Who Pays the Piper? Read Free Page B

admired young girl, the lovely bride, the pathetic widow. Now she was the brave invalid, pale, fragile, interesting. And of course if you are an invalid you do escape life’s duller duties—taking the dog for a walk when you would rather sit by the fire, visiting the—sometimes—ungrateful poor, and going to church in the rain.
    â€œQuite a nice little string,” said Mrs. O’Hara. “And Susan’s mother had one too. They were a coming-out present from our father. Laura sold hers for the Red Cross—after her husband was killed, you know—but I kept mine until the other day, and it only fetched twenty pounds, though I am sure it cost a great deal more than that. Does Freddy like being in China, my dear? And I hope you have good news of Roger. Are they together? Because that would be so nice. I do think it is so delightful that you should have married someone who was such a friend of your brother’s. But of course that is how you came to meet Freddy—isn’t it? I remember your bringing them both up to King’s Bourne, and I thought then what friends they were. Of course, you know, my dear, I always have thought your brother Roger one of the handsomest young men I ever met. And you were all such friends, you, and Roger, and Susan, and Cathy—oh, yes—thank you, my dear—I am always dropping my handkerchief, I can’t think why.”
    The conversation went on. Susan went away.
    Roger Vere certainly was very good-looking. He had a way with him too, a sailor’s way, and when he came home on leave he added considerably to the gaiety of the countryside by making love to every girl he met. He had made rather special love to Susan a year ago when she and Cathy were bridesmaids at Lydia’s wedding and he was Freddy Hammond’s best man. Bill had been jealous. Susan caught her breath as she remembered just how jealous Bill had been. It had really been a thankful day when Roger took his irresponsible charm to the China Station. Hong Kong might have him and welcome as far as Susan Lenox was concerned.
    She began to prepare the evening meal, and presently a loud hooting announced the fact that Sir John Vere had finished his sherry and was in a hurry to get home. Susan pushed her soup to the side of the range and went out to the gate with Lydia. It opened straight upon the village street, with the front door almost in reach. Lydia kissed her with a little extra warmth. The door banged. The car moved off.
    Susan stood a moment to see the tail-light disappear. The sound of the engine died away. She could hear the water flowing on the other side of the street—the little deep stream which gave the village its name. Each house had its own culvert. Under all these tiny bridges the water flowed ceaselessly, sometimes flooding out into the roadway after heavy rain, never failing through the longest drought. Susan’s room looked this way. She loved the voice of the stream, she loved to wake and hear it in the night. She lingered and listened to it now.
    She had turned to go in, when she heard another sound, a man’s footsteps coming nearer. She stood with the gate in her hand. Bill—but it couldn’t be Bill—he would have let her know. And then the dark shape loomed. Warmth and happiness flooded up in her. She let go of the gate and was in his arms.
    â€œBill!”
    â€œSusan!”
    They stood holding one another close. She put up her face and they kissed. It did not matter how long or how short a time it was since they had met, there was always this rush of happiness, this deep contentment when they were together again.
    Susan spoke first.
    â€œOh, Bill—why didn’t you ring up? We’ve got a dreadfully female meal.”
    â€œI knew you lived on buns when I wasn’t here.”
    â€œIt isn’t buns—it’s eggs.”
    â€œI’m strong on eggs. And as a matter of fact I did ring up, but they