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diff --git a/old/tdust10.txt b/old/tdust10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0837a62 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tdust10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14595 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Dust by David Graham Phillips + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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Please send us the words. + + + +Scanned by Charles Keller with +OmniPage Professional OCR software +donated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226. +Contact Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com> + + + + +The Grain of Dust + + + + +A NOVEL +BY +DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS + +AUTHOR OF +THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF +JOSHUA CRAIG, OLD WIVES FOR NEW, +THE HUSBAND'S STORY, ETC. + + + + +THE GRAIN OF DUST + + + + +I + + +INTO the offices of Lockyer, Sanders, Benchley, +Lockyer & Norman, corporation lawyers, there drifted +on a December afternoon a girl in search of work at +stenography and typewriting. The firm was about the +most important and most famous--radical orators often +said infamous--in New York. The girl seemed, at a +glance, about as unimportant and obscure an atom as +the city hid in its vast ferment. She was blonde--tawny +hair, fair skin, blue eyes. Aside from this hardly +conclusive mark of identity there was nothing positive, +nothing definite, about her. She was neither tall nor +short, neither fat nor thin, neither grave nor gay. She +gave the impression of a young person of the feminine +gender--that, and nothing more. She was plainly +dressed, like thousands of other girls, in darkish blue +jacket and skirt and white shirt waist. Her boots and +gloves were neat, her hair simply and well arranged. +Perhaps in these respects--in neatness and taste--she +did excel the average, which is depressingly low. But +in a city where more or less strikingly pretty women, +bent upon being seen, are as plentiful as the blackberries +of Kentucky's July--in New York no one would +have given her a second look, this quiet young woman +screened in an atmosphere of self-effacement. + +She applied to the head clerk. It so happened that +need for another typewriter had just arisen. She got +a trial, showed enough skill to warrant the modest wage +of ten dollars a week; she became part of the office force +of twenty or twenty-five young men and women similarly +employed. As her lack of skill was compensated by +industry and regularity, she would have a job so long +as business did not slacken. When it did, she would +be among the first to be let go. She shrank into her +obscure niche in the great firm, came and went in mouse- +like fashion, said little, obtruded herself never, was all +but forgotten. + +Nothing could have been more commonplace, more +trivial than the whole incident. The name of the girl +was Hallowell--Miss Hallowell. On the chief clerk's +pay roll appeared the additional information that her +first name was Dorothea. The head office boy, in one +of his occasional spells of "freshness," addressed her +as Miss Dottie. She looked at him with a puzzled +expression; it presently changed to a slight, sweet smile, +and she went about her business. There was no rebuke +in her manner, she was far too self-effacing for anything +so positive as the mildest rebuke. But the head +office boy blushed awkwardly--why he did not know and +could not discover, though he often cogitated upon it. +She remained Miss Hallowell. + +Opposites suggest each other. The dimmest personality +in those offices was the girl whose name imaged to +everyone little more than a pencil, notebook, and +typewriting machine. The vividest personality was Frederick +Norman. In the list of names upon the outer doors of the +firm's vast labyrinthine suite, on the seventeenth floor +of the Syndicate Building, his name came last--and, +in the newest lettering, suggesting recentness of +partnership. In age he was the youngest of the partners. +Lockyer was archaic, Sanders an antique; Benchley, +actually only about fifty-five, had the air of one born +in the grandfather class. Lockyer the son dyed his +hair and affected jauntiness, but was in fact not many +years younger than Benchley and had the stiffening +jerky legs of one paying for a lively youth. Norman +was thirty-seven--at the age the Greeks extolled as +divine because it means all the best of youth combined +with all the best of manhood. Some people thought +Norman younger, almost boyish. Those knew him uptown +only, where he hid the man of affairs beneath the +man of the world-that-amuses-itself. Some people +thought he looked, and was, older than the age with +which the biographical notices credited him. They knew +him down town only--where he dominated by sheer force +of intellect and will. + +As has been said, the firm ranked among the greatest +in New York. It was a trusted counselor in large +affairs--commercial, financial, political--in all parts of +America, in all parts of the globe, for many of its +clients were international traffickers. Yet this young +man, this youngest and most recent of the partners, +had within the month forced a reorganization of the +firm--or, rather, of its profits--on a basis that gave him +no less than one half of the whole. + +His demand threw his four associates into paroxysms +of rage and fear--the fear serving as a wholesome antidote +to the rage. + +It certainly was infuriating that a youth, admitted +to partnership barely three years ago, should thus +maltreat his associates. Ingrate was precisely the epithet +for him. At least, so they honestly thought, after the +quaint human fashion; for, because they had given him +the partnership, they looked on themselves as his +benefactors, and neglected as unimportant detail the sole +and entirely selfish reason for their graciousness. But +enraged though these worthy gentlemen were, and +eagerly though they longed to treat the "conceited +and grasping upstart" as he richly deserved, they +accepted his ultimatum. Even the venerable and +veneerated Lockyer--than whom a more convinced self- +deceiver on the subject of his own virtues never wore +white whiskers, black garments, and the other badges +of eminent respectability--even old Joseph Lockyer +could not twist the acceptance into another manifestation +of the benevolence of himself and his associates. +They had to stare the grimacing truth straight in the +face; they were yielding because they dared not refuse. +To refuse would mean the departure of Norman with +the firm's most profitable business. It costs heavily to +live in New York; the families of successful men are +extravagant; so conduct unbecoming a gentleman may +not there be resented if to resent is to cut down one's +income. The time was, as the dignified and nicely +honorable Sanders observed, when these and many similar +low standards did not prevail in the legal profession. +But such is the frailty of human nature--or so savage +the pressure of the need of the material necessities of +civilized life, let a profession become profitable or +develop possibilities of profit--even the profession of +statesman, even that of lawyer--or doctor--or priest-- +or wife--and straightway it begins to tumble down +toward the brawl and stew of the market place. + +In a last effort to rouse the gentleman in Norman +or to shame him into pretense of gentlemanliness, Lockyer +expostulated with him like a prophet priest in full +panoply of saintly virtue. And Lockyer was passing +good at that exalted gesture. He was a Websterian +figure, with the venality of the great Daniel in all its +pompous dignity modernized--and correspondingly +expanded. He abounded in those idealist sonorosities that +are the stock-in-trade of all solemn old-fashioned frauds. +The young man listened with his wonted attentive +courtesy until the dolorous appeal disguised as fatherly +counsel came to an end. Then in his blue-gray eyes +appeared the gleam that revealed the tenacity and the +penetration of his mind. He said: + +"Mr. Lockyer, you have been absent six years-- +except an occasional two or three weeks--absent as +American Ambassador to France. You have done nothing +for the firm in that time. Yet you have not scorned to +take profits you did not earn. Why should I scorn to +take profits I do earn?" + +Mr. Lockyer shook his picturesque head in sad +remonstrance at this vulgar, coarse, but latterly frequent +retort of insurgent democracy upon indignant aristocracy. +But he answered nothing. + +"Also," proceeded the graceless youth in the clear +and concise way that won the instant attention of juries +and Judges, "also, our profession is no longer a profession +but a business." His humorous eyes twinkled merrily. +"It divides into two parts--teaching capitalists +how to loot without being caught, and teaching them +how to get off if by chance they have been caught. +There are other branches of the profession, but they're +not lucrative, so we do not practice them. Do I make +myself clear?" + +Mr. Lockyer again shook his head and sighed. + +"I am not an Utopian," continued young Norman. +"Law and custom permit--not to say sanctify--our +sort of business. So--I do my best. But I shall not +conceal from you that it's distasteful to me. I wish to +get out of it. I shall get out as soon as I've made enough +capital to assure me the income I have and need. Naturally, +I wish to gather in the necessary amount as +speedily as possible." + +"Fred, my boy, I regret that you take such low +views of our noble profession." + +"Yes--as a profession it is noble. But not as a +practice. MY regret is that it invites and compels such +low views." + +"You will look at these things more--more mellowly +when you are older." + +"I doubt if I'll ever rise very high in the art of +self-deception," replied Norman. "If I'd had any bent +that way I'd not have got so far so quickly." + +It was a boastful remark--of a kind he, and other +similar young men, have the habit of making. But +from him it did not sound boastful--simply a frank +and timely expression of an indisputable truth, which +indeed it was. Once more Mr. Lockyer sighed. "I see +you are incorrigible," said he. + +"I have not acted without reflection," said Norman. + +And Lockyer knew that to persist was simply to +endanger his dignity. "I am getting old," said he. +"Indeed, I am old. I have gotten into the habit of +leaning on you, my boy. I can't consent to your going, +hard though you make it for us to keep you. I shall +try to persuade our colleagues to accept your terms." + +Norman showed neither appreciation nor triumph. +He merely bowed slightly. And so the matter was +settled. Instead of moving into the suite of offices in +the Mills Building on which he had taken an option, +young Norman remained where he had been toiling for +twelve years. + +After this specimen of Norman's quality, no one +will be surprised to learn that in figure he was one of +those solidly built men of medium height who look as +if they were made to sustain and to deliver shocks, to +bear up easily under heavy burdens; or that his head +thickly covered with fairish hair, was hatchet-shaped +with the helve or face suggesting that while it could +and would cleave any obstacle, it would wear a merry +if somewhat sardonic smile the while. No one had ever +seen Norman angry, though a few persevering offenders +against what he regarded as his rights had felt +the results of swift and powerful action of the same +sort that is usually accompanied--and weakened--by +outward show of anger. Invariably good-humored, he +was soon seen to be more dangerous than the men of +flaring temper. In most instances good humor of thus +unbreakable species issues from weakness, from a desire +to conciliate--usually with a view to plucking the more +easily. Norman's good humor arose from a sense of +absolute security which in turn was the product of +confidence in himself and amiable disdain for his fellow men. +The masses he held in derision for permitting the classes +to rule and rob and spit upon them. The classes he +scorned for caring to occupy themselves with so cheap +and sordid a game as the ruling, robbing, and spitting +aforesaid. Coming down to the specific, he despised +men as individuals because he had always found in each +and everyone of them a weakness that made it easy for +him to use them as he pleased. + +Not an altogether pleasant character, this. But +not so unpleasant as it may seem to those unable +impartially to analyze human character, even their own-- +especially their own. And let anyone who is disposed +to condemn Norman first look within himself--in some +less hypocritical and self-deceiving moment, if he have +such moments--and let him note what are the qualities +he relies upon and uses in his own struggle to save +himself from being submerged and sunk. Further, +there were in Norman many agreeable qualities, +important, but less fundamental, therefore less deep- +hidden--therefore generally regarded as the real man and +as the cause of his success in which they in fact had +almost no part. He was, for example, of striking +physical appearance, was attractively dressed and +mannered, was prodigally generous. Neither as lawyer nor +as man did he practice justice. But while as lawyer he +practiced injustice, as man he practiced mercy. Whenever +a weakling appealed to him for protection, he gave +it--at times with splendid recklessness as to the cost +to himself in antagonisms and enmities. Indeed, so +great were the generosities of his character that, had +he not been arrogant, disdainful, self-confident, reso- +lutely and single-heartedly ambitious, he must inevitably +have ruined himself--if he had ever been able to +rise high enough to be worthy the dignity of catastrophe. + +Successful men are usually trying persons to know +well. Lambs, asses, and chickens do not associate +happily with lions, wolves, and hawks--nor do birds and +beasts of prey get on well with one another. Norman +was regarded as "difficult" by his friends--by those +of them who happened to get into the path of his ambition, +in front of instead of behind him, and by those +who fell into the not unnatural error of misunderstanding +his good nature and presuming upon it. His clients +regarded him as insolent. The big businesses, seeking the +rich spoils of commerce, frequent highly perilous waters. +They need skillful pilots. Usually these lawyer-pilots +"know their place" and put on no airs upon the +quarter-deck while they are temporarily in command. +Not so Norman. He took the full rank, authority-- +and emoluments--of commander. And as his power, +fame, and income were swiftly growing, it is fair to +assume that he knew what he was about. + +He was admired--extravagantly admired--by young +men with not too broad a vein of envy. He was no +woman hater--anything but that. Indeed, those who +wished him ill had from time to time hoped to see him +tumble down, through miscalculation in some of his +audacities with women. No--he did not hate women. +But there were several women who hated him--or tried +to; and if wounded vanity and baffled machination be +admitted as just causes for hatred, they had cause. He +liked--but he did not wholly trust. When he went to +sleep, it was not where Delilah could wield the shears. +A most irritating prudence--irritating to friends and +intimates of all degrees and kinds, in a race of beings +with a mania for being trusted implicitly but with no +balancing mania for deserving trust of the implicit +variety. + +And he ate hugely--and whatever he pleased. He +could drink beyond belief, all sorts of things, with no +apparent ill effect upon either body or brain. He had +all the appetites developed abnormally, and abnormal +capacity for gratifying them. Where there was one +man who envied him his eminence, there were a dozen +who envied him his physical capacities. We cannot live +and act without doing mischief, as well as that which +most of us would rather do, provided that in the doing +we are not ourselves undone. Probably in no direction +did Norman do so much mischief as in unconsciously +leading men of his sets down town and up to imitate +his colossal dissipations--which were not dissipation for +him who was abnormal. + +Withal, he was a monster for work. There is not +much truth in men's unending talk of how hard they +work or are worked. The ravages from their indulgences +in smoking, drinking, gallantry, eating too much +and too fast and too often, have to be explained away +creditably, to themselves and to others--notably to the +wives or mothers who nurse them and suffer from their +diminishing incomes. Hence the wailing about work. +But once in a while a real worker appears--a man with +enormous ingenuity at devising difficult tasks for +himself and with enormous persistence in doing them. +Frederick Norman was one of these blue-moon prodigies. + +Obviously, such a man could not but be observed +and talked about. Endless stories, some of them more +or less true, most of them apocryphal, were told of him +--stories of his shrewd, unexpected moves in big cases, +of his witty retorts, of his generosities, of his peculiarities +of dress, of eating and drinking; stories of his +adventures with women. Whatever he did, however trivial, +took color and charm from his personality, so easy +yet so difficult, so simple yet so complex, so baffling. +Was he wholly selfish? Was he a friend to almost anybody +or to nobody? Did he ever love? No one knew, +not even himself, for life interested him too intensely +and too incessantly to leave him time for self-analysis. +One thing he was certain of; he hated nobody, envied +nobody. He was too successful for that. + +He did as he pleased. And, on the whole, he pleased +to do far less inconsiderately than his desires, his +abilities, and his opportunities tempted. Have not men +been acclaimed good for less? + +In the offices, where he was canvased daily by part- +ners, clerks, everyone down to the cleaners whose labors +he so often delayed, opinion varied from day to day. +They worshiped him; they hated him. They loved +him; they feared him. They regarded him as more than +human, as less than human; but never as just human-- +though always as endowed with fine human virtues and +even finer human weaknesses. Miss Tillotson, next to +the head clerk in rank and pay--and a pretty and +pushing young person--dreamed of getting acquainted +with him--really well acquainted. It was a vain dream. +For him, between up town and down town a great gulf- +was fixed. Also, he had no interest in or ammunition +for sparrows. + +It was in December that Miss Hallowell--Miss Dorothea +Hallowell--got her temporary place at ten dollars +a week--that obscure event, somewhat like a +field mouse taking quarters in a horizon-bounded grain +field. It was not until mid-February that she, the +palest of personalities, came into direct contact with +Norman, about the most refulgent. This is how it +happened. + +Late in that February afternoon, an hour or more +after the last of the office force should have left, +Norman threw open the door of his private office and glanced +round at the rows on rows of desks. The lights in the +big room were on, apparently only because he was still +within. With an exclamation of disappointment he +turned to re-enter his office. He heard the click of type- +writer keys. Again he looked round, but could see +no one. + +"Isn't there some one here?" he cried. "Don't I +hear a typewriter?" + +The noise stopped. There was a slight rustling +from a far corner, beyond his view, and presently he +saw advancing a slim and shrinking slip of a girl with +a face that impressed him only as small and insignificant. +In a quiet little voice she said, "Yes, sir. Do you wish +anything?" + +"Why, what are you doing here?" he asked. "I +don't think I've ever seen you before." + +"Yes. I took dictation from you several times," +replied she. + +He was instantly afraid he might have hurt her feelings, +and he, who in the days when he was far, far less +than now, had often suffered from that commonplace +form of brutality, was most careful not to commit it. +"I never know what's going on round me when I'm +thinking," explained he, though he was saying to himself +that the next time he would probably again be +unable to remember one with nothing distinctive to fix +identity. "You are--Miss----?" + +"Miss Hallowell." + +"How do you happen to be here? I've given +particular instructions that no one is ever to be detained +after hours." + +A little color appeared in the pale, small face--and +now he saw that she had a singularly fair and smooth +skin, singularly beautiful--and he wondered why he had +not noticed it before. Being a close observer, he had +long ago noted and learned to appreciate the wonders of +that most amazing of tissues, the human skin; and he +had come to be a connoisseur. "I'm staying of my +own accord," said she. + +"They ought not to give you so much work," said +he. "I'll speak about it." + +Into the small face came the look of the frightened +child--a fascinating look. And suddenly he saw that +she had lovely eyes, clear, expressive, innocent. "Please +don't," she pleaded, in the gentle quiet voice. "It isn't +overwork. I did a brief so badly that I was ashamed +to hand it in. I'm doing it again." + +He laughed, and a fine frank laugh he had when +he was in the mood. At once a smile lighted up her +face, danced in her eyes, hovered bewitchingly about +her lips--and he wondered why he had not at first +glance noted how sweet and charmingly fresh her mouth +was. "Why, she's beautiful," he said to himself, the +manly man's inevitable interest in feminine charm wide +awake. "Really beautiful. If she had a figure--and +were tall--" As he thought thus, he glanced at her +figure. A figure? Tall? She certainly was tall--no, +she wasn't--yes, she was. No, not tall from head to +foot, but with the most captivating long lines--long +throat, long bust, long arms, long in body and in legs +--long and slender--yet somehow not tall. He--all this +took but an instant--returned his glance to her face. +He was startled. The beauty had fled, leaving not a +trace behind. Before him wavered once more a small +insignificance. Even her skin now seemed commonplace. + +She was saying, "Did you wish me to do something?" + +"Yes--a letter. Come in," he said abruptly. + +Once more the business in hand took possession of +his mind. He became unconscious of her presence. He +dictated slowly, carefully choosing his words, for perhaps +a quarter of an hour. Then he stopped and paced +up and down, revolving a new idea, a new phase of the +business, that had flashed upon him. When he had his +thoughts once more in form he turned toward the girl, +the mere machine. He gazed at her in amazement. +When he had last looked, he had seen an uninteresting +nonentity. But that was not this person, seated before +him in the same garments and with the same general +blondness. That person had been a girl. This time +the transformation was not into the sweet innocence of +lovely childhood, but into something incredibly different. +He was gazing now at a woman, a beautiful world- +weary woman, one who had known the joys and then +the sorrows of life and love. Heavy were the lids of +the large eyes gazing mournfully into infinity--gazing +upon the graves of a life, the long, long vista of buried +joys. Never had he seen anything so sad or so lovely +as her mouth. The soft, smooth skin was not merely +pale; its pallor was that of wakeful nights, of weeping +until there were no more tears to drain away. + +"Miss Hallowell--" he began. + +She startled; and like the flight of an interrupted +dream, the woman he had been seeing vanished. There +sat the commonplace young person he had first seen. +He said to himself: "I must be a little off my base +to-night," and went on with the dictation. When he +finished she withdrew to transcribe the letter on the +typewriter. He seated himself at his desk and plunged +into the masses of documents. He lost the sense of his +surroundings until she stood beside him holding the +typewritten pages. He did not glance up, but seized +the sheets to read and sign. + +"You may go," said he. "I am very much obliged +to you." And he contrived, as always, to put a +suggestion of genuineness into the customary phrase. + +"I'm afraid it's not good work," said she. "I'll +wait to see if I am to do any of it over." + +"No, thank you," said he. And he looked up-- +to find himself gazing at still another person, wholly +different from any he had seen before. The others had +all been women--womanly women, full of the weakness, +the delicateness rather, that distinguishes the feminine. +This woman he was looking at now had a look of +strength. He had thought her frail. He was seeing +a strong woman--a splendidly healthy body, with sinews +of steel most gracefully covered by that fair smooth +skin of hers. And her features, too--why, this girl was +a person of character, of will. + +He glanced through the pages. "All right--thank +you," he said hastily. "Please don't stay any longer. +Leave the other thing till to-morrow." + +"No--it has to be done to-night." + +"But I insist upon your going." + +She hesitated, said quietly, "Very well," and turned +to go. + +"And you mustn't do it at home, either." + +She made no reply, but waited respectfully until it +was evident he wished to say no more, then went out. +He bundled together his papers, sealed and stamped +and addressed his letter, put on his overcoat and hat +and crossed the outer office on his way to the door. +It was empty; she was gone. He descended in the +elevator to the street, remembered that he had not +locked one of his private cases, returned. As he opened +the outer door he heard the sound of typewriter keys. +In the corner, the obscure, sheltered corner, sat the girl, +bent with childlike gravity over her typewriter. It +was an amusing and a touching sight--she looked so +young and so solemnly in earnest. + +"Didn't I tell you to go home?" he called out, with +mock sternness. + +Up she sprang, her hand upon her heart. And once +more she was beautiful, but once more it was in a way +startlingly, unbelievably different from any expression +he had seen before. + +"Now, really. Miss--" He had forgotten her name. +"You must not stay on here. We aren't such slave +drivers as all that. Go home, please. I'll take the +responsibility." + +She had recovered her equanimity. In her quiet, +gentle voice--but it no longer sounded weak or insignificant-- +she said, "You are very kind, Mr. Norman. +But I must finish my work." + +"Haven't I said I'd take the blame?" + +"But you can't," replied she. "I work badly. I +seem to learn slowly. If I fall behind, I shall lose my +place--sooner or later. It was that way with the last +place I had. If you interfered, you'd only injure me. +I've had experience. And--I must not lose my place." + +One of the scrub women thrust her mussy head and +ragged, shapeless body in at the door. With a start +Norman awoke to the absurdity of his situation--and +to the fact that he was placing the girl in a compromising +position. He shrugged his shoulders, went in and +locked the cabinet, departed. + +"What a queer little insignificance she is!" thought +he, and dismissed her from mind. + + + +II + + +MANY and fantastic are the illusions the human +animal, in its ignorance and its optimism, devises to +change life from a pleasant journey along a plain road +into a fumbling and stumbling and struggling about +in a fog. Of these hallucinations the most grotesque is +that the weak can come together, can pass a law to curb +the strong, can set one of their number to enforce it, +may then disperse with no occasion further to trouble +about the strong. Every line of every page of history +tells how the strong--the nimble-witted, the farsighted, +the ambitious--have worked their will upon their feebler +and less purposeful fellow men, regardless of any and +all precautions to the contrary. Conditions have +improved only because the number of the strong has +increased. With so many lions at war with each other +not a few rabbits contrive to avoid perishing in the +nest. + +Norman's genius lay in ability to take away from +an adversary the legal weapons implicitly relied upon +and to arm his client with them. No man understood +better than he the abysmal distinction between law and +justice; no man knew better than he how to compel- +or to assist--courts to apply the law, so just in the +general, to promoting injustice in the particular. And +whenever he permitted conscience a voice in his internal +debates--it was not often--he heard from it its usual +servile approbation: How can the reign of justice be +more speedily brought about than by making the reign +of law--lawyer law--intolerable? + +About a fortnight after the trifling incident related +in the previous chapter, Norman had to devise a secret +agreement among several of the most eminent of his +clients. They wished to band together, to do a thing +expressly forbidden by the law; they wished to conspire +to lower wages and raise prices in several railway systems +under their control. But none would trust the +others; so there must be something in writing, laid away +in a secret safety deposit box along with sundry bundles +of securities put up as forfeit, all in the custody of +Norman. When he had worked out in his mind and in +fragmentary notes the details of their agreement, he +was ready for some one to do the clerical work. The +some one must be absolutely trustworthy, as the plain +language of the agreement would make clear to the +dullest mind dazzling opportunities for profit--not only +in stock jobbing but also in blackmail. He rang for +Tetlow, the head clerk. Tetlow--smooth and sly and +smug, lacking only courageous initiative to make him a +great lawyer, but, lacking that, lacking all--Tetlow +entered and closed the door behind him. + +Norman leaned back in his desk chair and laced his +fingers behind his head. "One of your typewriters is +a slight blonde girl--sits in the corner to the far left-- +if she's still here." + +"Miss Hallowell," said Tetlow. "We are letting +her go at the end of this week. She's nice and ladylike, +and willing--in fact, most anxious to please. But the +work's too difficult for her. She's rather--rather--well, +not exactly stupid, but slow." + +"Um," said Norman reflectively. "There's Miss +Bostwick--perhaps she'll do." + +"Miss Bostwick got married last week." + +Norman smiled. He remembered the girl because +she was the oldest and homeliest in the office. "There's +somebody for everybody--eh, Tetlow?" + +"He was a lighthouse keeper," said Tetlow. +"There's a story that he advertised for a wife. But +that may be a joke." + +"Why not that Miss--Miss Halloway?" mused +Norman. + +"Miss Hallowell," corrected Tetlow. + +"Hallowell--yes. Is she--VERY incompetent? + +"Not exactly that. But business is slackening-- +and she's been only temporary--and----" + +Norman cut him off with, "Send her in." + +"You don't wish her dismissed? I haven't told +her yet." + +"Oh, I'm not interfering in your department. Do +as you like. . . . No--in this case--let her stay on for +the present." + +"I can use her," said Tetlow. "And she gets only +ten a week." + +Norman frowned. He did not like to HEAR that an +establishment in which he had control paid less than +decent living wages--even if the market price did +excuse--yes, compel it. "Send her in," he repeated. +Then, as Tetlow was about to leave, "She is trustworthy?" + +"All our force is. I see to that, Mr. Norman." + +"Has she a young man--steady company, I think +they call it?" + +"She has no friends at all. She's extremely shy-- +at least, reserved. Lives with her father, an old crank +of an analytical chemist over in Jersey City. She hasn't +even a lady friend." + +"Well, send her in." + +A moment later Norman, looking up from his work, +saw the dim slim nonentity before him. Again he leaned +back and, as he talked with her, studied her face to +make sure that his first judgment was correct. "Do +you stay late every night?" asked he smilingly. + +She colored a little, but enough to bring out the +exquisite fineness of her white skin. "Oh, I don't mind," +said she, and there was no embarrassment in her manner. +"I've got to learn--and doing things over +helps." + +"Nothing equal to it," declared Norman. "You've +been to school?" + +"Only six weeks," confessed she. "I couldn't afford +to stay longer." + +"I mean the other sort of school--not the typewriting." + +"Oh! Yes," said she. And once more he saw that +extraordinary transformation. She became all in an +instant delicately, deliciously lovely, with the moving, +in a way pathetic loveliness of sweet children and sweet +flowers. Her look was mystery; but not a mystery of +guile. She evidently did not wish to have her past +brought to view; but it was equally apparent that +behind it lay hid nothing shameful, only the sad, perhaps +the painful. Of all the periods of life youth is the best +fitted to bear deep sorrows, for then the spirit has its +full measure of elasticity. Yet a shadow upon youth +is always more moving than the shadows of maturer +years--those shadows that do not lie upon the surface +but are heavy and corroding stains. When Norman +saw this shadow upon her youth, so immature-looking, +so helpless-looking, he felt the first impulse of genuine +interest in her. Perhaps, had that shadow happened +to fall when he was seeing her as the commonplace and +colorless little struggler for bread, and seeming doomed +speedily to be worsted in the struggle--perhaps, he +would have felt no interest, but only the brief qualm +of pity that we dare not encourage in ourselves, on a +journey so beset with hopeless pitiful things as is the +journey through life. + +But he had no impulse to question her. And with +some surprise he noted that his reason for refraining +was not the usual reason--unwillingness uselessly to add +to one's own burdens by inviting the mournful +confidences of another. No, he checked himself because in +the manner of this frail and mouselike creature, dim +though she once more was, there appeared a dignity, a +reserve, that made intrusion curiously impossible. With +an apologetic note in his voice--a kind and friendly +voice--he said: + +"Please have your typewriter brought in here. I +want you to do some work for me--work that isn't to be +spoken of--not even to Mr. Tetlow." He looked at +her with grave penetrating eyes. "You will not speak +of it?" + +"No," replied she, and nothing more. But she +accompanied the simple negative with a clear and honest +sincerity of the eyes that set his mind completely +at rest. He felt that this girl had never in her life told +a real lie. + +One of the office boys installed the typewriter, and +presently Norman and the quiet nebulous girl at whom +no one would trouble to look a second time were seated +opposite each other with the broad