…At the beginning of May, when the pink and white dogwoods were in bloom, the season that year being somewhat late, she had a telephone call from a girl. She knew at once it was a girl for the voice that came singing over the wire was the freshest, most youthful voice she had ever heard and she knew she had not heard it before.
“Mrs. Chardman?” the voice inquired.
“It is I,” she replied.
“Yes, well, I don’t know how to begin, but I am June Blaine. You don’t know me but I know Jared Barnow. I’m his friend — sort of!”
“Yes?”
“Yes! And I want most awfully to talk with you.”
“About him?”
“Yes, about him.”
“Does he know?”
“I told him I was calling you today.”
“And?”
“He said you would understand his point of view so it would be all right. He says you’re the only person who really knows him. That’s what he thinks! But I know him, too.”
She was silent for a few seconds when the voice stopped speaking. Then she said quietly, “Very well. When?”
“This afternoon?” the pretty voice inquired.
“At four o’clock,” she said.
“Oh, thanks!”
The telephone clicked, the voice was gone. She considered a moment and then dialed the laboratory. At eleven o’clock in the morning Jared would be there. His voice answered almost immediately.
“Jared Barnow.”
“It is I,” she said. “A girl just called. She wants to see me. This afternoon.”
“That’s June,” he said quickly. “We were playing tennis last week at her place and she wanted to know if she could see you. I said why not. Don’t take her seriously, darling. She wants to marry me and she hasn’t a chance. I’m too preoccupied!”
She laughed. “Go back to your work, then! By the way, I’ve been reading a fascinating article on silicone rubber implants for replacing arthritic or destroyed joints in human hands.”
“I saw that. Heat — molded implants — wonderful.”
“Yes, well, I won’t keep you.”
“I’ll call you tonight.”
He called her every night now at midnight when he ended his day. If he waked her, as sometimes he did, she never let him know. If he called her, it meant he needed her.
“Do call me,” she said now, and put up the receiver.
…She was not restless while she waited for four o’clock, but she was stone silent. She did not try to busy herself. Instead she lay in a long chair on the terrace, submitting herself, her eyes closed, her body motionless. Clouds drifted over the blue sky, great billows of white, and she felt the chill of shadows as they passed, and then between them was the warmth of the sun. A cool mild wind rippled over the trees and passed, leaving a motionless quiet behind. Sometimes she was almost asleep but never quite. When Weston asked where she would have her luncheon, she said, “Bring it to me here, please.” And when he had brought it she left it half eaten.
Once or twice, perhaps more, she got to her feet and walked about the lawns. The thick growth of late spring shielded her from everyone, even from Amelia, whom she had not seen in weeks. But she always returned to the long chair and lay down, waiting, while the sun rose to its zenith and passing, moved westward.
And then promptly at four o’clock she heard the sound of a car driven to the entrance on the other side of the house, and the doorbell rang and she knew she had been waiting all day for this moment. She did not move, but continued to lie waiting, her eyes still closed, for the sound of footsteps, Weston's soft shuffling and the clip clip of a girl’s heels.
“Miss Blaine has arrived, madame,” Weston said.
She opened her eyes. There the girl stood, a tall slim creature in a very short white dress, a girl with green eyes and tawny hair hanging shining and straight to her shoulders, a girl with a clean, well-bred look but one with a stubborn mouth, unsmiling. She pulled off her short white gloves and put out her right hand and spoke in a decided but pleasant, rather light voice.
“Please don’t get up, Mrs. Chardman.”
“I wasn’t going to, June, is it? I’m lazy today.”
“Yes, it’s June. For the obvious reason that I was born in June. I’ll be twenty-one next month.”
“Draw up a chair and sit down, June.”
“Thank you.”
She drew up a chair and sat down, her back to the garden and facing the graceful woman in the long chair.
“You’re younger than I thought, Mrs. Chardman.”
“Oh, no — I’m as old as you think I am. Didn’t Jared ever tell you how old I am?”
“No. He always talks of you as if you were his age.”
“That’s kind of him.”
A pause, and the girl’s eyes were on her face, she could feel the steady gaze as she continued to look down the long vista of the gardens. Then she made an effort and met the watching eyes.
“Tell me about yourself, June — why you want to see me, anything you like, tell me.”
The girl’s voice was casual, deliberate, clear. “I’ll come straight to the point. I want to see the sort of woman Jared likes. I want to know if you are anything like me. Or must I — sort of — recondition him to another woman — like me.”
She laughed. “Is that what you think you can do, June?”
“I’ll try, if I must!”
“In other words, you’re determined to — marry him?”
“If I can.”
“Do you think you can?”
“Yes.”
The girl’s voice was quite calm, quite firm.
“Then there’s nothing more to be said, is there, June?”
“Yes, because I want him to love me first.”
“And do you think he can be taught to love you?”
“I will teach him, as soon as I know how. That’s why I’ve come to you. You’ve done it. He loves you. But of course he can’t marry you. You’re too old. Still, he’ll have to marry someone. I want to be that someone. That’s why I’m here.”
She was amazed, amused, wounded and even somewhat angry. An instinct of self-defense and perversity compelled her, almost, to defy the girl, to say carelessly with a laugh if she could muster laughter, that she might just marry Jared herself. It had been thought of!
“Did Jared say I am too old to marry him?”
“He’s never mentioned marriage to me. I don’t believe he’s thought of marrying anyone. I’ll be the first one.”
This was said with such self-confidence that again she wanted to laugh and could not. And of course the girl was right. She was too old to marry Jared. Women nowadays did often marry men much younger than themselves, but there was something repulsive in the idea. Love — but not marriage! One couldn’t help loving a certain human being, and it might have nothing to do with marriage. Edwin had taught her that.
“Please teach me,” the girl said.
“Do you love Jared?” she asked.
“Of course,” the girl said. “Else why would I bother myself about him?”
“What is it you love about him?”
“Everything,” the girl said.
“Define everything, please!”
“Well — just everything. The way he walks, the way he talks, the way he looks — it’s just a sort of magic.”
“It’s not everything. It’s only the outside of him.”
“Well, that’s enough for me.”
“Ah, but is it enough for him?”
The girl looked at her stubbornly, her green eyes unwavering. “It’s enough to begin on.”
She returned the girl’s gaze. “Perhaps it is,” she said. And then after a moment she said, “How can I know why Jared loves me? Why don’t you ask him? Certainly it’s not because of the way I walk — or talk — or even because of some sort of magic — which I don’t have, I’m sure. I can’t help you, June. I don’t know how.”