Stoner

"I must tell you, sir, that I had not considered these material matters before. Edith's happiness is, of course, my-- If you believe that Edith would be unhappy, then I must . . ." He paused, searching for words. He wanted to tell Edith's father of his love for his daughter, of his certainty of their happiness together, of the kind of life they could have. But he did not go on. He caught on Horace Bostwick's face such an expression of concern, dismay, and something like fear that he was surprised into silence.

"No," Horace Bostwick said hastily, and his expression cleared. "You misunderstand me. I was merely attempting to lay before you certain--difficulties--that might arise in the future. I'm sure you young people have talked these things over, and I'm sure you know your own minds. I respect your judgment and . . ."

And it was settled. A few more words were said, and Mrs. Bostwick wondered aloud where Edith could have been keeping herself all this time. She called out the name in her high, thin voice, and in a few moments Edith came into the room where they all waited. She did not look at Stoner.

Horace Bostwick told her that he and her "young man" had had a nice talk and that they had his blessing. Edith nodded.

"Well," her mother said, "we must make plans. A spring wedding. June, perhaps."

"No," Edith said.

"What, my dear?" her mother asked pleasantly.

"If it's to be done," Edith said, "I want it done quickly."

"The impatience of youth," Mr. Bostwick said and cleared his throat. "But perhaps your mother is right, my dear. There are plans to be made; time is required."

"No," Edith said again, and there was a firmness in her voice that made them all look at her. "It must be soon."

There was a silence. Then her father said in a surprisingly mild voice, "Very well, my dear. As you say. You young people make your plans."

Edith nodded, murmured something about a task she had to do, and slipped out of the room. Stoner did not see her again until dinner that night, which was presided over in regal silence by Horace Bostwick. After dinner Edith played the piano for them, but she played stiffly and badly, with many mistakes. She announced that she was feeling unwell and went to her room.

In the guest room that night, William Stoner could not sleep. He stared up into the dark and wondered at the strangeness that had come over his life, and for the first time questioned the wisdom of what he was about to do. He thought of Edith and felt some reassurance. He supposed that all men were as uncertain as he suddenly had become, and had the same doubts.

He had to catch an early train back to Columbia the next morning, so that he had little time after breakfast. He wanted to take a trolley to the station, but Mr. Bostwick insisted that one of the servants drive him in the landau. Edith was to write him in a few days about the wedding plans. He thanked the Bostwicks and bade them good-by; they walked with him and Edith to the front door. He had almost reached the front gate when he heard footsteps running behind him. He turned. It was Edith. She stood very stiff and tall, her face was pale, and she was looking straight at him.

"I'll try to be a good wife to you, William," she said. "I'll try."

He realized that it was the first time anyone had spoken his name since he had come there.

IV

For reasons she would not explain, Edith did not want to be married in St. Louis, so the wedding was held in Columbia, in the large drawing room of Emma Darley, where they had spent their first hours together. It was the first week in February, just after classes were dismissed for the semester break. The Bostwicks took the train from St. Louis, and William's parents, who had not met Edith, drove down from the farm, arriving on Saturday afternoon, the day before the wedding.

Stoner wanted to put them up at a hotel, but they preferred to stay with the Footes, even though the Footes had grown cold and distant since William had left their employ.

"Wouldn't know how to do in a hotel," his father said seriously. "And the Footes can put up with us for one night."

That evening William rented a gig and drove his parents into town to Emma Darley's house so that they could meet Edith.

They were met at the door by Mrs. Darley, who gave William's parents a brief, embarrassed glance and asked them into the parlor. His mother and father sat carefully, as if afraid to move in their stiff new clothes.

"I don't know what can be keeping Edith," Mrs. Darley murmured after a while. "If you'll excuse me." She went out of the room to get her niece.

After a long time Edith came down; she entered the parlor slowly, reluctantly, with a kind of frightened defiance.

They rose to their feet, and for several moments the four of them stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Then Edith came forward stiffly and gave her hand first to William's mother and then to his father.

"How do," his father said formally and released her hand, as if afraid it would break.