table desk between, +he leaning far back in his desk chair, fingers interlocked +behind his proud, strong-looking head, she holding +sharpened pencil suspended over the stenographic note- +book. Long before she seated herself he had forgotten +her except as machine. There followed a troubled hour, +as he dictated, ordered erasure, redictated, ordered re- +readings, skipped back and forth, in the effort to frame +the secret agreement in the fewest and simplest, and +least startlingly unlawful, words. At last he leaned +forward with the shine of triumph in his eyes. + +"Read straight through," he commanded. + +She read, interrupted occasionally by a sharp order +from him to correct some mistake in her notes. + +"Again," he commanded, when she translated the +last of her notes. + +This time she was not interrupted once. When she +ended, he exclaimed: "Good! I don't see how you did +it so well." + +"Nor do I," said she. + +"You say you are only a beginner." + +"I couldn't have done it so well for anyone else," +said she. "You are--different." + +The remark was worded most flatteringly, but it did +not sound so. He saw that she did not herself understand +what she meant by "different." HE understood, +for he knew the difference between the confused and +confusing ordinary minds and such an intelligence as his +own--simple, luminous, enlightening all minds, however +dark, so long as they were in the light-flooded region +around it. + +"Have I made the meaning clear?" he asked. + +He hoped she would reply that he had not, though +this would have indicated a partial defeat in the object +he had--to put the complex thing so plainly that no +one could fail to understand. But she answered, "Yes." + +He congratulated himself that his overestimate of +her ignorance of affairs had not lured him into giving +her the names of the parties at interest to transcribe. +But did she really understand? To test her, he said: + +"What do you think of it?" + +"That it's wicked," replied she, without hesitation +and in her small, quiet voice. + +He laughed. In a way this girl, sitting there-- +this inconsequential and negligible atom--typefied the +masses of mankind against whom that secret agreement +was directed. They, the feeble and powerless ones, with +their necks ever bent under the yoke of the mighty and +their feet ever stumbling into the traps of the crafty-- +they, too, would utter an impotent "Wicked!" if they +knew. His voice had the note of gentle raillery in it +as he said: + +"No--not wicked. Just business." + +She was looking down at her book, her face +expressionless. A few moments before he would have said +it was an empty face. Now it seemed to him sphynxlike. + +"Just business," he repeated. "It is going to take +money from those who don't know how to keep or to +spend it and give it to those who do know how. The +money will go for building up civilization, instead of +for beer and for bargain-trough finery to make working +men's wives and daughters look cheap and nasty." + +She was silent. + +"Now, do you understand?" + +"I understand what you said." She looked at him +as she spoke. He wondered how he could have fancied +those lack-luster eyes beautiful or capable of expression. + +"You don't believe it?" he asked. + +"No," said she. And suddenly in those eyes, gazing +now into space, there came the unutterably melancholy +look--heavy-lidded from heartache, weary-wise +from long, long and bitter, experiences. Yet she still +looked young--girlishly young--but it was the youthful +look the classic Greek sculptors tried to give their +young goddesses--the youth without beginning or end-- +younger than a baby's, older than the oldest of the sons +of men. He mocked himself for the fancies this queer +creature inspired in him; but she none the less made +him uneasy. + +"You don't believe it?" he repeated. + +"No," she answered again. "My father has taught +me--some things." + +He drummed impatiently on the table. He resented +her impertinence--for, like all men of clear and positive {?} +mind, he regarded contradiction as in one {?} +pudent, in another aspect evidence of the fol{?} +contradictor. Then he gave a short laugh--the {?} +ing laugh of the clever man who has tried to believe his +own sophistries and has failed. "Well--neither do I +believe it," said he. "Now, to get the thing typewritten." + +She seated herself at the machine and set to work. +As his mind was full of the agreement he could not +concentrate on anything else. From time to time he +glanced at her. Then he gave up trying to work and +sat furtively observing her. What a quaint little +mystery it was! There was in it--that is, in her-- +not the least charm for him. But, in all his experience +with women, he could recall no woman with a comparable +development of this curious quality of multiple +personalities, showing and vanishing in swift succession. + +There had been a time when woman had interested +him as a puzzle to be worked out, a maze to be explored, +a temple to be penetrated--until one reached the place +where the priests manipulated the machinery for the +wonders and miracles to fool the devotees into awe. +Some men never get to this stage, never realize that +their own passions, working upon the universal human +love of the mysterious, are wholly responsible for the +cult of woman the sphynx and the sibyl. But Norman, +beloved of women, had been let by them into their +ultimate secret--the simple humanness of woman; the +{?}ry of the oracles, miracles, and wonders. He +{?}red that her "divine intuitions" were mere +{?} guesses, where they had any meaning at all; +that her eloquent silences were screens for ignorance or +boredom--and so on through the list of legends that +prop the feminist cult. + +But this girl--this Miss Hallowell--here was a +tangible mystery--a mystery of physics, of chemistry. +He sat watching her--watching the changes as she bent +to her work, or relaxed, or puzzled over the meaning +of one of her own hesitating stenographic hieroglyphics +--watched her as the waning light of the afternoon +varied its intensity upon her skin. Why, her very hair +partook of this magical quality and altered its tint, +its degree of vitality even, in harmony with the other +changes. . . . What was the explanation? By means of +what rare mechanism did her nerve force ebb and flow +from moment to moment, bringing about these fascinating +surface changes in her body? Could anything, even +any skin, be better made than that superb skin of hers +--that master work of delicacy and strength, of smoothness +and color? How had it been possible for him to +fail to notice it, when he was always looking for signs +of a good skin down town--and up town, too--in these +days of the ravages of pastry and candy? . . . What +long graceful fingers she had--yet what small hands! +Certainly here was a peculiarity that persisted. No-- +absurd though it seemed, no! One way he looked at +those hands, they were broad and strong, another way +narrow and gracefully weak. + +He said to himself: "The man who gets that girl +will have Solomon's wives rolled into one. A harem at +the price of a wife--or a--" He left the thought +unfinished. It seemed an insult to this helpless little +creature, the more rather than the less cowardly for +being unspoken; for, no doubt her ideas of propriety +were firmly conventional. + +"About done?" he asked impatiently. + +She glanced up. "In a moment. I'm sorry to be +so slow." + +"You're not," he assured her truthfully. "It's my +impatience. Let me see the pages you've finished." + +With them he was able to concentrate his mind. +When she laid the last page beside his arm he was +absorbed, did not look at her, did not think of her. +"Take the machine away," said he abruptly. + +He was leaving for the day when he remembered her +again. He sent for her. "I forgot to thank you. It +was good work. You will do well. All you need is +practice--and confidence. Especially confidence." He +looked at her. She seemed frail--touchingly frail. +"You are not strong?" + +She smiled, and in an instant the frailty seemed +to have been mere delicacy of build--the delicacy that +goes with the strength of steel wires, or rather of the +spider's weaving thread which sustains weights and +shocks out of all proportion to its appearance. "I've +never been ill in my life," said she. "Not a day." + +Again, because she was standing before him in full +view, he noted the peculiar construction of her frame-- +the beautiful lines of length so dextrously combined that +her figure as a whole was not tall. He said, "A working +woman--or man--needs health above all. Thank +you again." And he nodded a somewhat curt dismissal. +When she glided away and he was alone behind the +closed door, he reflected for a moment upon the +extraordinary amount of thinking--and the extraordinary +kind of thinking--into which this poor little typewriter +girl had beguiled him. He soon found the explanation +for this vagary into a realm so foreign to a man of his +high tastes and ambitions. "It's because I'm so in +love with Josephine," he decided. "I've fallen into the +sentimental state of all lovers. The whole sex becomes +novel and interesting and worth while." + +As he left the office, unusually late, he saw her still +at work--no doubt doing over again some bungled piece +of copying. She had her normal and natural look and +air--the atomic little typewriter, unattractive and +uninteresting. With another smile for his romantic +imaginings, he forgot her. But when he reached the street +he remembered her again. The threatened blizzard had +changed into a heavy rain. The swift and sudden +currents of air, that have made of New York a cave of the +winds since the coming of the skyscrapers, were darting +round corners, turning umbrellas inside out, tossing +women's skirts about their heads, reducing all who were +abroad to the same level of drenched and sullen wretched- +ness. Norman's limousine was waiting at the curb. +He, pausing in the doorway, glanced up and down the +street, had an impulse to return and take the girl home. +Then he smiled satirically at himself. Her lot +condemned her to be out in all weathers. It would not be +a kindness but an exhibition of smug vanity to shelter +her this one night; also, there was the question of her +reputation--and the possibility of turning her head, +perhaps just enough to cause her ruin. He sprang +across the wind-swept, rain-swept sidewalk and into the +limousine whose door was being held open by an obsequious +attendant. "Home," he said, and the door +slammed. + +Usually these journeys between office and home or +club in the evening gave Norman a chance for ten or +fifteen minutes of sleep. He had discovered that this +brief dropping of the thread of consciousness gave him +a wonderful fresh grip upon the day, enabled him to +work or play until late into the night without fatigue. +But that evening his mind was wide awake. Nor could +he fix it upon business. It would interest itself only in +the hurrying throngs of foot passengers and the ideas +they suggested: Here am I--so ran his thoughts--here +am I, tucked away comfortably while all those poor +creatures have to plod along in the storm. I could +afford to be sick. They can't. And what have I done +to deserve this good fortune? Nothing. Worse than +nothing. If I had made my career along the lines of +what is honest and right and beneficial to my fellow +men, I'd probably be plugging home under an umbrella +--and to a pretty poor excuse for a home. But I was +too wise to do that. I've spent this day, as I spend all +my days, in helping the powerful rich to add to their +wealth and power, to add to the burdens those poor +devils out there in the rain must bear. And I'm +rewarded with a limousine, and all the rest of it. + +These thoughts neither came from nor produced a +mood of penitence, or of regret even. Norman was +simply indulging in his favorite pastime--following +without prejudice the leading of a chain of pure logic. +He despised self-deceivers. He always kept himself free +from prejudice and all its wiles. He took life as he +found it; but he did not excuse it and himself with the +familiar hypocrisies that make the comfortable classes +preen themselves on being the guardians and saviours +of the ignorant, incapable masses. When old Lockyer +said one day that this was the function of the "upper +classes," Norman retorted: "Perhaps. But, if so, how +do they perform it? Like the brutal old-fashioned farm +family that takes care of its insane member by keeping +him chained in filth in the cellar." And once at the +Federal Club-- By the way, Norman had joined it, had +compelled it to receive him just to show his associates +how a strong man could break even such a firmly established +tradition as that no one who amounted to anything +could be elected to a fashionable club in New +York. Once at the Federal Club old Galloway quoted +with approval some essayist's remark that every clever +human being was looking after and holding above the +waves at least fifteen of his weaker fellows. Norman +smiled satirically round at the complacently nodding +circle of gray heads and white heads. "My observation +has been," said he, "that every clever chap is shrewd +enough to compel at least fifteen of his fellows to wait +on him, to take care of him--do his chores--and his +dirty work." The nodding stopped. Scowls appeared, +except on the face of old Galloway. He grinned. He +was one of the few examples of a very rich man with a +sense of humor. Norman always thought it was this +slight incident that led to his getting the extremely +profitable--and shady--Galloway business. + +No, Norman's mood, as he watched the miserable +crowds afoot and reflected upon them, was neither +remorseful nor triumphant. He simply noted an interesting +fact--a commonplace fact--of the methods of that +sardonic practical joker, Life. Because the scheme of +things was unjust and stupid, because others, most +others, were uncomfortable or worse--why should he +make himself uncomfortable? It would be an absurdity +to get out of his limousine and trudge along in the +wet and the wind. It would be equally absurd to sit in +his limousine and be unhappy about the misery of the +world. "I didn't create it, and I can't recreate it. +And if I'm helping to make it worse, I'm also hastening +the time when it'll be better. The Great Ass must have +brains and spirit kicked and cudgeled into it." + +At his house in Madison Avenue, just at the crest +of Murray Hill, there was an awning from front door +to curb and a carpet beneath it. He passed, dry and +comfortable, up the steps. A footman in quiet rich +livery was waiting to receive him. From rising until +bedtime, up town and down town, wherever he went +and whatever he was about, every possible menial detail +of his life was done for him. He had nothing to do +but think about his own work and keep himself in health. +Rarely did he have even to open or to close a door. He +used a pen only in signing his name or marking a passage +in a law book for some secretary to make a typewritten copy. + +Upon most human beings this sort of luxury, carried +beyond the ordinary and familiar uses of menial +service, has a speedily enervating effect. Thinking +being the most onerous of all, they have it done, also. +They sink into silliness and moral and mental sloth. +They pass the time at foolish purposeless games indoors +and out; or they wander aimlessly about the earth +chattering with similar mental decrepits, much like monkeys +adrift in the boughs of a tropical forest. But Norman +had the tenacity and strength to concentrate upon +achievement all the powers emancipated by the use of +menials wherever menials could be used. He employed +to advantage the time saved in putting in shirt buttons +and lacing shoes and carrying books to and from +shelves. In this lay one of the important secrets of his +success. "Never do for yourself what you can get some +one else to do for you as well. Save yourself for the +things only YOU can do." + +In his household there were three persons, and sixteen +servants to wait upon them. His sister--she and +her husband, Clayton Fitzhugh, were the other two +persons--his sister was always complaining that there were +not enough servants, and Frederick, the most indulgent +of brothers, was always letting her add to the number. +It seemed to him that the more help there was, the less +smoothly the household ran. But that did not concern +him; his mind was saved for more important matters. +There was no reason why it should concern him; could +he not compel the dollars to flood in faster than she +could bail them out? + +This brother and sister had come to New York +fifteen years before, when he was twenty-two and she +nineteen. They were from Albany, where their family +had possessed some wealth and much social position for +many generations. There was the usual "queer streak" +in the Norman family--an intermittent but fixed habit +of some one of them making a "low marriage." One +view of this aberration might have been that there was +in the Norman blood a tenacious instinct of sturdy and +self-respecting independence that caused a Norman +occasionally to do as he pleased instead of as he conven- +tionally ought. Each time the thing occurred there +was a mighty and horrified hubbub throughout the +connection. But in the broad, as the custom is, the +Normans were complacent about the "queer streak." +They thought it kept the family from rotting out and +running to seed. "Nothing like an occasional