“I’m telling you that Eddie Carter has beat us to it. He didn’t go to the mill. He won’t come back here.... Who’s got a big yellow touring car--a Comet Six--in this town?” Odell put his scarred hands to his forehead: “Doc Benson, I guess,” he said vaguely. “He here?” “I guess he’s in there eatin’.” “Well, tell him his car went out of town twenty minutes ago at sixty per,” said the detective briskly.... “So long. I’m sorry.... Is there a garage in the village where they have cars for hire?” “At the hotel,” said the farmer.... “By God!...” He got up as though dazed. “Mazie,” he called hoarsely. Nobody heard him in the gay tumult. He stared after the detective, who was walking swiftly down the path in the rain. “Jesus,” he whispered.... “He done us all.... ’N’ that’s that! Oh, God!--’n’ that’s _that_!” * * * * * A nine days’ scandal in the village--a year’s food for gossip--and that was that, also. Neither blame nor disgrace attached to anybody. Nobody thought less of the Odells, nor did they of themselves. The crash of her dream-house stunned Eris. She took it very silently, with no outward emotion. After a month the whole thing seemed, in fact, a dream--too unreal to believe or to grieve over. After three months Odell talked vaguely of getting a di-vorce, “so’s she kin hook up to somebody respectable when she’s a mind to.” Then Eris flashed fire for the first time: “I’ll never marry again! Never! I never wanted to anyway. This is enough! I’ll live and die as I am. And there’ll be no more men in my life and no bother about divorce, either. He’ll never come back. What do I care whether I’m married or not! It doesn’t mean anything and it never will. I’m through with marriage and with marrying men! And that’s _that_!” CHAPTER V It was Sunday; and it was in May. To Whitewater Farms floated the sound of bells from three village churches, pealing alternately. With a final three strokes from each bell, Odell and Lister drove out of the horse-barn in the family carry-all. In God’s honour, Odell wore a celluloid collar. Lister’s reverence was expressed in a new scarlet bandanna. Mazie, big, symmetrical, handsome in her trim summer clothes, appeared from the house, herding her loitering, loutish offspring--Gene, 18; Si, 17; Willis, 16; Buddy, 15; all habited in the dark, ready-made clothing and dark felt hats of rural ceremony, the gloomy similarity relieved only by ready-made satin neck-scarfs of different but primitive hues. “Where’s Eris?” inquired Odell. Mazie laughed: “She ain’t ready, what with her curling and her manicure set--busy ’s’a bee from fingers to toes--” “Eris!” shouted her father, looking up at the open window, where dotted muslin curtains were blowing. Eris peeped out, her chestnut hair dishevelled. “Don’t wait,” she said. “I’ll walk.” Odell gathered the reins: “G’lang!” he grunted. * * * * *