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Updated: June 23, 2025
Poignant feeling brings its own anaesthetic. When Stella Fyfe fell into a troubled sleep that night, the storm of her emotions had beaten her sorely. Morning brought its physical reaction. She could see things clearly and calmly enough to perceive that her love for Monohan was fraught with factors that must be taken into account.
When the summer flock comes to the lake, your place is going to be popular." That observation verified Benton's shrewdness. The Fyfe bungalow did become popular. Two weeks after Charlie's visit, a lean, white cruiser, all brass and mahogany above her topsides, slid up to the float, and two women came at a dignified pace along the path to the house.
"I am," she returned as bluntly, "but I think that's rather an impertinent question, Mr. Fyfe." He passed imperturbably over this reproof, and his glance turned briefly toward the dining room. Katy John was still noisily at work. "You hate it," he said positively. "I know you do. I've seen your feelings many a time. I don't blame you.
Greater than any craving to possess a woman would be the measure of his rancor against a man who humiliated him, thwarted him. She could understand how a man like Monohan would hate a man like Jack Fyfe, would nurse and feed on the venom of his hate until setting a torch to Fyfe's timber would be a likely enough counterstroke. She shrank from the thought. Yet it lingered until she felt guilty.
She was direct, bluntly so, and she was not much given to small talk. Fyfe and Stella met the Aldens at Roaring Springs with the Waterbug. Alden proved a genial sort of man past forty, a big, loose-jointed individual whose outward appearance gave no indication of what he was professionally, a civil engineer with a reputation that promised to spread beyond his native States.
Jack probably saw what was growing on you, and I don't think he'd hesitate to tell Monohan to walk away around. If he did, or if you definitely turned Monohan down; you see I'm rather in the dark, he'd go to any length to play even with. Fyfe. When Monohan wants anything, he looks upon it as his own; and when you wound his vanity, you've stabbed him in his most vital part.
Other mothers are suspicious of us, and flatly refuse, keeping their children in the danger zone till death comes. During a shelling, the curé would telephone for our ambulance. He would collect the little ones and sick old people. Miss Fyfe could persuade them to come more easily when the shells were falling. At the moment of parting, everybody cries. The children are dressed.
Stella watched him bathe his head copiously in cold water and then seat himself at the long table, trying to force food upon an aggrieved and rebellious stomach. Gradually a flood of recklessness welled up in her breast. "For two pins I would marry Jack Fyfe," she told herself savagely. "Anything would be better than this."
"Well, maybe I should have," Fyfe admitted. "But I couldn't very well. Don't you see? He wasn't even an incident, until he bobbed up and rescued you that day. I couldn't, after that, start in picking his character to pieces as a mater of precaution. We had a sort of an armed truce. He left me strictly alone. I'd trimmed his claws once or twice already.
She had no intention of admitting to Charlie that marriage with Jack Fyfe commended itself to her chiefly as an avenue of escape from a well-nigh intolerable condition which he himself had inflicted upon her. Her pride rose in arms against any such belittling admission. She admitted it frankly to herself, and to Fyfe, because Fyfe understood and was content with that understanding.
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