infusion +of common blood," Aunt Ursula Van Bruyten (born +Norman) used to say. For her Norman's sister was +named. + +Norman's father had developed the "queer streak." +Their mother was the daughter of a small farmer and, +when she met their father, was chambermaid in a Troy +hotel, Troy then being a largish village. As soon as she +found herself married and in a position with whose duties +she was unfamiliar, she set about fitting herself for them +with the same diligence and thoroughness which she had +shown in learning chamber work in a village hotel. She +educated herself, selected not without shrewdness and +carefully put on an assortment of genteel airs, finally +contrived to make a most creditable appearance--was more +aristocratic in tastes and in talk than the high mightiest +of her relatives by marriage. But her son Fred was a +Pinkey in character. In boyhood he was noted for his +rough and low associates. His bosom friends were the +son of a Jewish junk dealer, the son of a colored wash- +woman, and the son of an Irish day laborer. Also, the +commonness persisted as he grew up. Instead of seeking +aristocratic ease, he aspired to a career. He had +choice of several rich and well-born girls; but he +developed a strong distaste for marriage of any sort and +especially for a rich marriage. A fortune he was +resolved to have, but it should be one that belonged to +him. When he was about ready to enter a law office, his +father and mother died leaving less than ten thousand +dollars in all for his sister and himself. His sister +hesitated, half inclined to marry a stupid second cousin +who had thirty thousand a year. + +"Don't do it, Ursula," Fred advised. "If you must +sell out, sell for something worth while." He laughed +in his frank, ironical way. "Fact is, we've both made +up our minds to sell. Let's go to the best market-- +New York. If you don't like it, you can come back and +marry that fat-wit any time you please." + +Ursula inspected herself in the glass, saw a face and +form exceeding fair to look upon; she decided to take +her brother's advice. At twenty she threw over a multi- +millionaire and married Clayton Fitzhugh for love-- +Clayton with only seventeen thousand a year. Of +course, from the standpoint of fashionable ambition, +seventeen thousand a year in New York is but one +remove from tenement house poverty. As Clayton had +no more ability at making money than had Ursula herself, +there was nothing to do but live with Norman and +"take care of him." But for this self-sacrifice of +sisterly affection Norman would have been rich at thirty- +seven. As he had to make her rich as well as himself, +progress toward luxurious independence was slower-- +and there was the house, costing nearly fifty thousand +a year to keep up. + +There had been a time in Norman's career--a brief +and very early time--when, with the maternal peasant +blood hot in his veins, he had entertained the quixotic +idea of going into politics on the poor or people's side +and fighting for glory only. The pressure of expensive +living had soon driven this notion clean off. Norman +had almost forgotten that he ever had it, was no longer +aware how strong it had been in the last year at law +school. Young men of high intelligence and ardent +temperament always pass through this period. With +some--a few--its glory lingers long after the fire has +flickered out before the cool, steady breath of worldliness. + +All this time Norman has been dressing for dinner. +He now leaves the third floor and descends toward the +library, as it still lacks twenty minutes of the dinner +hour. + +As he walked along the hall of the second floor a +woman's voice called to him, "That you, Fred?" + +He turned in at his sister's sitting room. She was +standing at a table smoking a cigarette. Her tall, slim +figure looked even taller and slimmer in the tight-fitting +black satin evening dress. Her features faintly +suggested her relationship to Norman. She was a handsome +woman, with a voluptuous discontented mouth. + +"What are you worried about, sis?" inquired he. + +"How did you know I was worried?" returned she. + +"You always are." + +"Oh!" + +"But you're unusually worried to-night." + +"How did you know that?" + +"You never smoke just before dinner unless your +nerves are ragged. . . . What is it?" + +"Money." + +"Of course. No one in New York worries about +anything else." + +"But THIS is serious," protested she. "I've been +thinking--about your marriage--and what'll become of +Clayton and me?" She halted, red with embarrassment. + +Norman lit a cigarette himself. "I ought to have +explained," said he. "But I assumed you'd understand." + +"Fred, you know Clayton can't make anything. +And when you marry--why--what WILL become of us!" + +"I've been taking care of Clayton's money--and of +yours. I'll continue to do it. I think you'll find you're +not so badly of. You see, my position enables me to +compel a lot of the financiers to let me in on the ground +floor--and to warn me in good time before the house +falls. You'll not miss me, Ursula." + +She showed her gratitude in her eyes, in a slight +quiver of the lips, in an unsteadiness of tone as she said, +"You're the real thing, Freddie." + +"You can go right on as you are now. Only--" +He was looking at her with meaning directness. + +She moved uneasily, refused to meet his gaze. +"Well?" she said, with a suggestion of defiance. + +"It's all very natural to get tired of Clayton," said +her brother. "I knew you would when you married +him. But-- Sis, I mind my own business. Still-- +Why make a fool of yourself?" + +"You don't understand," she exclaimed passionately. +And the light in her eyes, the color in her cheeks, restored +to her for the moment the beauty of her youth that was +almost gone. + +"Understand what?" inquired he in a tone of gentle +mockery. + +"Love. You are all ambition--all self control. You +can be affectionate--God knows, you have been to me, +Fred. But love you know nothing about--nothing." + +His was the smile a man gives when in earnest and +wishing to be thought jesting--or when in jest and +wishing to be thought in earnest. + +"You mean Josephine? Oh, yes, I suppose you +do care for her in a way--in a nice, conventional way. +She is a fine handsome piece--just the sort to fill the +position of wife to a man like you. She's sweet and +charming, she appreciates, she flatters you. I'm sure +she loves you as much as a GIRL knows how to love. But +it's all so conventional, so proper. Your position--her +money. You two are of the regulation type even in +that you're suited to each other in height and +figure. Everybody'll say, `What a fine couple--so well +matched!' " + +"Maybe YOU don't understand," said Norman. + +"If Josephine were poor and low-born--weren't one +of us--and all that--would you have her?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," was his prompt and amused +answer. "I can only say that I know what I want, she +being what she is." + +Ursula shook her head. "I have only to see you +and her together to know that you at least don't +understand love." + +"It might be well if YOU didn't," said Norman dryly. +"You might be less unhappy--and Clayton less uneasy." + +"Ah, but I can't help myself. Don't you see it in +me, Fred? I'm not a fool. Yet see what a fool I act." + +"Spoiled child--that's all. No self-control." + +"You despise everyone who isn't as strong as you." +She looked at him intently. "I wonder if you ARE as +self-controlled as you imagine. Sometimes I wish you'd +get a lesson. Then you'd be more sympathetic. But +it isn't likely you will--not through a woman. Oh, +they're such pitifully easy game for a man like you. +But then men are the same way with you--quite as +easy. You get anything you want. . . . You're really +going to stick to Josephine?" + +He nodded. "It's time for me to settle down." + +"Yes--I think it is," she went on thoughtfully. "I +can hardly believe you're to marry. Of course, she's +the grand prize. Still--I never imagined you'd come +in and surrender. I guess you DO care for her." + +"Why else should I marry?" argued he. "She's +got nothing I need--except herself, Ursula." + +"What IS it you see in her?" + +"What you see--what everyone sees," replied Fred, +with quiet, convincing enthusiasm. "What no one could +help seeing. As you say, she's the grand prize." + +"Yes, she is sweet and handsome--and intelligent +--very superior, without making others feel that they're +outclassed. Still--there's something lacking--not in her +perhaps, but in you. You have it for her--she's crazy +about you. But she hasn't it for you." + +"What?" + +"I can't tell you. It isn't a thing that can be put +into words." + +"Then it doesn't exist." + +"Oh, yes it does," cried Ursula. "If the engagement +were to be broken--or if anything were to happen +to her--why, you'd get over it--would go on as if nothing +had happened. If she didn't fit in with your plans +and ambitions, she'd be sacrificed so quick she'd not +know what had taken off her head. But if you felt what +I mean--then you'd give up everything--do the wildest, +craziest things." + +"What nonsense!" scoffed Norman. "I can im- +agine myself making a fool of myself about a woman +as easily as about anything else. But I can't imagine +myself playing the fool for anything whatsoever." + +There was mysterious fire in Ursula's absent eyes. +"You remember me as a girl--how mercenary I was-- +how near I came to marrying Cousin Jake?" + +"I saved you from that." + +"Yes--and for what? I fell in love." + +"And out again." + +"I was deceived in Clayton--deceived myself-- +naturally. How is a woman to know, without experience?" + +"Oh, I'm not criticising," said the brother. + +"Besides, a love marriage that fails is different from +a mercenary marriage that fails." + +"Very--very," agreed he. "Just the difference +between an honorable and a dishonorable bankruptcy." + +"Anyhow--it's bankrupt--my marriage. But I've +learned what love is--that there is such a thing--and +that it's valuable. Yes, Fred, I've got the taste for +that wine--the habit of it. Could I go back to water +or milk?" + +"Spoiled baby--that's the whole story. If you had +a nursery full of children--or did the heavy house- +work--you'd never think of these foolish moonshiny +things." + +"Yet you say you love!" + +"Clayton is as good as any you're likely to run +across--is better than SOME I've seen about." + +"How can YOU say?" cried she. "It's for me +to judge." + +"If you would only JUDGE!" + +Ursula sighed. "It's useless to talk to you. Let's +go down." + +Norman, following her from the room, stopped her +in the doorway to give her a brotherly hug and kiss. +"You won't make an out-and-out idiot of yourself, +will you, Ursula?" he said, in his winning manner. + +The expression of her eyes as she looked at him +showed how strong was his influence over her. "You +know I'll come to you for advice before I do anything +final," said she. "Oh, I don't know what I want! I +only know what I don't want. I wish I were well +balanced--as you are, Fred." + + + +III + + +THE brother and sister dined alone. Clayton was, +finding his club a more comfortable place than his home, +in those days of his wife's disillusionment and hesitation +about the future. Many weak creatures are curiously +armed for the unequal conflict of existence-- +some with fleetness of foot, some with a pole-cat weapon +of malignance, some with porcupine quills, some with +a 'possumlike instinct for "playing dead." Of these +last was Fitzhugh. He knew when to be silent, when +to keep out of the way, when to "sit tight" and wait. +His wife had discovered that he was a fool--that he +perhaps owed more to his tailor than to any other +single factor for the success of his splendid pose of +the thorough gentleman. Yet she did not realize what +an utter fool he was, so clever had he been in the use +of the art of discreet silence. Norman suspected him, +but could not believe a human being capable of such +fathomless vacuity as he found whenever he tried to +explore his brother-in-law's brain. + +After dinner Norman took Ursula to the opera, +to join the Seldins, and after the first act went to +Josephine, who had come with only a deaf old aunt. +Josephine loved music, and to hear an opera from a +box one must be alone. Norman entered as the lights +went up. It always gave him a feeling of dilation, +this spectacle of material splendor--the women, whose +part it is throughout civilization to-day to wear for +public admiration and envy the evidences of the prowess +of the males to whom they belong. A truer version of +Dr. Holmes's aphorism would be that it takes several +generations in oil to make a deep-dyed snob--wholly to +destroy a man's or a woman's point of view, sense of +the kinship of all flesh, and to make him or her over +into the genuine believer in caste and worshiper of it. +For all his keenness of mind, of humor, Norman had the +fast-dyed snobbishness of his family and friends. He +knew that caste was silly, that such displays as this +vulgar flaunting of jewels and costly dresses were in +atrocious bad taste. But it is one thing to know, +another thing to feel; and his feeling was delight in the +spectacle, pride in his own high rank in the aristocracy. + +His eyes rested with radiant pleasure on the girl +he was to marry. And she was indeed a person to +appeal to the passion of pride. Simply and most +expensively dressed in pearl satin, with only a little +jewelry, she sat in the front of her parterre box, a +queen by right of her father's wealth, her family's +position, her own beauty. She was a large woman--tall, a +big frame but not ungainly. She had brilliant dark +eyes, a small proud head set upon shoulders that were +slenderly young now and, even when they should +became matronly, would still be beautiful. She had good +teeth, an exquisite smile, the gentle good humor of those +who, comfortable themselves, would not have the slightest +objection to all others being equally so. Because +she laughed appreciatively and repeated amusingly she +had great reputation for wit. Because she industriously +picked up from men a plausible smatter of small talk +about politics, religion, art and the like, she was +renowned as clever verging on profound. And she +believed herself both witty and wise--as do thousands, +male and female, with far less excuse. + +She had selected Norman for the same reason that +he had selected her; each recognized the other as the +"grand prize." Pity is not nearly so close kin to love +as is the feeling that the other person satisfies to the +uttermost all one's pet vanities. It would have been +next door to impossible for two people so well matched +not to find themselves drawn to each other and filled +with sympathy and the sense of comradeship, so far as +there can be comradeship where two are driving luxuriously +along the way of life, with not a serious cause for +worry. People without half the general fitness of these +two for each other have gone through to the end, +regarding themselves and regarded as the most devoted +of lovers. Indeed, they were lovers. Only one of those +savage tests, to which in all probability they would never +be exposed, would or could reveal just how much, or +how little, that vague, variable word lovers meant when +applied to them. + +As their eyes met, into each pair leaped the fine, +exalted light of pride in possession. "This wonderful +woman is mine!" his eyes said. And her eyes answered, +"And you--you most wonderful of men--you are +mine!" It always gave each of them a thrill like +intoxication to meet, after a day's separation. All the joy of +their dazzling good fortune burst upon them afresh. + +"I'll venture you haven't thought of me the whole +day," said she as he dropped to the chair behind her. + +It was a remark she often made--to give him the +opportunity to say, "I've thought of little else, I'm +sorry to say--I, who have a career to look after." He +made the usual answer, and they smiled happily at each +other. "And you?" he said. + +"Oh, I? What else has a woman to think about?" + +Her statement was as true as his was false. He +was indeed all she had to think about--all worth wasting +the effort of thought upon. But he--though he did +not realize it--had thought of her only in the incidental +way in which an ambition-possessed man must force +himself to think of a woman. The best of his mind was +commandeered to his career. An amiable but shakily +founded theory that it was "our" career enabled him +to say without sense of lying that his chief thought +had been she. + +"How those men down town would poke fun at +you," said she, "if they knew you had me with you all +the time, right beside you." + +This amused him. "Still, I suspect there are lots +of men who'd be exposed in the same way if there were +a general and complete show-down." + +"Sometimes I wish I really were with you--working +with you--helping you. You have girls--a girl--to +be your secretary--or whatever you call it--don't +you?" + +"You should have seen the one I had to-day. But +there's always something pathetic about every girl who +has to make her own living." + +"Pathetic!" protested Miss Burroughs. "Not at +all. I think it's fine." + +"You wouldn't say that if you had tried it." + +"Indeed, I should," she declared with spirit. "You +men are entirely too soft about women. You don't +realize how strong they are. And, of course, women +don't resist the temptation to use their sex when they see +how easy it is to fool men that way. The sad thing +about