nt hope
that I might run across something worth while in my life. But no. It was
hopeless. I had lost all initiative. I couldn't see what reason there
was for me to eat three meals a day. It seemed as foolish as stoking the
furnaces of an ocean liner when it is in port. In such a mood, and
through the drifting mist of a complaining October afternoon, in rubbers
and a raincoat, I started out with Lucy for her afternoon tea.

The other guests wore raincoats, too--we met a few on the way--with
dull-colored suits underneath, and tailored hats. There wasn't a single
bright, frivolous thing about that tea. Even the house was dismal--rows
of black walnut bookcases with busts of great men on top, steel
engravings framed in oak on the walls, and a Boston fern or two in red
pots sitting about on plates. When I looked up from my weak tea, served
in a common stock-pattern willow cup, and saw Lucy sparkling with
pleasure, talking away for dear life with a white-haired old man who
wore a string tie and had had two fingers shot off in the Civil War (I
always hated to shake hands with him) a wave of intolerance for age and
learning swept over me. I told Lucy if she didn't mind I'd run along
home, and stepped across the hall into a little stupid room with a
roll-top desk in it, where we had left our raincoats, and rubbers. I put
on my things and then stood staring a moment at a picture on the wall. I
didn't know what the picture was. I simply looked at it blindly while I
fought a sudden desire to cry. I hadn't wept before. But this dreadful
house, these dry, drab people were such a contrast to my
all-but-realized ambitions that it brought bitter tears to my eyes. Life
at Grassmere--_that_ was living! This was mere existence.

Just as I was groping for a handkerchief some little fool of a woman
exclaimed, "Oh, there she is--in the study! I thought she hadn't gone. O
Miss Vars, there's somebody I want you to meet, and meet you. Here she
is, Mr. Jennings. Come in. Miss Vars," I was still facing the wall,
"Miss Vars, I want to introduce Mr. Jennings." I turned finally, and as
I did so she added, "Now, I must go back to Dr. Fuller. I was afraid
you'd gone," and out she darted. I could have shot her.

Mr. Jennings came straight across the room. Through a blur I caught an
impression of height, breadth and energy. His sudden hand-grasp was firm
and decisive. "How do you do?" he said, and then abruptly observed my
tears.

"You've caught me w