“And what is that?” he asked.
“Oh,—a nice home and not too much worry—and a family, I suppose,” she answered.
“Then you expect to go like this, indefinitely, although you admit you’re neither happy nor useful?”
“I am a little bit useful—to Katie.”
“But I can’t stand it, Rosaleen, if you’re not happy. I’m going to make you happy. I’m going to arrange for a divorce for you——”
“No, you’re not!” she cried. “I wouldn’t have it!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a horrid, wrong idea,” she had insisted. “With his being blind—and everything....”
You could never argue with that confounded woman. She never listened to the voice of reason; she listened to something else—God knows what. And every act in her life had to be in conformity with this subtle and rigid authority. She never thought, she never puzzled, about what was right and what was wrong; she simply knew at once, by instinct. And that was the end of it. She lived bythe rule of a beautiful propriety; she would never do anything which did not befit her.
Nick had given up, long ago. And now, he had almost come to believe that her way, if nottheright way, was certainly one of the right ways of living, and that Rosaleen divorced would not have been quite Rosaleen. Sometimes, when he grew intolerably lonely for her, or when the sight of her in her white apron flying about waiting on other men incensed and distressed him more than usual, he would rail at her “obstinate, petty conventionality.” But she had none the less succeeded in making him comprehend her point of view; not with words, because she was not gifted with speech, but in some way of her own, her feeling that in divorcing Lawrence and marrying Nick she would lose her own especial quality.
“It’s all right for lots of people,” she said. “I haven’t got any particular prejudice against it. It’s only afeeling.... I—well, I justcan’t, that’s all.”
Itwas a well-known thing in that household that Nick required a long time to dress. He had come home from the office promptly at six and had gone at once to his room, where, as he had expected, his evening clothes were laid ready for him. He was to take Mrs. Allanby and Caroline to a dinner at the house of one of his senior partners, and it was an altogether particular and important occasion. Caroline was wearing a new dress, of which he thoroughly approved; she had been ready when he came home, so that he could see it and pass judgment. Mrs. Allanby was still dressing; she was, in spite of her fifty years, a lady of no little quiet coquetry, and on this occasion she had a two-fold desire to look her best, first, because she so valued her nephew’s approbation, and second because she was very anxious to impress upon the senior partner how excellent a family was Nick’s.
He had bathed and shaved, and was standing before the mirror in shirt and trousers, tying his white tie with severe attention, when someoneknocked at his door. He was surprised, almost affronted.
“Well!” he called. “What is it?”
“It’s Ca’line!”
“I’m not late! It’s not half past seven yet....”
“No, Ah know it! But someone wants to speak to you on the telephone.”
“Who?”
“Ah don’t know.... A woman.... She wouldn’t tell her name. She said it was important. Shall Ah say you’re busy and can’t come?”
“No!” he said, hastily. “I’ll come!”
And just as he was, hurried into the little sewing room where the upstairs telephone was.
“This is Landry speaking!” he said.
And a forlorn and patient voice answered:
“It’s me—Rosaleen.... It’s about Petey. I’m very sorry to bother you, but I don’t know what to do, exactly.”
“Why? Tell me!”
“The doctor says it’s typhoid fever——”
“By George! That’s too bad!”
“And Katie’s.... It’s hard to tell it over the telephone.... Iwish—couldn’t I possibly see you just for a few minutes?”
“Of course! I’ll be with you at once. Where are you?”
“I’m at home,” she answered, and gave him the address she had withheld for five years.
Nick turned to Caroline.
“I’ll have to go somewhere first,” he said, hurriedly. “I’ll try not to be late for dinner. But if I am, go without me, and I’ll follow.... Just explain to Anson——”
“Explain what? Where are you going?”
Indignation and disappointment had brought tears to her eyes. This outrageous desertion was too much for her; she struggled for a moment to hold her tongue, but she could not.
“It’s thatwaitress!” she cried. “Ah know it! Some nasty, common, scheming woman.... It’s ashame! It’s ashame!”
She began to cry.
“It’s ashame!” she cried again.
Nick looked at her with frigid disgust.
“It happens to be a—very old friend who’s in great trouble,” he said.
“Whatold friend? How can you have old friends here that we never heard of?”
He turned away from her and rang up a nearby garage for a taxi.
“It’s a case of serious illness,” he said.
“Do you mean to say you’renot comingto that dinner?” cried Caroline.
“Haven’t you any—heart?” demanded her cousin. “I tell you, someone is seriously ill....”
“What’s it got to do withyou!” cried Caroline. “Who is it? Why won’t you tell me?”
When they looked back upon that episode later, it didn’t seempossible. That these two people, so dignified, so self-restrained, so civilized, should have said what they said to each other, should have enacted so disgraceful a scene!
“Who is this person that’s seriously ill?” Caroline demanded, again, with fierce contempt.
“It’s none of your business!” said Nick.
He was astounded, she was astounded, by such a phrase from him.
“All right!” said she. “Go to your waitress! Ah don’t care! But Ah won’t go to the dinner either! And Ah won’t send any word or make any excuses.Youcan do that to-morrow, in your office.Youcan explain to Mr. Anson why nobody came to his dinner party.”