it is that the woman who gets along by using +her sex and by appealing to the soft-heartedness of +men never learns to rely on herself. She's likely to +come to grief sooner or later." + +"There's truth in all that," said Norman. "Enough +to make it dangerously unjust. There's so much lying +done about getting on that it's no wonder those who've +never tried to do for themselves get a wholly false notion +of the situation. It is hard--bitterly hard--for a man +to get on. Most men don't. Most men? All but a +mere handful. And if those who do get on were to tell +the truth--the WHOLE truth--about how they succeeded +--well, it'd not make a pleasant story." + +"But YOU'VE got on," retorted the girl. + +"So I have. And how?" Norman smiled with +humorous cynicism. "I'll never tell--not all--only the +parts that sound well. And those parts are the least +important. However, let's not talk about that. What +I set out to say was that, while it's hard for a man to +make a decent living--unless he has luck--and harder +still--much harder--for him to rise to independence----" + +"It wasn't so dreadfully hard for YOU," interrupted +Josephine, looking at him with proud admiration. "But +then, you had a wonderful brain." + +"That wasn't what did it," replied he. "And, in +spite of all my advantages--friendships, education, +enough money to tide me over the beginnings--in spite +of all that, I had a frightful time. Not the work. Of +course, I had to work, but I like that. No, it was the-- +the maneuvering, let's call it--the hardening process." + +"You!" she exclaimed. + +"Everyone who succeeds--in active life. You don't +understand the system, dear. It's a cutthroat game. +It isn't at all what the successful hypocrites describe +in their talks to young men!" He laughed. "If I +had followed the `guides to success,' I'd not be here. +Oh, yes, I've made terrible sacrifices, but--" his look +at her made her thrill with exaltation--"it was worth +doing. . . . I understand and sympathize with those who +scorn to succeed. But I'm glad I happened not to be +born with their temperament, at least not with enough +of it to keep me down." + +"You're too hard on yourself, too generous to the +failures." + +"Oh, I don't mean the men who were too lazy to +do the work or too cowardly to dare the--the unpleasant +things. And I'm not hard with myself--only frank. +But we were talking of the women. Poor things, what +chance have they got? You scorn them for using their +sex. Wait till you're drowning, dear, before you criticise +another for what he does to save himself when he's +sinking for the last time. I used everything I had in +making my fight. If I could have got on better or +quicker by the aid of my sex, I'd have used that." + +"Don't say those things, Fred," cried Josephine, +smiling but half in earnest. + +"Why not? Aren't you glad I'm here?" + +She gave him a long look of passionate love and +lowered her eyes. + +"At whatever cost?" + +"Yes," she said in a low voice. "But I'm SURE you +exaggerate." + +"I've done nothing YOU wouldn't approve of--or +find excuses for. But that's because you--I--all of us +in this class--and in most other classes--have been +trained to false ideas--no, to perverted ideas--to a +system of morality that's twisted to suit the demands +of practical life. On Sundays we go to a magnificent +church to hear an expensive preacher and choir, go in +expensive dress and in carriages, and we never laugh at +ourselves. Yet we are going in the name of One who +was born in a stable and who said that we must give +everything to the poor, and so on." + +"But I don't see what we could do about it--" she +said hesitatingly. + +"We couldn't do anything. Only--don't you see +my point?--the difference between theory and practice? +Personally, I've no objection--no strong objection--to +the practice. All I object to is the lying and faking +about it, to make it seem to fit the theory. But we were +talking of women--women who work." + +"I've no doubt you're right," admitted she. "I +suppose they aren't to blame for using their sex. I +ought to be ashamed of myself, to sneer at them." + +"As a matter of fact, their sex does few of them +any good. The reverse. You see, an attractive woman +--one who's attractive AS a woman--can skirmish round +and find some one to support her. But most of the +working women--those who keep on at it--don't find +the man. They're not attractive, not even at the start. +After they've been at it a few years and lose the little +bloom they ever had--why, they've got to take their +chances at the game, precisely like a man. Only, they're +handicapped by always hoping that they'll be able to +quit and become married women. I'd like to see how +men would behave if they could find or could imagine +any alternative to `root hog or die.' " + +"What's the matter with you this evening, Fred? +I never saw you in such a bitter mood." + +"We never happened to get on this subject before." + +"Oh, yes, we have. And you always have scoffed +at the men who fail." + +"And I still scoff at them--most of them. A lot of +lazy cowards. Or else, so bent on self-indulgence-- +petty self-indulgence--that they refuse to make the +small sacrifice to-day for the sake of the large advantage +day after to-morrow. Or else so stuffed with vanity +that they never see their own mistakes. However, why +blame them? They were born that way, and can't +change. A man who has the equipment of success and +succeeds has no more right to sneer at one less lucky +than you would have to laugh at a poor girl because +she wasn't dressed as well as you." + +"What a mood! SOMETHING must have happened." + +"Perhaps," said he reflectively. "Possibly that +girl set me off." + +"What girl?" + +"The one I told you about. The unfortunate little +creature who was typewriting for me this afternoon. +Not so very little, either. A curious figure she had. +She was tall yet she wasn't. She seemed thin, and when +you looked again, you saw that she was really only +slender, and beautifully shaped throughout." + +Miss Burroughs laughed. "She must have been attractive." + +"Not in the least. Absolutely without charm--and +so homely--no, not homely--commonplace. No, that's +not right, either. She had a startling way of fading and +blazing out. One moment she seemed a blank--pale, +lifeless, colorless, a nobody. The next minute she +became--amazingly different. Not the same thing every +time, but different things." + +Frederick Norman was too experienced a dealer +with women deliberately to make the mistake--rather, +to commit the breach of tact and courtesy--involved +in praising one woman to another. But in this case +it never occurred to him that he was talking to a woman +of a woman. Josephine Burroughs was a lady; the +other was a piece of office machinery--and a very trivial +piece at that. But he saw and instantly understood +the look in her eyes--the strained effort to keep the +telltale upper lip from giving its prompt and irrepressible +signal of inward agitation. + +"I'm very much interested," said she. + +"Yes, she was a curiosity," said he carelessly. + +"Has she been there--long?" inquired Josephine, +with a feigned indifference that did not deceive him. + +"Several months, I believe. I never noticed her +until a few days ago. And until to-day I had forgotten +her. She's one of the kind it's difficult to remember." + +He fell to glancing round the house, pretending to +be unconscious of the furtive suspicion with which she +was observing him. She said: + +"She's your secretary now?" + +"Merely a general office typewriter." + +The curtain went up for the second act. Josephine +fixed her attention on the stage--apparently undivided +attention. But Norman felt rather than saw that she +was still worrying about the "curiosity." He marveled +at this outcropping of jealousy. It seemed ridiculous +--it WAS ridiculous. He laughed to himself. If she +could see the girl--the obscure, uninteresting cause of +her agitation--how she would mock at herself! Then, +too, there was the absurdity of thinking him capable of +such a stoop. A woman of their own class--or a woman +of its corresponding class, on the other side of the line +--yes. No doubt she had heard things that made her +uneasy, or, at least, ready to be uneasy. But this +poorly dressed obscurity, with not a charm that could +attract even a man of her own lowly class-- It was such +a good joke that he would have teased Josephine about +it but for his knowledge of the world--a knowledge in +whose primer it was taught that teasing is both bad +taste and bad judgment. Also, it was beneath his dig- +nity, it was offense to his vanity, to couple his name +with the name of one so beneath him that even the matter +of sex did not make the coupling less intolerable. + +When the curtain fell several people came into the +box, and he went to make a few calls round the parterre. +He returned after the second act. They were again +alone--the deaf old aunt did not count. At once +Josephine began upon the same subject. With studied +indifference--how amusing for a woman of her +inexperience to try to fool a man of his experience!--she +said: + +"Tell me some more about that typewriter girl. +Women who work always interest me." + +"She wouldn't," said Norman. The subject had +been driven clean out of his mind, and he didn't wish to +return to it. "Some day they will venture to make +judicious long cuts in Wagner's operas, and then they'll +be interesting. It always amuses me, this reverence of +little people for the great ones--as if a great man were +always great. No--he IS always great. But often it's +in a dull way. And the dull parts ought to be skipped." + +"I don't like the opera this evening," said she. +"What you said a while ago has set me to thinking. +Is that girl a lady?" + +"She works," laughed he. + +"But she might have been a lady." + +"I'm sure I don't know." + +"Don't you know ANYTHING about her?" + +"Except that she's trustworthy--and insignificant +and not too good at her business." + +"I shouldn't think you could afford to keep +incompetent people," said the girl shrewdly. + +"Perhaps they won't keep her," parried Norman +gracefully. "The head clerk looks after those things." + +"He probably likes her." + +"No," said Norman, too indifferent to be cautious. +"She has no `gentlemen friends.' " + +"How do you know that?" said the girl, and she +could not keep a certain sharpness out of her voice. + +"Tetlow, the head clerk, told me. I asked him a +few questions about her. I had some confidential work +to do and didn't want to trust her without being sure." + +He saw that she was now prey to her jealous suspicion. +He was uncertain whether to be amused or irritated. +She had to pause long and with visible effort +collect herself before venturing: + +"Oh, she does confidential work for you? I thought +you said she was incompetent." + +He, the expert cross-examiner, had to admire her +skill at that high science and art. "I felt sorry for +her," he said. "She seemed such a forlorn little +creature." + +She laughed with a constrained attempt at raillery. +"I never should have suspected you of such weakness. +To give confidential things to a forlorn little incompetent, +out of pity." + +He was irritated, distinctly. The whole thing was +preposterous. It reminded him of feats of his own +before a jury. By clever questioning, Josephine had +made about as trifling an incident as could be imagined +take on really quite imposing proportions. There was +annoyance in his smile as he said: + +"Shall I send her up to see you? You might find +it amusing, and maybe you could do something for her." + +Josephine debated. "Yes," she finally said. "I +wish you would send her--" with a little sarcasm-- +"if you can spare her for an hour or so." + +"Don't make it longer than that," laughed he. +"Everything will stop while she's gone." + +It pleased him, in a way, this discovery that Josephine +had such a common, commonplace weakness as jealousy. +But it also took away something from his high +esteem for her--an esteem born of the lover's idealizings; +for, while he was not of the kind of men who are +on their knees before women, he did have a deep respect +for Josephine, incarnation of all the material things +that dazzled him--a respect with something of the reverential +in it, and something of awe--more than he would +have admitted to himself. To-day, as of old, the image- +makers are as sincere worshipers as visit the shrines. +In our prostrations and genuflections in the temple we +do not discriminate against the idols we ourselves have +manufactured; on the contrary, them we worship with +peculiar gusto. Norman knew his gods were frauds, +that their divine qualities were of the earth earthy. But +he served them, and what most appealed to him in +Josephine was that she incorporated about all their +divine qualities. + +He and his sister went home together. Her first +remark in the auto was: "What were you and Josie +quarreling about?" + +"Quarreling?" inquired he in honest surprise. + +"I looked at her through my glasses and saw that +the was all upset--and you, too." + +"This is too ridiculous," cried he. + +"She looked--jealous." + +"Nonsense! What an imagination you have!" + +"I saw what I saw," Ursula maintained. "Well, +I suppose she has heard something--something recent. +I thought you had sworn off, Fred. But I might have +known." + +Norman was angry. He wondered at his own +exasperation, out of all proportion to any apparent +provoking cause. And it was most unusual for him to feel +temper, all but unprecedented for him to show it, no +matter how strong the temptation. + +"It's a good idea, to make her jealous," pursued +his sister. "Nothing like jealousy to stimulate interest." + +"Josephine is not that sort of woman." + +"You know better. All women are that sort. All +men, too. Of course, some men and women grow angry +and go away when they get jealous while others stick +closer. So one has to be judicious." + +"Josephine and I understand each other far too +well for such pettiness." + +"Try her. No, you needn't. You have." + +"Didn't I tell you----" + +"Then what was she questioning you about?" + +"Just to show you how wrong you were, I'll tell +you. She was asking me about a poor little girl down +at the office--one she wants to help." + +Ursula laughed. "To help out of your office, I +guess. I thought you'd lived long enough, Fred, to +learn that no woman trusts ANY man about ANY woman. +Who is this `poor little girl'?" + +"I don't even know her name. One of the typewriters." + +"What made Josephine jealous of her?" + +"Haven't I told you Josephine was not----" + +"But I saw. Who is this girl?--pretty?" + +Norman pretended to stifle a yawn. "Josephine +bored me half to death talking about her. Now it's +you. I never heard so much about so little." + +"Is there something up between you and the girl?" +teased Ursula. + +"Now, that's an outrage!" cried Norman. "She's +got nothing but her reputation, poor child. Do leave +her that." + +"Is she very young?" + +"How should I know?" + +"Youth is a charm in itself." + +"What sort of rot is this!" exclaimed he. "Do +you think I'd drop down to anything of that kind--in +ANY circumstances? A little working girl--and in my +own office?" + +"Why do you heat so, Fred?" teased the sister. +"Really, I don't wonder Josephine was torn up." + +An auto almost ran into them--one of those +innumerable hairbreadth escapes that make the streets +of New York as exciting as a battle--and as dangerous. +For a few minutes Ursula's mind was deflected. But a +fatality seemed to pursue the subject of the pale +obscurity whose very name he was uncertain whether he +remembered aright. + +Said Ursula, as they entered the house, "A girl +working in the office with a man has a magnificent chance +at him. It's lucky for the men that women don't know +their business, but are amateurs and too stuck on +themselves to set and bait their traps properly. Is that +girl trying to get round you?" + +"What possesses everybody to-night!" cried Norman. +"I tell you the girl 's as uninteresting a specimen +as you could find." + +"Then why are YOU so interested in her?" teased +the sister. + +Norman shrugged his shoulders, laughed with his +normal easy good humor and went to his own floor. + +On top of the pile of letters beside his plate, next +morning, lay a note from Josephine: + + +"Don't forget your promise about that girl, dear. +I've an hour before lunch, and could see her then. I +was out of humor last night. I'm very penitent this +morning. Please forgive me. Maybe I can do something +for her. + "JOSEPHINE." + + +Norman read with amused eyes. "Well!" soliloquized +he, "I'm not likely to forget that poor little +creature again. What a fuss about nothing!" + + + +IV + + +MANY men, possibly a majority, have sufficient +equipment for at least a fair measure of success. Yet +all but a few are downright failures, passing their lives +in helpless dependence, glad to sell themselves for a +small part of the value they create. For this there are +two main reasons. The first is, as Norman said, that +only a few men have the self-restraint to resist the +temptings of a small pleasure to-day in order to gain +a larger to-morrow or next day. The second is that +few men possess the power of continuous concentration. +Most of us cannot concentrate at all; any slight +distraction suffices to disrupt and destroy the whole train +of thought. A good many can concentrate for a few +hours, for a week or so, for two or three months. But +there comes a small