CHAPTER IX
That all Hugh Benton’s problems were not concerned with his own troublesome heart where the fair Geraldine DeLacy was concerned, or with his daughter whose willfulness he feared might lead her into a marriage less desirable than the one he hoped for with Paul Bronlee, came home to him in a cataclysmic rush a few days later when Howard, his son, appeared on the immediate horizon. Howard had been so long at college that Hugh had got into the habit of thinking of him as merely a financial annoyance, the personal equation of which was luckily distant. There was not much affection between the two. There could not have been, since Hugh Benton had seen his son so rarely during those portions of his vacation the young man chose to spend in his home. But Hugh Benton never forgot his fatherly duties. He remembered that Howard was his son. And how, indeed, was he to forget it after that blithe and dashing young man had been home from college for a few weeks.
It was shortly after the Thurston dance that Howard had been graduated. It had been rather as much of a surprise to Howard that this had been accomplished as it had to anyone else—nevertheless, it had been done. He had flunked in everything the beginning of the term, but mysteriously he had managed to get through by an amazingly close margin.
Marjorie was very proud of her son. Mother-like, she overlooked all of his faults—saw him only through eyes of love, and did not attempt to look beneath the surface. To his father, though, Howard was not a young god. He saw him as he was: egotistical, reckless, a selfish young spendthrift.
Hugh called him into the library one evening after he had had time to consider the young man’s case.
“I want to have a little talk with you, Howard,” he told his son with a firmness that presaged no casual talk.
“All right, Dad, see that it is alittletalk, as I have a date in town.” Howard dropped lazily on the davenport, extracted a cigarette from his new platinum case and blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling.
The parent eyed his offspring critically. He was considering him from all angles. Handsome enough, he thought, and there was self-satisfaction in his recognition of his own features in those of his sprawling son. But another thought came to drive away pleasure in any personal appearance.
“And insolent, too,” was the further thought, and an ominous frown accompanied the mental comment. But when he spoke aloud, it was slowly and with the dignity he always used when addressing Howard. He indicated the sprawling attitude.
“I prefer to have you sit up while I talk,” he said with unmistakable reproof, “and as for your—er—date—it will have to wait.”
“I say—” Howard began, but as he caught sight of his father’s stern countenance, he slowly straightened out of his reclining position, and sat waiting.
“Howard,” Hugh went directly to the point, “I haven’t been at all satisfied with your conduct during your three years at college——”
“Why, what’s the matter?” Howard’s tone conveyed genuine surprise. “Didn’t I graduate?”
“You did. God only knows how. Neither Professor Anderson nor I have been able to fathom it.”
Howard flushed angrily: “Maybe you think I cheated?”
“I am so glad that you’re through I don’t believe I care how you managed it. You know without my having to tell you how you wasted your time; but I didn’t call you in here to discuss past performances or lecture you. I merely want to know what you intend doing now that you are a college graduate and have fully satisfied your mother’s ambitions?” Hugh himself did not realize the tinge of bitterness in his voice.
“Doing? Just what do you mean by that, Dad?”
“Do you care to come into the office with me,” Hugh answered, “or would you rather go to work for one of my friends?”
“Work!” Howard sat up like a shot. Amazement rang in his voice. “Surely, Dad, you don’t expect me to work!”
“Well, what do you expect to do, now that you can’t go to school any longer?” Hugh remembered his cherished dignity and sought to control himself, but with ill success.
“Why, you have so much money, Dad, I thought I’d just be a—a gentleman.”
Hugh turned fiercely. His anger had leapt bounds. “A gentleman?” he sneered. “You mean, you want to be a good-for-nothing idler. Well, I won’t stand for it—do you hear—I won’t stand for it!”
Howard languidly lighted a fresh smoke. “Any need to get so excited?”
All semblance of dignity gone by this goading of his nonchalant, indifferent heir, Hugh Benton towered over him, an apoplectic flush on his usually calm face.
“Yes!” he shouted. “Yes! To hear you talk of being a ‘gentleman’—would you infer that I am not one? Have I been too good to work? To hand out money to you hand over fist to gratify your mother’s desire for you to be college-bred? And now what do I get! You sit there calmly and announce your intention of being a ‘gentleman!’ You, who have cost a small fortune to put through college, to say nothing of the escapades I’ve had to get you out of——”
Hugh’s explosion ended in a splutter. Howard coolly blew another exact smoke ring into the air. He almost yawned in his intense boredom as he answered:
“Haven’t I heard you say, Dad, that there is no use in going over past performances?”
“What else is there to do when you propose going on the same way?” Hugh calmed himself to better his argument. “I can’t help saying, too, that your lack of respect and air of impertinence surprise me,” he added coldly.
“I didn’t mean to be impertinent, Dad, honestly I didn’t—only this rôle of the stern parent is so foreign and unbecoming to you, that it strikes me as a sort of joke. You’ve always been such a good fellow, and regular pal. However, I’ll come into the office with you, if you wish,” he added condescendingly.
“Very well, report at nine o’clock Monday morning—I’ll have Bryson assign some work to you.” And it was Hugh who turned away abruptly, ending the argument.
“I’ll be there,” Howard assured, magnanimously. At the door, he turned suddenly: “Say, Dad, how about the roadster you promised me when I was through college. Can I have it?”
“Yes,” Hugh answered listlessly. “Order it whenever you please.”
“Thanks, Dad, you’re great!” And Howard ran upstairs, whistling the air of a popular song.
For a few moments Hugh paced about the room; then, coming to a sudden standstill, he threw back his head and laughed bitterly. “What is theuse?” he murmured. “If I attempt to reason with my children, they become insufferably insolent, or else they endeavor to win me over with subtle flattery.”
The jangle of the telephone bell on his desk startled him.
“Is this Mr. Benton?” a sweetly low voice came over the wire.
“Yes.”
“This is Geraldine DeLacy, Mr. Benton.”
“How do you do, Mrs. DeLacy,” he replied, but he was not unconscious of the quickening of his heart.
“I fear you have forgotten me. Don’t you remember promising to arrange for me to call at your office?”
“Forgotten you, Mrs. DeLacy! You suggest an impossibility. On the contrary I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Do you happen to be at leisure to-morrow?”
“Why yes—I—” she began, but in his masterful way Hugh Benton took matters in his own hands.
“Well, then, suppose we say eleven-thirty, at my office, and after our little business conference, perhaps you will do me the honor to lunch with me?”
“I shall be delighted.”
“Thank you,” he murmured, as he hung up the receiver, Geraldine’s musical “good-by” singing in his ears.