“You couldn’tdosuch a—beastly, contemptible thing!” cried Nick in alarm. It was the special business of women to make excuses for men; they knew how; they had the art.... “Caroline, if youdon’t, I’ll never forgive you!”
“Ah don’t give adarn!” she cried. “There!”
“You’vegotto go!” he said, but weakly. Hecouldn’t make her.... He stood there by the telephone, white with rage, trying to think.... But nothing came to his brain except two horribly distressing pictures; he saw Anson and his wife and the other guests waiting, polite but astonished and resentful.... And he saw Rosaleen, wild with anxiety, looking out of a window for him.
“There’s a taxi here, sir!” said a voice, and he saw the parlourmaid in the doorway, frankly interested at this curious spectacle of Miss Caroline in evening dress and Mr. Landry in his shirt sleeves, evidently quarreling.
“Yes, it’s for me!” he said, briefly.
Without another glance at Caroline he ran into his room, hurried on his waistcoat and dress coat, thrust on his overcoat, snatched up hat and stick and rushed out.
Rage burned in him. He didn’t think of Rosaleen as the taxi sped along; he thought of Caroline, with hate, with triumph.
“Let her go to the devil!” he said. “Iwon’t bebullied!”
Itwas a miserable place over a bakery on Third Avenue, a squalid evil-smelling neighbourhood, with the Elevated trains thundering past. This tall man in evening dress descending from a taxi arousedprofound interest; one bright little boy said it was movies. He entered the narrow hallway from which the stairs ascended, steep as a ladder, and after striking a match, saw four name plates beneath four bells. Cohen—Moriarity—Connelly—O’Dea.
As he hesitated before them, Rosaleen herself came hurrying down the steep stairs.
“I saw you coming!” she said. “Oh, Mr. Landry, I didn’t know what to do! He’s sick—he’s very, very sick! The doctor says he’ll either have to go to the hospital or have a nurse, and Katie won’t let him go.... She’s in such a terrible state....”
“Let him have a nurse, of course.”
“But we can’t. There’s no place for a nurse to sleep. And it’s not a fit place for little Petey, either. He ought to go to the hospital. He won’t have any chance here. I know it’s dreadful of me, but I——”
She had suddenly seized one of his hands with both of hers and pressed it violently, quite distraught, quite unconscious of what she did.
“I don’t care! I made up my mind that Iwouldask you.... Won’t you come upstairs and talk to Katie? You don’t know how she feels about a hospital.... She’s only known people in the wards, where—it isn’t so nice.... When you’re so poor, you’re—so helpless.... If you’d just tell her that Petey’s to have a private room and a nurseand everything done for him, and that she can see him any time she wants...? Oh, I know it will cost a fortune! I have no right to ask you.... But I knew you’d do it!”
“You don’t know how glad I am to be asked,” said Nick. “Come on! Let’s go upstairs!”
This where she lived—where she had lived for five years! This dirty, dilapidated hole, dark, airless, with grimy windows on a malodourous court, with the thundering roar of the trains making the very walls shake, with these pitiful and fragile little children always underfoot! He had known that she was poor, that the whole family was poor, but he had not imagined anything like this. He had never set foot in such a place before. It filled him with horror, these mean, cramped little quarters which the despair of poverty had left dirty and neglected. There wasn’t a chair in that room on which he dared to sit, one had a broken back, another a broken seat, another had a leg missing....
There came bursting into the room a big, gaunt woman like a fury, desperate with grief and fright.
“What is it ye want?” she cried, to Nick.
Rosaleen began to whisper to her, and she became calmer, became little by little composed and shrewd. This was a man from whom benefits might be expected.
“I thought maybe you were from the Board!” she explained. “’Tis them do be worrying the likes of us whenever there is any sickness in it at all.”
She had been living in a very nightmare of fear; her little child was ill and the world was conspiring to snatch it from her. She was quite determined that it should not go. She didn’t know, poor soul, just what awful powers the police and the health officials might have. She was accustomed to their authority. It might be the law to take her child away. But law or no law, she would not have it! She saw hope in this rich friend of Rosaleen’s; she clung to him; she fawned upon him.
She opened the door of the room where Petey lay. There was nothing in it but two big wooden beds. Outside from the fire escape hung a line of limp clothing fluttering in the night wind; nothing else to be seen.... The sick baby lay motionless in the centre of one of the wide beds, blazing with fever, his face scarlet, his brow pitifully contorted, his eyes closed. His limp little body seemed scarcely to raise the bed covers; his arms lay outside the counterpane, with their thin, flat wrists, the tiny, stubby hands....
The mother flew over to him and tucked his arms under the blanket.
“Do you want to catch yer death!” she cried, harshly, to the unconscious child.
She passed her hand over his burning head, feeling the hard, round little skull under the fine hair.
“He’s that hot!” she said. And suddenly began wailing.
“Oh, he cannot live at all! Well do I know he’s to be took from me! Petey! Oh, Petey, my darlin’!”
Rosaleen tried to quiet her.
“Listen, Katie dearie!” she said. “Mr. Landry’s going to help us! Petey’s going to have a beautiful big room all to himself——”
Her sister swore at her.
