IX
It was nearly three o’clock before the last guest left. The flowers in the deserted rooms had drooped and faded; even the lights seemed to have dimmed. The house wore an air of melancholy. Fanny and Guy came from the dining-room, where they had eaten a second supper.
“I wonder where Aunt and Uncle are?” she said. “Doesn’t it seem ghostly?” She yawned, covering her cheeks with both hands. “Ugh! I guess they’re in the library.”
Helen Briggs was seated in one of the big easy-chairs, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. Her husband sat beside her, looking down at her face.
“Flirting, as usual!” said Fanny. Then she added: “Well, wasn’t it grand?”
“Better go to bed,” said Briggs, sleepily.
Helen half-opened her eyes. “I’m glad you had a good time, dear.”
“Everybody seemed pleased,” said Guy, with a glance at Douglas. He liked to look at things from the professional point of view.
“Fanny, do go to bed,” Helen insisted.
“All right,” Fanny assented, meekly. She kissed Helen; then she kissed her uncle. She approached Guy Fullerton on tiptoe and held her hand high in the air. “Good-night, sir,” she said, softly.
A half-hour later the house was in darkness, save for a light in the library, where Douglas Briggs sat writing. After an evening of excitement he never could rest, and he found that some quiet work soothed his nerves. He was one of those men who seemed to thrive with very little rest; he had often worked all night, not even lying down, without showing in his face the next day a trace of the vigil.
Helen had gone to her room, but not to sleep. She changed her ball dress for a loose gown, and letting her hair fall over her shoulders, she sat for a long time thinking. Should she tell Douglas? A disclosure might lead to serious consequences. It would not only break the business relations between Douglas and West, but it would also involve her husband in a bitter personal quarrel.For the present she resolved to keep her secret. As for the charge West had made against Douglas, that was merely another of the calumnies circulated about him since he had begun to be successful in Washington. Why was it that one man could not prosper without exciting the hatred and the envy of so many other men? Douglas, she felt sure, had never done anything to injure anyone. His success had been won by his own abilities and industry. He had worked harder than any other man in Washington. She knew that herself, and she had often heard it remarked by others. She recalled all the unselfish work he had done in Congress, the bills he had toiled for with no purpose beyond that of doing good. Everything he undertook seemed to succeed. Helen had never thought much about the way in which he had made his money. It had come to him along with his successes. She knew that he had lately had good fortune in some land speculations near Washington; but that was perfectly legitimate, and it was merely another evidence of his shrewdness. There were plenty of Congressmen in Washington who remained poor simply because they had not her husband’s business resources and enterprise. When finally shewent to bed, however, she had a vague sense of discomfort that could not be attributed to the agitation caused by her interview with Franklin West. She did not like even the thought of questioning her husband about his ways of making money. She had never doubted him before. Why should she doubt him now?
The next day Helen rose at noon with a splitting headache. She rang the bell, and when the maid appeared, bearing breakfast on a tray, Fanny came, too. Fanny’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright.
“What do you suppose I’ve been doing? I’ve been taking breakfast down at the hotel with dad. Then I made him go out with me and buy me a lot of things. So I’ve had a profitable morning. Half a dozen lace handkerchiefs, a silk scarf and abeautifultailor-made coat. It’s going to be a dream. I went to the place you like so much—Broadhurst’s. I wish you could have heard what they said about my figure. And when I got back everybody was asleep except Uncle Doug. I shouldn’t wonder if he sat up all night, though he declared he didn’t. Here, I’ll fix that tray, Mary. You go down. Let me pour the tea, Auntie. There are two black lines around youreyes. They make you look so interesting! I guess you’re kind of tired.”
“Yes, I am,” Helen acknowledged.
“All right, drink this and you’ll feel better. Why don’t you stay in bed?”
“I mustn’t. I promised that I’d take Mrs. Burrell for a drive this afternoon. I told one of the girls.”
