with python-docx
Downloading the Assets
The Pseudocode
The Code
Importing python-docx, Creating Lists, and Adding a
Letterhead
Formatting and Interleaving the Messages
Adding the Vigenère Cipher
Detecting the Hidden Message
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Project: Checking the Number of Blank Lines
Challenge Project: Using Monospace Font

7
BREEDING GIANT RATS WITH GENETIC ALGORITHMS
Finding the Best of All Possible Solutions
Project #13: Breeding an Army of Super-Rats
Strategy
The Super-Rats Code
Summary
Project #14: Cracking a High-Tech Safe
Strategy
The Safecracker Code
Summary
Further Reading
Challenge Projects
Building a Rat Harem
Creating a More Efficient Safecracker

8
COUNTING SYLLABLES FOR HAIKU POETRY
Japanese Haiku
Project #15: Counting Syllables
The Strategy
Using a Corpus
Installing NLTK
Downloading CMUdict
Counting Sounds Instead of Syllables
Handling Words with Multiple Pronunciations
Managing Missing Words
The Training Corpus
 The Missing Words Code
The Count Syllables Code
Prepping, Loading, and Counting
Defining the main() Function
A Program to Check Your Program
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Project: Syllable Counter vs. Dictionary File

9
WRITING HAIKU WITH MARKOV CHAIN ANALYSIS
Project #16: Markov Chain Analysis
The Strategy
Choosing and Discarding Words
Continuing from One Line to Another
The Pseudocode
The Training Corpus
Debugging
Building the Scaffolding
Using the logging Module
The Code
Setting Up
Building Markov Models
Choosing a Random Word
Applying the Markov Models
Generating the Haiku Lines
Writing the User Interface
The Results
Good Haiku
Seed Haiku
Summary
Further Reading
Challenge Projects
New Word Generator
Turing Test
Unbelievable! This Is Unbelievable! Unbelievable!
To Haiku, or Not to Haiku
Markov Music

10
ARE WE ALONE? EXPLORING THE FERMI PARADOX
Project #17: Modeling the Milky Way
The Strategy
Estimating the Number of Civilizations
Selecting Radio Bubble Dimensions
Generating a Formula for the Probability of Detection
The Probability-of-Detection Code
Calculating Probability of Detection for a Range of
Civilizations
Generating a Predictive Formula and Checking the Results
Building the Graphical Model
Scaling the Graphical Model
The Galaxy Simulator Code
Results
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Projects
A Galaxy Far, Far Away
Building a Galactic Empire
A Roundabout Way to Predict Detectability
Challenge Projects
Creating a Barred-Spiral Galaxy
Adding Habitable Zones to Your Galaxy
11
THE MONTY HALL PROBLEM
Monte Carlo Simulation
Project #18: Verify vos Savant
The Strategy
The vos Savant Verification Code
Project #19: The Monty Hall Game
A Brief Introduction to Object-Oriented Programming
The Strategy and Pseudocode
Game Assets
The Monty Hall Game Code
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Project: The Birthday Paradox

12
SECURING YOUR NEST EGG
Project #20: Simulating Retirement Lifetimes
The Strategy
Historical Returns Matter
The Greatest Uncertainty
A Qualitative Way to Present Results
The Pseudocode
Finding Historical Data
The Code
Importing Modules and Defining Functions to Load Data and
Get User Input
Getting the User Input
Checking for Other Erroneous Input
Defining the Monte Carlo Engine
Simulating Each Year in a Case
Calculating the Probability of Ruin
 Defining and Calling the main() Function
Using the Simulator
Summary
Further Reading
Challenge Projects
A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Dollars
Mix and Match
Just My Luck!
All the Marbles

13
SIMULATING AN ALIEN VOLCANO
Project #21: The Plumes of Io
A Slice of pygame
The Strategy
Using a Game Sketch to Plan
Planning the Particle Class
The Code
Importing Modules, Initiating pygame, and Defining Colors
Defining the Particle Class
Ejecting a Particle
Updating the Particle and Handling Boundary Conditions
Defining the main() Function
Completing the main() Function
Running the Simulation
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Project: Going the Distance
Challenge Projects
Shock Canopy
The Fountainhead
With a Bullet
14
MAPPING MARS WITH THE MARS ORBITER
Astrodynamics for Gamers
The Law of Universal Gravity
Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion
Orbital Mechanics
Project #22: The Mars Orbiter Game
The Strategy
Game Assets
The Code
Importing and Building a Color Table
Defining the Satellite Class Initialization Method
Setting the Satellite’s Initial Position, Speed, Fuel, and Sound
Firing Thrusters and Checking for Player Input
Locating the Satellite
Rotating the Satellite and Drawing Its Orbit
Updating the Satellite Object
Defining the Planet Class Initialization Method
Rotating the Planet
Defining the gravity() and update() Methods
Calculating Eccentricity
Defining Functions to Make Labels
Mapping Soil Moisture
Casting a Shadow
Defining the main() Function
Instantiating Objects, Setting Up Orbit Verification, Mapping,
and Timekeeping
Starting the Game Loop and Playing Sounds
Applying Gravity, Calculating Eccentricity, and Handling
Failure
Rewarding Success and Updating and Drawing Sprites
Displaying Instructions and Telemetry and Casting a Shadow
Summary
Challenge Projects
Game Title Screen
Smart Gauges
Radio Blackout
Scoring
Strategy Guide
Aerobraking
Intruder Alert!
Over the Top

15
IMPROVING YOUR ASTROPHOTOGRAPHY WITH PLANET
STACKING
Project #23: Stacking Jupiter
The pillow Module
Working with Files and Folders
Directory Paths
The Shell Utilities Module
The Video
The Strategy
The Code
The Cropping and Scaling Code
The Stacking Code
The Enhancing Code
Summary
Further Reading
Challenge Project: Vanishing Act

16
FINDING FRAUDS WITH BENFORD’S LAW
Project #24: Benford’s Law of Leading Digits
 Applying Benford’s Law
Performing the Chi-Square Test
The Dataset
The Strategy
The Code
Importing Modules and Loading Data
Counting First Digits
Getting the Expected Counts
Determining Goodness of Fit
Defining the Bar Chart Function
Completing the Bar Chart Function
Defining and Running the main() Function
Summary
Further Reading
Practice Project: Beating Benford
Challenge Projects
Benfording the Battlegrounds
While No One Was Looking

APPENDIX
PRACTICE PROJECT SOLUTIONS
Chapter 1: Silly Name Generator
Chapter 2: Finding Palingram Spells
Chapter 3: Solving Anagrams
Chapter 4: Decoding American Civil War Ciphers
Chapter 5: Encoding English Civil War Ciphers
Chapter 6: Writing in Invisible Ink
Chapter 8: Counting Syllables for Haiku Poetry
Chapter 10: Are We Alone? Exploring the Fermi Paradox
Chapter 11: The Monty Hall Problem
Chapter 13: Simulating an Alien Volcano
Chapter 16: Finding Frauds with Benford’s Law
INDEX
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing a book is a family affair, and I couldn’t have succeeded without

the support of both my real family and my surrogate family at No
Starch Press. First, thanks to my wife, Hannah, and daughters, Sarah
and Lora, for their understanding, patience, and endless editing support.
At No Starch, thanks to Bill Pollock and Tyler Ortman for accepting
my proposal; Zach Lebowski for making sense of what I was trying to
say; Janelle Ludowise for a highly professional job of production
editing; Rachel Monaghan and Paula Fleming for taking on the difficult
job of copyediting and proofing a technical book; David Van Ness for
composition; and Serena Yang and Josh Ellingson for the awesome
cover design. Thanks also to my technical reviewers, Jeremy Kun,
Michael Contraveos, and Michele Pratusevich, for significantly
improving the book with invaluable suggestions and corrections.
External to No Starch, Sarah Vaughan, Eric Evenchick, Xiao-Hui
Wu, Brooks Clark, Brian Proett, Brent Francis, and Glenn Krum
provided significant technical support.
Finally, thanks to Mark Nathern for introducing me to Python, and
to Guido van Rossum for inventing the thing in the first place!
 INTRODUCTION

Welcome to Impractical Python Projects! Here, you’ll use the Python

programming language to explore Mars, Jupiter, and the farthest
reaches of the galaxy; the souls of poets; the world of high finance; the
underworld of espionage and vote tampering; the trickery of game
shows; and more. You’ll use techniques such as Markov chain analysis to
write haiku, Monte Carlo simulation to model financial markets, image
stacking to improve your astrophotography, and genetic algorithms to
breed an army of gigantic rats, all while gaining experience with
modules like pygame, Pylint, pydocstyle, tkinter, python-docx, matplotlib,
and pillow. And most of all, you’ll have fun.