“I will not let thim lave a hand on Petey!” she cried. “They’ll not take him from me!”
“Katie, you can go with him!” Rosaleen promised. “You can go to the hospital with him and sit by him for a while, can’t she, Mr. Landry?”
“Yes,” said Nick. “It’ll be just as Rosaleen says.”
Theyhad gone, Katie and her baby, in a private ambulance, and Nick had arranged with the doctor for the child’s reception. It seemed as if a terrible storm had come and gone, leaving an unnatural calm. He sat in the little hole Katie called her“parlour,” with its dirty lace curtains, its little gilt table, the two broken rocking chairs with “tidies” fastened to their backs by stained red ribbons.
Rosaleen tried to explain to him. She tried, in her tongue-tied way, to draw for him a picture of all these lives. Katie, she told him, was a wonderful woman, a wife of unlimited loyalty, a mother of passionate and ceaseless devotion. Her husband was a shipping clerk; he had worked in various department stores, but he was very unlucky; he was always hurting himself, straining his back, crushing his fingers, dropping crates on his feet. And with the three children, and big Pete laid up so often, you could see....
“And I don’t make much,” she said, simply. “Sometimes we think wecan’tget on. But we do.”
She sighed, with all that dreadful resignation of hers.
But Nick had nothing to say to that recital of hers; he sat in complete silence for a long time. Rosaleen watched him covertly; she worshipped him; she thought, that in his evening dress, he was the most distinguished, the most magnificent creature she had ever seen. Oh, there was no one like him! Her Nick, who never failed her, who always understood her, who never took advantage of her misfortunes.... He did not look at her; how wasshe to know thathewas worshippingher, abashed and humble before her matchless compassion and unselfishness. She suffered all things, endured all things, and was kind....
In squalor, poverty and incessant anxiety, she had kept her spirit tranquil and true. Her affection which never criticised, made no demands, seemed to him to sanctify this place. He remembered that when he had first learned of her origin, in Miss Amy’s violent words, he had believed himself “disillusioned”; and had been bitter and angry toward her. That was nearly eight years ago; she was thirty now; the best of her youth was over, had passed in cruel and thankless servitude. No matter what happened in the future, that couldn’t be effaced, those wrongs could never be repaired. Lawrence had exploited her shamelessly, Miss Amy had exploited her, her sister in her blind and pitiful motherhood would have drained her dry of blood for the benefit of her children; he himself had repudiated and deserted her. And she had no rancour, no bitterness even toward life in the abstract. She was simply resigned, a little sorrowful, but brave, patient, enduring to the uttermost end.
He got up suddenly and held out his hand.
“Good night!” he said, brusquely. “You’ll hear from me very soon.”
Hehad never been so wretched before. It was the suffering of a vigourous and obstinate man entangled in a situation in which he is unable to move. He wished to lay everything at Rosaleen’s feet, and yet could give her nothing. He longed to relieve her intolerable burdens, and could not take a step toward doing so.
And, as always when he was not able to act, anger took possession of him. He was cool, resolute, self-controlled enough when there was anything for him to do, but tie his hands and his blood began to boil. His wrath began to descend upon Lawrence. He decided that he would go to see him, to threaten, to bully, to bribe, in some way to force him to free Rosaleen against her will. He refused to see the absurdity of this; directly he had made the decision he felt a sort of peace, and he was able to go home and to sleep.
He knew very well that there must be a reckoning at home, and he welcomed it. He wanted it. He blamed all the world for Rosaleen’s sufferings.He wished to defend her and to fight for her. Unaccountably and very unjustly he was angry at his aunt and at Caroline. (Or was it perhaps that he subconsciously wished to forestall their reproaches?).... However, he appeared at breakfast the next morning in a most unpleasant mood. He said “Good morning!” frigidly to Mrs. Allanby, and sat down at the table with a frown.
“I’d like to speak to you alone for a minute, if you please!” he said.
With a gesture his aunt dismissed the servant, and sat looking quietly at him.
“About last night,” he began. “I told Caroline it was a case of urgent necessity. She couldn’t—orwouldn’tunderstand.”
“Ah think it would have been better to have made your excuses to Mr. Anson,” she said, evenly.
“I left that to—to you. You understand that sort of thing. You have so much tact....”
“You didn’t ask me, Nick!”
“I hadn’t time. Good Lord! Caroline isn’t a child. She ought to understand——”
“Understand just what? You didn’t tell her where you were going, or why. No! Please don’t interrupt me for a minute! Ah know you’re not accountable to us in any way. But we were just going to that dinner for your sake, because you asked us.And.... Ah’m disappointed in you. Ah can’t help it!”
“You shouldn’t be. It’s not fair. It was an urgent matter. I was worried and upset, and perhaps I did neglect certain formalities. But under the circumstances, you ought to make allowances.”
“But what were the circumstances? You must remember we don’t know them.”
He was silent; then he asked, abruptly.
“What happened? What did you do?”
“Ah went. Ah thought if Ca’line went, too, it might make an odd number. Ah told Mr. Anson that an old friend of the family had met with an accident and that you and Ca’line had gone to him.”