“More missionary work, I suppose. Auntie, if you don’t stop driving round with old frumps like that, I won’t recognize you on the street. Well, I guess I’ll go for a bicycle ride with Guy. He’s been promising to take me out to Chevy Chase for a long time. Don’t you think it would be proper?”
“Can’t you get someone to go with you?” Helen asked, sipping her tea and wondering why she could not shake off, even for a moment, the thought of Franklin West’s remarks the night before.
“I suppose I could get Mrs. Simpson. She’s always glad to have someone to ride with her.”
“Do that, then,” said Helen.
Fanny sighed. “What an awful thing to have to be so proper in this world!”
When Helen had dressed she went up to thenursery, where she found Dorothy and Jack eating dinner. They seemed to be always eating. They jumped from their seats and clung around her. They wore their heavy street clothes and their thick boots.
“I was going to take them out before dinner,” Miss Munroe explained, “but it seemed damp. So I thought I’d wait till the afternoon.”
“Are you going out, mamma?” Jack asked, clutching at Helen’s dress.
“Yes, by-and-by,” Helen replied, patiently.
Dorothy immediately became plaintive. “Oh, can’t we go with you?”
“Not to-day, dear. I’m going to take Mrs. Burrell for a drive.”
“Oh, shoot Mrs. Burrell!” Dorothy cried.
“Dorothy!” said Miss Munroe, reproachfully. Miss Munroe often wondered where the children learned their naughty words. They seemed to absorb them from the air. Sometimes she was afraid their parents would think they had learned them from her.
“Papa came up before he went out,” said Jack. “He says he’s going to buy me a sword.”
“Papa is always buying things for Jack!” Dorothy, with a little encouragement, wouldsoon have burst into tears. Helen saw that the child was nervous from her morning in the house.
“Take them out as soon as they have finished eating,” she said to Miss Munroe.
As Helen descended the stairs she met Fanny and Guy just about to start out on their wheels. “I’ve telephoned Mrs. Simpson, and she’s going. She wants us to lunch with her. You don’t mind, do you, dear?” Fanny asked, solicitously, eager to seem important. “If you do, I’ll stay.”
Helen shook her head. “No, your uncle won’t be here, and I’ll lunch late. So go and have a good time.”
On the table of the library Helen found a pile of New York and Washington morning papers. She glanced at them to see what they had to say about the ball. Some of the New York papers made brief reference to it; one, the most sensational, published a long account. The Washington papers gave it considerable space. Just as she was turning a page of the New YorkChronicle, Helen caught her husband’s name in one of the editorial columns. She turned back and read the paragraph:
“Last night in Washington Congressman Douglas Briggs, of New York, gave a ball to celebrate the opening of his new house. It is said that the house alone cost twenty-five thousand dollars. It is furnished in a style that only a rich man could afford. Six years ago Congressman Briggs went to Washington without a dollar, to devote himself to political affairs, practically abandoning his growing law-practice. He has apparently found politics profitable. Funny world!”
“Last night in Washington Congressman Douglas Briggs, of New York, gave a ball to celebrate the opening of his new house. It is said that the house alone cost twenty-five thousand dollars. It is furnished in a style that only a rich man could afford. Six years ago Congressman Briggs went to Washington without a dollar, to devote himself to political affairs, practically abandoning his growing law-practice. He has apparently found politics profitable. Funny world!”
Helen read the paragraph rapidly; then she read it more slowly. On finishing, she sat motionless for a few moments. Finally, she placed the paper carefully on the top of the pile. She rose and walked to the window. She heard Miss Munroe come downstairs with the children. She had an impulse to go out into the hall and bid them good-bye, but she checked it; she wished to speak to no one for a few moments.