When Hugh entered the breakfast room the next morning, he found all the members of his family at the table. This was an occurrence so unusual as to cause surprise. Of late years while the children were away at school, Marjorie and Hugh breakfasted together on an average of about once a month. Since Elinor’s return, she had ordered her tray sent up at least five mornings out of seven, and Howard had not shown himself one morning in the few days that he had been home. Therefore, Hugh’s inquiring glance was to be expected.
“Good morning,” he said, as he pulled out his watch. It was just 9:30. “What a lot of early birds!”
Marjorie laid aside the letter she was reading as she answered: “Good morning, Hugh. I don’t believe I am any earlier than usual. I breakfast every morning regularly at 9:15.”
“I wasn’t referring to you, Marjorie,” Hugh laughed good-naturedly. “I know your life is one long martyrdom of punctuality.”
“Your sarcasm isn’t especially appreciated, Hugh.” Marjorie flushed deeply, as she resumed the reading of her mail.
“I hadn’t the slightest intention of being sarcastic, my dear Marjorie,” he replied, seating himself at the table and reaching for his folded paper, “but as usual, you prefer to misconstrue my meaning.”
“Good morning, Dad,” Elinor interrupted, anxious to prevent a needless argument. “You’re looking fine, and you’re all dressed up. Is that a new suit?”
“Practically new. I’ve had it about a month, but this is the first time I’ve worn it.”
“Well, it is vastly becoming, and your shirt and tie harmonize beautifully.”
“Maybe Dad has a date,” Howard interposed mischievously.
“Howard, flippancy is distasteful to me,” Marjorie again looked up from her letter to reprove coldly.
“Why all this discussion?” Hugh demanded. “I happen to wear a new suit, a thing I have done innumerable times without causing the slightest comment, and for some unknown reason the family proceed to hold a conference terminating in a general wrangle.”
“I’m sure I meant it all right, Dad. I don’t see why Howard had to interfere—I wish he’d mind his own business,” Elinor remarked peevishly.
“Oh, is that so?” Howard returned. “You think you’re mighty clever, don’t you? I’ve as much right to speak as you have, and I’ll tell you one——”
“Children—children!” Marjorie intervened.
“Well this apleasantlittle party,” Hugh exploded, throwing down his paper in disgust. “If I had dreamt that things were going to be so agreeable, I’d have had my breakfast in town. You must have all stepped out on the wrong side of the bed. It evidently doesn’t agree with you to rise so early. Anyway, what happens to be the occasion?”
“I’m anxious to get into town to order my roadster,” Howard replied. “Will you give me a lift, as far as the Circle, Dad?”
Hugh nodded absent-mindedly. “And you, Elinor?” he asked.
“Oh, I have an early appointment—one of the girls I knew at Miss Grayson’s is visiting some friends in New York, and I am going to spend the day with her.”
“Who is she?” Marjorie inquired, coldly concerned. She had not yet accustomed herself to Elinor’s doing as she pleased without consulting her.
“You don’t know her, mother, so there wouldn’t be any use in my telling you.” Elinor tossed her head defiantly.
“Just the same,” Marjorie began, “I want to know.”
Hugh arose hastily. “Come on, Howard, if you want to ride into town with me,” he called. It was plain he was anxious to escape from listening to one of Marjorie’s catechisms.
“Righto, Dad,” answered the boy. “Try to improve your disposition, Sis,” he called back over his shoulder. “I’m going to get a swell roadster, and you may want to ride with me.”
“Howard,” Hugh began, as soon as they were seated in the car, and headed for town, “how is it that you and Elinor can’t be together half an hour without quarreling?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Howard sulked. “She always starts things.”
“You should remember that she is a woman, and women are nearly always difficult enigmas,” Hugh sighed rather deeply.
“You must be right, Dad,” Howard’s voice was full of sympathy. “I know you’re speaking from experience.”
“What do you mean by that?”
To which Howard replied, innocently enough: “Why Elinor and I were discussing you the other evening, and we agreed that you must have a pretty tough time of it, trying to hit it off with mother.”
Hugh fidgeted uneasily. “I don’t see what could have given you that impression,” he said.
“Oh everything. You’re such a real sport, Dad, and mother is,” Howard waxed confidential, “so very——”
“Stop!” Hugh commanded. “Your attempting to criticise your mother to me is very bad taste, Howard. I must refuse to listen to you.”
“All right, Dad. Here’s where I get out!” He called to the chauffeur to stop. “But,” and there was unmistakable meaning in the eyes of the son, “I’m all for you, and you know it.”
Hugh leaned back and closed his eyes as his car whirled toward his office.
“Even my children pity me,” he meditated resentfully. “What a mess Marjorie and I have made of things!” But it was a commentary on the changed Hugh Benton that only for one solitary moment did he blame himself. Surely, he reflected morosely, Marjorie was anything but a successful wife or mother.
At precisely 11:30 his clerk announced Mrs. DeLacy. She swept into the room gracefully, and extended her hand. “Good morning,” she said brightly. “I think you will find me exactly on time.”
Hugh glanced at the clock. “To the minute,” he answered, taking the offered hand. “You are one of earth’s rarities—a punctual woman.”
“You would consider me very unappreciative if I kept you waiting,” she smiled, as she sank languidly into the easy chair which Hugh had drawn up for her.
Sitting opposite her, his arms folded across his chest, Hugh stared at her approvingly. She seemed neither to notice nor resent the scrutiny as she chattered on for a few moments about commonplaces. She was bewitchingly charming to-day, he thought. Her dress, a symphony in brown from head to foot, was flattering in the extreme.
With reluctance, the man forced himself to recall that Mrs. DeLacy’s visit was on business. There was so much more he would rather talk to her about. But then he remembered that it would be to her advantage—that it was in his power to aid her. He pulled a pad of paper toward him and dipped his pen into the wrought bronze ink-well on his shining desk.
“Let us get down to business,” he said abruptly. “Tell me just how much money you have, how it is invested, and all the particulars.”
“I have so little, I’m almost ashamed to mention it. It’s so good of you to bother with me at all,” she replied. She reached into her bag, extracted a number of papers and placed them upon his desk.
In short order he had made a note of everything. Placing the memorandum in his desk’s drawer, he said bluntly: “Leave it all to me, my dear Mrs. DeLacy. It won’t take long to double or triple your money for you.”
“How powerful you are,” she murmured admiringly, “and how wonderful to have found such a friend!”
“Thank you.” He found himself blushing. “And now, where shall we go for luncheon?”
“I don’t know,” Geraldine stammered confusedly. “We must be discreet—people are so unkind—especially to a widow. Can’t you suggest some place where we wouldn’t be apt to meet anyone who knows us?”