“That was nice of you!” said Nick, gratefully. “Then it’s all right, is it?”
“As far as Mr. Anson goes. But Ahdothink.... Boy, you don’t know how you worry me.”
He looked at her, with quite his old smile.
“No!” he said. “I willnottell you! Not yet!”
Itwas the first time in years that he had stopped away from his office. But he was too sternly intent upon his new purpose to be able to think of anything else. He sat in his study, smoking a cigar, until it seemed to him a reasonable hour, and then set out.
He was very nervous; more so than he realised. And his descent into that old neighbourhood revived a hundred memories to oppress him. He fancied he saw her ghost, its arms full of bundles, running through Fourth Street....
“The best of her life wasted!” he said to himself, over and over. It gave him courage.
He needed courage, too. He was very much afraid of Lawrence; not, of course, in a physical sense, but because Lawrence had any number of mysterious advantages. Lawrence was blind and helpless, Lawrence was Rosaleen’s lawful husband, Lawrence was infinitely more sophisticated and subtle than himself.... A formidable adversary. He made no plan of what he should say; with such a person it was not possible, for you couldn’t know in what humour you would catch him. He resolved simply to keep his temper and to flinch at nothing.
The front door was unlatched, as it had always been in the old days; he entered and went upstairs, knocked on the familiar door. But a strange voice answered him, a strange young man lived in there, who knew nothing whatever of Lawrence Iverson.
He made a few other enquiries in the house, but without result.
He was on his way home, walking up Fifth Avenue while he watched for his bus, when he passeda familiar corner, and he decided to call upon Miss Waters. She was a link with the old days.
There at least nothing was changed. She sat as usual in the dusty old studio, and she herself was as dusty, as wrinkled, as flustered as before. And inordinately delighted to see him. She even wept.
“I hardly ever see Rosaleen,” she said. “Once in a great, great while, on a Sunday, she drops in. But I don’t blame her, poor girl! She’s so busy and so worried.... You don’tknow——”
She was obliged to stop and dry her eyes.
“You don’t know how much I miss those old days!” she said. “I always loved Rosaleen like my own child.... Poor girl! I never saw much of her during her married life. Her husband and I were not—very congenial. But there’s always been such abondbetween us, Mr. Landry! I can’t help saying toyouthat I think that marriage was a mistake!”
“Not much doubt aboutthat! Do you happen to know where the—the fellow’s gone?”
“No. I never enquired. And I haven’t kept track of the old crowd.”
Poor soul! Not one of the “old crowd” except Miss Mell had ever come near her.
“I’m not up-to-date on news of the quarter!” she said, archly. “Don’t come to me forthat, Mr. Landry!”
“I didn’t. I came because I wanted to see you.”
She was pleased; she wished that she had put her least dusty velvet bow in her hair instead of this gnawed little thing that now perched there....
Perhaps his love for Rosaleen had given Nick a more understanding heart, or perhaps it was that he was well-disposed toward everyone associated with the beloved woman, but from whatever cause, he saw Miss Waters that day in a new light. He saw her not as a comic old maid, but as a quite admirable human being. She was a plucky old girl, struggling along with art lessons, and a wonderful friend.
She began asking him about himself, but he became more and more distrait. Suddenly he told her the whole story.
She was astonished, she was profoundly touched; she wept bitterly, but she was delighted, both because the magnificent Mr. Landry had seen fit to confide in her, and because it was a romantic history, such as she loved.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said, when he had finished. “I don’t know how to help her. Can you suggest anything?”
And, to his surprise, she did.
“No, of course,youcan’t do anything,” she said. “But if you could only get the ladies of your family interested in her....Theycould doanything!”
“What could they do?”
“Oh, they’d think of all sorts of ways, if they really wanted to help!”
“They wouldn’t, though,” he said gloomily. “They’ve got all sorts of prejudices....”
“If they could see her, and get to know her, it would be all right.”
“My aunt has seen her, you know!”
“Yes, but don’t you see!Nowshe’s the wife of the distinguished artist Lawrence Iverson! Think what a difference that makes!”
“I never thought of her—like that.... And you think they could help her?”
“I’m sure of it! And you know, dear Mr. Landry, people love to be associated with Artists. As Mrs. Lawrence Iverson, you know, she’s really a most interesting figure. Someone might be induced to set her up in an Antique Shop, or something like that.”
In the end they decided that Mrs. Allanby and Caroline should be suddenly confronted with Rosaleen in this new and impressive rôle.
“But we can’t tell Rosaleen!” said Miss Waters. “She’d never consent. She’s so retiring. I’ll tell you what! I’ll give a studio party, next Saturday evening, and if you’ll bring them, I’ll get Rosaleen here. Will you?”
Neverhad Miss Waters been so excited. The moment Landry had left, she hurried out and bought a small plane. She desired that there should be dancing at her party, and to make that possible, she would have to “do” the studio floor. There were two pupils working in there, and it disturbed them very much when Miss Waters got down on her hands and knees in one corner and began to use her plane. However, it didn’t last long. An hour’s work convinced her that the whole floor would take her some years to finish. She employed the plane instead with great zest on those little shelves she had put up; she smoothed them off and painted them a very artistic orange, with a stencil of black tulips. She was, you must know, very handy with tools....
