He had a strong sense of chivalry gleaned from books, and when his aunt expended her vocabulary over Joan’s faults Ralph attributed it to jealousy and stood up for his fiancée. The tales connecting Joan and Tom Little he dismissed as malicious gossip.
“Hello, Joan,” he said, standing just inside the door. “I— Well, here I am.”
“You’re a simpleton, Ralph. I know you’re here. Sit down.”
He sat down nervously on the edge of a chair.
“Do you suppose your father—? I mean, after all, it’s your bedroom, and—” He looked down and saw the suitcase lying open on the floor. “Oh. Going away?”
“I am.”
“Oh.”
Joan laughed again. “Is that all you have to say, you spineless little fish?”
He glanced around the room, flushing. “The windows are open, Joan. I mean, I don’t want anyone to hear you talk like that. It might give them the wrong impression.”
“I don’t care who hears what I’m going to say to you, Ralph.”
The conversation lasted half an hour. At two, Dr. Prye saw Ralph walking along the lane.
“Young Bonner looks drunk,” he said to Nora.
Nora went to the window. “You’d get drunk, too, if you were engaged to Joan. Peace through alcohol.”
Prye turned to her with a puzzled frown. “Maybe he’s not drunk. He looks ill. Perhaps I should—”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Prye raised his eyebrows and Nora blushed. “Don’t get mixed up with this business,” she said quickly.
“You’re being a mysterious girl again, Nora. What business?”
Nora waved her hand vaguely. “All this. There’s going to be trouble and you’d be in the middle of the circle. Now you may dissolve in hilarity if you wish.”
Prye did not laugh. “How you prophesy, Nora. The Irish must be fey.”
“Sometimes,” she said seriously.
“I don't mind trouble. If there is any I’d rather be in the center than describing futile arcs on the edge.”
“If Joan were removed,” Nora said quietly, “the cause would be removed. That’s what psychologists try to do, isn’t it?”
“In a sense. But your view of the situation is too simple, too narrow. Joan is a catalyst, she merely aids the chemical reaction.”
“Is she insane?”
Prye drew a long breath. “That’s practically the only question a psychiatrist hesitates to answer. I occasionally can make a snap judgment that a person is not insane. But the other is more serious. Before taking away anyone’s legal rights and confining him in an institution I like to be sure of my facts. I must have time, opportunities for testing, a number of interviews, a behavior chart, a family history, and a physical checkup.”
“All that means you don’t know?” Nora said primly.
“I don’t.”
“What do you think, then?”
“I think that the slander laws in Canada are strictly enforced and that I have no intention of flouting them. And now if you’ll excuse me—”
“You’re going out?”
“I thought I’d take a stroll up the lane. I want some birch bark to build myself a canoe.”
Nora pursed her lips and said musingly: “You wouldn’t be going to the Bonners’, of course.”
“Naturally I have to pass the house. I can’t help the way the lane runs, can I?”
“Certainly not! In case of accidents who is your nearest relative?”
“The Pryes all die quietly in the line of duty,” Prye said. “See you later. I might have some news for you.”
Once out of the house he walked swiftly. On the veranda of the next cottage a woman was sitting knitting, and at the sound of his footsteps she raised her head and smiled. Prye smiled back at her. Even at a distance Prye saw that she looked ill. Her face was pale and set in the patient resignation of a chronic invalid.
“Hello,” she called. “Isn’t it a beautiful morning?”
Prye stopped and said: “Very. You’re Mrs. Little, I know.”
“And you’re Dr. Prye,” she said, pleased. “Welcome to our little circle. Won’t you come up and sit down?”
“Sorry. I’d like to but I have an engagement. Ask me again some time, will you?”
“Come in any time. I’d like you to meet my husband.”
She said it quite proudly, and Prye walked away hastily to avoid answering.
The wives of philanderers, he reflected, are wondrous to behold. They forgave and forgot; they were even proud of their pitiful spouses. Perhaps it was the fact that even though Tom could have Sadie or Mabel or Elsie he stayed married to Mary. Not surprising, Prye decided cynically, when it was Mary’s hand which rocked the moneybags.
Prye rang Miss Bonner’s doorbell and waited. Wang was in a particularly cheerful mood when he opened the door.
“Miss Bonner is very angry,” he announced. “Her temperature has soared to one hundred nine.” There was no doubt that Emily was very angry. Before Prye was halfway up the stairs he could hear her shouting at Miss Alfonse, and when he reached the second floor Miss Alfonse herself came scurrying out of the room and disappeared down the hall.
Prye went in without knocking. Emily’s head was resting against the back of her wheelchair. She was breathing hard.
From the doorway Prye said, “Hello, Emily. What’s the row?”
She opened her eyes and Prye saw that they were glassy.
“It’s Ralph,” she said in a whisper. “He’s just come from seeing that girl and he’s locked himself in his room.”
“Surely not an extraordinary thing,” he said lightly. “They’ve probably quarreled. Give him a chance to get over it.”
“No. It’s worse than that. They had an awful scene at the Frosts’ this morning. Joan knocked her father down. She’s leaving tonight and I don’t think she’s going alone.”
“You’re afraid Ralph is going with her?”
“I know it. He’s packing now. That’s why he’s locked his door. That double-crossing little slut.”
Prye raised his brows. “I thought all sluts were female.”
“That slut,” she repeated, as if she had not heard him.
“I’ll speak to Ralph if you like. Shall I?”
She made no reply, and he went out, shutting the door behind him. Wang was standing in the hall.
“Hear everything?” Prye asked coldly. “In that case you’ll know I want to speak to Ralph. Which is his room?”
Wang pointed to a closed door on the opposite side of the hall and Prye went over and pounded on it for some time. There was no response.
“Ralph!” he called. “Hey! Fire! Burglars!”
Wang smiled sadly. “Even the infallible Dr. Prye must sometimes fail,” he said, shaking his head, “although his tongue is as persuasive as a thumbscrew.”
“A pretty thought,” Prye said dryly. “I don’t suppose you know why he’s locked himself in his room.”
Wang looked modest. “My head throbs with ideas on the subject, but my heart says no.”
“Your heart says no what?”
“It says no, do not tell.”
Prye stamped furiously down the steps and back to his cottage. Nora was gone.
“Peace,” Prye murmured. “Perfect peace.”
The afternoon was full of it. When he went swimming the beach was deserted. When he returned there was no Nora and no Professor Frost. He lay down to sleep and not even a mosquito cut the silence. At five o’clock he got up in desperation and phoned Nora and offered her dinner if she was prepared to make it. They dined sumptuously out of cans.
It was about eight-thirty when he took her home, but already dark and moonless. Nora went into her cottage and Prye remained standing on the path, breathing in the heavy odor of sweet grass and pine needles which clung stickily to the sultry air.