Who This Book Is For

You can think of this as your second Python book. It’s designed to
follow and complement either a complete beginner’s book or an
introductory class. You’ll be able to continue self-training using a
project-based approach, without wasting your money or shelf space on a
thorough rehashing of concepts you’ve already learned. But don’t worry,
I won’t leave you hanging; all the code is annotated and explained.
These projects are for anyone who wants to use programming to
conduct experiments, test theories, simulate nature, or just have fun.
This includes people who use programming as part of their jobs (like
scientists and engineers) but who aren’t programmers per se, as well as
those I call the “determined non-specialists”—dilettantes and dabblers
who enjoy programming problems as a fun pastime. If you’ve wanted to
toy with the concepts presented here but found starting potentially
complicated projects from scratch too daunting or time-consuming, this
book is for you.

What’s in This Book

As you work through the projects, you’ll increase your knowledge of
useful Python libraries and modules; learn more shortcuts, built-in
functions, and helpful techniques; and practice designing, testing, and
optimizing programs. Additionally, you’ll be able to relate what you’re
doing to real-world applications, datasets, and issues.
To quote Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nothing great was ever achieved
without enthusiasm.” This includes the learning experience. The
ultimate goal of this book is to spark your imagination and lead you to
develop interesting projects of your own. Don’t worry if they seem too
ambitious at first; a little diligence and a lot of googling can work
miracles—and faster than you think.
The following is an overview of the chapters in this book. You don’t
have to work through them sequentially, but the easiest projects are at
the beginning, and I explain new concepts, modules, and techniques
more thoroughly when they’re first introduced.
Chapter 1: Silly Name Generator This warm-up project
introduces the Python PEP 8 and PEP 257 style guides as well as
the Pylint and pydocstyle modules, which analyze your code’s
conformance to these guidelines. The end product is a goofy-name
generator inspired by the USA Network TV show Psych.
Chapter 2: Finding Palingram Spells Learn how to profile your
code while saving DC Comics sorceress Zatanna from a painful
death. Search online dictionaries for the magical palingrams that
Zatanna needs to beat a time-reversing villain.
Chapter 3: Solving Anagrams Write a program that helps a user
create a phrase anagram from their name; for example, Clint
Eastwood yields old west action. Then help Tom Marvolo Riddle derive
his anagram, “I am Lord Voldemort,” using linguistic sieves.
Chapter 4: Decoding American Civil War Ciphers Investigate
and crack one of the most successful military ciphers in history, the
Union route cipher. Then help spies on both sides send and decode
secret messages using the zig-zagging rail fence cipher.
Chapter 5: Encoding English Civil War Ciphers Read a message
hidden in plain sight by decoding a null cipher from the English
Civil War. Then save the head of Mary, Queen of Scots, by
designing and implementing code to accomplish the more difficult
task of writing a null cipher.
Chapter 6: Writing in Invisible Ink Help a corporate mole betray
Sherlock Holmes’s dad and evade detection with invisible electronic
ink. This chapter is based on an episode of the CBS television show
Elementary.
Chapter 7: Breeding Giant Rats with Genetic Algorithms Use
genetic algorithms—inspired by Darwinian evolution—to breed a
race of super-rats the size of female bullmastiffs. Then help James
Bond crack a safe with 10 billion possible combinations in the blink
of an eye.
Chapter 8: Counting Syllables for Haiku Poetry Teach your
computer to count syllables in English as a prelude to writing
Japanese poetry, or haiku, in the next chapter.
Chapter 9: Writing Haiku with Markov Chain Analysis Teach
your computer to write haiku by combining the syllable-counting
module from Chapter 8 with Markov chain analysis and a training
corpus of several hundred ancient and modern haiku.
Chapter 10: Are We Alone? Exploring the Fermi Paradox
Investigate the absence of alien radio signals using Drake’s equation,
 the dimensions of the Milky Way galaxy, and assumptions about the
size of detectable “emissions bubbles.” Learn and use the popular
tkinter module to build a graphical display of the galaxy and Earth’s
own radio bubble.
Chapter 11: The Monty Hall Problem Help the world’s smartest
woman win the Monty Hall problem argument. Then use object-
oriented programming (OOP) to build a version of Monty’s famous
game with a fun graphical interface.
Chapter 12: Securing Your Nest Egg Plan your (or your parents’)
secure retirement using a Monte Carlo–based financial simulation.
Chapter 13: Simulating an Alien Volcano Use pygame to simulate a
volcanic eruption on Io, one of Jupiter's moons.
Chapter 14: Mapping Mars with the Mars Orbiter Build a
gravity-based arcade game and nudge a satellite into a circular
mapping orbit without running out of fuel or burning up in the
atmosphere. Display readouts of key parameters, track orbital paths,
add the planet’s shadow, and spin Mars slowly on its axis, all while
learning orbital mechanics!
Chapter 15: Improving Your Astrophotography with Planet
Stacking Reveal Jupiter’s cloud bands and Great Red Spot by
optically stacking poor-quality video images using the Python
imaging library. Learn how to work with files, folders, and directory
paths using the built-in os and shutil modules.
Chapter 16: Finding Frauds with Benford’s Law Use Benford’s
law to investigate vote tampering in the 2016 presidential election.
Use matplotlib to summarize the results in a chart.

Each chapter ends with at least one Practice Project or Challenge

Project. Each Practice Project comes with a solution. That doesn’t mean
it’s the best solution—you may come up with a better one on your own,
so don’t peek ahead!
 With the Challenge Projects, however, you’re truly on your own.
When Cortez invaded Mexico in 1519, he burned his caravels so that
his conquistadors would realize there was no going back; they would
have to face the Aztecs with grim and unwavering determination. Thus,
the expression “burn your boats” has come to represent
wholeheartedness or full commitment to a task. This is how you should
face the Challenge Projects—as if your boat were burned—and if you
do, you’re likely to learn more from these exercises than from any other
part of the book!

Python Version, Platform, and IDE

I constructed each of the projects in this book with Python v3.5 in a
Microsoft Windows 10 environment. If you’re using a different
operating system, no problem: I suggest compatible modules for other
platforms, where appropriate.
The code examples and screen captures in this book are from either
the Python IDLE text editor or the interactive shell. IDLE stands for
integrated development and learning environment. It’s an integrated
development environment (IDE) with an L added so that the acronym
references Eric Idle of Monty Python fame. The interactive shell, also
called the interpreter, is a window that lets you immediately execute
commands and test code without needing to create a file.
IDLE has numerous drawbacks, such as the lack of a line-number
column, but it is free and bundled with Python, so everyone has access
to it. You are welcome to use whichever IDE you wish. There are many
choices available online, such as Geany (pronounced genie), PyCharm,
and PyScripter. Geany works with a wide range of operating systems,
including Unix, macOS, and Windows. PyCharm works with Linux,
Windows, and macOS. PyScripter works with Windows. For an
extensive listing of available Python development tools and compatible
platforms, visit https://wiki.python.org/moin/DevelopmentTools/.

The Code
Every line of code is provided for each project in this book, and I
recommend you enter it by hand whenever possible. A college professor
once told me that we “learn through our hands,” and I have to agree
that keying in code forces you to pay maximum attention to what’s
going on.
But if you want to complete a project quickly or you accidentally
delete all your work, you can download all of the code, including
solutions to the Practice Projects, from
https://www.nostarch.com/impracticalpython/. This site also contains the
book’s errata sheet, in the event of future updates or changes.

Coding Style
This book is about problem solving and beginner-level fun, so the code
may deviate at times from best practices and peak efficiency.
Occasionally, you may use list comprehension or a special operator, but
for the most part, you’ll focus on simple, approachable code that’s easy
to learn.
Keeping things simple is important for the programming
nonprogrammers who read this book. Much of their code may be
“Kleenex code”—used once or twice for a specific purpose and then
thrown away. This is the type of code that might be shared with
colleagues, or thrust upon them during staff changes, so it should be
easy to pick up and understand.
All of the main project code is annotated and explained in a stand-
alone manner, and it generally follows the style recommendations from
Python Enhancement Proposal 8, otherwise known as PEP 8. Details on
PEP 8, and software to help you honor these guidelines, are in Chapter
1.

Where to Get Help

Taking on a programming challenge can be, well, challenging. Coding
isn’t always something that you can intuitively figure out—even with a
language as friendly as Python. Throughout the following chapters, I
will provide links and references to useful sources of information, but
for projects you formulate on your own, nothing can beat online
searches.
The key to successful searching is knowing what to ask. This can be
quite frustrating at first, but think of it as a game of Twenty Questions.
Keep honing your keywords with each successive search until you find
an answer or reach a point of diminishing returns.
If books and online searches fail, then the next step is to ask
someone. You can do this online, either for a fee or at free forums like
Stack Overflow (https://stackoverflow.com/). But be warned: the members
of these sites don’t suffer fools gladly. Be sure to read their “How do I
ask a good question?” pages before posting; for example, you can find
the one for Stack Overflow at http://stackoverflow.com/help/how-to-ask/.