She went back to the table and read the paragraph again. Then she placed the paper in the centre of the pile. She would not allow herself to think why she did that. She heard a servant pass through the hall, and she called that she would have luncheon served in an hour. During the interval she busied herself feverishly, but shecould not keep from thinking about that paragraph. Of course, Douglas would see it. Perhaps he had seen it already. She remembered now that Guy usually clipped from the papers all references to her husband. He had left the papers on the table to look them over on his return with Fanny. The clippings he pasted in the big black scrapbooks that Douglas kept on one of the lower shelves, under his law-books. She was tempted to look through these scrapbooks now to see if they contained any references like the one she had just read. But she felt ashamed.
After luncheon Helen drove to The Shoreham, where the Burrells had lived since coming to Washington. Carrie Cora was the first to receive her. “I’ve had the hardest work keeping ma at home,” she said. “I didn’t want to let her know I knew you were coming. That would have spoiled everything. It’s just lovely of you to come! Gladys and Emeline have gone to the Philharmonic concert, and pa’s up to the House.”
Mrs. Burrell presently made a vociferous entrance. She was one of those women who do everything noisily. “Well, if this isn’t good of you, to come just after that party of yours! I should think you’d be all beat out.”
“I’ve come to take you for a drive,” Helen explained.
Mrs. Burrell slapped her dress with both hands. It was a shimmering brown silk of fashionable cut, that looked somehow as if it did not belong to her.
“I don’t believe I’m fit,” she said.
“Oh, yes, you are, ma,” Carrie Cora urged. “Please go.”
“We’ll go out into the country somewhere,” said Helen.
“So it don’t make any difference what you wear,” Carrie Cora chimed in.
Mrs. Burrell looked relieved. “I just hate to keep changing. It seems to me we do nothing here in Washington but dress, dress. I get so sick of it! That’s the worst of living in these hotels. You never feel at home.”
After starting with the old lady, Helen Briggs hesitated to broach the subject of Carrie Cora’s love affair. A remark she made soon after they had settled down into conversation unexpectedly relieved her of the necessity.
“I hope Carrie Cora doesn’t mind being left alone in the apartment,” she said.
“Oh, Lor’, no,” Mrs. Burrell replied. “I’venever seen anyone like her. She just loves to be alone. She’s always been queer about that, and lately she’s been queerer than ever. She don’t seem to take an interest in anything. Now, last night, she’d never have gone with us but for you. She hates parties; but she thinks everything of you.” Mrs. Burrell drew nearer Helen. “She’s in love,” she whispered.
Helen smiled. “There isn’t any great harm in that.”
“There wouldn’t be,” Mrs. Burrell agreed, “if the young man belonged to her station in life. But he don’t. He ain’t got a cent to his name.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. But isn’t there anything else against him?—besides his being poor, I mean.”
“Oh, I guess he’sgoodenough,” Mrs. Burrell acknowledged, grudgingly. “I never heard anything against him. His name is Rufus James,” she added, as if this fact in some way explained his condition. “He’s here in Washington now.” Her lips tightened as she looked at Helen with an expression that said: “Think of that!”
As Helen said nothing, Mrs. Burrell went on: “Of course, he come just because she was here.”
“He must be very fond of her,” Helen venturedto remark. “But I don’t wonder; Carrie Cora is a very fine girl.”
“Sheisa fine girl. I declare to goodness I wish she wouldn’t keep her light under a bushel. She does make me so mad! She could have gone to the best teachers down to Boston or anywhere. Father even offered to send her to Europe. She said she’d rather stay at home and do housework. She’s a splendid housekeeper. I sometimes think that’s what Rufus James wants to marry her for.”
“Well, that’s a great compliment to Carrie Cora,” Helen laughed. “It seems to me a pretty good reason for marrying, too.”
“And have her go off and live in some tumble-down place in Auburn!” Mrs. Burrell exclaimed, in horror.
“But perhaps that’s the only way she could be happy,” Helen insisted, gently. “Carrie Cora’s naturally domestic. I can see that.”
Mrs. Burrell sighed. “And I always wanted to make something of her! I’m sure her father’s spent money enough.”
“But if she makes a good wife and mother—that will be enough, won’t it? Besides, is Rufus James so very poor?”
