CHAPTER XXII

The next thing the Stirlings heard was that Valancy had been seen with

Barney Snaith in a movie theatre in Port Lawrence and after it at

supper in a Chinese restaurant there. This was quite true—and no one

was more surprised at it than Valancy herself. Barney had come along in

Lady Jane one dim twilight and told Valancy unceremoniously if she

wanted a drive to hop in.

“I’m going to the Port. Will you go there with me?”

His eyes were teasing and there was a bit of defiance in his voice.

Valancy, who did not conceal from herself that she would have gone

anywhere with him to any place, “hopped in” without more ado. They tore

into and through Deerwood. Mrs. Frederick and Cousin Stickles, taking a

little air on the verandah, saw them whirl by in a cloud of dust and

sought comfort in each other’s eyes. Valancy, who in some dim

pre-existence had been afraid of a car, was hatless and her hair was

blowing wildly round her face. She would certainly come down with

bronchitis—and die at Roaring Abel’s. She wore a low-necked dress and

her arms were bare. That Snaith creature was in his shirt-sleeves,

smoking a pipe. They were going at the rate of forty miles an

hour—sixty, Cousin Stickles averred. Lady Jane could hit the pike when

she wanted to. Valancy waved her hand gaily to her relatives. As for

Mrs. Frederick, she was wishing she knew how to go into hysterics.

“Was it for this,” she demanded in hollow tones, “that I suffered the

pangs of motherhood?”

“I will _not_ believe,” said Cousin Stickles solemnly, “that our prayers

will not yet be answered.”

“Who—_who_ will protect that unfortunate girl when I am gone?” moaned

Mrs. Frederick.

As for Valancy, she was wondering if it could really be only a few

weeks since she had sat there with them on that verandah. Hating the

rubber-plant. Pestered with teasing questions like black flies. Always

thinking of appearances. Cowed because of Aunt Wellington’s teaspoons

and Uncle Benjamin’s money. Poverty-stricken. Afraid of everybody.

Envying Olive. A slave to moth-eaten traditions. Nothing to hope for or

expect.

And now every day was a gay adventure.

Lady Jane flew over the fifteen miles between Deerwood and the

Port—through the Port. The way Barney went past traffic policemen was

not holy. The lights were beginning to twinkle out like stars in the

clear, lemon-hued twilight air. This was the only time Valancy ever

really liked the town, and she was crazy with the delight of speeding.

Was it possible she had ever been afraid of a car? She was perfectly

happy, riding beside Barney. Not that she deluded herself into thinking

it had any significance. She knew quite well that Barney had asked her

to go on the impulse of the moment—an impulse born of a feeling of pity

for her and her starved little dreams. She was looking tired after a

wakeful night with a heart attack, followed by a busy day. She had so

little fun. He’d give her an outing for once. Besides, Abel was in the

kitchen, at the point of drunkenness where he was declaring he did not

believe in God and beginning to sing ribald songs. It was just as well

she should be out of the way for a while. Barney knew Roaring Abel’s

repertoire.

They went to the movie—Valancy had never been to a movie. And then,

finding a nice hunger upon them, they went and had fried

chicken—unbelievably delicious—in the Chinese restaurant. After which

they rattled home again, leaving a devastating trail of scandal behind

them. Mrs. Frederick gave up going to church altogether. She could not

endure her friends’ pitying glances and questions. But Cousin Stickles

went every Sunday. She said they had been given a cross to bear.