achievement and it satisfies, or a +small discouragement and it disheartens. Only to the +rare few is given the power to concentrate steadily, +year in and year out, through good and evil event or +report. + +As Norman stepped into his auto to go to the office +--he had ridden a horse in the park before breakfast +until its hide was streaked with lather--the instant he +entered his auto, he discharged his mind of everything +but the business before him down town--or, rather, +business filled his mind so completely that everything else +poured out and away. A really fine mind--a perfect +or approximately perfect instrument to the purposes of +its possessor--is a marvelous spectacle of order. It is +like a vast public library constantly used by large +numbers. There are alcoves, rows on rows, shelves on +shelves, with the exactest system everywhere prevailing, +with the attendants moving about in list-bottomed shoes, +fulfilling without the least hesitation or mistake the +multitude of directions from the central desk. It is +like an admirably drilled army, where there is the nice +balance of freedom and discipline that gives mobility +without confusion; the divisions, down to files and even +units, can be disposed along the line of battle wherever +needed, or can be marshaled in reserve for use at the +proper moment. Such a mind may be used for good +purpose or bad--or for mixed purposes, after the usual +fashion in human action. But whatever the service to +which it is put, it acts with equal energy and precision. +Character--that is a thing apart. The character determines +the morality of action; but only the intellect +determines the skill of action. + +In the offices of that great law firm one of the +keenest pleasures of the more intelligent of the staff was +watching the workings of Frederick Norman's mind-- +its ease of movement, its quickness and accuracy, its +obedience to the code of mental habits he had fixed for +himself. In large part all this was born with the man; +but it had been brought to a state of perfection by the +most painful labor, by the severest discipline, by years +of practice of the sacrifice of small temptations-- +temptations to waste time and strength on the little pleasant +things which result in such heavy bills--bills that +bankrupt a man in middle life and send him in old age into +the deserts of poverty and contempt. + +Such an unique and trivial request as that of +Josephine Burroughs being wholly out of his mental +habit for down town, he forgot it along with everything +else having to do with uptown only--along with +Josephine herself, to tell a truth which may pique the +woman reader and may be wholly misunderstood by +the sentimentalists. By merest accident he was reminded. + +As the door of his private office opened to admit +an important client he happened to glance up. And +between the edge of the door frame and his client's +automobile-fattened and carefully dressed body, he +caught a glimpse of the "poor little forlornness" who +chanced to be crossing the outer office. A glint of +sunlight on her hair changed it from lifelessness to golden +vital vividness; the same chance sunbeam touched her +pale skin with a soft yellow radiation--and her profile +was delicately fine and regular. Thus Norman, who ob- +served everything, saw a head of finely wrought gold-- +a startling cameo against the dead white of office wall. +It was only with the second thought that he recognized +her. The episode of the night before came back and +Josephine's penitent yet persistent note. + +He glanced at the clock. Said the client in the +amusing tone of one who would like to take offense if +he only dared, "I'll not detain you long, Mr. Norman. +And really the matter is extremely important." + +There are not many lawyers, even of the first rank, +with whom their big clients reverse the attitude of servant +and master. Norman might well have been flattered. +In that restrained tone from one used to servility and +fond of it and easily miffed by lack of it was the whole +story of Norman's long battle and splendid victory. +But he was not in the mood to be flattered; he was +thinking of other things. And it presently annoyed him +that his usually docile mind refused to obey his will's +order to concentrate on the client and the business-- +said business being one of those huge schemes through +which a big monster of a corporation is constructed by +lawyers out of materials supplied by great capitalists +and controllers of capital, is set to eating in enormous +meals the substance of the people; at some obscure point +in all the principal veins small but leechlike parasite +corporations are attached, industriously to suck away +the surplus blood so that the owners of the beast may +say, "It is eating almost nothing. See how lean it is, +poor thing! Why, the bones fairly poke through its +meager hide." + +An interesting and highly complicated enterprise is +such a construction. It was of the kind in which +Norman's mind especially delighted; Hercules is himself only +in presence of an herculean labor. But on that day he +could not concentrate, and because of a trifle! He felt +like a giant disabled by a grain of dust in the eye-- +yes, a mere grain of dust!" I must love Josephine +even more than I realize, to be fretted by such a paltry +thing," thought he. And after patiently enduring the +client for half an hour without being able to grasp the +outlines of the project, he rose abruptly and said: "I +must get into my mind the points you've given me +before we can go further. So I'll not waste your +time." + +This sounded very like "Clear out--you've bored +me to my limit of endurance." But the motions of a +mind such as he knew Norman had were beyond and +high above the client's mere cunning at dollar-trapping. +He felt that it was the part of wisdom--also soothing +to vanity--to assume that Norman meant only what +his words conveyed. When Norman was alone he rang +for an office boy and said: + +"Please ask Miss Halliday to come here." + +The boy hesitated. "Miss Hallowell?" he suggested. + +"Hallowell--thanks--Hallowell," said Norman. + +And it somehow pleased him that he had not +remembered her name. How significant it was of her +insignificance that so accurate a memory as his should +make the slip. When she, impassive, colorless, nebulous, +stood before him the feeling of pleasure was, queerly +enough, mingled with a sense of humiliation. What +absurd vagaries his imagination had indulged in! For +it must have been sheer hallucination, his seeing those +wonders in her. How he would be laughed at if those +pictures he had made of her could be seen by any other +eyes!" They must be right when they say a man in +love is touched in the head. Only, why the devil should +I have happened to get these crazy notions about a +person I've no interest in?" However, the main point +--and most satisfactory--was that Josephine would be +at a glance convinced--convicted--made ashamed of her +absurd attack. A mere grain of dust. + +"Just a moment, please," he said to Miss Hallowell. +"I want to give you a note of introduction." + +He wrote the note to Josephine Burroughs: "Here +she is. I've told her you wish to talk with her about +doing some work for you." When he finished he looked +up. She was standing at the window, gazing out upon +the tremendous panorama of skyscrapers that makes +New York the most astounding of the cities of men. He +was about to speak. The words fell back unuttered. +For once more the hallucination--or whatever it was-- +laid hold of him. That figure by the window--that +beautiful girl, with the great dreamy eyes and the soft +and languorous nuances of golden haze over her hair, +over the skin of perfectly rounded cheek and perfectly +moulded chin curving with ideal grace into the whitest +and firmest of throats---- + +"Am I mad? or do I really see what I see?" he +muttered. + +He turned away to clear his eyes for a second view, +for an attempt to settle it whether he saw or imagined. +When he looked again, she was observing him--and once +more she was the obscure, the cipherlike Miss Hallowell, +ten-dollar-a-week typewriter and not worth it. +Evidently she noted his confusion and was vaguely alarmed +by it. He recovered himself as best he could and debated +whether it was wise to send her to Josephine. Surely +those transformations were not altogether his own +hallucinations; and Josephine might see, might humiliate +him by suspecting more strongly-- . . . Ridiculous! +He held out the letter. + +"The lady to whom this is addressed wishes to see +you. Will you go there, right away, please? It may +be that you'll get the chance to make some extra +money. You've no objection, I suppose?" + +She took the letter hesitatingly. + +"You will find her agreeable, I think," continued +he. "At any rate, the trip can do no harm." + +She hesitated a moment longer, as if weighing what +he had said. "No, it will do no harm," she finally said. +Then, with a delightful color and a quick transformation +into a vision of young shyness, "Thank you, Mr. +Norman. Thank you so much." + +"Not at all--not in the least," he stammered, the +impulse strong to take the note back and ask her to +return to her desk. + +When the door closed behind her he rose and paced +about the room uneasily. He was filled with disquiet, +with hazy apprehension. His nerves were unsteady, as +if he were going through an exhausting strain. He sat +and tried to force himself to work. Impossible. "What +sort of damn fool attack is this?" he exclaimed, pacing +about again. He searched his mind in vain for any +cause adequate to explain his unprecedented state. "If +I did not know that I was well--absolutely well--I'd +think I was about to have an illness--something in the +brain." + +He appealed to that friend in any trying hour, his +sense of humor. He laughed at himself; but his nerves +refused to return to the normal. He rushed from his +private office on various pretexts, each time lingered in +the general room, talking aimlessly with Tetlow--and +watching the door. When she at last appeared, he +guiltily withdrew, feeling that everyone was observing +his perturbation and was wondering at it and jesting +about it. "And what the devil am I excited about?" +he demanded of himself. What indeed? He seated himself, +rang the bell. + +"If Miss Hallowell has got back," he said to the +office boy, "please ask her to come in." + +"I think she's gone out to lunch," said the boy. "I +know she came in a while ago. She passed along as you +was talking to Mr. Tetlow." + +Norman felt himself flushing. "Any time will do," +he said, bending over the papers spread out before him +--the papers in the case of the General Traction Company +resisting the payment of its taxes. A noisome +odor seemed to be rising from the typewritten sheets. +He made a wry face and flung the papers aside with a +gesture of disgust. "They never do anything honest," +he said to himself. "From the stock-jobbing owners +down to the nickel-filching conductors they steal--steal +--steal!" And then he wondered at, laughed at, his +heat. What did it matter? An ant pilfering from +another ant and a sparrow stealing the crumb found +by another sparrow--a man robbing another man-- +all part of the universal scheme. Only a narrow-minded +ignoramus would get himself wrought up over it; a +philosopher would laugh--and take what he needed or +happened to fancy. + +The door opened. Miss Hallowell entered, a small +and demure hat upon her masses of thick fair hair +arranged by anything but unskillful fingers. "You +wished to see me?" came in the quiet little voice, sweet +and frank and shy. + +He roused himself from pretended abstraction. + +"Oh--it's you?" he said pleasantly. "They said you +were out." + +"I was going to lunch. But if you've anything for +me to do, I'll be glad to stay." + +"No--no. I simply wished to say that if Miss +Burroughs wished to make an arrangement with you, we'd +help you about carrying out your part of it." + +She was pale--so pale that it brought out strongly +the smooth dead-white purity of her skin. Her small +features wore an expression of pride, of haughtiness +even. And in the eyes that regarded him steadily there +shone a cold light--the light of a proud and lonely soul +that repels intrusion even as the Polar fastnesses push +back without effort assault upon their solitudes. "We +made no arrangement," said she. + +"You are not more than eighteen, are you?" +inquired he abruptly. + +The irrelevant question startled her. She looked as +if she thought she had not heard aright. "I am +twenty," she said. + +"You have a most--most unusual way of shifting +to various ages and personalities," explained he, with +some embarrassment. + +She simply looked at him and waited. + +His embarrassment increased. It was a novel +sensation to him, this feeling ill at ease with a woman-- +he who was at ease with everyone and put others at their +ease or not as he pleased. "I'm sorry you and Miss +Burroughs didn't arrange something. I suppose she +found the hours difficult." + +"She made me an offer," replied the girl. "I +refused it." + +"But, as I told you, we can let you off--anything +within reason." + +"Thank you, but I do not care to do that kind of +work. No doubt any kind of work for wages classes +one as a servant. But those people up there--they make +one FEEL it--feel menial." + +"Not Miss Burroughs, I assure you." + +A satirical smile hovered round the girl's lips. Her +face was altogether lovely now, and no lily ever rose +more gracefully from its stem than did her small head +from her slender form. "She meant to be kind, but +she was insulting. Those people up there don't +understand. They're vain and narrow. Oh, I don't blame +them. Only, I don't care to be brought into contact +with them." + +He looked at her in wonder. She talked of Josephine +as if she were Josephine's superior, and her expression +and accent were such that they contrived to convey an +impression that she had the right to do it. He grew +suddenly angry at her, at himself for listening to her. +"I am sorry," he said stiffly, and took up a pen to +indicate that he wished her to go. + +He rather expected that she would be alarmed. But +if she was, she wholly concealed it. She smiled slightly +and moved toward the door. Looking after her, he +relented. She seemed so young--was so young--and +was evidently poor. He said: + +"It's all right to be proud, Miss Hallowell. But +there is such a thing as supersensitiveness. You are +earning your living. If you'll pardon me for thrusting +advice upon you, I think you've made a mistake. +I'm sure Miss Burroughs meant well. If you had been +less sensitive you'd soon have realized it." + +"She patronized me," replied the girl, not angrily, +but with amusement. "It was all I could do not to +laugh in her face. The idea of a woman who probably +couldn't make five dollars a week fancying she was the +superior of any girl who makes her own living, no matter +how poor a living it is." + +Norman laughed. It had often appealed to his own +sense of humor, the delusion that the tower one happened +to be standing upon was part of one's own stature. But +he said: "You're a very foolish young person. You'll +not get far in the world if you keep to that road. It +winds through Poverty Swamps to the Poor House." + +"Oh, no," replied she. "One can always die." + +Again he laughed. "But why die? Why not be +sensible and live?" + +"I don't know," replied she. She was looking away +dreamily, and her eyes were wonderful to see. "There +are many things I feel and do--and I don't at all understand +why. But--" An expression of startling resolu- +tion flashed across her face. "But I do them, just the +same." + +A brief silence; then, as she again moved toward the +door, he said, "You have been working for some time?" + +"Four years." + +"You support yourself?" + +"I work to help out father's income. He makes +almost enough, but not quite." + +Almost enough! The phrase struck upon Norman's +fancy as both amusing and sad. Almost enough for +what? For keeping body and soul together; for keeping +body barely decently clad. Yet she was content. +He said: + +"You like to work?" + +"Not yet. But I think I shall when I learn this +business. One feels secure when one has a trade." + +"It doesn't impress me as an interesting life for +a girl of your age," he suggested. + +"Oh, I'm not unhappy. And at home, of evenings +and Sundays, I'm happy." + +"Doing what?" + +"Reading and talking with father and--doing the +housework--and all the rest of it." + +What a monotonous narrow little life! He wanted +to pity her, but somehow he could not. There was no +suggestion in her manner that she was an object of +pity. "What did Miss Burroughs say to you--if I +may ask?" + +"Certainly. You sent me, and I'm much obliged +to you. I realize it was an opportunity--for another +sort of girl. I half tried to accept because I knew +refusing was only my--queerness." She smiled charmingly. +"You are not offended because I couldn't make +myself take it?" + +"Not in the least." And all at once he felt that +it was true. This girl would have been out of place in +service. "What was the offer?" + +Suddenly before him there appeared a clever, willful +child, full of the childish passion for imitation and +mockery. And she proceeded to "take off" the grand +Miss Burroughs--enough like Josephine to give the +satire point and barb. He could see Josephine resolved +to be affable and equal, to make this doubtless bedazzled +stray from the "lower classes" feel