“If you don’t object to a little ride, I think I know the very place,” was the prompt reply. “It is an inn on the road to Jamaica. I have stopped there on my way to the races.”
“Splendid,” she enthused. “The ride will give us an appetite, and I adore inns.”
“You had better go down ahead of me,” he said. “I will join you in a few moments after I give my clerk some instructions for the afternoon. We will go out in a taxi—my chauffeur—you know——”
“I understand,” she saved him from further embarrassment. “You are more than considerate, and I appreciate your kind protection. I’ll wait below.”
But Hugh Benton could not see the exultation in her eyes, nor know her no less exultant thoughts as she rode down in the elevator.
At Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street, they were halted by congested traffic.
Fate, or the imp that has so much joy in arranging just such contretemps must have laughed with glee that day when Marjorie Benton had felt the urge to go into town shopping. And it was that same imp who must have led her out onto the sidewalk to her waiting limousine just at the moment that a taxi halted in front of her,—and in that taxi were Geraldine DeLacy and Hugh Benton—a different Hugh than she had known in a long time herself, a Hugh so raptly attentive to his handsome companion, so joyously laughing at her witty sallies, so light-hearted that his attention did not swerve for one single moment to the pathetic figure on the sidewalk, an unattractive figure at best in her gray gown of severe cut.
Marjorie Benton’s knees almost gave way under her at the sight. It was only her indomitable will power that helped her survive the shock. Realizing at once that they had not seen her, a thing for which she was truly grateful, she slipped back into the entrance of the store and from that concealed position, gazed with uncontrollable fascination at the two before her. Her eyes were blinded with tears she could not force back, but her cheeks burned with indignation.
The traffic officer flashed the signal and the taxi vanished from sight. Still Marjorie remained rooted to the spot. Strange as it may seem, through all the years of estrangement, she had never once associated Hugh with deception of any kind. Somehow, she had always believed he would remain the gentleman she had married.
Struggling to regain her composure, she summoned her car to be driven home. Lowering the shades, she sat wearily down upon the luxuriously upholstered seat. The mere rocking of the car caused her to place her hands to her wildly throbbing temples. A hot uprush of jealousy not unmingled with scorn overwhelmed her. How was she to bear it, was the one thought that run frantically through her head. An overburdening sense of inexpressible bitterness against the woman began to manifest itself within her. Could the sensation of dislike and mistrust with which she always encountered Geraldine DeLacy have been a presentiment? The all-important question was: What should she do? If she went to him and told him what she had seen, he would probably face her calmly and say: “I warned you, Marjorie, that I should seek my happiness wherever it presented itself.” She could not leave him. That would leave an indelible stain upon Elinor and Howard just as they were being launched forth into the sea of aristocracy. There was under the circumstances only one thing left for her to do, and that was willfully to close her eyes and stoically endure this, and presumably more insults to follow. It would not be so very difficult for her to disguise her feelings. She and Hugh had arrived at the point in their lives where they merely exchanged conventional civilities.
By the time the car reached home, she had her emotions under control. Going directly to her own room, she removed her wraps and methodically put everything where it belonged in her usual manner, hoping thereby to regain composure sufficient to enable her calmly to review the situation and reach a more logical decision.
It was late in the afternoon when she calmly walked to the telephone, called the Thurston home and asked to speak with Mrs. DeLacy.
“Yes, this is Mrs. DeLacy,” Geraldine drawled. “Who is this, please?”
“Mrs. DeLacy,” Marjorie answered, her voice distinct and serene, while her heart throbbed, “this is Mrs. Benton. I have a request to make of you.”
“Why—Mrs. Benton,” Geraldine with difficulty disguised her surprise. It was the first time Mrs. Benton had deigned to telephone her. “What can I do for you?”
“Will you call to see me to-morrow, and give me a few minutes of your time. There is something I wish to discuss with you. I would come to you only the matter is quite confidential, and I think we shall be freer from interruption here.”
“You fill me with curiosity, Mrs. Benton. I shall be glad to come, only to-morrow happens to be a very busy day for me. As long as it is to be a short interview, will it be convenient for you to see me at six o’clock, on my way home from a five o’clock tea at the Woodsons?”
“That will be all right. I shall expect you at six to-morrow. Good-by—and—thank you,” Marjorie added reluctantly.
Geraldine hung up the receiver in a marked state of disconcertion. What in the world could Marjorie Benton wish to see her about? She had never telephoned to her before. In fact, she had barely treated her with formal civility when they happened to meet. She couldn’t understand why she should be at all perturbed unless perhaps it was a twinge of conscience. At all events she would put it from her until to-morrow. No doubt it was something concerning Elinor—she knew that Marjorie strongly disapproved of their intimacy. Well, she——
The dinner gong interrupted any further soliloquy. She hurried down to the dining room. The Thurstons were having guests for dinner, one of whom she was most desirous of knowing, a wealthy, distinguished bachelor. True, she had had a remarkably interesting start with Hugh Benton, but after all, he was married, so it could do no harm to exert her affability in Mr. Tilmar’s direction. One could never tell just what might happen. She could not afford to allow a single opportunity to escape her.
Marjorie Benton was satisfied. She had carefully debated all afternoon, and had finally concluded that her only course lay in facing Geraldine DeLacy. She would be different from other women and come out into the open. Perhaps she could reach the DeLacy woman’s sense of honor. At all events, she would not permit her to imagine that she was a poor, deceived wife, the victim of a cheap and tawdry triangle. Those things were all very well on the stage—but in real life—Well, she would handle the situation differently.
All the next day, she rehearsed in her mind just what she would say, and at a few minutes past six, when Griggs announced Mrs. DeLacy she was calmly waiting for her.
Geraldine entered apologetically: “Am I a few minutes late, Mrs. Benton? My dressmaker detained me this afternoon, and consequently I was tardy with all my engagements.”
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. DeLacy.” Marjorie motioned to her to be seated. “I should have come to you, but as I told you, when I telephoned, I thought it would be easier to arrange a private interview here.”
“How interesting. Sounds as if it were to be quite confidential.” Geraldine sank languidly into a comfortable chair and extracted a cigarette from her case. “Have one? Oh—I forgot—you never indulge. No objections to my having a puff or two, I hope? It rests my nerves so—after I’ve been rushing about.”
Marjorie merely nodded. The insolence of the woman was almost unbearable.
“Well, now, Mrs. Benton, what is this secret? I am fairly consumed with curiosity. Is it about Elinor? I hope the dear child has not been,—well—let us say—indiscreet?”