“I don’t believe he makes more than a thousand dollars a year.”
“That’s just what Douglas was earning when we became engaged,” said Helen.
“What?” Mrs. Burrell looked startled. “Well, I declare!” she said.
“Douglas was teaching school then at Waverly, where we lived. They paid him only six hundred a year; and he made the rest by writing for the newspapers. At the same time he studied law.”
“Well, hewassmart. I don’t wonder he’s so successful.”
“We had to wait three years before we could marry. That seemed a long time.”
Mrs. Burrell sighed. “It must have been hard.”
Helen at once pressed the point. “How long has Carrie Cora been waiting?” she asked.
“Oh, they’re notengaged,” Mrs. Burrell replied, reproachfully, as if this fact threw Carrie Cora’s case out of the discussion.
“But how long have they been fond of each other?”
“Well, as soon as I found it out I did my best to stop it,” said Mrs. Burrell, as if flaunting agenerous act. “I just told him he wasn’t to come to the house any more. That was more’n two years ago.”
“So they haven’t seen anything of each other since?”
“Oh, yes, they have. Indeed they have. That girl’s just as obstinate. She’s her father all over. I’ve said that to my husband a thousand times since this trouble come on us. It’s spoiled our Winter here. That girl’s a damper on everything. I kind of thought when she come down here she’d get over it. But, as I was saying, she used to meet him ’round places in Auburn, mostly at Emily Farnsworth’s. Emily always was a great friend of Carrie Cora’s. I used to like Emily real well. Now we don’t speak.” Mrs. Burrell pressed her lips together again, and tears stood in her eyes.
“Those things are always unfortunate,” said Helen, sympathetically.
Mrs. Burrell clutched her by the arm. “There he is now!” she said, “over there. See that slim young man with the derby hat?”
“Who?” Helen asked, mystified.
“Why, Rufus James himself.”
The young man saw that he was observed, andlooked at the two women with surprise in his face. Then his face darkened and he flushed and turned his head quickly away.
“He reco’nized me,” Mrs. Burrell exclaimed. “You could see that plain enough. And he never had the politeness to lift his hat.”
“Can you blame him?” Helen asked, with a faint smile.
It was Mrs. Burrell who flushed now.
“He’s good-looking, isn’t he?” Helen went on. She was secretly pleased by the young man’s show of spirit.
Mrs. Burrell remained silent for several minutes. Helen waited. “Oh, I know you think I’m as hard as a rock,” she blurted out at last. “Just because——”
“Oh, no,” Helen interposed, quickly.
Mrs. Burrell grew humble. “Do you think I ought to have let him come?” she asked. “To the house, I mean?”
“It’s always a pity when those things have to go on outside the house.”
“SoMr.Dyer said. He’s our minister. He talked to me just as you’ve been talking. But I suppose I’m obstinate myself. Still, I’ve always tried to do right by that girl.”
“I’m sure you have.”
They fell into silence again. They had reached the country, and soft breezes blew across their faces, bearing the scent of apple blossoms.
“You ain’t said much,” Mrs. Burrell began, “but I can justfeelwhat you think. You think I ain’t done right. Oh, don’t! I know just how you feel. You think I’ve been throwing that girl in temptation’s way. But I guess I know Carrie Cora better’n anyone else. And Rufus James is an honorable young man. He’s always had a good reputation in Auburn. Oh, dear!”
The tears ran down her withered cheeks. “I’d like to go home,” she said to Helen. “I don’t feel a bit well. Perhaps my husband will be home. I want to have a talk with him.” Helen spoke to the driver and they turned back toward the city. “I’m an awful fool,” Mrs. Burrell went on. “And don’t you go and blame yourself for anything I’ve said or done. I’ve known all along that I wasn’t doin’ right, but it was just that pride of mine kept me from acknowledgin’ it.” She dried her eyes and sank back in the seat. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. “D’you suppose Rufus James would come to dinner to-night if I asked him?” she said.