THE WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE By Jennette Lee Illustrated by A. I. Keller And Arthur E. Becher Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York 1914 [Illustration: 0008] [Illustration: 0009] Copyright, 1914, by CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS Published September, 1914 TO GERALD STANLEY LEE I “Room after room, I hunt the house through We inhabit together. Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her-- Next time, herself!--not the trouble behind her Left in the curtain, the couch’s perfume! As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew; Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather. II “Yet the day wears And door succeeds door; I try the fresh fortune-- Range the wide house from the wing to the centre. Still the same chance! She goes out as I enter. Spend my whole day in the quest,--who cares? But ’tis twilight, you see--with such suites to explore, Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune.” I ELDRIDGE WALCOTT paused in front of the great building; he looked up and hesitated and went in. He crossed the marble lobby and passed through the silent, swinging doors on the opposite side and stepped into a softly lighted café. He had never been in Merwin’s before, though he had often heard of it, and he was curious as to what it would be like. There was a sound of music somewhere and low voices and the tinkle of silver and glass behind the little green curtains. He entered an alcove at the left and sat down. The restfulness of the place soothed him, and he sat listening to the distant music and looking out between the parted curtains of the alcove to the room with its little tables filling the space beyond the green-curtained alcoves on either side and the people seated at the tables. They were laughing and eating and talking and drinking from delicate cups or turning slender-stemmed glasses in their fingers as they talked. Beyond the tables rose a small platform; a woman had just mounted it and was bowing to the scattered tables. The sound of voices ceased an instant and hands clapped faintly here and there. The woman on the platform bowed again and looked at the accompanist, who struck the opening bars. It was a light, trivial song with more personality than art in the singing of it, and the audience applauded perfunctorily, hardly breaking off its talk to acknowledge that it was done. The woman stepped down from the platform and joined a group at a table near by, and waiters moved among the tables, refilling cups and glasses and taking orders.