“I am perfectly capable of managing my daughter myself, Mrs. DeLacy—and I would hardly send for you to advise me concerning her,” Marjorie answered freezingly.
“Why is it, Mrs. Benton, that you dislike me so?” Geraldine faced her squarely. “From the moment of our first meeting, you have shown me plainly just how you feel toward me.”
“You’re right,” Marjorie realized that without undue maneuvering, the cards were on the table, “I never liked you—you will pardon me for having to say this in my own house—indeed, I mistrusted and disliked you, but I never feared you, until yesterday—because I have always had faith in my husband.”
“Your husband?”
“I was shopping on the avenue yesterday, and I saw you and my husband in a cab. I immediately hailed another and—followed you!” Marjorie felt the blood mounting to her cheeks, and she turned her head in order to conceal her embarrassment as she brought this bit of strategy into play. “So you see there isn’t any use for you to deny it.”
“So that’s it.” Geraldine DeLacy threw away her cigarette and faced her accuser defiantly. “Well, there isn’t anything for me to deny. I called at Mr. Benton’s office on business. He is a broker and attending to some of my affairs—surely I have a right to employ his services. It happened to be lunch time and he invited me to go with him. I must confess that I am surprised to think that the honorable Mrs. Benton has stooped to spying.”
Marjorie was struggling for calmness.
“I’d do more than that, Mrs. DeLacy,” she said, with feverish meaning. “I’d fight to the bitter end for the man I love.”
“You love?” Geraldine’s laugh ended in a sneer. “Why, you don’t know what love means—you, with your haughty air of superiority—your repellent coldness. What can you mean to any man—particularly a man like Hugh Benton?”
Marjorie faced her proudly: “Something that no other woman in the world means—I am the mother of his children.”
Geraldine coolly lighted another cigarette. She seemed to be considering. “When two people reach the climax in their lives, when they mean as little to one another as you two,” she commented insultingly, “then even children do not count.”
“What do you know concerning our lives?”
Geraldine’s shrug was expressive, and she half yawned in a bored manner.
“What everybody else knows,” she enlightened, “that you are mismated—that you haven’t an idea in common—that your husband believes in living while you have stayed at home—and—well,—” She eyed her rival insolently from head to foot,—“have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror? When Hugh Benton told me he was four years your senior I wouldn’t believe it. You’re more like his mother. Why, you’re forty years old, Marjorie Benton, and I’m thirty-six—yes—I know I tell everybody I’m twenty-six (I’ve been taken for twenty-three)that’sthe difference between us. I’m being brutally frank with you because I want to show you how impossible it is for you to hold your husband.”
Marjorie gulped as the stinging words flayed her.
“Perhaps all you say is true, Mrs. DeLacy,” she admitted slowly. “I may be as you say—decidedly unattractive,—but I do know that until you came into my husband’s life, I was the only woman in it.”
“How ridiculous,” Geraldine laughed. “You mean I am the only one you happen to think you know about.”
“It is useless for me to waste words with you.” Marjorie Benton, usually so calm, so cool, so complete mistress of herself, lost all control in this crisis. She spoke bitterly. “I can never bring you to see things from my viewpoint, and I could never stoop to your level to discuss them.”
“Stop!” Geraldine commanded angrily as she hurriedly rose. “You may go a bit too far—even with me, Mrs. Benton. I came here at your request, and have submitted calmly to your insults because, in my heart, I pity you! But I refuse to allow you to presume any further. Up to now your husband has simply been my friend and counselor. But he cares for me—I know he does—and I shall act accordingly!”
Marjorie eyed her disdainfully. “So it’s threats, now!”
“Merely fair warning.” Gaining confidence in herself each moment, Geraldine DeLacy was twisting the iron.
“Then you will deliberately step in between husband and wife?”
For her, Marjorie Benton was almost pleading, but her plea was made to a woman soulless, caring only for what might best further her own interests.
“I cannot come into Hugh Benton’s life,” answered that woman, weighing each word with cruel deliberation, “unless he is willing for me to do so—therefore, I think the matter rests entirely with him, and neither you nor I have a right to discuss it.”
Mrs. Hugh Benton, her self-control all miraculously returned, an unaccustomed red spot on either pale cheek, rose in all her dignity.
“Your impertinence, Mrs. DeLacy,” she commented dryly, “is beyond comprehension. I regret exceedingly having requested you to call, but having done so, I now request you to leave!”
CHAPTER X
As though at the prearranged signal of the same imp that had been taking such a hand in Marjorie Benton’s affairs, it was at this dramatic moment that Hugh Benton entered the room. He was mystified, worried, at what he saw; uneasy, too, at seeing the woman he believed he had come to love in an obvious altercation with his wife.
Two angry women, almost too intent on their own belligerency to notice his appearance, faced each other. His own wife, those two angry red spots on her white withered cheeks, stood like some accusing goddess with hand pointing to the door, her eyes never leaving those dark flaming ones of Geraldine DeLacy. What could it mean? Had Hugh’s conscience been a clear one, he could not have been more dumfounded at the scene that greeted him.
It was Geraldine DeLacy who saw him first. She turned to him appealingly, her eyes asking for sympathy and understanding. She laughed nervously as she answered the question he had not found voice to form.
“Your wife has just requested me to leave, Mr. Benton,” she told him.
“Requested you to leave? Why Marjorie,” Hugh turned to his wife perturbed, “what does this mean?”
“I prefer not to discuss it now, Hugh.” Marjorie replied as calmly as she could. “I will explain to you—when we are alone.”
Geraldine flared angrily. “Well, I will explain it to him now,” she cried. “Your wife sent for me, Mr. Benton, to accuse me of luring you away from her. She happened to see us driving together yesterday, and immediately reached her own conclusion. I have never been so grossly insulted in my life.”
More confused than ever, Hugh searched for words.
“I can’t believe it,” was his inconsequential reply. “Marjorie, you must be insane to do a thing like this. I demand that you apologize to Mrs. DeLacy at once.”
Trembling from head to foot, white as death, Marjorie Benton drew herself up to her fullest height. One long, searching look she turned on each and it was still with the dignity of the avenger that she turned and swept from the room.
Hugh stared after her in utter astonishment. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. DeLacy, I’m sure you know that,” he said, in pained confusion. “I can’t understand it. The only thing I can do is to apologize to you for Mrs. Benton.”
“Please don’t say a word, Mr. Benton.” The change in Geraldine DeLacy was an instantaneous one. A light of mirth danced in the eyes that had been so wrathful, the hard voice purred. “It is you of whom I am thinking. You don’t know how I feel for you. I don’t believe Mrs. Benton realized what she was doing. She was just beside herself—I can only pity her.”