Onward!
Thanks for taking the time to read the Introduction! You clearly want to
get as much as possible from this book, and you’re off to a good start.
When you reach the other end, you’ll be more adept at Python and
better prepared to solve challenging real-world problems. Let’s get to
work.
Other documents randomly have
different content
 “No.”
He turned to go up the staircase, but she caught him back with a little
cry.
“Dick, why aren’t we like we used to be?”
He looked at her almost with dislike. “Isn’t it late for psychological
discussion? What do you mean?”
She faced him with the question which was clamoring in her mind,
tugging at her heart all the time.
“Dick—do you love me?”
It jarred on him unspeakably—this forcing of emotion.
“Isn’t that rather an unnecessary question?”
“I’m afraid it isn’t.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be so high strung all the time, Cecily. I realize
you’ve had a bad time lately; in fact, it seems to me you’ve had a bad time
ever since we were married. But it does wear on me—this atmosphere of
tragedy.”
“Then why must we have it? It wasn’t like that when we were first
married.”
He took an impatient turn up and down the room.
“No. But you can’t maintain a honeymoon attitude all your life, my dear.
I don’t suppose we feel the same way towards each other as we did then.”
That hurt. “But why don’t we?”
“Why, we’re older; people’s emotions cool naturally.”
“But they shouldn’t if they love one another.”
“There you go, you see. You want to have everything your way. You
want to force things. You don’t let life be natural, Cecily. You’re too
romantic.”
The tears in her eyes only irritated him. He went on, thinking that it
might be as well to have it out with her.
“I don’t want to be unkind, but you have the most artificial view of
things sometimes. You can’t tolerate any thing or person that isn’t on a
pedestal.”
“No, it isn’t that, Dick. I just hate to see things slip into cheapness.”
“But almost everything normal to you is cheap.”
 “No! All I want is to have you love me and the children—be content
with us.”
“You’re quite absurd, Cecily. I love the children as much as any man
could. If it’s hard to love you it’s because you scare me off by frowning
upon every harmless diversion—by wanting to shut us up together. That
isn’t the way people live nowadays. Marriage isn’t prison. The trouble with
us is that we aren’t congenial in our pursuits. You like one kind of thing. I
like another. And you won’t admit my kind of thing at all.”
“I don’t want marriage to be prison, but if marriage is anything surely
it’s the concentration of two people on making a home and bringing up their
children.” She couldn’t add love.
“It’s a lot more than that nowadays, Cecily. I suppose that used to be all
that was expected of a woman—having her children and keeping her house
clean. Now things have broadened. Men need more, ask more; so do most
women.”
“I suppose,” said Cecily, coldly, “what you mean is that men want a lot
of noise and dissipation and promiscuous flirtations, and that they expect
their wives to tolerate and join them in such things.”
The scorn in her voice drove Dick on. “Well, perhaps the woman who is
willing to do that gets away with marriage better than the woman who
clings to an outworn domesticity. I know your scorn of Della—and of girls
like Della and Fliss. We aren’t any happier than Fliss and Matthew, or Della
and Walter.”
Cecily became purely instinctive. She burst into tears and tried to talk
through them.
“Then the fact that I have three children and they have none doesn’t
make any difference to you?”
“The children are beside the point. I’m glad we have them; so are you.
But you can’t justify everything, excuse all unhappiness, swallow yourself
up, even in children. For God’s sake be reasonable, Cecily. Stick to the
point at issue.”
But she couldn’t. She lost her case, sadly undeveloped as it was, by her
rapidly mounting hysteria. It ended by her being put to bed, being soothed
by Dick, assured of things which he didn’t mean in his heart and which she
knew he didn’t mean—by the sleep of exhaustion and day of shamed
apology which followed for both of them.
 CHAPTER XXI