Her preparations were most extensive. She spent an outrageous amount of time and money, and she bought too much of everything. Two hundred cigarettes, among other things, and a plethora of flowers. She made little wreaths to put on the heads of her plaster statues, and she painted a little card for each guest to take home as a souvenir.
Rosaleenhad not been warned. She had come directly from the restaurant, in her threadbare suitand her faded black hat. And to be ushered into the midst of a chattering party of twelve or fifteen people was a terrible ordeal to her. She turned quite pale; she stood in the doorway, drawing off her gloves and smiling nervously. At first she didn’t quite grasp it....
It startled her, too, for Miss Waters to address her as “Mrs. Iverson,” and to present her so. At first she saw only one familiar face, and that was Miss Mell’s, the same, stout, bespectacled friend of the old studio days. And then suddenly she caught sight of a face from a nightmare.... Surely that lady who had sat in the Humberts’ kitchen....
She was hurried forward by Miss Waters, and Mrs. Lawrence Iverson was presented to Mrs. Allanby. Who instantly recognised her. And to Miss Caroline Allanby, who at once knew that this was the person who had beguiled Nick.... And Nick, who was standing behind them, and Miss Waters, both saw immediately that the experiment had failed. The two ladies didn’t care a fig for the wife of the distinguished artist; they greeted her politely, but with unmistakable chilliness. There was more in this than met the eye! They had suspectedsomethingwhen Nick had been so insistent about bringing them to this “studio party.”
There were three lively rings at the door bell, and Miss Waters was glad to hasten away to admit thelatest comer. It was Miss Gosorkus, more friendly, more exuberant than ever before. She beamed at everyone and sat down at the side of Dodo Mell.
“Hello, Mell!” she cried. “How are you? I haven’t seen you for ages upon ages!... Do you remember the larks we used to have up in your old studio?”
Miss Mell had never been enthusiastic regarding Miss Gosorkus; she remembered what a great nuisance she had been; she answered with moderation.
“And doesn’t it seem sort of sad?” Miss Gosorkus went on. “Enid gone to live abroad, and poor Lawrence Iverson gone!”
Everyone heard her; everyone looked up with interest. Dodo tried to whisper a warning, but it was not heard.
“You heard, didn’t you?” she went on. “It was the saddest thing! You know, of course, that the poor man went blind. And then, my dear, that heartless, awful woman he’d married deserted him. I believe she ran off with another man.”
“Shut up!” whispered Dodo. “Don’t youseeher?”
“Who?” asked Miss Gosorkus aloud, her babyish eyes searching the room. She didn’t recognise Rosaleen, even as a vaguely familiar face.
“And after that,” she continued, “the poor man went to Paris, and he was run over by a taxi. He’s been dead five years.”
Nickcrossed the room and sat down beside Miss Gosorkus, scowling and pale.
“You’resure?” he asked.
“Sure?” she repeated, enquiringly.
“About Iverson. About his being dead?”
“Why, of course, I am! I....”
“How did you hear of it?”
“A friend of mine in Paris....”
“Will you give me the address and let me write to her?”
“Him.It’s a gentleman,” said Miss Gosorkus with a smirk.
“Give mehisaddress then.”
He had taken out a note-book and a fountain pen, and sat waiting while Miss Gosorkus somewhat reluctantly gave the information. Then he got up and looked about for Rosaleen. She was not there. He approached his aunt.
“Order a taxi when you’re ready to go,” he said, in a tone designed to discourage questions. Then said good-bye curtly to Miss Waters, and hurried off.
It was raining fiercely when he reached the street, but he felt nevertheless obliged to walk. He set off across the Square and up Fifth Avenue, a solitary figure in the broad and deserted street.
The barriers were all demolished. She was free—after all these years; no obstacles separated them. And instead of joy, terror and alarm had seized him. The idea of marrying her seemed monstrous. He didn’t want to! And the more he didn’t want to, the more inexorably did he feel obliged, compelled to do so without delay. It was a debt of honour, to be paid instantly, without reflection.
He was determined to follow her home to that squalid and horrible flat, and insist upon the earliest possible wedding. She would, of course, have all sorts of tiresome and irritating objections which he would have to override. He would have to be masterful, resolute, fervent, and there was nothing of that sort in him. He felt singularly cold and aloof; he felt the strongest sort of inclination to run away from the whole affair. He said to himself that he wanted a “chance to think it over,” but really he did not. He wished, on the contrary, to forget it, never to think of it again. Romance had departed from his Rosaleen. She was no longer tragic, pitiful, inaccessible. She was nothing more or less thana very obscure and ordinary woman whom he was in honour bound to marry. Quite suddenly he saw his folly, the outrageous thing this was, to waste and ruin his life through this profoundly unsuitable marriage, which would bring him nothing but unhappiness. What was he going to do with her? He remembered her in the studio days, shabby, worn with humiliation and distress, he remembered the shocking scene in the Humberts’ kitchen; he remembered her—most painful memory of all—in the restaurant, in her white apron, carrying her big tray.... He was ashamed of her....
