there’s something I want you to tell me, quickly. Was there any special reason for you coming home just now? I mean, did anybody write to you, or send any messages or—oh, send for you? Did anybody urge you, for any reason to come? Or even suggest it?”
“I don’t understand why you ask …”
“Please, Serena.”
Leda, of course, had begged her to come. But it was the knowledge of Jem’s presence that had brought her, and Leda couldn’t have known that it would. She looked at Jem in bewilderment, for she felt a significance in his inquiry without knowing what that significance was. But before she could speak, feet ran up the stairs and across the veranda. Amanda flung into the room again. Again swiftly she closed the door behind her, but this time there was something odd in her motion, something quite unlike Amanda, something unsteady and wild in her look. She cried, panting: “Jem! Jem, what shall I do? Bill Lanier’s back.”
There was a pause. “When did he get back?” asked Jem then, shortly, eyes on Amanda.
“Just yesterday. Alice didn’t know it. He came around to see her today. He wanted to use one of their cars, and she gave it to him. He’s in the army. He’s a captain. He was put in a desk job somewhere, and now he’s been transferred and is about to go overseas. He’ll be here two weeks. Two weeks, Jem! That’s what she said. He was … You know Bill. He’s so—violent. She phoned me just now. She thought she ought to warn me.” Serena suddenly was able to put a name to the thing about Amanda that was so unlike her. It was fear. Of Bill Lanier? Serena remembered Bill. A big, well-built man, with a rather sullen dark face. He was silent as a rule, laughing suddenly and with brutal loudness at only the broadest of jokes, always elegantly dressed, his thick, curly black hair always glistening, his black eyebrows meeting over his nose. In any describable way he was handsome. Actually, his silent presence, his cruel mouth, his odd light brown eyes which looked cruel, too, were a little dampening to any party. He had a curious immobility. He would simply appear, elegantly tailored, manicured, groomed to the last degree; his face completely unmoved by most of the talk and laughter to which he listened. There was a latent brutality about Bill Lanier; there always had been. He’d not had money. Alice had had the money. Their marriage had not been exactly happy, for there were rumors of violent quarrels, yet Serena had been, somehow, surprised to know of their divorce.
Jem said: “Why?”
“Why …” began Amanda. She stopped and thought, and her lovely, frightened face changed, subtly, but magically. It became young and lovely; pleading and a little sad. “Jem, you know why.”
“No, I don’t,” said Jem bluntly. “Why would Alice warn you that Bill was back? You said warn, didn’t you?”
“I …” Amanda’s hands moved upward beseechingly. “Jem, this isn’t like you. I—I do need you so much.” She went to him and put both hands upon his coat lapels and looked up into his face. “Please help me, Jem. I’ve asked you for so much but now …”
He didn’t move away from her, but his face looked as if a kind of mask had come down over it. “But now—what?”
“But now—oh, well, Jem, you know how brutal Bill is. How …” Again a queer something throbbed in Amanda’s voice that was like fear. “How deadly he can be! When he’s in a rage about something.”
“What did you do to Bill?”
“I …” Serena couldn’t see Amanda’s face. She could only see her long, beautiful body, supplicating hands upon Jem, her dark loose hair. But she could hear her voice, and she knew again that Amanda was concealing something. Amanda said: “I didn’t do anything. Not really. But the—oh, it’s too long a story, Jem. Except if he’s in one of those horrible rages he gets into he might …”
“Might what?” said Jem implacably.
“Might do—anything,” said
“I don’t understand why you ask …”
“Please, Serena.”
Leda, of course, had begged her to come. But it was the knowledge of Jem’s presence that had brought her, and Leda couldn’t have known that it would. She looked at Jem in bewilderment, for she felt a significance in his inquiry without knowing what that significance was. But before she could speak, feet ran up the stairs and across the veranda. Amanda flung into the room again. Again swiftly she closed the door behind her, but this time there was something odd in her motion, something quite unlike Amanda, something unsteady and wild in her look. She cried, panting: “Jem! Jem, what shall I do? Bill Lanier’s back.”
There was a pause. “When did he get back?” asked Jem then, shortly, eyes on Amanda.
“Just yesterday. Alice didn’t know it. He came around to see her today. He wanted to use one of their cars, and she gave it to him. He’s in the army. He’s a captain. He was put in a desk job somewhere, and now he’s been transferred and is about to go overseas. He’ll be here two weeks. Two weeks, Jem! That’s what she said. He was … You know Bill. He’s so—violent. She phoned me just now. She thought she ought to warn me.” Serena suddenly was able to put a name to the thing about Amanda that was so unlike her. It was fear. Of Bill Lanier? Serena remembered Bill. A big, well-built man, with a rather sullen dark face. He was silent as a rule, laughing suddenly and with brutal loudness at only the broadest of jokes, always elegantly dressed, his thick, curly black hair always glistening, his black eyebrows meeting over his nose. In any describable way he was handsome. Actually, his silent presence, his cruel mouth, his odd light brown eyes which looked cruel, too, were a little dampening to any party. He had a curious immobility. He would simply appear, elegantly tailored, manicured, groomed to the last degree; his face completely unmoved by most of the talk and laughter to which he listened. There was a latent brutality about Bill Lanier; there always had been. He’d not had money. Alice had had the money. Their marriage had not been exactly happy, for there were rumors of violent quarrels, yet Serena had been, somehow, surprised to know of their divorce.
Jem said: “Why?”
“Why …” began Amanda. She stopped and thought, and her lovely, frightened face changed, subtly, but magically. It became young and lovely; pleading and a little sad. “Jem, you know why.”
“No, I don’t,” said Jem bluntly. “Why would Alice warn you that Bill was back? You said warn, didn’t you?”
“I …” Amanda’s hands moved upward beseechingly. “Jem, this isn’t like you. I—I do need you so much.” She went to him and put both hands upon his coat lapels and looked up into his face. “Please help me, Jem. I’ve asked you for so much but now …”
He didn’t move away from her, but his face looked as if a kind of mask had come down over it. “But now—what?”
“But now—oh, well, Jem, you know how brutal Bill is. How …” Again a queer something throbbed in Amanda’s voice that was like fear. “How deadly he can be! When he’s in a rage about something.”
“What did you do to Bill?”
“I …” Serena couldn’t see Amanda’s face. She could only see her long, beautiful body, supplicating hands upon Jem, her dark loose hair. But she could hear her voice, and she knew again that Amanda was concealing something. Amanda said: “I didn’t do anything. Not really. But the—oh, it’s too long a story, Jem. Except if he’s in one of those horrible rages he gets into he might …”
“Might what?” said Jem implacably.
“Might do—anything,” said
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