I T could not last too long after that, but they ran the whole gamut of
possible moods. There were times when the antagonism between them
seemed to one or the other so intangible, so imaginary as to be ludicrous;
days when the air seemed cleared of dissension and unhappiness; any
incident could alter the whole shape of things for them. Some new delight
in the progress of the children, some anniversary which it seemed too cruel
to let pass in anger, would make them both happy. But they never quite
relaxed, never quite felt faith in each other. And the most trivial thing could
upset their balance—a fancied slight, a casual statement which was
translated into a criticism. On their guard constantly, neither of them felt
peace.
The days were absorbing for Dick just at this time, too. In July Matthew
had unexpectedly yielded to the pressure upon him to become a candidate
for United States Senator to fill the unexpired term of the incumbent who
had just died. He had refused many political honors and opportunities
before, but this time the political situation looked so black that he could not
justify refusal. He knew his usefulness well in a state where blind
conservatism and dangerous dissatisfaction were in constant ferment; and
his acquaintance and high standing among all kinds of men made his
nomination fairly certain. But his decision left Dick alone and depressed. It
was not that he did not approve of Matthew’s action, but that they had come
to depend upon each other more and more in business. They had worked out
the development of the mines together lately. With Matthew away for even
a part of the year, responsibility would fall very heavily on Dick, and things
were far from satisfactory. A spreading sense of loneliness encompassed
Dick. He tried to satisfy himself in the children, but an hour’s play with
them, refreshing and delightful as it was, did not give him all he sought or
all he needed. Gradually there came silent moods in which he spent most of
his hours of relaxation and which were only broken by a plunge into
business or into the midst of some noisy party at which Cecily might or
might not join him. It did not matter whether she did or not. He was tied to
the sense of her instinctive criticism of many of the things he liked and she
to her sense of failure.
They were both much interested in Matthew’s campaign. That gave them
something to talk about and something to focus a mutual interest upon. But
Cecily was suffering even more from a fear of Matthew’s departure than
was Dick. Since her mother had died, she, like Dick, had been lonely, but
that did not help them to find refuge in each other. Matthew and, curiously
enough, Ellen, were the only people in whom Cecily felt there was
comprehension of her and approval. She had one conversation with Mother
Fénelon when she and Dick reached the breaking point.
“There’s no reason for this,” said Mother Fénelon. “You are a good
woman and your husband is a good man. You have duties to each other.”
“Virtue and duties are the least part of marriage to-day, Mother Fénelon.
You can’t manage with just those things. You have to use the modern
methods. It’s a science to-day to have a husband.”
“Marriage is what it always has been.”
“I’m afraid not. It’s altered with the jazz band and the servant problem
and the ‘keep young’ crusade.”
There was more, but to no purpose. The break came immediately after
Matthew’s election. Reaction helped perhaps, as did the fact that little by
little every one had come to guess that the young Harrisons were unhappy
and Della and Madeline and others had come to give Cecily advice.
“You’ve humiliated me beyond all decency,” Cecily told Dick bitterly.
“There’s no dignity, no privacy left between us.”
“Then I’d better go,” answered Dick.
She weakened then, but it was all useless and in her mind she knew that
Dick must go, that they could not keep on this rending life, which was
exhausting them both. Dick went to his club. He wanted to leave the city,
but with Matthew’s departure imminent he couldn’t. And with Dick’s
definite action bruited about, the young Harrisons became the favorite topic
for discussion—discussion which carried its probing back to tales of the
first unhappy marriage of Mrs. Warner and made strange and foolish
deductions.
Mr. Warner, after listening for an hour to Della, who brought the news
home and philosophized extempore on just what Cecily’s mistake had been,
took his hat and proceeded to Cecily’s house. It was the day on which the
few personal effects which Dick needed had left the house. She met her
stepfather in the living-room, rising from a dusky corner where she was
sitting with her hands in her lap, strangely idle. The soft white silk of her
dress was hardly whiter than her face.
 Mr. Warner put his hat and cane down slowly and went towards her,
taking both her hands.
“My poor Cecily.”
She did not show any sign of collapse or tears. It seemed to him that she
was broken, but the impression did not come from her appearance or her
voice.
“Dick thought he’d better go.”
He sat down and tapped on the arms of his chair, an old man habit that
had come over him lately.
“Do you want a divorce from Dick, Cecily?”
“Not now. Neither of us wants that now. We’re too—raw.” She
shuddered.
“And you’re going to live here alone?”
“Here, with the children.”
“How is Dick going to do without the children?”
“I think he can. He can’t bear living with me for the sake of them and I
must have them.”
“Ah, Cecily, this won’t last. You and Dick are a pair of naughty children.
I’ve a notion to go down to the club and bring him home by the ear.”
Cecily stiffened. “Promise me you won’t do anything like that! Don’t
make it begin all over again now. We’ve tried and tried, and we can’t.”
“But what is it? Is this nonsense Della talks about Dick’s wanting to go
out more and your refusing the actual reason you’ve dared to break up your
home?”
“That’s what people will say,” answered Cecily, “but of course that’s just
a symptom of what’s the matter with us. The trouble is that we don’t think
marriage means the same thing; we don’t mean the same thing by it. And
every outward expression of my idea jars on him—and his on me. We’ve
become angry and furtive and quarrelsome and condemning.”
“And yet I’ll bet you will be reconciled within a month. Perhaps sooner.
It may be that this little separation is just what you both need to straighten
out all this trouble.”
“Reconciled! Reconciled!” repeated Cecily. “We’ve been reconciled a
dozen times in the past year. No, father, that won’t do it.”
 He sat silent for a while and she watched from the window in a strange,
still way.
“It’s not right nor necessary. I wish your mother were here.”
“I wouldn’t like her to see me a failure,” said Cecily with that note of
complete depression.
“Don’t be foolish. You’re not a failure. How could any one with three
fine, husky children be a failure?”
“It’s not enough to make success.”
She rose after a little and offered him a cigar.
“Some Dick left.”
“He’ll be back after them,” said Mr. Warner.
She smiled, but it was a tragic little smile.
“You’ll have to smile better than that for the children.”
“I will—for them.”
“Then why not for Dick?”
“Dick doesn’t care for me.”
“Dick does.”
She gave the dreariest little gesture of negation.
“You and your mother are curiously alike, Cecily.”
“No.”
“I have often wondered,” he went on ruminatively after a moment, “if
there wasn’t something of a case for Allgate Moore. Of course he treated
your mother badly. She never even told me about it, but we all knew. After I
married your mother—and I was an older man with somewhat cool
judgments, my share of discretion and years of experience—I wondered
about him sometimes. Because I had a hard time understanding your mother
and a hard time being good to her.”
“But you were good to her.”
“After I had learned how; after I had studied and planned how, so that I
might not shock her or frighten her or disgust her or hurt her. You are like
her—fastidious, delicate minded, not delicate only in mood, but delicate
always. You like fine things and beautiful things. So do most men, but most
men like other things too. Your mother could not tolerate in any one what
was unbeautiful or coarse—many human things.”
 “But she could, for she told me to be tolerant.”
Mr. Warner moved a little in the shadow which had fallen on his chair.
“That’s what I taught her,—what I tried to teach her so that contacts
would not be too hard for her.”
“What if contacts are hard? Isn’t it better to preserve truth, to live
according to beauty—not to be cheap? I know how silly, how common it all
sounds, will sound; the things they will say about Dick and me. But it isn’t
true that trivialities have made the trouble. It’s big things, basic things. I
don’t want to compromise with an age that seems all wrong in its standards.
I can’t bear to form myself on people like Della and Fliss.”
“It wouldn’t do you any good to try that,” said Mr. Warner with a
chuckle, “but I wish, my dear, that your humor was a little nearer the
surface and that it could come to your assistance when you are unhappy as
well as when you are happy.”
“It’s queer about that. I can only see things black and white—happy or
sad. It’s a great drawback. Sometimes I try to pretend, but it’s always so
easy to see through my pretense.”
Mr. Warner was pursuing his previous line of thought.
“You and your mother are such women as foster the ideals men have
about women—if they have any—making ideals for the home which every
man treasures or respects. But it’s hard for men to live by their ideals alone
and you demand that.”
“I don’t understand it at all,” said Cecily, wearily, “why an effort to keep
things close to the ideal men promise you before they marry you should end
in failure.”
“If it is failure; but I don’t believe it is. I don’t think you’ve hit the real
reason for it. Cecily, is there any third person involved in this?”
“Woman, you mean?”
He nodded.
“Not in the way you mean. We disagree awfully over one woman whom
Dick admires,—Fliss Allenby.”
“He’s not in love with her.”
“No. That makes it all the worse. If he were you could understand his
taking up her defense every time a criticism of her is made. But as a matter
of fact he prefers even her—for whom he doesn’t care and whom I can
remember his scorning when I first took her up after we were married—to
me. He prefers almost anything to me.”
“Don’t get bitter, Cecily.”
“I didn’t know what that word meant except abstractly seven years ago.
Now it seems to express me.”
“Nonsense. Turn on the lights, my dear. We’re too gloomy.”
The conversation became more practical.
“Have you made any money arrangement with Dick?”
“I don’t want any money from Dick. If he’s not living with me, I don’t
want his money. I couldn’t bear to touch it.”
“That’s quixotic, my dear, but if you won’t take his, you must let me
help.”
“I’ve a little of my own, you know,” said Cecily.
“As I remember, very little.”
“Three thousand a year. Lots of people live on that.”
“How much have you and Dick been spending?”
“About twenty-five thousand. But that was with cars and all sorts of
luxuries. We’ll just do without those and I won’t need new clothes for a
long time, nor will the children.”
“And when you do?”
“Well, we’ll have to do without them. Or maybe I could earn some
money. Anyway I will not touch Dick’s money and I won’t take yours
either, father, please. I couldn’t let you support me—and Della.”
“Cecily!”
“That was horrid, wasn’t it? Well, please let me get along as best I can.
Let me be honest with myself.”
“You are making it so hard for Dick.”
“Yes. He seemed to take that part much harder than any other. It was the
only thing that really seemed to worry him—not to be able to salve things
over with money. If he sends me money, I shall send it back.”
Mr. Warner rose.
“I’m going now, my dear. I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this or
how convinced I am that it won’t last. I want you to let me help you. I want
to come and talk to you now and then.”
 “Yes, please do that. I shall be lonely once in a while,” she said bravely.
“You don’t mind all the silly talk?”
Cecily shrugged. “I shan’t hear it. No, I don’t think I do, except for Dick
a little.”
“Would you like to go away for the rest of the year?”
“I thought of that, but it doesn’t seem wise to take the children away just
now. And that, too, would be expensive.”
Mr. Warner went down the street slowly, tapping the darkened pavement
with his cane.

“I don’t care to discuss it, Fliss. It’s none of our business.”

“I hope not,” said Fliss.
Matthew frowned at her and she laughed at him.
“You should see the frantic interest of people whose business it most
certainly is not.”
“That’s easy to imagine,” he answered. “But I don’t care to be in their
class.”
She went on, “Cecily, you know, who has been really not of paramount
interest to any one lately, is now the real center of thought. Why she did and
why he didn’t and what was the matter and how long it has been going on
and if Dick’s stenographer is really involved or if it’s Cecily’s iceman——”
“Spare me that stuff, Fliss.”
“I haven’t been spared. I’ve had it all day. But seriously, Matthew, what
is the matter with that fool girl? Why doesn’t she appreciate what she’s
got?”
“Does he appreciate what he’s got?”
“United States Senator judicial temperament bound to see both sides.
Well, why doesn’t some one open both the kittens’ eyes if they can’t
appreciate each other?”
He turned to look at her. “You’re pleased about all this, aren’t you?”
“Well, perhaps just a little satisfied in my heart. Cecily made me the butt
of the town for weeks with that Ellen stuff. Do you blame me for a little
human nature?”
“I don’t blame you for anything, Fliss. I accept you.”
 “And Cecily?”
“I said that was none of our business.”
“Then why spend so long composing notes to her last night?”
He looked at her accusingly.
“In the wastebasket, my dear. I don’t always go over it, but I was so
interested. Evidently you hadn’t gone very far with any of the notes.”
“Once in a while I think that nothing but a spanking, Fliss——”
“Wife-beater!”
“I’ll write my notes downtown after this, you know.”
“I suppose so. I’ll have to bribe the janitor to save me the wastebaskets.
Well, if you won’t talk about Cecily, let’s talk about Washington. I get a
little weak in the knees when I think of all I’ll have to learn. I don’t mean to
get too many clothes, either. But the ones I do get——”
“I was wondering if I hadn’t better go on alone at first. I could get a bit
adjusted and I can’t see how you can leave your mother.”
Her face clouded. “I know, Matthew. I seem a heartless brute, but there’s
nothing I can do; and she gets so irritated at me now; and whenever I go
there and try to do anything she and Mrs. Ellis are hobnobbing over horrors
in that dreadful way and everything is so awful. Matthew, don’t leave me
with them!”
“Why, no, you’d have your own house. It would only be for a little
while. But I’ll take you if you want to go so badly. I do get a little sorry for
your father. He’s——”
“But I tell you there’s nothing I can do for him. I have tried! But I can’t
sit through endless hours of moving pictures and silence.”
“Well, dear, you can’t help if you feel like that. It is probably true you
could do nothing.”
“Where are you going to-night?”
“Going to work unless you need me.”
“No, I told Polly Angell that I thought you couldn’t come to dinner and
she asked me to come anyway. She found an extra man.”
“Ames?”
Fliss nodded.
“You ought to leave him alone. What do you get out of it?”
 But she parried his question with a laugh. “Well, you told me that you
wouldn’t make love to me. I have to have some one.”
“Run along—and behave yourself.”
She left his room and going down to the library, picked up the
Washington evening papers, turning to the page which gave the social news.
Over that she bent a puckered brow, studying names.
 BOOK THREE
CHAPTER XXII