He clenched his hands as he walked along, and his face was grim and desperate. He remembered how he had loved Rosaleen, and love appeared to him as something intangible and silly. What the devil did it amount to?Whymust he do this? He had got on very well without her thus far.... Now he would have to change his life completely; he would have to leave his comfortable quarters at his aunt’s and go off to live somewhere alone with Rosaleen. As he was prepared to make this immense sacrifice for her, he felt justified in dwelling upon the small and intolerable details. What would his friends say, his business associates?... He would be ashamed of her.... Barren and disgusting duty, flat and insipid beyond measure....
He had reached the house on Third Avenue and entered it, rang the bell in the vestibule and ascended the dirty stairs, in the dark and the foul air. Katie opened the door for him, and admitted him grudgingly, almost with hostility. She did not like him, and, like Rosaleen, her favour was not to be won by benefits. No matter what he did for her and for her family, she wouldneverlike him, because he was condescending and superior. She took him into the parlour, and he sat there for an hour, quite alone, with one dim, ghastly jet of gas burning inside a fluted blue china globe. At intervals the elevated trains came rushing past, and blotted out every other sound and perception from his startled and affronted brain; then in the lull he would hear Katie’s voice in the kitchen talking to the little children. It was ten o’clock, but there was no air of its being bedtime, or evening. The woman was still working, the children still playing; one might have imagined their days to be endless.
Sickened and depressed, and utterly disheartened, Landry got up.
“Please tell Rosaleen I’ll come again to-morrow,” he called.
It had cleared when he came out into the street again. He set off homeward, wondering where Rosaleen might be. Did she, too, feel it necessaryto walk and to be alone? He was certainly not sorry to have missed her; he was glad that he was to have an opportunity for planning a proper, gentlemanly speech. He felt that if he were to come face to face with her now he could say nothing better than—
“I suppose there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get married now.”
It never occurred to him to wonder how she was feeling, what she was thinking. He was simply convinced that her attitude would be irritating.
Ifhe could have seen where she was! Meek, patient, quiet, her feet crossed, her hands in her lap, she was sitting in his aunt’s drawing-room, waiting for Mrs. Allanby’s return. Her face was inexpressive; it was a face incapable of expression, like her voice and her gestures. She was inarticulate, forever cut off from her fellows by this queer helplessness. Nothing that went on in her brain or her heart could ever be known by other people; she couldn’t show it, and she couldn’t tell it. She sat there now without the least shadow on her face of the dread and misery she was enduring.
She had hurried out ahead of Nick because shewanted to cry; because she was obliged to cry, and she was afraid that this inexplicable weeping would annoy him. She had run down the front steps and into the shelter of the basement door and had stood there sobbing frantically and silently for some time.... Oh, if she could only draw a great, free breath, and go where she wanted and do as she pleased, and have no duties and obligations toward anyone! If only, for one week even, she could behave as she liked, without implicating any other person in her behaviour! No: she was eternally bound to please people and to help people. She was mortally weary of it. The tyranny of the Humberts, the tyranny of Enid, the tyranny of Lawrence, were all about to be succeeded and swallowed up in a tyranny a thousand times more exacting and difficult. To satisfy Nick she would have to make herself over, and at thirty that is not at all easy or pleasant, even for a loving woman. For Nick she would have to keep young and cheerful, when she felt immeasurably old and discouraged. She would have to make a place for herself in his world, and to maintain it.
She dried her eyes and straightened her hat. She waited for a few moments in her dark little niche, looking out at the rain, and reflecting. She gave her attention to Miss Gosorkus, to Nick, to the aunt, to the cousin. And a very great resentment grew upin her, a stern and almost ferocious determination.Shewas going to get some profit from this situation; why not? Why should she always give, and sacrifice, and efface herself? She made up her mind to begin her new life under the most favourable possible circumstances, to eliminate all possible disadvantages. She was filled with anger against all these people, and a strong proletarian desire to retaliate, to repay their indifference, their ignorance of her life and of her heart, with arrogance, with bitterness. It was not a new feeling; she had had it often before, for Miss Amy, for Lawrence, for other people less important to her. It was the immeasurable resentment of a gentle and fine spirit against the inferior people who oppress it.
. . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .
She heard the sound of a motor drawing up outside, then the bell rang, and she saw the parlour maid hurry through the hall to open the door.
“There’s a lady waiting to see you, ma’am,” she heard her say, and Caroline said:
“Ma gracious! Atthistime of night!”
Then, from where she sat, she could see the slim feet and ankles of Caroline ascending the stairs, and in a moment Mrs. Allanby entered.
She actually turned pale, perhaps for the first time in her life.
“Oh!” she cried. “Oh ... you ... Mrs. Iverson.... Please sit down!”
Rosaleen was glad to do so, because her knees were weak. And for some time they sat opposite each other, their eyes averted, saying not a word. Mrs. Allanby grey haired and elegant, in her black crêpe de chine, Rosaleen dejected, pensive, worn.
“I wanted to speak to you before I saw Nick,” she said, suddenly. “I wanted to see....”