“You are indeed generous,” he murmured.
“It must be a dreadful thing,” she said so softly that she might have been thinking aloud, “for a woman to feel that the man she cares for, is slipping away from her, even though she is to blame.”
“Understanding as usual,” was Hugh’s admiring comment, “but,” and the words tumbled over themselves in their eagerness to be voiced, “why is it, I wonder, that life always holds just one thing from us to make our happiness complete? I’ve had more than my share of good fortune in all things except the love and companionship—and——”
“You’re just in the prime of life,” answered the woman dreamily. “Who knows what may be waiting for you—just around the corner?”
She turned toward the door, but stopped to smile, as she observed: “I’m staying at home to-morrow evening—alone. The family are going to a concert which would bore me to death.”
“You may look for me about eight-thirty,” was the man’s quick answer. “I am anxious to have you expound more of your marvelous philosophy.”
She held out her hand. “I think you will find that we have many thoughts in common. Good-by.”
In her car, homeward bound, Geraldine DeLacy reflected exultingly. Fate had brought about the very situation she longed for but would have found difficult to arrange. How fortunate for her that she had held herself discriminatingly aloof at the luncheon yesterday. Hugh could only judge her to be a greatly wronged and unjustly accused woman. She congratulated herself again and again upon her cleverness in assuming the attitude of magnanimous generosity. His admiration and respect she knew she had attained, and she would determine upon her next move to-morrow night.
With Mrs. DeLacy gone, Hugh Benton lost no time in searching out his wife. He went directly to her room. He opened the door unceremoniously and walked in. Marjorie was seated in a rocker by the window, her eyes inflamed and swollen with weeping. She glanced up surprisedly as Hugh entered—quite an unusual thing for him to do without knocking.
“I suppose you have come to apologize,” she faltered, “for the dreadful way in which you humiliated me.”
“Apologize!” he fairly exploded. “I should say not—I have come to ask you how you dared to insult Mrs. DeLacy in that manner?”
“So that’s it!” Marjorie bounded to her feet. “You should be ashamed to mention her name in my presence—your——”
Something in his eyes forbade her finishing the sentence as it had been intended, but she went on, instead: “A woman who comes into my life for the sole purpose of wrecking it—I wasn’t afraid to face her with the truth.”
“But that’s just it,” thundered the husband, “it wasn’t the truth.”
Marjorie Benton laughed her hard laugh. She dropped into the chair from which she had risen, but her hand trembled as she searched for a magazine. Her thin shoulders shrugged, her eyebrows lifted. “So?” she inquired coolly. “Then perhaps I spoke just in time to prevent it from ever becoming—the truth.”
Hugh stared at her in blank amazement. “Marjorie, I believe you are going insane—it is so utterly ridiculous for me to attempt even to argue with you.”
With no further word, he rushed from the room, colliding with Howard at the door, and almost knocking him over.
“Good evening, Dad—you’re just the one I want to see. I’ve got my car. Come down to the garage and——”
Hugh brushed by his son without deigning to reply. Howard pursed his lips in a long whistle.
“Gee whiz, mother—what’s eating Dad?” he asked, as he gently pushed open his mother’s door. “Have you been telling him tales about me?”
“No, dear, I haven’t mentioned you.” The mother’s reply was listless.
“Well, what’s wrong with him—he didn’t even answer me, and almost threw me off my feet! I was going to ask him—” He stopped short at a sudden idea. “I say, mother,” he urged, “what’s the matter with you doing it? Come on downstairs with me for a few moments—I want to show you something.”
“I am very tired and nervous, dear,” Marjorie replied wearily. “Can’t you explain what it is without my having to go downstairs?”
But the boy was insistent. “Oh, come on, mother,” he coaxed, taking hold of her arm. “I’ve just got to show it to someone, and you’re the only one home.”
Something pulled violently at Marjorie’s heart-strings, as a flood of tender recollections surged through her. She could see Howard again as a tiny boy tugging at her apron and coaxing for a lollypop. After all, he was only an overgrown, handsome boy—and her own. Obeying a sudden impulse, she placed her arms tenderly about him.
“Do you love me very much, Howard?” she asked.
Having spent so much time away from home, attending boarding school and college, Howard had experienced little real affection. For his father he possessed a great admiration. He enjoyed being designated as the son of Hugh Benton, the Wall Street magnate, and he also knew that he owed his ability to indulge in many extravagances to his father’s generosity. His mother, in his eyes, had always been a nice old lady, rather impossible and aggravating at times. He had often wondered, he was forced to admit, why a handsome, distinguished man like his father had ever married such an old-fashioned, plain woman.
He was perceptibly embarrassed at his mother’s unexpected query, but an innate kindness and generosity of which he knew little himself, bade him return her caress with a gentle pressure as he told her with careless tenderness:
“Why, of course, I love you, mother—why shouldn’t I? But come on down—be a real sport.” Gently he took her arm, hurried her down the stairs and out to the yard.
“Look,” he said proudly, “isn’t she a beauty!”
Standing in the garage was an expensive, high-class bright red roadster.
“My new present from Dad,” he explained.
“How did you get it so quickly?” Marjorie asked. “It was only yesterday morning that I heard you say you were going to order it.” Then she added, dubiously, as she walked nearer and eyed it critically: “This must have been very expensive,” she said, noticing the make.
“Well, Dad didn’t limit me; he simply told me I could have a car, so I thought I might as well get one of the best.” Howard took it as a matter of course.
“Your father always indulges both Elinor and you to a ridiculous extent,” his mother demurred.
“Dad’s all right!” Howard bristled up. “And if you’d take a tip from me, mother, you’d try to spruce up a bit and be a little more companionable to him, or some ‘chicken’ will be stealing him away from you one of these days.”
Marjorie turned ghastly as she clutched at the car for support. Could it be possible that Howard knew something, and was trying to warn her? No, she decided, as she glanced up and saw that he was busily engaged examining the engine, and not paying the slightest attention to what he had said. It was only a chance remark, but oh, how the thrust had gone home!
Marjorie Benton looked at this handsome boy who was her own son, her flesh and blood. A surge of deep feeling came over her. Why, he was no longer a boy! He was a man—her son, one to comfort and cherish her. A thought which brought the quick blood to her face, so foreign was it to her usual restraint and the way she had come to bear her burdens silently overwhelmed her. Why not tell Howard? Why not ask his aid?
She walked slowly over to the youth who was whistling as he patted the smooth shining hood of his new toy as though it were a living feeling thing, and placed her hand on his arm. Howard looked up quickly, but something he saw in his mother’s eyes brought a remonstrance to his lips.