T HERE was no doubt that at the start the break meant peace to Cecily.
That was what surprised her so much. She had tortured herself in
advance with the thought of those nervous stresses which she imagined
would follow Dick’s leaving. But they did not materialize. There were a few
very bad nights at first. Then came a sleep of exhaustion and after that a
night when to her surprise she slept naturally and although, when she woke,
the sick feeling of impending trouble and past trouble was still upon her,
she was rested. There were hours of choking hysteria when it took more
courage than she had ever guessed she had to keep from seeking Dick out,
begging him to come back—on any terms—only to relieve the terrible
loneliness without him. Days when she felt strangely light and queer and at
the end of things as if the emptiness of her soul were swallowing her up;
days when the sight of her own strange, strainedly sad eyes and thin face
horrified her. The physical pain and exhaustion which went with the mental
struggle seemed sometimes unbearable. The children looked strange and
seemed remote at times. And yet, little by little, usage, duties, routine began
to pull her back to normal. Her emotions wore themselves out battering
against her resistance and she commenced to live again.
Half life, she told herself, without sparkle, with no joy, but none the less
ordered. She commenced to read a little and the ability to focus her mind on
an impersonal situation came back. Reading was almost her only diversion.
The few people whom she saw at her own home were her only companions
and the only two of those who gave her real companionship were her
stepfather and Agatha Ward, whose literary modernism had a kind of solace
in it because it grouped her case with so many others. Not that she talked
about her trouble to Agatha, but Agatha talked of life and of strange, new,
shifting points of view to her. If Agatha had a point of approach to all the
currents of life other than that of analysis she never showed it. Under her
touch Cecily was able now and then to depersonalize herself, see herself as
a “case”—as a situation created by the turmoil of modern things—and it
invariably gave her some comfort. The moments of intellectual broadening
did not last, but they helped.
Matthew she had not seen. He had written her a note which was brief
and careful, asking her if there was anything that he could do for her and
she had replied briefly:
“Nothing, thank you, Matthew. There is nothing for any one to do except
be sorry for the fact that we are not always brave and wise. Come to see me
when you can. Talking to you always helps me. Faithfully yours, Cecily
Harrison.”
Matthew read that note again and again and then, not putting it into his
pocket, perhaps for fear of the mocking eye of Fliss, he tore it across and
dropped it thoughtfully into the wastebasket. He did not go to see her at
once.
So with the routine, the care of the house and the increasingly interesting
children, a month wore on. At the end of the month a letter from Dick came,
enclosing a check for her usual allowance. She sent it back with a note
which she tried to make not too curt, reiterating that she must live on her
own money and that she had plenty. Then she went into her own room and
there, with her check book and a pencil, made various budgets to figure out
just how she could manage to cut her expenses to a fourth of their usual
amount. That, it appeared, must be done—or if not she would have to take
money from Dick or her stepfather. She wouldn’t do that, she was resolved.
The decision not to take Dick’s money helped her self-respect enormously.
If he was not to live with her she was not going to be supported by him.
Dick’s incensed, insulted arguments on that point—that he had a right to
support his children and that she had no right to prevent him—made no
impression on the fixity of her decision.
“I couldn’t do it, Dick,” she told him, as they were trying to have a
“calm” discussion a few days before he went. “Don’t you see that it would
be shameful? You’re getting nothing from me—nothing from the children
and there’s something in taking money from a man with whom you aren’t
living that puts you in a sordid class.”
“But I did get so much—I did get everything——”
“You don’t owe anything for that; please don’t drag money into it, Dick.
I couldn’t—I couldn’t ever take it. Love is a gift; children are a gift; you
can’t settle for them in——”
“I’m not trying to,” cried Dick, “but don’t you see that for you and for
them to get along without things that they have a right to have is
ridiculous!”
But she was stubborn. She sent back his first check without an instant’s
thought of changing her position, although expenses already were
beginning to trouble her. That strength which her mother had known was in
her had already begun to bolster up her actions and her resolves.
She took counsel with Ellen.
“Do you think that if I did the upstairs work and took all the care of the
children we could get along with just you and a laundress? Now that the
family is smaller and since we shall be very quiet we might be able to
manage it, don’t you think so?”
“I’d be glad,” said Ellen. “There’s not so much work as there used to be
and now that you are taking so much care of the babies those nurses have
time heavy on their hands.”
So the nurse and the housemaid problem was solved for Cecily by her
getting along without them and the extra activity which was necessary for
her helped her to fill many hours which might have been terribly
disconsolate. That saved a hundred dollars a month for her.
She scraped her budget closer and closer. Cards from exclusive shops
showing children’s clothes or gowns for herself went into the wastebasket.
She went to the public library instead of to the booksellers for her books.
Yet, in spite of all she tried to do and all she actually did accomplish she
could not cut far enough to make her little income cover expenses. She was
running behind at the end of the first month. Recalculations made her do a
little better for a week after that. Then the baby had a week’s illness of no
particular seriousness, but Cecily found herself confronting a presumable
bill from the child specialist which would throw her budget into chaos
again. She used the thousand dollars her father had given her for Christmas
to bring her checking account up to normal and that exhausted her cash
reserves.
There was a certain interest and pleasure in working it out, however.
Work was almost her only refuge and it was one which she sought with
redoubled interest and comfort constantly.
 The mind which had been latent for so long began to develop as it was
trained upon real problems and as she made herself independent, her own
protector and her own refuge.
The moments when she was panic-stricken for want of a refuge—when
she needed Dick or her mother to solve things, to smooth life over—became
fewer and fewer. It amazed her to find how dependent she had been, to see
how many things Dick had taken off her hands. That he still wanted to do
them she knew, for there were rather pathetic attempts to pay garage bills; a
watchdog was presented to her by her father, but she somehow guessed
from the phrasing of the note that came with it that it had been Dick’s
thought and that her father wanted her to know it. Such things hurt. It
wasn’t that it made her feel more hopeful about herself and Dick. But she
usually wanted to feel that Dick was happy and benefited by leaving her,
and such things made her wonder. Then in the bitter, contradictory hours
when she did not want him to be happy and when the resentment at the
wreck of her own happiness scourged her, she was angry that he should
attempt even anonymous courtesies.
After a little the moods grew less bitter. But one bitterness never grew
less. The sight of such frivolities as had wrecked Dick and herself, the
mention of them, the sight of the people involved in them—could always
bring back a rush of poison through her mind. That had cut her off
completely from Della. Her mother’s house had changed. It was no longer
the spacious, comfortable, somewhat quiet house of Mrs. Warner’s
planning, at least not to Cecily, though a casual observer would have
noticed few changes. Della had pervaded the house with herself. At first
Cecily made a protest here and there, but her protests were against trifles
and it was impossible to explain to her stepfather or to Walter why little
things like irregular hours for meals, like the careless and indiscriminate use
of linens (Della could not waste her time over a lot of sheets and pillow-
cases, she said), were a violation of her mother’s spirit. Cecily felt that the
men thought her trivial and she soon came seldom to the house now ruled
by Della, except to bring the children to see Mr. Warner. Walter and she
were rather definitely estranged. She came in one morning at eleven o’clock
to find Walter eating breakfast in a bathrobe, weary, red-eyed and unshaven.
He explained crossly and with an aggressive note of defense that they had
been up until all hours. Cecily was silent and her glance as she looked at
him and the disordered breakfast room was only discouraged, but it must
have shamed Walter into bravado.
She was standing there when Della came in. Della was wearing an
extravagant negligee and looking untidy, but delightfully pretty. At sight of
Cecily she threw up her hands.
“Good Heavens, Cecily, this is no morning for you to drop in and catch
us at our worst. We’ll shock her, Walter. Now don’t you scold him, Cecily.
He was tired and I let him sleep.”
She settled down on the arm of Walter’s chair and he pushed back from
the table, pulling her down into his arms. Disheveled and laughingly
protesting, Della let him hold her. Cecily turned away, trying to be light.
“Too domestic a party for me. I only wanted to see if I could find the
second volume of a novel father lent me. I’ll hunt for it?”
“Go ahead. Try his room if it isn’t in the library.”
Cecily left them and with the closing of the door, Della settled herself
more comfortably.
“I think we really shocked her, dearie.”
“Nonsense,” said Walter, looking down at the bundle of lace and ribbons
which should have been so alluring. “Nonsense.” He passed a hand over his
chin and kissed her without much interest. “Get up, honey; I’ve got to get
dressed.”

