Chapter XIII: Conversation in a Taxi

IN the taxi he tried hard to think of something to talk about to his sister. He couldn’t seem to think of anything at all to say.

They were going down Michigan Avenue. In another minute or two they would be at her hotel.

“Has Madge seen the baby?” he asked abruptly.

“Oh, yes,” said Lucinda. “She saw it the first thing.”

“One look was enough, I suppose,” said Norman bitterly.

“Oh, no,” said Lucinda. “She goes with us every day.”

“Oh,” said Norman. “She does?”

“There’s no reason,” said Lucinda, “why she should bear a grudge against the baby.”

“I suppose not,” said Norman. “I’m the only one to blame. Of course, I couldn’t exactly help it--the way I treated her.... I had hoped she might understand that--and forgive me a little.”

Lucinda said nothing.

“Perhaps,” said Norman, “I ought to see her.”

“I don’t know,” said Lucinda doubtfully. “Tell me, Norman--have you been carrying on with that little Monica Case?”

“Why in the world should you think that?” asked Norman indignantly.

“Well, she wears your jade cuff-buttons, and turns all colors when your name is mentioned.”

“And what of it?” Norman asked defiantly.

“Nothing. That’s just the sort of girl you _would_ get mixed up with,” said Lucinda. “Your tastes always were rather vulgar, Norman.”

“We were speaking of Madge, I believe,” said Norman haughtily.

“Well, that’s just it. I don’t think it’s very nice for Madge.”

“I’m sorry,” said Norman, “but I can’t regulate my conduct to suit my ex-fiancée--or you either. Why did you bring Madge to Chicago?”

“I didn’t bring her,” said Lucinda. “But I knew she wanted to see the baby--and I thought it might help her to get over it all.”

“You’re lying, Lucinda,” he said. “You know you want Madge and me to make up. And so does Mother.”

“Well,” said Lucinda, “I think we’d all rather you’d marry Madge than--that other girl.”

“What other girl?”

“The one who--deserted the baby. You don’t suppose I think you’d marry Monica Case, do you?” she added impersonally.

“Why should I marry at all?” he demanded.

“Oh, you’ll have to marry _somebody_. Because of the baby, you know.”

He smiled. “And why not the baby’s mother, then?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, Norman--that _would_ be the absolute limit! After the way she’s treated you! You wouldn’t be a--a doormat!” she said scornfully.

“Anyway,” he said, “there’s no reason why Madge and I shouldn’t understand one another. I’ve no wish to hurt her feelings wantonly.”

“Well, you can’t see her to-night,” said Lucinda. “She’s gone to bed by now. She went on to the hotel so as not to see you.”

“I think it’s rather ridiculous,” said Norman, “all this artificial avoidance. Suppose you bring her over to the apartment for breakfast. About eleven. Will you?”

“I’ll ask her,” said Lucinda.

“Do.”

The taxi stopped at the hotel.

“I’ve told Lucinda to bring Madge around for Sunday breakfast,” he said casually to his mother, who was still puttering about the apartment when he returned.

She frowned--in disapproval, Norman thought. But what she said was only: “I wonder if there are enough eggs.”

She went into the kitchen, and came back. “Yes, there’s plenty of everything,” she said.

If she saw any dramatic crisis imminent in her son’s life, she gave no sign of it....