“Why, mother—dear—what is it?” he asked. “You look so queer!”
The mother’s smile was wan.
“I feel queer, dear,” she admitted. “The whole world looks queer. Howard, my son, I must tell you something. Your father and I have quarreled and I’m afraidseriously.”
“So that is what was wrong with him,” Howard whistled again, but there was relief in his voice as he added, carelessly: “Well, why should he take it out on me—I can’t help it if you two can’t hit it off together—can I?”
“Oh, Howard!” Marjorie shuddered. “How can you——”
“Now, don’t you go and misunderstand me, mater—but what’s the use of being so serious? You’ve quarreled many times before, and it always blows over.”
“But this is different. Whenever we’ve quarreled before, it has always been over you or Elinor—or places to go, or people to entertain—but this time it is a—woman!” Shame brought the last word out barely above a whisper.
“A woman!—Not Dad?” Howard laughed. “Who would have believed it? How did you catch him?”
“Howard,” Marjorie struggled with her choking sobs, “pleasetry to understand—can’t you see—my heart is breaking. I haven’t anyone in the world to turn to but you. You’re a man, dear, I—I thought perhaps you can help me or advise me?”
Howard’s face became grave. “I’m sorry, mother,” he begged, “forgive me. Of course, I’ll help you all I can. Who is this woman?”
“I’d rather not tell you her name.”
“Is she young and pretty?”
“She’s only four years younger than I,” was the sad answer, “but you would take her for a girl—and she is very pretty.”
Howard seemed to be considering the matter seriously. When he spoke it was with carefully chosen words.
“Mater, do you mind if I hand it to you straight from the shoulder?” he asked bluntly.
“Say whatever you wish,” she replied.
“Well then,” he said, and he could not help but see his mother’s wince of pain as her own son went on, “this is all your own fault. You’ve never been willing to go anywhere with Dad; you won’t keep yourself young for him. Why, he’s just like a boy! Whenever we go out together, everyone thinks he’s my brother. If he can’t find the companionship he needs in his own home, he is bound to seek it on the outside.”
“But Howard,” demurred Marjorie weakly, “I don’t believe in cabarets, and musical comedies, and it seems silly to fix up like a girl of twenty. I don’t believe in trying to make myself young.”
“But mother, you are young,” Howard persisted. “Why don’t you say—‘to hell with my beliefs! My husband’s love is the only thing that counts.’ ”
“Why—Howard—” Marjorie was shocked, but pleased nevertheless.
“Beat this other woman to it,” Howard was speaking in the sage manner of a man of the world. “Get the right kind of clothes—fix yourself up, and then do a little vamping on your own account and just see what happens.”
“Oh—I wonder—if I could,” she murmured.
“Of course, you could—take it from me, mother! You can hold your own with any woman, if you just buckle up a bit. Well, I’m going to take a spin around the block and then go downtown.” Howard Benton had been serious long enough for one day. He hesitated, then, “I wonder, mater—could you spare fifty—I’m awfully low in funds?” he wheedled.
“Yes, dear,” she answered dreamily, “come with me to my room.”
Upstairs she extracted a number of bills from her purse. “There’s a hundred for you,” she said, handing them to him.
“Thanks awfully!” The boy kissed her, and walked to the door. Something urged him to turn. His mother was looking at him with eyes filled with longing. He grinned at her cheerily. “And I say, mother,” he offered, “ask me anything you wish to know—I’m the best little advisor you ever met. Good-night.”
Marjorie Benton locked her door, walked straight to her dressing table, and sitting down before the mirror, gazed at herself long and intently. It was time for an inventory. But even she was shocked at what she saw.
Surely, she thought, that pale, drawn face with its drooping mouth, lusterless eyes and severely arranged hair didn’t belong to her! She had been pretty and attractive once, she knew.
“Buckle up a bit.”
The words seemed to stand out before her in letters of fire. Perhaps Howard had been the instrument by which her problem would be solved. She would try it at any rate. Probably when Hugh saw her looking as other women, he would lose all desire for anyone else and she would regain her place in his heart.
It was a new Marjorie, one rejuvenated and enthused who hastened down the corridor to Elinor’s room, where she found Marie, her daughter’s maid, mending a party frock.
“Marie, will you help me a little?” she stammered in evident embarrassment.
Marjorie had never possessed a maid of her own. She could not be bothered with someone fumbling about her, and besides, her style was so simple she had always declared. It was different with Elinor. She had written to her father asking that a maid be installed for her before she returned from school. Marie arose and put aside her work.
“Oui, Madame, avec plaisir,” she answered, smiling encouragingly.
Because of Marjorie’s kind and courteous manner with all of the servants, they were genuinely fond of her.
“Do you think you could dress my hair, massage my face and—oh—sort of fix me up in general?” Marjorie blushed. “I’ve taken a notion to—to——”
“I understand, Madame,” Marie beamed. “And oh, I am so glad—you are ze very pretty woman, and when Marie feenish you—oh—la—la— You will be lovely!”
“Thank you, Marie, but I haven’t a thing except a little powder—I want to be dressed when Mr. Benton comes home for dinner—just to—just to—surprise him. My dresses are all so—well, so——”
“Nevair mind—you leave everything to me. Go to your room—I bring all ze things you need—and your dress—well—a needle, ze thread, a scissair—and zere you are, Madame!”
“All right, I shall remember you for this, Marie,” and Marjorie returned to her room, her heart beating like a trip hammer.
“Here we are,” Marie announced, entering a few minutes later, carrying a small box filled with an array of bottles and jars which she plumped down rattling on Marjorie’s dresser. Then, with her small head cocked birdlike on one side, she surveyed her prospect.
“First of all, Madame,” she declared with authority, “you must have ze nice warm bath.”
“Everything is in your hands, Marie.” And Marjorie, smiling so brightly that it transformed her expression, started for the bathroom.
“No, no, Madame,” Marie gently forced her back to the chaise longue. “I do everything—draw ze watair—put in ze perfume—just like I do for Mees Elinor. You rest here, and be comfortable—so.” She proceeded to remove Marjorie’s gown and shoes, and arrange the cushions at her head.
Marjorie closed her eyes and nestled down contentedly. She really believed she was enjoying this new experiment of being waited upon. Only yesterday she had been quite disgusted with Elinor, when upon entering her room, she had discovered her stretched lazily in an easy chair, with Marie on her knees lacing her boots. Surely, she had thought, a healthy young girl like Elinor should be able to do such things for herself. It was all right to have a maid, if you desired one to dress your hair, or fasten an intricately arranged frock, but to lace your boots—that was a different matter. And here she was, the following day, permitting Marie to fill her bath and actually remove her shoes.