It was such little things which isolated Cecily. She did not go to her
father’s house again for weeks. She was apologetic for being a drawback
and yet she could not enter into so many of the things the others made their
habits. The knowledge, too, that Della felt that Cecily had made a mess of
things and that all her sympathies were with Dick kept her away. The
thought of Della as her critic was intolerable to her pride.
Shut off from her own family, she was equally shut off from Dick’s
mother. Mrs. Harrison had been away at the time of the actual break and she
was humiliated by it all. Most seriously of all was she hurt by the fact that
Dick had gone to his club and not home to her. When he did come to her he
absolutely refused to discuss the situation. So Mrs. Harrison went to Cecily
and found it equally hard to get information from her.
 “You’re the talk of the town—you and Dick—and both of you mute.
What is the trouble? Has Dick been misbehaving himself?”
“No,” answered Cecily. “No, indeed, Mrs. Harrison. It is just that we
don’t seem very happy and I thought—we hoped it would be better for us if
we separated.”
“But without a reason!”
“We don’t agree about marriage. It’s so impossible to explain.”
“Is this stuff I hear about your refusing to go into society true? Or is it
true that Dick is enamored of this Mrs. Allenby?”
That struck fire. “It is quite true that Dick and I did not agree about the
kind of society we cared to enter. What there is in any feeling for Mrs.
Allenby is really for Dick to say, Mrs. Harrison.”
“It’s ridiculous. He’s not in love with that young woman.”
“He prefers her type of woman to what he calls the domestic type,”
answered Cecily coldly. There was nothing in this little woman, so annoyed
about scandal, to excite any pity or kindly feeling in her at all.
Mrs. Harrison rose, tapping her fingers nervously on her bag.
“It’s an extremely unfortunate situation. I would be prepared to give you
every support, Cecily, if I believed that Dick had misbehaved himself at all.
But if you have thrown him over, broken up his home for the sake of a—a
theory, it is one of the most cruel and unnecessary things I have ever heard
of. Men are men. They demand a little amusement. If you refuse to allow
him that you must expect——”
“Please, Mrs. Harrison. There’s nothing to be gained by all this, surely.”
The little woman drove off, her angry, alert little head looking straight
ahead through the window of her limousine.
“Didn’t Grandmother Harrison bring me anything?” asked Dorothea,
running in a little too late to speak to her grandmother.
“Not to-day, dear. She was in a hurry.”
“She nearly always does,” said Dorothea, with some disappointment.
Cecily regarded her daughter with some worry as she climbed up to see
if she could catch a glimpse of the departing car from the window. She
often wondered how she was going to explain all this to the children. Would
they understand or would they, like Della, blame her, or, like Mrs. Harrison
and her father, think she was foolish?
“But I didn’t do it,” she protested to herself. “It was Dick who insisted. I
couldn’t keep him from going. Unless I was willing to throw everything in
life which seems worth while to me into the discard. Everything that is
worth while to anybody. The standards of life that must be maintained.” She
thought of Della, a mass of provocative lingerie. She did not want this
sturdy little figure in blue linen to grow up to be like that. If one had to give
up everything to prevent Dorothea’s becoming like that, it was worth it. The
extravagance of her conclusions did not strike her as false just then. She
topped her sacrifice with some self-glorification, and taking Dorothea out
into the garden, played with her until dinner time.
But in the empty evening she found the self-glory fading. She was alone.
She had failed.
It was often like that.

CHAPTER XXIII

M RS. HORTON’S death came just before the time when Matthew had
planned to leave for Washington. A succession of complications had
hastened it. Three days before it came, Fliss knew that it was
imminent and she spent those days sitting beside her mother for long
periods, her face white and drawn, but her courage sustained as it always
was in a crisis.
Death seemed on no great errand here in this shabby little flat, breaking
no heart, effecting no terrible cleavage. Yet the solemnity of the struggle
was not altered by the fact that it was only a commonplace, middle-aged
woman who was fighting for the chance to keep on going to the moving
pictures, gossiping, living in trivialities. Death, disregarding human
gradations of importance, was choosing this soul gravely, solemnly. And
Fliss, shivering a little by her mother’s bed, watched and learned, and
perhaps in her quick, practical way got a firmer grip on life from this first
intimacy with death.
She would have nothing to do with the funeral arrangements. Until the
end she had stayed by her mother, but after it was over and her mother was
gone, Ellen and Mrs. Ellis managed the details of burial. Mr. Horton
remained unobtrusive. Vaguely encouraging his wife, he had also stayed
beside her and she had turned to him rather than to Fliss. Later he went out
and bought a box of red carnations, giving them to Ellen to arrange near his
wife.
“She always liked carnations,” he said.
Fliss was very gentle to him and very anxious to make him comfortable,
but it was soon clear to every one that the boarding house where Mrs. Ellis
lived and where a remnant of friends of his early married life still stayed
was the best solution. He obviously preferred it so and Mrs. Ellis had him
under her charge. In two weeks there was nothing left of the Horton
household in the flat, and Fliss, her spirits rising in their characteristic way,
made her plans for Washington and prepared to close her own house. She
did not see much of Matthew now, for he was absorbed in work that kept
him busy night and day. Much of it she knew was with Dick, but Dick did
not come to her house. They had met once or twice in Matthew’s office
when she had gone in to see her husband, but that was all. Dick had been
carefully casual in his manner, and Fliss flippant as usual. To see the three
of them together for those few moments would never have been to guess at
the clashes and attractions which were between them.
If Fliss wondered whether Matthew had seen Cecily and deliberately
kept herself from inquiring, she was rewarded by his asking her one night a
week before their departure, “Shall we go to see Cecily for a moment to-
night?”
Knowing what he wanted and expected, she answered as he would wish.
“Can’t. I have a caller. But you go.”
He said nothing more. After dinner, though she tried to detain him in
spite of her permission, he went out early. Fliss frowned a little and then
prepared to receive her caller.

