CHAPTER XXITHE UNLIT LAMP
IT was a decidedly nervous and shaken Selden who dressed for dinner that evening. For the first time in his life he had committed what is for a journalist the unpardonable sin—he had permitted his feelings to become involved in an affair which he had set himself to watch from the outside. He had ceased to be an observer and had become a participant.
Yet permitted was scarcely the word, for he seemed to have had no volition in the matter. He had been drawn in against his will. But, he told himself grimly, it was because his struggles to escape had been half-hearted. He might have saved himself had he heeded the first signals of danger. It was his cursed inability to make up his mind that had brought him to his present pass. He had dabbled with temptation—and now it was too late: the whirlpool had him!
No; that was not true either. Let him at least be man enough to be candid with himself: he could escape, even now, if he really wanted to. He had only to finish packing his bag, go to the station, get aboard the first train, and permit it to carry him away. But that was such a cowardly thing to do.
“Oh, own up, you idiot!” he groaned between his teeth. “It’s not because it is cowardly you don’t do it! Own up! It’s because you don’t want to escape!”
And, staring at himself in the glass, he realized that this was the truth—he had got down to it at last. He didn’t want to escape. It was finished. He might still struggle a little in an instinctive sort of way, but unless some power outside himself seized him and threw him clear....
Yes, and in that event he had the horrid consciousness that he would fight with all his strength against that power!
“What is it I am afraid of?” he asked himself. “The baron is right. A man is a fool not to seize happiness when it comes his way!”
If he could only have happiness without capitulation! If he could have love fighting at his side for some great ideal! That were to be blessed indeed. But if love should drag him down—well, even then, he would have love!
Why had the baron talked to him like that? Was it, perhaps, that he had some inkling.... And old Scott, too....
The sharp ringing of his telephone bell startled him out of his thoughts.
“This is Davis,” said the voice at the other end. “What are you doing to-night?”
“Nothing in particular,” Selden answered; the only thing he had definitely planned was to go to the club in the hope of finding Madame Ghita there.
“Then come up and have dinner with us.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“Madame Ghita, Miss Fayard and myself. We are having a dinner to celebrate a very special event—one in which you are particularly interested.”
“Where is the prince?” asked Selden.
“He can’t come until later—he just telephoned us not to wait for him—he has to sign some papers of some sort. Three would be deadly, and madame suggested that I ask you.”
Selden’s heart was beating like a drum. It was the Rubicon.
“Where is the dinner?” he asked, in a voice muffled by emotion.
“In madame’s apartment, here in the hotel—third floor. Will you come?”
“Please come, M. Selden!” said madame’s voice softly.
It was all over—he took the plunge.
“Of course I will come,” he said. “Thank madame for me.”
“Oh, you can thank her yourself,” said Davis, with a chuckle. “We will give you fifteen minutes.”
“All right,” Selden agreed, and placed the receiver back on its rack.
He gave a last critical look at himself, retied his tie, then caught up coat and hat, descended to the lobby and hurried out to the florist’s at the corner, where he bought two preposterously expensive bunches of roses. He paid for them with a thrill of satisfaction—for the first time in his life he was being foolish; he had cut loose from the moorings of common-sense; he had let himself go!
Flowers in hand, he hurried back to the hotel andpresented himself at the door of Madame Ghita’s apartment.
He was entirely cool, now; quite himself; and was able to present the flowers to the ladies and exchange the usual greetings without a tremor. Only he suspected an uncanny discernment in the long look Madame Ghita gave him as she thanked him for the roses.
She was looking incredibly lovely in a clinging gown of dark, wine-coloured velvet, without ornamentation, and as she moved away from him to place the roses in a vase and order dinner to be served, he drank in again the exquisite grace of her figure, the queenly pose of her head, the regal way in which she moved. And a sudden shaft of fear struck through him. How could he hope to win a woman like that!
She came back in a moment, and motioned them to table.
“Let us sit down,” she said. “You here at my left, M. Selden; you at my right, M. Davis; you there, Cicette.”
As they took their seats Selden saw that she had placed one of his roses in her bosom, and his hands began to tremble a little, in spite of his efforts to control them. He was grateful that Davis was babbling away excitedly.