comfortable in those +palatial surroundings. She imitated Josephine's walk, +her way of looking, her voice for the menials--gracious +and condescending. The exhibition was clever, free from +malice, redolent of humor. Norman laughed until the +tears rolled down his cheeks. + +"You ought to go on the stage," said he. "How +Josephine--Miss Burroughs would appreciate it! For +she's got a keen sense of humor." + +"Not for the real jokes--like herself," replied Miss +Hallowell. + +"You're prejudiced." + +"No. I see her as she is. Probably everyone else +--those around her--see her money and her clothes and +all that. But I saw--just her." + +He nodded thoughtfully. Then he looked penetratingly +at her. "How did you happen to learn to do +that?" he asked. "To see people as they are?" + +"Father taught me." Her eyes lighted up, her +whole expression changed. She became beautiful with +the beauty of an intense and adoring love. "Father is +a wonderful man--one of the most wonderful that ever +lived. He----" + +There was a knock at the door. She startled, he +looked confused. Both awakened to a sense of their +forgotten surroundings, of who and what they were. She +went and Mr. Sanders entered. But even in his confusion +Norman marveled at the vanishing of the fascinating +personality who had been captivating him into forgetting +everything else, at the reappearance of the +blank, the pale and insignificant personality attached +to a typewriting machine at ten dollars a week. No, +not insignificant, not blank--never again that, for him. +He saw now the full reality--and also why he, everyone, +was so misled. She made him think of the surface of +the sea when the sky is gray and the air calm. It lies +smooth and flat and expressionless--inert, monotonous. +But let sunbeam strike or breeze ever so faint start up, +and what a commotion of unending variety! He could +never look at her again without being reminded of those +infinite latent possibilities, without wondering what new +and perhaps more charming, more surprising varieties +of look and tone and manner could be evoked. + +And while Sanders was talking--prosing on and on +about things Norman either already knew or did not +wish to know--he was thinking of her. "If she happens +to meet a man with enough discernment to fall in +love with her," he said to himself, "he certainly will +never weary. What a pity that such a girl shouldn't +have had a chance, should be wasted on some unappreciative +chucklehead of her class! What a pity she hasn't +ambition--or the quality, whatever it is--that makes +those who have it get on, whether they wish or no." + +During the rest of the day he revolved from time +to time indistinct ideas of somehow giving this girl a +chance. He wished Josephine would and could help, or +perhaps his sister Ursula. It was not a matter that +could be settled, or even taken up, in haste. No man +of his mentality and experience fails to learn how perilous +it is in the least to interfere in the destiny of anyone. +And his notion involved not slight interference with +advice or suggestion or momentarily extended helping +hand, but radical change of the whole current of destiny. +Also, he appreciated how difficult it is for a man to do +anything for a young woman--anything that would not +harm more than it would help. Only one thing seemed +clear to him--the "clever child" ought to have a +chance. + +He went to see Josephine after dinner that night +His own house, while richly and showily furnished, as +became his means and station, seemed--and indeed was +--merely an example of simple, old-fashioned "solid +comfort" in comparison with the Burroughs palace. +He had never liked, but, being a true New Yorker, had +greatly admired the splendor of that palace, its costly +art junk, its rotten old tapestries, its unlovely genuine +antiques, its room after room of tasteless magnificence, +suggesting a museum, or rather the combination home +and salesroom of an art dealer. This evening he found +himself curious, critical, disposed to license a long- +suppressed sense of humor. While he was waiting for +Josephine to come down to the small salon into which +he had been shown, her older sister drifted in, on the +way to a late dinner and ball. She eyed him admiringly +from head to foot. + +"You've SUCH an air, Fred," said she. "You should +hear the butler on the subject of you. He says that +of all the men who come to the house you are most the +man of the world. He says he could tell it by the way +you walk in and take off your hat and coat and throw +them at him." + +Norman laughed and said, "I didn't know. I must +stop that." + +"Don't!" cried Mrs. Bellowes. "You'll break his +heart. He adores it. You know, servants dearly love +to be treated as servants. Anyone who thinks the world +loves equality knows very little about human nature. +Most people love to look up, just as most women love +to be ruled. No, you must continue to be the master, +the man of the world, Fred." + +She was busy with her gorgeous and trailing wraps +and with her cigarette or she would have seen his +confusion. He was recalling his scene with the typewriter +girl. Not much of the man of the world, then and +there, certainly. What a grotesque performance for a +man of his position, for a serious man of any kind! And +how came he to permit such a person to mimic Josephine +Burroughs, a lady, the woman to whom he was engaged? +In these proud and pretentious surroundings he felt +contemptibly guilty--and dazed wonder at his own +inexplicable folly and weakness. + +Mrs. Bellowes departed before Josephine came down. +So there was no relief for his embarrassment. He saw +that she too felt constrained. Instead of meeting him +half way in embrace and kiss, as she usually did, she +threw him a kiss and pretended to be busy lighting +a cigarette and arranging the shades of the table lamp. +"Well, I saw your `poor little creature,' " she began. +She was splendidly direct in all her dealings, after the +manner of people who have never had to make their own +way--to cajole or conciliate or dread the consequences +of frankness. + +"I told you you'd not find her interesting." + +"Oh, she was a nice little girl," replied Josephine +with elaborate graciousness--and Norman, the "take +off" fresh in his mind, was acutely critical of her +manner, of her mannerisms. "Of course," she went on, +"one does not expect much of people of that class. But +I thought her unusually well-mannered--and quite +clean." + +"Tetlow makes 'em clean up," said Norman, a +gleam of sarcasm in his careless glance and tone. And +into his nostrils stole an odor of freshness and health +and youth, the pure, sweet odor that is the base of all +the natural perfumes. It startled him, his vivid memory +of a feature of her which he had not been until now +aware that he had ever noted. + +"I offered her some work," continued Josephine, +"but I guess you keep her too busy down there for her +to do anything else." + +"Probably," said Norman. "Why do you sit on +the other side of the room?" + +"Oh, I don't know," laughed Josephine. "I feel +queer to-night. And it seems to me you're queer, too." + +"I? Perhaps rather tired, dear--that's all." + +"Did you and Miss Hallowell work hard to-day?" + +"Oh, bother Miss Hallowell. Let's talk about ourselves." +And he drew her to the sofa at one end of the +big fireplace. "I wish we hadn't set the wedding so far +off." And suddenly he found himself wondering +whether that remark had been prompted by eagerness-- +a lover's eagerness--or by impatience to have the +business over and settled. + +"You don't act a bit natural to-night, Fred. You +touch me as if I were a stranger." + +"I like that!" mocked he. "A stranger hold your +hand like this?--and--kiss you--like this?" + +She drew away, suddenly laid her hands on his +shoulders, kissed him upon the lips passionately, then +looked into his eyes. "DO you love me, Fred?--REALLY?" + +"Why so earnest?" + +"You've had a great deal of experience?" + +"More or less." + +"Have you ever loved any woman as you love me?" + +"I've never loved any woman but you. I never +before wanted to marry a woman." + +"But you may be doing it because--well, you might +be tired and want to settle down." + +"Do you believe that?" + +"No, I don't. But I want to hear you say it isn't +so." + +"Well--it isn't so. Are you satisfied?" + +"I'm frightfully jealous of you, Fred." + +"What a waste of time!" + +"I've got something to confess--something I'm +ashamed of." + +"Don't confess," cried he, laughing but showing +that he meant it. "Just--don't be wicked again +That's much better than confession." + +"But I must confess," insisted she. "I had evil + + +{illust. caption = " `Would you like to think I was marrying you +for +what you have?--or for any other reason whatever but for what you +are?' "} + + +thoughts evil suspicions about you. I've had them +all day--until you came. As soon as I saw you I felt +bowed into the dust. A man like you, doing anything +so vulgar as I suspected you of--oh, dearest, I'm SO +ashamed!" + +He put his arms round her and drew her to his +shoulder. And the scene of mimicry in his office flashed +into his mind, and the blood burned in his cheeks. But +he had no such access of insanity as to entertain the +idea of confession. + +"It was that typewriter girl," continued Josephine. +She drew away again and once more searched his face. +"You told me she was homely." + +"Not exactly that." + +"Insignificant then." + +"Isn't she?" + +"Yes--in a way," said Josephine, the condescending +note in her voice again--and in his mind Miss Hallowell's +clever burlesque of that note. "But, in another +way-- Men are different from women. Now I--a +woman of my sort--couldn't stoop to a man of her +class. But men seem not to feel that way." + +"No," said he, irritated. "They've the courage to +take what they want wherever they find it. A man will +take gold out of the dirt, because gold is always gold. +But a woman waits until she can get it at a fashionable +jeweler's, and makes sure it's made up in a fashionable +way. I don't like to hear YOU say those things." + +Her eyes flashed. "Then you DO like that Hallowell +girl!" she cried--and never before had her voice +jarred upon him. + +"That Hallowell girl has nothing to do with this," +he rejoined. "I like to feel that you really love me-- +that you'd have taken me wherever you happened to +find me--and that you'd stick to me no matter how far +I might drop." + +"I would! I would!" she cried, tears in her eyes. +"Oh, I didn't mean that, Fred. You know I didn't-- +don't you?" + +She tried to put her arms round his neck, but he +took her hands and held them. "Would you like to +think I was marrying you for what you have?--or for +any other reason whatever but for what you are?" + +It being once more a question of her own sex, the +obstinate line appeared round her mouth. "But, Fred, +I'd not be ME, if I were--a working girl," she replied. + +"You might be something even better if you were," +retorted he coldly. "The only qualities I don't like +about you are the surface qualities that have been +plated on in these surroundings. And if I thought it +was anything but just you that I was marrying, I'd +lose no time about leaving you. I'd not let myself +degrade myself." + +"Fred--that tone--and don't--please don't look at +me like that!" she begged. + +But his powerful glance searched on. He said, "Is +it possible that you and I are deceiving ourselves--and +that we'll marry and wake up--and be bored and +dissatisfied--like so many of our friends?" + +"No--no," she cried, wildly agitated. "Fred, dear +we love each other. You know we do. I don't use +words as well as you do--and my mind works in a queer +way-- Perhaps I didn't mean what I said. No matter. +If my love were put to the test--Fred, I don't ask +anything more than that your love for me would stand +the tests my love for you would stand." + +He caught her in his arms and kissed her with more +passion than he had ever felt for her before. "I +believe you, Jo," he said. "I believe you." + +"I love you so--that I could be jealous even of +her--of that little girl in your office. Fred, I didn't +confess all the truth. It isn't true that I thought her +--a nobody. When she first came in here--it was in +this very room--I thought she was as near nothing +as any girl I'd ever seen. Then she began to change-- +as you said. And--oh, dearest, I can't help hating her! +And when I tried to get her away from you, and she +wouldn't come----" + +"Away from me!" he cried, laughing. + +"I felt as if it were like that," she pleaded. "And +she wouldn't come--and treated me as if she were queen +and I servant--only politely, I must say, for Heaven +knows I don't want to injure her----" + +"Shall I have her discharged?" + +"Fred!" exclaimed she indignantly. "Do you +think I could do such a thing?" + +"She'd easily get another job as good. Tetlow +can find her one. Does that satisfy you?" + +"No," she confessed. "It makes me feel meaner +than ever." + +"Now, Jo, let's drop this foolish seriousness about +nothing at all. Let's drop it for good." + +"Nothing at all--that's exactly it. I can't +understand, Fred. What is there about her that makes her +haunt me? That makes me afraid she'll haunt you?" + +Norman felt a sudden thrill. He tightened his hold +upon her hands because his impulse had been to release +them. "How absurd!" he said, rather noisily. + +"Isn't it, though?" echoed she. "Think of you +and me almost quarreling about such a trivial person." +Her laugh died away. She shivered, cried, "Fred, I'm +superstitious about her. I'm--I'm--AFRAID!" And she +flung herself wildly into his arms. + +"She IS somewhat uncanny," said he, with a +lightness he was far from feeling. "But, dear--it isn't +complimentary to me, is it?" + +"Forgive me, dearest--I don't mean that. I +couldn't mean that. But--I LOVE you so. Ever since I +began to love you I've been looking round for something +to be afraid of. And this is the first chance +you've given me." + +"I'VE given you!" mocked he. + +She laughed hysterically. "I mean the first chance +I've had. And I'm doing the best I can with it." + +They were in good spirits now, and for the rest of +the evening were as loverlike as always, the nearer +together for the bit of rough sea they had weathered so +nicely. Neither spoke of Miss Hallowell. Each had +privately resolved never to speak of her to the other +again. Josephine was already regretting the frankness +that had led her to expose a not too attractive part of +herself--and to exaggerate in his eyes the importance +of a really insignificant chit of a typewriter. When he +went to bed that night he was resolved to have Tetlow +find Miss Hallowell a job in another office. + +"She certainly IS uncanny," he said to himself. "I +wonder why--I wonder what the secret of her is. She's +the first woman I ever ran across who had a real secret. +IS it real? I wonder." + + + +V + + +TOWARD noon the following day Norman, suddenly +in need of a stenographer, sent out for Miss Purdy, one +of the three experts at eighteen dollars a week who +did most of the important and very confidential work +for the heads of the firm. When his door opened again +he saw not Miss Purdy but Miss Hallowell. + +"Miss Purdy is sick to-day," said she. "Mr. +Tetlow wishes to know if I would do." + +Norman shifted uneasily in his chair. "Just as +well--perfectly--certainly," he stammered. He was not +looking at her--seemed wholly occupied with the business +he was preparing to dispatch. + +She seated herself in the usual place, at the opposite +side of the broad table. With pencil poised she fixed +her gaze upon the unmarred page of her open notebook. +Instead of abating, his confusion increased. He could +not think of the subject about which he wished to +dictate. First, he noted how long her lashes were--and +darker than her hair, as were her well-drawn eyebrows +also. Never had he seen so white a skin or one so +smooth. She happened to be wearing a blouse with a +Dutch neck that day. What a superb throat! What +a line of beauty its gently swelling curve made. Then +his glance fell upon her lips, rosy-red, slightly pouted. +And what masses of dead gold hair--no, not gold, but +of the white-gray of wood ashes, and tinted with gold! +No wonder it was difficult to tell just what color her +hair was. Hair like that was ready to be of any color. +And there were her arms, so symmetrical in her rather +tight sleeves, and emerging into view in the most delicate +wrists. What a marvelous skin! + +"Have you ever posed?" + +She startled and the color flamed in her cheeks. Her +eyes shot a glance of terror at him. "I--I," she +stammered. Then almost defiantly, "Yes, I did--for a while. +But I didn't suppose anyone knew. At the time we +needed the money badly." + +Norman felt deep disgust with himself for bursting +out with such a question, and for having surprised her +secret. "There's nothing to be ashamed of," he said +gently. + +"Oh, I'm not ashamed," she returned. Her agitation +had subsided. "The only reason I quit was because +the work was terribly hard and the pay small and +uncertain. I was confused because they discharged me +at the last place I had, when they found out I had been +a model. It was a church paper office." + +Again she poised her pencil and lowered her eyes. +But he did not take the hint. "Is there anything you +would rather do than this sort of work?" he asked. + +"Nothing I could afford," replied she. + +"If you had been kind to Miss Burroughs yesterday +she would have