Matthew went along swiftly like a man overcoming irresolution. He was

walking instead of driving and the night air, full of the chill of early
autumn, seemed to invigorate him. At Cecily’s house Ellen took his hat and
told him that Mrs. Harrison was in. He had last seen Ellen at Mrs. Horton’s
bedside.
“You fit in well here, Ellen,” he said, looking about at the quiet, spacious
house which seemed too quiet. “I hope you’re planning to stay, now.”
 “Yes, I am going to stay,” she answered. “Mrs. Harrison needs me.”
She turned to go, but on impulse he called her back.
“Ellen, if Mrs. Harrison ever needs me, if she ever needs a man and you
know it, will you send me word? Mrs. Allenby and I are off to Washington
next week.”
“Yes. That’s what Mr. Harrison asked me, too.”
She might have said more, but Cecily herself came down the staircase, a
little surprised at the sight of her visitor. She held out both hands and drew
him into the long living-room before the fire.
“I hoped you wouldn’t go away without coming to see me.”
“Of course not. How are you?”
All was casual. But they could not keep it up. After a little there was
silence and as the silence ripened, they knew they could speak of anything.
“Things have changed since we first sat in this room, Matthew. When
Dick used to sit over in that chair and we all used to talk about everything
in the world. And since then have come wars and babies and now Dick’s
gone. How is he, Matthew?”
“Pretty fit. A little thinner. Working hard.”
She paused for a moment, and then went on with a little laugh:
“I have so much to say that I can’t afford to be reflective. So much to
ask. What is the matter with us all, Matthew?”
“I’ve tried to figure it out myself. You mean about you and Dick?”
“Why I failed.” He could see her hands pressing themselves together.
“Why Dick stopped caring for me.”
“I don’t think he did.”
“Oh, yes. He didn’t care when he left. We had nothing left at all except
memories. We jarred on each other all the time.”
“And has this been peace since you parted?”
“It has not been happiness or even satisfaction. I keep on expecting
happiness right around the corner. Then I turn the corner and find
loneliness.”
“If you and Dick could only get at the root of all this and dig it out.”
“We tried, but we couldn’t. There was no single root. It was just basic
difference in ideals. He wasn’t with me in demanding greater dignity from
life—does that sound foolish? And I was jealous of Fliss.”
“Not really, Cecily. That would be nonsense.”
“I didn’t suspect Dick of a love affair with Fliss, of course. But I
couldn’t bear his admiration of her and of Della. I couldn’t bear to have him
even tolerate them. It sounds small, Matthew, but I wanted him with me—
with me completely. I couldn’t go on with him at all if we weren’t together.
Yet now it isn’t peace; it’s quiet, that’s all. And I shall go on into middle
age. I’m middle-aged now and I’m only twenty-six.”
Matthew leaned forward and took one of her hands gently, naturally.
“Do you know that Fliss is jealous of you?” he asked.
“Of me! Not any more!”
“Always will be. Because she knows that you have a part of men’s souls
that she can never reach. I wouldn’t tell you this if I didn’t think you needed
it. But when I asked Fliss to marry me she said I was in love with you. I
wanted her to marry me. I wanted all her sparkle and charm and gayety. I
needed it. So I told her. And she said I was in love with you; that she had
read it in my face every time I looked at you. So finally I said that even
admitting that and refusing to discuss it, I wanted her to marry me. And we
have had a very good time together. But she knows that I always have
carried about with me——”
“Don’t, Matthew.”
“I must, just once. I’m going away. I know that it isn’t going to hurt you
or do me any good. But if you thought that there was the faintest chance
that I could do you any good—help you at all with my love—I’d carry you
off to-morrow.”
Then all the invisible little bonds which had grown between them in six
years tightened suddenly and all Matthew’s repressions and evasions
crumbled. For one moment bigger than all reason, he held her against his
heart and as he bent his head to hers Cecily looked up at the man who
understood her and thought with her and for her and she trusted herself to
the comfort of his arms, while he said foolish, shaken things and broke off
to press his lips into the soft hollow of her neck.
Then she drew away, but very, very gently.
“It’s a terrible confusion, isn’t it? There’s nothing for us; little for you
and Fliss; and nothing for Dick and me. All our lives are tangled up together
and we can’t straighten it out.”
The dream had not quite gone from Matthew’s eyes as he looked down
at her soft, flushed cheeks and the waves of dark hair.
“You think we couldn’t, you and I, for each other?”
“I’ve three children, Matthew. I couldn’t start over.”
“I’d love the children. It would all be arranged so easily—so quickly.
You’d not need to have the slightest embarrassment or pain. And to bring
you happiness, Cecily—to keep you in the midst of the happiness you
deserve and need—might be what only I could do. I’d try, dear.”
Cecily sat silent, her hands pressed against her face. Whether it was pity
or hesitation or horror that she felt he could not tell. But to-night Matthew
was not a philosopher, but a man with intense desires and hopes. He pressed
his advantage.
“After it was settled we’d be able to go away—away to places you’ve
never seen—we’d learn about the world together.”
He wanted to take her in his arms again, but she gave him no
opportunity.
“It wouldn’t do,” she said swiftly. “I’m sure it wouldn’t do. Just for a
moment, Matthew, you thought it would. But you and I couldn’t do that sort
of thing and you know it as well as I do. We’re not the kind of persons who
can build happiness out of wrongs.”
“But what are the wrongs?”
“Wrongs to Fliss and to Dick—even if we don’t think they’d care much.
I’m sure, Matthew. There was a moment when I was doubtful about it, but
I’m not doubtful any more. There are times, I suppose, when that sort of
thing is justified—if a woman loves a man enough. But——”
He did not let her finish. “Don’t say it, Cecily. I know. But I’d rather not
have you say it. Forget it all. For a moment while you were doubtful I sailed
among the clouds. It was my big personal moment. Now I’m back on the
earth and there I’ll stay. I’ll go to Washington and fumble around among the
tangles of the country’s affairs and if I’m lucky perhaps I’ll untie some little
knot in the great tangle. And I’ll be glad all the time that you are alive and
that the world is enriched by you.”
“It will be so lonely without you. Even when I don’t see much of you,
just to know that you are here is a comfort.”
 “I’ll always be ready to come on demand, you know, Cecily. What I
hope is that you can fight your way through this. You mustn’t expect things
to clear perfectly and absolutely. The best any one of us gets is a ray of
hope and enlightenment now and then. You may have to compromise—
even if it hurts you. But you won’t have to compromise your ideals, Cecily
—just the manner of putting them over.”
She had fallen back into her chair and sat there looking at the fire.
“I’m going now.”
Cecily made a bewildered gesture of protest. He turned to the door, but
she sprang up, hurrying after him.
“It will be so terrible alone—again. Don’t go.”
Her hands were stretched out towards him in appeal and they faced each
other trembling. Then Matthew’s voice came—unnatural, shaken:
“I can’t stay now, Cecily. It would only make you more wretched.”
She heard the door close and was alone in the warm, softly lit room,
helplessly sobbing.
Matthew hurried along as if trying to escape from the thoughts or
suggestions that pursued him. Through the darkened streets, choosing side
streets for his progress, almost stumbling in his absorption, he walked for
miles, apparently seeing nothing, all the keenness of observation that was
usual with him obscured in his face. It was midnight when he reached his
home, and entering softly, went upstairs. The light from Fliss’s room shone
bright into the hallway. He was passing when she called him back.
“Late, aren’t you, Matthew?”
He stood silhouetted in her doorway, looking unkempt and worn. Fliss
was at her dressing table brushing the luxuriant hair of which she was so
proud. She looked at him curiously.
“Where on earth have you been to look like that?”
“Like what? I took a walk and it’s damp outside.”
“You certainly must have walked,” commented Fliss. “Sit down here and
rest and talk to me.”
“I’m tired. I think I’ll go along to bed.”
“How’s Cecily?”
“Very fine.”
 “Glad to see you.”
“She’s always cordial.”
“Not very expansive are you, darling? Well, sit down anyway. I want to
tell you about my evening. I’ve had an exciting one.”
“Who was here?”
“Gordon.”
“That must have passed the time.”
“Gordon was very trying to-night. Excitable.”
He looked at her curiously as she brushed out the black, shining lengths.
For the first time since he came in he seemed to see her as something other
than an obstacle.
“What was he excitable about?”
“Me. He wanted me—to make love to me.”
“Oh, my God!” said Matthew, laughing as if the thing that amused him
was not at all funny.
“Amused?”
“I was laughing at the foolishness of men, Fliss.”
“Not so foolish,” said Fliss, drily. “He was very much in earnest. And as
it happens that he cares a lot I was almost tempted to pack my bag. What
would you have done?”
“Gone after you.”
She looked around at him skeptically. “Well, anyway I didn’t run. I
called that whole business off. Told him there was nothing doing at all. He
won’t be back.”
“Why did you lead him such a dance, Fliss? He’s such a nice young
fellow.”
“Well, you see”—Fliss contemplated her image in the glass—“I was
doing my best to make you jealous. But you wouldn’t fall for it, old thing.
Now tell me what you were doing. Trying to get Cecily to run off with
you?”
At that random shot Matthew stiffened angrily. “Good-night.”
“So you won’t tell me about your escapades even if I tell you about
mine?” said Fliss, imperturbably. But he had gone. She saw the face in her
mirror lose its lightness and get hard and a little bitter. Then she brushed on.
It was good for the hair.
Later he came in and kissed her and patted her head thoughtfully.
“I’ve been thinking, Fliss,” he said to her, “that since you are to be in
Washington you need a few more things. Most of the women must have a
lot more jewels than you have. How about coming down to-morrow and
treating yourself?”
“But I thought you were preaching economy for the nation.”
“I am. And I mean it. But I’d like to do this.”
She took her cue, though the droop in her voice belied the gayety of her
words.
“All right, darling. Hang me with diamonds and watch me sparkle.”