“It was great for you to come, old man,” he said; “perfectly gorgeous. Imagine a dinner with an empty place!”
Selden chilled at the words. Yes, it was true; he was there in another man’s place; this apartment was another man’s apartment; this woman....
He had an impulse to rise—to run away. It was not at table only he was seeking to take another man’s place. The thought was almost more than he could bear.
“I had a premonition the place would be empty unless M. Selden consented to come,” said Madame Ghita softly.
Davis stared at her.
“But you were doubtful if he would....”
“I knew that M. Selden had many engagements,” said madame, her colour mounting a little. “Nevertheless, I permitted myself to hope.”
Selden felt his heart revive. So the place was really his!
“You are very good to me, madame,” he murmured, and then he caught Cicette’s eyes on him, very round and shining. Well, let the whole world see; he did not care!
But Davis was too engrossed in his own affairs to notice anything.
“I told you, you know,” he rattled on, “that this was a very special occasion. Confound it, I can’t keep it any longer!” he added, as Cicette made a motion to silence him, and he caught her hand and held it. “Waiter, fill the glasses! Selden, old man, I want you to drink to the health of the sweetest girl in the world—the future Madame Davis!” and he raised Cicette’s hand to his lips with more grace than Selden imagined he possessed.
“With all my heart!” cried Selden, deeply moved. “I congratulate you, Davis; and you also, mademoiselle.”
“Thank you,” said Davis, and held out his handacross the board. “You said that as though you meant to do it!”
“I do mean it. She is charming. She will make you a good wife. Take care that you make her a good husband.”
At that, the bride-to-be gave him her hand to kiss. “You also are very charming,” she said in rapid French, “and I hope that some day it will be my turn to wish you good fortune.” She glanced at Madame Ghita’s face, and suddenly sprang to her feet and ran around the table and kissed her. “You are a darling!” she whispered in her ear; “a big, big darling, the dearest of the world!”
Madame held her close for a moment, and then sent her back to her seat.
“You must be sensible,” she said.
“Oh, yes, I shall be sensible, do not fear,” Miss Fayard assured her. “And I shall try to be, as you say, monsieur, a good wife. But he has need of control, has he not? A strong hand, hein?”
“Truly,” agreed Selden; “a very strong hand. Do not hesitate to apply it, mademoiselle, right from the beginning!”
“See here,” protested Davis, “don’t talk so fast. Or speak English.”
“I also learn ze Eengleesh,” laughed Miss Fayard. “Oh, already I spik heem verree well. But ees eet not ridicule, ce nom-la—Madame Davees!”
“Well, it is going to be yours,” said Davis grimly, “so you’ll have to make the best of it. You understand,” he went on to Selden, “this is between ourselves as yet. We’ve got to square things with Mother before it’s announced.”
“She will never consent, never!” cried Miss Fayard, lapsing into her native tongue.
“Oh, yes, she will,” said Davis. “Old Selden has promised to help me. And if she doesn’t, it won’t make any difference. I’m of age. We won’t starve.”
Selden looked at him with interest; already he detected in him a new spirit. He was more of a man.
“Yes, I will help,” he said; “but whether your mother consents or not, you were right not to wait. There is a very great English poet,” he went on to Madame Ghita, “named Robert Browning—perhaps you have heard of him—and he was a great poet because he was first of all a great philosopher. One of his poems is about a man who loved the wife of another man, and she also loved him, and they decided to go away together and be happy. But first one thing intervened, and then another; the days slipped by, and the months and the years—before they knew it, age was upon them, their blood grew cold—it was too late.”
“Yes—and then?” asked Madame Ghita, who had been listening with shining eyes.
“Browning points out that their indecision, their cowardice, was far worse, far more damning, than if they had seized their happiness, though that was a crime, and he adds that a man should contend to the uttermost for his life’s set prize, be it what it will—vice or virtue—for the worst sin of all is ‘the unlit lamp and the ungirt loin.’”
“And he is right,” said madame in a low voice.
“Of course he is right—that is why I tell Davis he is wise to seize his happiness while it is withinreach. Whether his mother consents or not—that does not matter.”
“Is it true, then, monsieur,” asked the girl, who had been listening to all this with great eyes, “that in America one can marry without the consent of the parents?”