Marjorie, emerging from her bath, tingling and greatly refreshed, placed herself completely in the maid’s willing hands. After a delightful massage, the array of jars and bottles came into play. Then a tiny tweezer came into view. At the first pluck of an eyebrow, Marjorie almost jumped out of her chair: “Oh—that hurts! What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I pull out ze ugly thick eyebrow and shape heem magnifique,” she replied calmly, as she yanked out another.
“No, no,” Marjorie remonstrated. “I can’t allow it—it is too—well—silly.”
“Seely?—Why you say seely?—Eet is stylish, and what all ze well groomed women she have. You say you leave everysing to Marie. Why not now you do as you say—pourquoi?”
“Very well, I’ll go through with this thing, now that I’ve started—have it your own way.” Marjorie settled down resignedly, clenching her fists as if preparing for a serious operation.
When the brows were carefully arched, Marie started in with the bottles. First, the grayish complexion was transformed into a pearly whiteness, to which was added a slight tinge of blush rose, from a tiny jar, at the sight of which Marjorie shuddered inwardly and closed her eyes. Then came a touch of carmine to the lips, and a carefully studied tracing of mascara to the eyes.
“S’il vous plait, Madame. Do not look in ze mirror until aftair I have you feenish. I want zat it be—surprise.”
Marie began a vigorous brushing of the heavy strands of hair, the lifelessness of which she remedied considerably with a little brilliantine. After arranging a most becoming and modish coiffeur, she entered the clothes closet and carefully surveyed the dresses.
“Mon Dieu,” Marie groaned inwardly, as her eyes wandered over the rows of unattractive garments. Finally, after much deliberation, she selected a gown of black lace. The skirt with its double flounce swept the ground evenly, and the V-shaped neck was filled in with silk net, which formed a high collar, boned to run up behind the ears. The same material was gathered from the elbow sleeve of lace to the wrist.
“Now, Madame will please to slip on ze dress while I make ze alteration.”
Marjorie stood patiently, while Marie measured and pinned up the flounces so that they hung gracefully just above the ankles.
“So zat is bettair. Madame will sit here and relax.” Marie wrapped a dressing-gown about her mistress and seated her in a comfortable lounging chair.
“It will take me about half an hour for ze work. In Mees Elinor’s room I have all ze things necessaire, so I feex heem in zere,” the maid explained.
When Marie had departed with the dress, Marjorie tilted her head comfortably against the headrest of the chair and gazed intently at the ceiling. “How surprised the family will be when I go down to dinner,” she reflected anticipatingly. Hugh would be pleased, she felt sure. He had urged her so often to try to modernize her ideas. Of course, her awakening as to his short-comings had been somewhat rude and sudden, but she would try to think it had been for the best. Perhaps they would drift back again into their old days of love and devotion. She smiled wryly as she thought how Howard’s tactless little speech had done more for her than all of Hugh’s pleadings and Elinor’s criticisms.
Further reflection was cut short by Marie’s enthusiastic entrance.
“Oh, Madame,” she exclaimed in her enthusiastic way, “ze dress is magnifique! I hafe feex heem so good—no, no,” holding it behind her as Marjorie attempted to examine it. “First I will put heem on you and zen you shall—see!”
“All right, I’ll close my eyes.” Marjorie laughed, as Marie slipped the gown over her head.
“Now—Madame will please to look.”
Marjorie walked to the long cheval mirror and started in genuine astonishment at the apparition before her.
“Marie, what have you done to me!” she exclaimed in hushed wonderment. “I hardly recognize myself!”
“Madame ees vairy beautiful.” The little maid beamed delightedly. “Eet ees just zat all ze beauty be brought out.”
Wonders indeed had Marie’s clever fingers worked with the simple black gown. She had removed the net from the neck and sleeves, had shortened the skirt so that it revealed Marjorie’s slim ankles and graceful feet encased in dainty black satin slippers, and then around the waist she had folded a wide girdle of black maline interwoven with a double-faced satin ribbon of orchid and turquoise blue, lending an irresistible charm and certain individuality to the entire dress.
“I would not have thought it possible that you could improve me like this, Marie,” said the mistress gratefully. “I shall not forget your kindness.”
“Eet ees ze greatplasairto do for Madame—eef only Madame would buy some chic gowns,” Marie ventured hesitatingly.
“To-morrow I shall shop, Marie, and you shall come with me,” Marjorie announced, with unusual enthusiasm, as the dinner chimes sounded below.
Glowing with optimistic anticipation, she nodded brightly to the maid, and walked buoyantly down the stairs. Entering the dining room she found Elinor and Howard there before her. Neither had taken the trouble to dress. Elinor was absorbed in her book while Howard sat almost buried in the evening paper, so that the first intimation they had of Marjorie’s presence in the room was her low: “Good evening, children.”
Howard arose to his feet with nonchalant courtesy, and Elinor languidly lifted her eyes from her book. Then came the simultaneous exclamation: “Mother!”
Both stared at Marjorie with unfeigned astonishment. Howard was the first to reach her side.
“Why mater, you’re marvelous,” he assured her with profound admiration. “You’ve been holding out on us all these years, and you sure have all the Broadway chickens I know skinned a mile.”
“Oh, Howard,” Marjorie blushed, but she did not chide him for his slangy compliment, instead answered laughingly: “You have such a funny little way of expressing yourself, dear.”
“Funny little way!” Elinor could scarcely believe her ears. Why yesterday at the same remark, her mother would have glanced coldly at Howard and spoken of respect for her presence.
“Do I please you, Elinor?” Marjorie turned timidly to her daughter.
“I’m just trying to regain my equilibrium, mother. You’ve fairly taken my breath away. Like you? I’m delighted with you. You’re positively adorable!” Elinor enthused, throwing her arms affectionately about her mother. “Just think what it means to me, to have a mother like other girls. What in the world has brought about the change?”
“Here’s Dad,” Howard interrupted, as his father’s step neared. “Can you imagine his surprise!”
Marjorie’s heart pounded as she flushed agitatedly.
“Evening, everybody,” Hugh Benton spoke brusquely as he breezed into the room. His evening clothes indicated his intention of going out, as his wife’s indifference had long since caused him to discontinue dressing for dinner unless there were guests present.
“Hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” he apologized. “I’m due at a—a little stag affair this evening, so I thought I would save time by dressing before dinner.” He crossed to the table and stood behind Marjorie’s chair, holding it for her, according to his mechanical custom of years.