CHAPTER XXIV

“T HE trouble with the country just now,” said Matthew, making a

farewell talk to the Chamber of Commerce, “is that it’s absolutely
unfitted nervously to stand any strain or excitement. So long as
things go well with us we are full of enthusiasm, but the suggestion of
trouble upsets everything—frightens every one. We are unconsciously
proceeding on the basis that there is no need of including trouble in our
national philosophy. It is unnecessary to point out the fallacies in such
thinking—nor the sad deviation from the spirit of the men who pioneered in
this country, who expected difficulties, hardships, deprivations, and plowed
their way through them. The modern assumption is that the normal state of
things means ease and smoothness. The assumption is making us soft,
making us unwilling to cope with trouble, instead of taking trouble and
constant adjustment as part of the day’s work. Life has been made too easy
for us as a nation—for us as individuals. We are all too ready to lie down if
things do not go our way and blame it on the times. We are the strongest
nation in the world and in imminent danger of a lazy and fun-loving
philosophy making us the most corrupt. Sturdiness in the face of difficulty
and even of defeat, unwillingness to lie down on the job—those are the
things we need to cultivate and in the face of such qualities the bogies of
social unrest and financial panics will lose their power to frighten us.”
 It was not new talk, but it was a determined angle and he looked very
fine and ready for trouble as he spoke. Even his political opponents
apparently were glad to wish him luck. He was appealing to the sense of
fight which in all men is stronger than the tendency to complain, and they
responded.
“Good stuff,” said Dick.
“Old stuff, but it gets them because they’ve forgotten it in all the talk
about the new stuff. There’s a shoddy kind of fatalism settling down over
too many people. If we’re going to the dogs, let’s go—let’s have a good
time while we’re going. Let each one of us get all the pleasure we can out
of things with the least work and above all let’s have no sacrifices. It’s
shoddy—more so than the old type of greed when men piled up fortunes for
the sake of excitement and spent their money in gorgeous ways. Fortunes
now go for gasoline and head waiters and jazz.”
Dick looked at him a bit oddly.
“Is this a national or a personal indictment?”
“National absolutely, except in so far as every individual contributes to
the composite temper of the nation. And anyway it’s not an indictment. It’s
an attempt at analysis. The condition may not be our fault at all and if it is
our fault it’s hard to find the initial sin. It’s probably an inevitable condition.
Blame it on the war if you like. Its shoulders are broad.”
“They need to be. When are you getting off? Saturday or Monday?”
“Monday, if you’ll come out into the woods with me over Saturday and
Sunday. Otherwise Saturday.”
“Where to?”
“Anywhere. I’d like to cool my brain before I go away and I’d like a
couple of days with you. We could go to Lake Carmine and spend the night
at my cabin.”
“Sure, I’ll go.”
The still woods charmed them both. They drew off a thousand worries.
The fishing was poor and the lake too cold for more than a quick swim, but
there were the woods and the quiet and the long walks that were so
peacefully reflective and talks about everything that mattered. Out in the
midst of the forest it did not embarrass either of them to unload their
deepest and most philosophic meditations. Yet it was not until the afternoon
of the second day had waned that either of them mentioned Cecily. They
were smoking on the little wharf which edged the lake watching the sun fall
behind the hills.
“Cecily would like this,” said Matthew quietly.
“Um——” said Dick.
“By the way, I went to see her the other night. I wanted to tell you that I
did.”
“She well?”
“Seems to be. Pretty lonely, I guess. I wish I could do something for you
two.”
“That’s all right. We’ve closed that chapter, Mat.”
“I suggested to Cecily that she open a new one with me. She declined
very promptly and fittingly. I was too excited for a moment to see straight.”
Dick, who had turned angrily at the first words, grinned suddenly.
“Well, you are a cool old duck. What was the idea? What was going to
happen to Fliss and the Senatorial career?”
“Temporarily I forgot even Fliss, to say nothing of the latter factor. I’m
awfully fond of Cecily, you know.”
“So she turned you down, did she?”
“It’s not funny to me, particularly. Amazing as it is, I was in earnest.
What I bring the thing up for is to say simply that you can’t get away with
this separation stuff, Dick. Cecily is a young, beautiful woman and I’m not
going to be the only person to make that proposition to her. And she is a
very lonely woman and her judgments may falter.”
“You mean we should be divorced?”
“I don’t suggest any solutions, Dick. I only want you to realize the
situation to the fullest extent. And of course you realize that my rather
caddish treatment of Fliss will not be repeated. Fliss gets me and everything
I’ve got from now on, just as she always has. Fliss plays awfully fair, you
know.”
“Yes, that’s what I like about her. Now Cecily can’t see it. She used to
like Fliss, but she turned completely—for no reason.”
“Good reason. Fliss became Anti-Christ to Cecily’s philosophy.”
“Cecily’s philosophy became very narrow in the past year.”
 “Narrow, but deep. If it ever broadens now she will be a wonderful
person.”
Dick smoked thoughtfully. “Queer how hard I am about that mess. I feel
as if I’d been let in for something and then let down. I wanted to do my best
for the family, but I had to have a little mental relaxation. I couldn’t merge
with Cecily absolutely and she wouldn’t take anything else. She wouldn’t
expand at all. She’s right in her point of view, of course, but that very
rightness gradually killed all tenderness in me. It was so exclusive. It
seemed to me sometimes as if I was shut up in a room which was too
orderly for comfort.”
He stopped from sheer embarrassment and added one sentence that
meant more than all the rest.
“I got so I couldn’t laugh naturally.”
“Neither of you can laugh much just now. But you’ll get over that.”
“The hell of it is,” said Dick, “in feeling that you’ve married a girl and
she’s got a bunch of babies and then you can’t put it across. I wrecked her
chances of getting you for a husband for example, and now she’s stranded.”
“She’s got the children.”
“I know. I know.”
“Well, don’t get hard, old man, and you’ll be able to see it through, I’m
sure. Think straight on it if you can. I tell you, if you’d seen Cecily the
other night mention your name——”
Dick sprang up. “Let’s cut it out, Mat. There are some things I don’t
think about these days. If I did I’d run back to Cecily to-morrow. And I’m
telling you that that wouldn’t help. We’d have a wonderful time—for a little
while—but after that it would be the same old story over again with the
same old conclusion, if not a more tragic one.”
They got their supper in the little cabin and drove back to town in the
moonlight, each drawing into his own thoughts. At Matthew’s house Fliss
hailed them with delight, but Dick stopped only for a few minutes and then
went back to the club.
There were a few men in the lounge, hidden behind papers; a few men in
the card-room, which was blue with smoke and close and distasteful after
the open air of the country. He found his room gloomy and himself restless.
His loneliness was turning to bitterness to-night. Changing his rough
clothes for others he went out again.
Dick had lived in Carrington too long not to know where every sort of
person sought his diversions. In twenty minutes he had found the group
whose usual form of amusement he felt might fill the night for him. They
were gathered, as he had guessed they would be, in the room of one of the
men, with plenty of liquor and plenty of cards and a welcome for him. It
was some years since he had joined this crowd, but once in it he felt natural
enough, and the depression which had been bothering him was gone before
long.

CHAPTER XXV

W INTER came early that year. Even in November the cold was steady
and relentless. Cecily felt her isolation more as she was shut up with
her children in the house, except for their periods of exercise. She
dreaded the winter, especially the approach of Christmas, and the long
winter evenings, which seemed so endless after the children were abed,
dragged wearily—reading and reading, learning things, thinking things
which her limited activities gave her no chance to put into practice. She had
passed the point where she was in agony about her own troubles. Every
book, every newspaper told her of tragedies much worse. And resolutely
she tried not to think of Dick, although the news of him filtered through to
her now and then. Some one had sent her a marked newspaper, the kind of
paper to which she had no ordinary access, reeking with gossip and scandal.
She did not want to read it, but of course she did, and in the smirking,
veiled allusions, all nameless, she gathered that her story had filtered
through to the public. She heard through Della that Dick was “going a
pace.” She knew from the daily papers that he must be having trouble in the
mining country. The winter had come early there, too, and the price of food
and fuel had soared, fanning into a flame of irritation the discontents which
were always smoldering. There were petty strikes already, with the threat of
a big one hanging fire all the time. Cecily wondered how Dick was going to
tackle all these problems with Matthew away, especially if he were not
living well. It surprised her to find that the personal rancor at the
intimations of Dick’s wildness did not arise. What she felt was rather this
vague uninformed worry about his ability to handle these big affairs if he
were in bad shape. She knew that he and Matthew were rich themselves, but
that they had no great standing in comparison with the great financiers of
the country who had tied up enormous sums of money in these mining
ranges. Her stepfather told her that Dick had his hands full. She hated to ask
further, telling herself that she had deliberately made it none of her
business. But she searched the papers for news, none the less.
Allenby, the little town named for Matthew, where Dorothea had been
born, seemed to be one source of trouble. She wondered sometimes if Dick
went there often and if, when he passed Mrs. Olson’s gaunt little house, he
remembered the time she had spent there. That reminded her of Fliss again.
Her father and Della had asked her to spend Christmas with them, but
she could not make up her mind to do that. The children were to have a
Christmas with the kind of spirit she wanted, even if it would revive all
sorts of painful memories for her. She had decided that and Della had
shrugged her pretty shoulders and regretted and said that she and Walter
would be sorry, for Gerald was going to a house party and wouldn’t be
home and that they wouldn’t bother with a tree if Cecily wasn’t coming and
that she thought that she would give Walter a bathrobe and that she thought
further that Walter was going to get her a platinum wrist watch, which she
knew he couldn’t afford but which she wanted “awfully.” Cecily thought he
probably would. Little use as she had for Della’s methods she was
reluctantly and truthfully admitting that Della had a way of keeping Walter
happy. It reminded her of Fliss’s way with Matthew. Both of them put their
husbands in the foreground, flattered them, coaxed them, played with them.
And as Matthew had been amused and relaxed by such treatment, Walter
was amused and impassioned. He quarreled with Della. That Cecily knew.
But they could quarrel one hour and be absolutely and publicly enamored of
each other during the next. The catastrophe of Walter’s marriage had
somehow not come to pass. And the bitterest drop in Cecily’s cup was that
she, who held marriage in deeper respect than either Della or Fliss, had
been the only one of the three whose husband was left desolate and alone.
Walter was working hard to make money for his Della. In spite of late hours
and concentrated excitement he was making good in his father’s business.
While Fliss was in Washington sending back or having sent back little items
to adorn the social pages of Carrington’s newspapers already. “Senator and
Mrs. Allenby were in attendance at” this and that function. Odd how Cecily
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