“But yes,” Selden assured her. “With us it makes no difference whether or not the parents consent. Many times they do not even know about it until after their children are married.”
“It is scarcely to be believed!”
“America, mademoiselle,” said Selden, whose spirit had suddenly lifted its wings within him, “is the land of youth, for youth, about youth. We are young; we permit our young people to tyrannize over us; our literature, our theatre, concerns itself only with their love affairs, which are always innocent and always end in a happy marriage. And in that marriage it is always the woman who dominates. The man is tolerated, because to a marriage a man is necessary; but he has only one function—to provide a pedestal upon which the woman may stand; and but one duty, to worship her all his life. He has promised to do so, and he must keep that promise, no matter how silly and useless he may find her to be. That is the convention, the proper thing, to which all good Americans subscribe.”
“I know! I know!” cried Cicette. “I have seen them—the man following his wife like a footman—a beast of burden.”
“Yes,” said Selden, laughing. “It is only in America the woman walks in front.”
“But there is one thing I cannot understand,”went on Cicette, “that there are so many American women who leave their husbands at home when they come to Europe.”
“Why not?” Selden demanded. “What need has the husband of culture or relaxation? His function is to earn the living.”
“But is it not dangerous? Those deserted husbands—do they not find some one....”
“Some of them do—but most of them just keep on toiling away. The American husband is incredibly docile and incredibly faithful.”
“So I do well to marry an American?”
“Undoubtedly!”
“And he does well to marry a Frenchwoman,” said Madame Ghita, “for, in spite of her gay manner, in spite of her apparent thoughtlessness, she is good and very serious at bottom. She will give herself to her husband utterly, without reservation; she will live only for his career; she will be ceaselessly vigilant for his interests; if he is ill, she will nurse him; if he has bad fortune, she will console him; she will herself prepare the dishes he likes to eat, happy to serve him....”
“Yes,” agreed Selden; “men are more precious over here, more cherished. You have always had more women than men. With us, as with every frontier nation, it has been the other way—and we still preserve the frontier tradition—it is the women who are at a premium!”
“It is deeper than that!” protested madame; “it is in the heart.”
“We also have women like that,” said Selden quietly; “women who would do anything for the manthey love. You do not see them over here—not often; they are too busy raising their children. They do not figure in the papers, for their life is spent in their homes. Only they demand more of a man than you do. They do not realize what half-tamed creatures we are, and sometimes they demand too much. I think you understand men better.”
“Ah, yes,” laughed Miss Fayard, shaking her finger at Davis. “We understand them! Never believe that I will not understand you! When you lie to me, I shall know it—but you will never suspect that I know—not until long, long afterwards. And then you will be very, very much ashamed!”
“All right,” said Davis, gazing at her in rapt adoration. “I am not afraid! Isn’t she a peach?” he added to Selden.
“Exquisite!” Selden agreed, suddenly sober. “Be good to her, old man!”
“You don’t need to tell me that!” said Davis quickly.
“Perhaps not. What are you going to do after you are married?”
“We’re going to take a trip around the world.”
“Yes—and after that?”
“Oh, settle down somewhere, I guess, and raise a family.”
“That will keep your wife busy, but not you. What areyougoing to do?”
“He will be a great politician!” cried Cicette.
Davis groaned.
“Not in America!”
“He is right,” said Selden, with a smile. “Withus it is not the same thing. Well, you must choose a career for him, mademoiselle, after you know him better; something to keep him busy part of the time, so that he won’t be annoying you all day long. I wish I had some one to choose a career for me!” he added.
Madame Ghita looked at him quickly, struck by something in his voice.
“You have your career,” she said; “a very wonderful one!”
“Do you think so?”
“But of course! Every one thinks so!” She was looking at him searchingly now, deeply concerned at what she saw in his face. “Do you mean it does not satisfy you?”
“It seems rather empty at times,” he confessed.
“Empty? But how is that possible? Oh, you are jesting!”
“I wish....”
A sudden commotion at the outer door interrupted him—the sound of a raised voice; and then the curtains were swept aside and Danilo burst into the room.
“I have come for you, Rénee!” he cried, with a wild gesture. “Hasten—I take you away to-night!”