With a murmured “Thank you” she accepted the seat, and allowed him to move it forward. Elinor and Howard taking their accustomed places, held their breaths in suspense and eagerly waited for their father’s gaze to rest upon their mother.
“Well, how’s everything?” Hugh asked cheerfully, as he unfolded his napkin. He seemed to be in remarkably fine spirits for some reason. “I noticed the car as I came in, Howard. It seems to be fine. You surprised me by obtaining one so quickly—trust you’ll make as rapid headway in business deals.” He picked up his spoon to attack the soup the butler placed before him. His mind seemed anywhere save on the things immediately before him, though his cheerfulness was exuberant. “Had a funny experience this morning, that I must tell you about,” he declared. He launched forth into a long, uninteresting business transaction lasting through the first three courses.
By the time the roast reached the table, Elinor and Howard were fidgeting uncomfortably. Marjorie had begun to wilt like a faded flower; she had scarcely touched a morsel of food.
Elinor, unable to stand the strain another moment, burst forth breathlessly: “Daddy, haven’t you noticed anything?”
Marjorie’s protesting shake of her head was too late.
“Noticed what?” asked her father curiously. His glance wandered about the room.
“You’ve been talking so incessantly,” Elinor blurted forth like a spoiled child, “you haven’t noticed mother.”
Hugh glanced across at Marjorie. “Why, you have your hair fixed differently, haven’t you, Marjorie?” he inquired, with careless indifference. “It is quite becoming.” He returned to his carving.
A solemn and awful hush pervaded the atmosphere. Howard, with diplomacy worthy of an older man, came to the rescue, and broke the tension by beginning to discuss the political affairs of the day.
Hugh Benton pushed hismousseaway from him impatiently.
“No fripperies for me to-night, thank you,” he said. “I’m going to finish off with a cigar. No, son,” he added with uplifted hand to stay him as Howard started to rise to accompany him. “Stay and finish your dinner.”
Howard subsided into his seat, as his father stalked out.
In Marjorie Benton’s eyes two tears glittered that she tried to force back, but it was a tremulous laugh she gave as she remarked wryly:
“Old hens don’t wear chicken plumage very successfully, do they, my dears?”
She tried to go on with her own dessert, but it seemed that each mouthful would choke her. She must have one word with Hugh before he left the house. She must make one final effort! She laid down her spoon listlessly as she looked up at Howard and Elinor.
“I think I will leave you, too, children, if you don’t mind?” she queried, with her usual careful courtesy. But they were not the light steps with which she had entered the room but a short time before that Marjorie Benton followed her husband.
Elinor and Howard stared at each other without uttering a word.
It was Howard who first found voice.
“Well, what do you know about that!” he exclaimed pityingly. “Poor mater—she didn’t even phase him, and it was at my advice she pulled herself together the way she did.”
“It’s a shame, that’s what it is!” his sister replied angrily. “I’m surprised at Dad, and deeply disappointed. I thought he’d bubble over with joy and we should be a happy and congenial family at last.”
“ ‘And they lived happy ever after’—that’s the way it always ends in the story-book.Story-book is good—only I should say plainlie.”
With grim determination to make one final effort, Marjorie followed Hugh into the library after dinner, where he had gone with his cigar.
“Hugh,” she ventured timidly, “must you go to this—stag affair to-night?”
“Why?” he inquired, in a tone of surprise.
“Because I should like you to take me to a—a theater.”
“Oh, my dear Marjorie,” he laughed heartily, “you know well enough that you and I could never enjoy the same play. You’d pick out some prosaic sermon that would have me snoring inside of ten minutes, and I’d select a rattling musical comedy, the mere mention of which would cause you to turn up your nose disdainfully. No, just tell me the play you have in mind, and I’ll get you tickets for a matinée. You can take some lady friend.”
“I haven’t any play in mind, Hugh, and I’m perfectly willing to attend any musical comedy you select,” answered his wife quietly.
“Hmm!” Hugh was almost too bewildered to speak. “That is very nice of you, but I’m sorry I can’t break the engagement I have for this evening.”
“How about to-morrow evening?” she asked intrepidly.
“To-morrow night is my club night,” he answered coldly, “and besides, it is so long since we went anywhere together I have rather systemized my evenings to suit myself.”
She flushed as she turned to go. But the thought of all that a misunderstanding with Hugh on this evening of evenings would mean, she determined on one more effort, cost what it might in pride. She came over and stood before him. “Hugh,” she offered diffidently, as might a child pleading for admiration, “I have changed my style of dress—especially to please you. Do you like it?”
Her husband glanced at her casually. Then he picked up his gloves and started to draw them on.
“Oh, it’s all right, I suppose,” was his comment, “but pray don’t inconvenience yourself in an effort to please me. You gave that up long ago.”
Marjorie took another step toward him and her gesture was pleading.
“Hugh,” she begged. “I’m humbling myself a great deal! Don’t you think you might unbend a little?”
The man’s whole attitude was as forbidding as the wide shoulders he turned from her, and over which he flung his parting words.
“It is unnecessary for you to humble yourself at all as far as I am concerned, Marjorie,” was his cold rejoinder. “I might as well tell you I’ve become indifferent to anything you might say or do. You must see that it is impossible for you to rectify the mistakes of years.”
No word from Marjorie that both might have made mistakes. For once in her life she was willing to take the blame—willing to admit anything if only——
Her husband had almost reached the door. Marjorie Benton ran across the room after him and clutched at his coat sleeve.
“Oh, Hugh, dear, my husband!” she faltered. “Couldn’t we—couldn’t we begin all over again! Oh, say it isn’t too late! Please! I’m so willing to try!”
He shook off her detaining hand impatiently.
“I’m afraid it is entirely too late,” he answered, in a voice that chilled her to the marrow. “Good-night.”
Entering the library fifteen minutes later, Elinor found her mother, a pathetically crushed little heap on her knees in front of the fireplace, her face buried in her hands, her body convulsed with sobs.
In a moment she was beside her, her arms about her protectingly.
“What is it, mother dear?” she inquired anxiously. “Tell me what has happened.”
Marjorie arose staggeringly, hastily dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. “Noth—ing,” she stammered, “nothing at all—I’m nervous and overwrought—I——”
“You’re never nervous, mother,” Elinor interrupted. “You’re always calm and composed—I’ve never known you to give way like this before.”
“I know,” Marjorie replied, trying to regain her self-control. “I’ve never given way so foolishly before. I seemed to be under a tension, and it snapped suddenly.”
“But mother,” Elinor persisted, “something must have caused it—won’t you tell me—I’m so sorry.”