“Yes?” said Mrs. Allanby, encouragingly. A wild hope had sprung up in her that perhaps Rosaleen didn’twishto marry Nick, that perhaps she had fallen in love with some undesirable person like herself.
“I suppose you’d like to make the best of a bad bargain?” said Rosaleen.
These words struck Mrs. Allanby forcibly; they destroyed her hope completely. She murmured:
“If it’s a bad bargain, why make it?”
Rosaleen ignored this.
“He’ll ask me to marry him,” she said, “and I’ll say ‘yes’.... But there are—a lot of difficulties....”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Allanby, quickly. “You are frank with me, Mrs. Iverson, and Ah shall be frankwith you. Therearea great many difficulties. It’s not ... no; it’s not a suitable match for either of you. Ah don’t think—in fact, Ah’msureyou’d neither of you be happy. If you will weigh the disadvantages....”
“Nobody could possibly know the disadvantages better than I do!” said Rosaleen. “But ... we’ve ... liked each other for a long time, and nothing can stop us now. We’re surely going to be married.... And it needn’t be so bad, if you’ll help me. That’s what I came for—to ask you to help me. Will you, Mrs. Allanby?”
Mrs. Allanby was astounded.
“But ... Ah don’t see how you can expect me to help you!” she said, “when—Ah would prefer—for it not to take place.”
“But itwilltake place! That’s just the point! You’re fond of Nick. You want things to go well for him. That’s what I meant by making the best of a bad bargain.”
“Ma dear,” said Mrs. Allanby. “Ah wish you would listen to me. Ah’m so much older than you. Ah know—the world. Marriages like thiscan’tbe happy. It’s been tried over and over again; people like you and Nick——”
“There never were two peoplejustlike us. Everybody’s different,” said Rosaleen, struggling with herthought. “Anyway, really and truly, Mrs. Allanby, it’s no use pointing out all that. You couldn’t say anything I don’t know. And, after all,I’mthe one it’ll be hardest for.I’mthe one who’ll have to struggle, and learn, and change myself.I’mthe one with all the handicaps.”
She paused for a moment. She thought of her barren and desolate life, of the terrible future stretching before her. And this woman was asking her to give up her unique solace and hope, was ready to argue with this perishing creature as to whether it should seize the rope flung out as it drowned.
“Why!” she cried, appalled, outraged. “Can’t you think ofmefor an instant? What could I do? How could I go on—without him?... Why should I give him up? How can you possibly ask me to?”
“For his sake,” said Mrs. Allanby. “If you love him, you must be willing to sacrifice yourself.”
“I’ve been sacrificing myself until there’s hardly anythingleftof me!” she cried passionately. “And it’s never done anyone any good. People just ask me as a matter of course.... Butnotthis time.... Why should I? He’s known me for years and years. He hasn’t cared for anyone else. Well, have I done him any harm? Have I had a bad influence?”
“No, ma dear, of cou’se not. Ah’m not saying anything whatever againstyou.”
“Except that I’m not good enough.... Now then,please, Mrs. Allanby, won’t you look at it this way for a minute? I could just as well marry Nick to-morrow——”
She stopped for an instant.
“And Iwill,” she went on, with downcast eyes, “if I can’t get you to help me.... But I want to make the best of it. I want us to—to have our chance....”
Mrs. Allanby was beaten. She saw that she couldn’t stop this thing. She had either to make a futile struggle which would certainly antagonise Nick, or she must, as Rosaleen said, make the best of a bad bargain.
“What did you think Ah would do?” she asked with a smothered sigh.
A flush came into Rosaleen’s pallid face. She had won! And at once she grew gentler.
“First of all, if you’d lend me enough money to send my sister and her family to Philadelphia, and get them settled there,” she said. “I don’t mean that I’m—trying to get rid of them, or anything like that. I want to help them always, and I’m sure Nick will, too. But it’s far better for them not to be here—for him not to see them again.”
“And what else?”
“And then ... if you’ll teach me things—show me how to dress, and to act and all that...? Before I marry Nick?”
Mrs. Allanby was silent for a while, struggling with her profound disappointment. At last, with a long, inward sigh:
“He might have done worse!” she said to herself, and held out her hand to Rosaleen with a charming smile.
Rosaleenwent down the steps of the house with a strange feeling of coldness. A hard, scheming woman, that’s what she was, determined to use whatever advantage a niggardly fate had given her. Not a loving or tender thought was in her head, nothing but her odious triumph.
She reached the street and was half-way along the block when she saw him coming. She knew him, even in the dark, his heavy, vehement stride, the soft hat pulled so low over his eyes, the unbuttoned overcoat swaying from his big shoulders. And her frigidity suddenly melted, gave place to a sort of alarm. She wanted to hide, to avoid him, an impossible desire in that decorous and deserted street. There was nothing to do but to advance. She cameabreast of him, but he didn’t turn his head. It never occurred to him that Rosaleen could be here, near his own home, at this hour. It was simply a woman passerby. He went on.... And suddenly heard her running after him.
“Mr. Landry,” she cried, with a little laugh. “Don’t youknowme?”
He wheeled about, startled.
“I didn’t expect you to be here,” he said. “I’ve just come from your sister’s. I waited there.... I wanted to see you.”
“Yes,” she said, “andIwanted to seeyou. I’ve been having a talk with your aunt.”
“What about?” he asked, hastily.
“Oh.... Let’s walk over into the Park and talk?”
He assented, rather ungraciously, because he would have preferred making the suggestion himself, and they turned down the next cross street and into a deserted and solitary walk in the Park. It was a harsh and blustery night; no rain was falling, but the walks were wet and glistening and the bare branches shook down chilly drops when the wind blew. There was no one about; they had the place to themselves, and Nick selected a bench near a light, where he could see her face—if he wished.He took a newspaper from his overcoat pocket and spread it for her to sit on.
“Now,” he said. “Let’s hear what you had to say to Aunt Emmie!”
His tone wasn’t pleasant; this visit had made him suspicious and uneasy.
“I wanted ... no, I’d rather not tell you....” said Rosaleen.
“Very well!” he said briefly.
He slouched down, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, looking at the trees and shrubs before him absurdly illuminated by the electric light. Like scenery on the stage, he thought, except that the colours were too drab and indefinite.... He felt extraordinarily miserable, sorrowful, irritated. He began to feel sorry for this partner of his dreary romance.
“You’ll marry me at once, won’t you, Rosaleen?” he asked, with an innocent sort of kindness. And instead of answering as he had expected, she cried suddenly—
“Why?”
He tried his best to say “Because we love each other,” but he could not utter the words. A gust of wind brought down a shower from the tree behind them, pattering with sudden violence on his hat.
“Well...” he said, irresolutely, “I ... we’re too—mature to be very sentimental, aren’t we, Rosaleen?... I mean—welikeeach other ... we get on well together....”
“How do you know? We’ve never tried.”
“We would, I’m sure.... There’s no use in talking and talking about the thing. We wanted to get married, and now, at last, we can.”
“Perhaps—we don’t want to. Perhaps it’s too late.”
“Nonsense!” he said, brusquely, but horribly without conviction. He hadnothingto say, really; he was unable to plead, to argue, even to discuss. Another melancholy shower came down on them, and he rose.
“Better not sit here,” he said. “You’ll be drenched.”
She didn’t answer. He waited a few minutes, then he said, a little impatiently:
“Come! You’d better not sit here!”
He was desperate to escape from this intolerable situation. He bent over to take her by the hand and raise her to her feet, when he observed that she was wiping her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, gently.
He could hardly believe his ears.
“What!” he cried, startled.
And she repeated her amazing phrase.
“You’vecheatedme,” she sobbed.
“But how?” he demand. “In what way? Whatdoyou mean?”
He had to sit down beside her again to hear her words.
“I wanted you ... to be ... dear ... and loving,” she sobbed.
“To bedearandloving,” he repeated, in astonishment.
And suddenly she stretched out her arms toward him. He faltered, for an instant, and then he caught her tightly in a compassionate embrace. He was so sorry for the weeping and sorrowful woman. She strained herself close against him, with her arms about his neck, still sobbing a little, her soft hair brushed against his face.... His compassion began to go, began to merge into a passionate tenderness. He kissed her with delight, with rapture, this sweet and mysterious woman.... He drew her head down on his breast, and looked at her in the strained, thin light high overhead. He lost himself in the radiance of her eyes, the curves of her patient and tender mouth; he kissed her again, and was startled at the texture of her skin. Her hair was like a misty halo about her face; her eyes met his with a look which he could not comprehend, but which thrilled him beyond measure.... He had here theanswer to all his miserable perplexity. Never once during all the time he had known her had he held her like this. He hadn’t even had the sense to realise that he wished to do so. And not knowing this, he had known nothing. This ecstasy was the reason, was the very core and heart of the situation.
“I love you,” he said, with absolute conviction, absolute sincerity. She raised her head and gave him a sudden, fierce little kiss.
“What was thematterwith us this evening?” she cried. “How could we have been so stupid, after we’ve loved each other so long?”
It was just that, the long thwarting and crushing of their love, that had so wounded them both. That love, without a sign, without so much as a hand-clasp, starved, chilled, denied, had grown morose and fearful. It was only now, with her pitiful and lovely feminine gesture, that she had broken down the barrier between them. Their love had nothing to do with suitability and expediency, as known to them: it was suitable and expedient according to a plan older and subtler than the social one of which they were aware. They were the one man and the one woman. There was something between them indestructible and inexplicable, something sturdier and deeper than desire and yet whose root was in desire.
Rosaleen, thrilled and exultant as she was, was nevertheless a woman, and forever anxious.
“You’resure?” she asked. “You’resureI won’t ruin your life if I marry you?”
“I’m sure you’ll ruin my life if youdon’t!” he said.
They saw nothing but the life that lay before them: they had forgotten all that had gone by: they had forgotten the past, as much a part of their eternal existence as anything which might yet come.
THE END
For it not the love Lawrence meant.=> For it was not the love Lawrence meant. {pg 234}
beside which stook a great=> beside which stood a great {pg 240}