helped you." + +"I couldn't afford to do that," said the girl in her +quiet, reticent way. + +"To do what?" + +"To be nice to anyone for what I could get out +of it." + +Norman smiled somewhat cynically. Probably the +girl fancied she was truthful; but human beings rarely +knew anything about their real selves. "What would +you like to do?" + +She did not answer his question until she had shrunk +completely within herself and was again thickly veiled +with the expression which made everyone think her +insignificant. "Nothing I could afford to do," said she. +It was plain that she did not wish to be questioned +further along that line. + +"The stage?" he persisted. + +"I hadn't thought of it," was her answer. + +"What then?" + +"I don't think about things I can't have. I never +made any definite plans." + +"But isn't it a good idea always to look ahead? As +long as one has to be moving, one might as well move in +a definite direction." + +She was waiting with pencil poised. + +"There isn't much of a future at this business." + +She shrank slightly. He felt that she regarded his +remark as preparation for a kindly hint that she was +not giving satisfaction. . . . Well, why not leave it that +way? Perhaps she would quit of her own accord-- +would spare him the trouble--and embarrassment--of +arranging with Tetlow for another place for her. He +began to dictate--gave her a few sentences mockingly +different from his usual terse and clear statements-- +interrupted himself with: + +"You misunderstood me a while ago. I didn't +mean you weren't doing your work well. On the +contrary, I think you'll soon be expert. But I thought +perhaps I might be able to help you to something you'd +like better." + +He listened to his own words in astonishment. What +new freak of madness was this? Instead of clearing +himself of this uncanny girl, he was proposing things +to her that would mean closer relations. And what +reason had he to think she was fitted for anything but +just what she was now doing--doing indifferently well? + +"Thank you," she said, so quietly that it seemed +coldly, "but I'm satisfied as I am." + +Her manner seemed to say with polite and restrained +plainness that she was not in the least appreciative of +his interest or of himself. But this could not be. No girl +in her position could fail to be grateful for his interest. +No woman, in all his life, had ever failed to respond to +his slightest advance. No, it simply could not be. She +was merely shy, and had a peculiar way of showing it. +He said: + +"You have no ambition?" + +"That's not for a woman." + +She was making her replies as brief as civility +permitted. He observed her narrowly. She was not shy, +not embarrassed. What kind of game was this? It +could not be in sincere nature for a person in her position +thus to treat overtures, friendly and courteous overtures, +from one in his position. And never before-- +never--had a woman been thus unresponsive. Instead +of feeling relief that she had disentangled him from the +plight into which his impulsive offer had flung him, he +was piqued--angered--and his curiosity was inflamed +as never before about any woman. + +The relations of the sexes are for the most part +governed by traditions of sex allurements and sex tricks +so ancient that they have ceased to be conscious and +have become instinctive. One of these venerable first +principles is that mystery is the arch provoker. Norman, +an old and expert student of the great game--the +only game for which the staidest and most serious will +abandon all else to follow its merry call--Norman knew +this trick of mystery. The woman veils herself and +makes believe to fly--an excellent trick, as good to-day +as ever after five thousand years of service. And he +knew that in it lay the explanation for the sudden and +high upflaming of his interest in this girl. "What an +ass I'm making of myself!" reflected he. "When I +care nothing about the girl, why should I care about +the mystery of her? Of course, it's some poor little +affair, a puzzle not worth puzzling out." + +All true and clear enough. Yet seeing it did not +abate his interest a particle. She had veiled herself; +she was pretending--perhaps honestly--to fly. He +rose and went to the window, stood with his back to +her, resumed dictating. But the sentences would not +come. He whirled abruptly. "I'm not ready to do the +thing yet," he said. "I'll send for you later." + +Without a word or a glance she stood, took her book +and went toward the door. He gazed after her. He +could not refrain from speaking again. "I'm afraid +you misunderstood my offer a while ago," said he, +neither curt nor friendly. "I forgot how such things +from a man to a young woman might be misinterpreted." + +"I never thought of that," replied she unembarrassed. +"It was simply that I can't put myself under +obligation to anyone." + +As she stood there, her full beauty flashed upon +him--the exquisite form, the subtly graceful poise of +her body, of her head--the loveliness of that golden- +hued white skin--the charm of her small rosy mouth-- +the delicate, sensitive, slightly tilted nose--and her eyes +--above all, her eyes!--so clear, so sweet. Her voice +had seemed thin and faint to him; its fineness now seemed +the rarest delicacy--the exactly fitting kind for so +evasive and delicate a beauty as hers. He made a slight +bow of dismissal, turned abruptly away. Never in all +his life, strewn with gallant experiences--never had a +woman thus treated him, and never had a woman thus +affected him. "I am mad--stark mad!" he muttered. +"A ten-dollar-a-week typewriter, whom nobody on earth +but myself would look at a second time!" But something +within him hurled back this scornful fling. +Though no one else on earth saw or appreciated--what +of it? She affected HIM thus--and that was enough. +"_I_ want her! . . . I WANT her! I have never wanted a +woman before." + +He rushed into the dressing room attached to his +office, plunged his face into ice-cold water. This somewhat +eased the burning sensation that was becoming +intolerable. Many were the unaccountable incidents in +his acquaintance with this strange creature; the most +preposterous was this sudden seizure. He realized now +that his feeling for her had been like the quiet, steady, +imperceptible filling of a reservoir that suddenly +announces itself by the thunder and roar of a mighty +cascade over the dam. "This is madness--sheer madness! +I am still master within myself. I will make +short work of this rebellion." And with an air of +calmness so convincing that he believed in it he addressed +himself to the task of sanity and wisdom lying plain +before him. "A man of my position caught by a girl +like that! A man such as I am, caught by ANY woman +whatever!" It was grotesque. He opened his door to +summon Tetlow. + +The gate in the outside railing was directly +opposite, and about thirty feet away. Tetlow and Miss +Hallowell were going out--evidently to lunch together. +She was looking up at the chief clerk with laughing +eyes--they seemed coquettish to the infuriated Norman. +And Tetlow--the serious and squab young ass was +gazing at her with the expression men of the stupid +squab sort put on when they wish to impress a woman. +At this spectacle, at the vision of that slim young +loveliness, that perfect form and deliciously smooth soft +skin, white beyond belief beneath its faintly golden tint +--the hot blood steamed up into Norman's brain, blinded +his sight, reddened it with desire and jealousy. He +drew back, closed his door with a bang. + +"This is not I," he muttered. "What has +happened? Am I insane?" + + +When Tetlow returned from lunch the office boy on +duty at the gate told him that Mr. Norman wished to +see him at once. Like all men trying to advance along +ways where their fellow men can help or hinder, the head +clerk was full of more or less clever little tricks thought +out with a view to making a good impression. One of +them was to stamp upon all minds his virtue of promptness-- +of what use to be prompt unless you forced every +one to feel how prompt you were? He went in to see +Norman, with hat in hand and overcoat on his back and +one glove off, the other still on. Norman was standing +at a window, smoking a cigarette. His appearance-- +dress quite as much as manner--was the envy of his +subordinate--as, indeed, it was of hundreds of the +young men struggling to rise down town. It was so +exactly what the appearance of a man of vigor and +power and high position should be. Tetlow practiced +it by the quarter hour before his glass at home--not +without progress in the direction of a not unimpressive +manner of his own. + +As Tetlow stood at attention, Norman turned and +advanced toward him. "Mr. Tetlow," he began, in his +good-humored voice with the never wholly submerged +under-note of sharpness, "is it your habit to go out to +lunch with the young ladies employed here? If so, I +wish to suggest--simply to suggest--that it may be +bad for discipline." + +Tetlow's jaw dropped a little. He looked at +Norman, was astonished to discover beneath a thin veneer of +calm signs of greater agitation than he had ever seen in +him. "To-day was the first time, sir," he said. "And +I can't quite account for my doing it. Miss Hallowell +has been here several months. I never specially noticed +her until the last few days--when the question of +discharging her came up. You may remember it was +settled by you." +Norman flung his cigarette away and stalked to the +window. + +"Mr. Norman," pursued Tetlow, "you and I have +been together many years. I esteem it my greatest +honor that I am able--that you permit me--to class +you as my friend. So I'm going to give you a confidence-- +one that really startles me. I called on Miss +Hallowell last night." + +Norman's back stiffened. + +"She is even more charming in her own home. +And--" Tetlow blushed and trembled--"I am going +to make her my wife if I can." + +Norman turned, a mocking satirical smile unpleasantly +sparkling in his eyes and curling his mouth +"Old man," he said, "I think you've gone crazy." + +Tetlow made a helpless gesture. "I think so +myself. I didn't intend to marry for ten years--and then +--I had quite a different match in mind." + +"What's the matter with you, Billy?" inquired +Norman, inspecting him with smiling, cruelly unfriendly +eyes. + +"I'm damned if I know, Norman," said the head +clerk, assuming that his friend was sympathetic and +dropping into the informality of the old days when they +were clerks together in a small firm. "I'd have +proposed to her last night if I hadn't been afraid I'd lose +her by being in such a hurry. . . . You're in love yourself." + +Norman startled violently. + +"You're going to get married. Probably you can +sympathize. You know how it is to meet the woman +you want and must have." + +Norman turned away. + +"I've had--or thought I had--rather advanced +ideas on the subject of women. I've always had a horror +of being married for a living or for a home or as +an experiment or a springboard. My notion's been +that I wouldn't trust a woman who wasn't independent. +And theoretically I still think that's sound. But it +doesn't work out in practice. A man has to have been +in love to be able to speak the last word on the sex question." + +Norman dropped heavily into his desk chair and +rumpled his hair into disorder. He muttered something +--the head clerk thought it was an oath. + +"I'd marry her," Tetlow went on, "if I knew she +was simply using me in the coldest, most calculating +way. My only fear is that I shan't be able to get her +--that she won't marry me." + +Norman sneered. "That's not likely," he said. + +"No, it isn't," admitted Tetlow. "They--the +Hallowells--are nice people--of as good family as there +is. But they're poor--very poor. There's only her +father and herself. The old man is a scientist--spends +most of his time at things that won't pay a cent--utterly +impractical. A gentleman--an able man, if a +little cracked--at least he seemed so to me who don't +know much about scientific matters. But getting poorer +steadily. So I think she will accept me." + +A gloomy, angry frown, like a black shadow, passed +across Norman's face and disappeared. "You'd marry +her--on those terms?" he sneered. + +"Of course I HOPE for better terms----" + +Norman sprang up, strode to the window and turned +his back. + +"But I'm prepared for the worst. The fact is, she +treats me as if she didn't care a rap for the honor of +my showing her attention." + +"A trick, Billy. An old trick." + +"Maybe so. But-- I really believe she doesn't +realize. She's queer--has been queerly brought up. Yes, +I think she doesn't appreciate. Then, too, she's young +and light--almost childish in some ways. . . . I don't +blame you for being disgusted with me, Fred. But-- +damn it, what's a man to do?" + +"Cure himself!" exploded Norman, wheeling +violently on his friend. "You must act like a man. Billy, +such a marriage is ruin for you. How can we take you +into partnership next year? When you marry, you +must marry in the class you're moving toward, not in +any of those you're leaving behind." + +"Do you suppose I haven't thought of all that?" +rejoined Tetlow bitterly. "But I can't help myself. +It's useless for me to say I'll try. I shan't try." + +"Don't you want to get over this?" demanded +Norman fiercely. + +"Of course-- No--I don't. Fred, you'd think +better of me if you knew her. You've never especially +noticed her. She's beautiful." + +Norman dropped to his chair again. + +"Really--beautiful," protested Tetlow, assuming +that the gesture was one of disgusted denial. "Take +a good look at her, Norman, before you condemn her. +I never was so astonished as when I discovered how +good-looking she is. I don't quite know how it is, but I +suppose nobody ever happened to see how--how lovely +she is until I just chanced to see it." At a rudely +abrupt gesture from Norman he hurried on, eagerly +apologetic, "And if you talk with her-- She's very +reserved. But she's the lady through and through-- +and has a good mind. . . . At least, I think she has. +I'll admit a man in love is a poor judge of a woman's +mind. But, anyhow, I KNOW she's lovely to look at. +You'll see it yourself, now that I've called your attention +to it. You can't fail to see it." + +Norman threw himself back in his chair and clasped +his hands behind his head. "WHY do you want to +marry her?" he inquired, in a tone his sensitive ear +approved as judicial. + +"How can I tell?" replied the head clerk irritably. +"Does a man ever know?" + +"Always--when he's sensibly in love." + +"But when he's just in love? That's what ails +me," retorted Tetlow, with a sheepish look and laugh. + +"Billy, you've got to get over this. I can't let +you make a fool of yourself." + +Tetlow's fat, smooth, pasty face of the overfed, +underexercised professional man became a curious +exhibit of alarm and obstinacy. + +"You've got to promise me you'll keep away from +her--except at the office--for say, a week. Then-- +we'll see." + +Tetlow debated. + +"It's highly improbable that anyone else will +discover these irresistible charms. There's no one else +hanging round?" + +"No one, as I told you the other day, when you +questioned me about her." + +Norman shifted, looked embarrassed. + +"I hope I didn't give you the impression I was +ashamed of loving her or would ever be ashamed of +her anywhere?" continued Tetlow, a very loverlike light +in his usually unromantic eyes. "If I did, it wasn't +what I meant--far from it. You'll see, when I marry +her, Norman. You'll be congratulating me." + +Norman sprang up again. "This is plain lunacy, +Tetlow. I am amazed at you--amazed!" + +"Get acquainted with her, Mr. Norman," pleaded +the subordinate. "Do it, to oblige me. Don't +condemn us----" + +"I wish to hear nothing more!" cried Norman +violently. "Another thing. You must find her a place +in some other office--at once." + +"You're right, sir," assented Tetlow. "I can +readily do that." + +Norman scowled at him, made an imperious gesture +of dismissal. Tetlow, chopfallen but obdurate, got +himself speedily out of sight. + +Norman, with hands deep in his pockets, stared out +among the skyscrapers and gave way to a fit of remorse. +It was foreign to his nature to do petty underhanded +tricks. Grand strategy--yes. At that he was an adept, +and not the shiftiest, craftiest schemes he had ever +devised had given him a moment's uneasiness. But to be +driving a ten-dollar-a-week typewriter out of her job +--to be maneuvering to deprive her of a for her brilliant +marriage--to be lying to an old and loyal retainer who +had helped Norman full as much and as often as Norman +had helped him--these sneaking bits of skullduggery +made him feel that he had sunk indeed. But he ground +his teeth together and his eyes gleamed wickedly. "He +shan't have her, damn him!" he muttered. "She's not +for him." + +He summoned Tetlow, who was obviously low in +mind as the result of revolving the things that had been +said to him. "Billy," he began in a tone so amiable +that he was ashamed for himself, "you'll not forget I +have your promise?" + +"What did I promise?" cried Tetlow, his voice +shrill with alarm. + +"Not to see her, except at the office, for a week." + +"But I've promised her father I'd call this evening. +He's going to show me some experiments." + +"You can easily make an excuse--business." + +"But I don't want to," protested the head clerk. +"What's the use? I've got my mind made up. Norman, +I'd hang on after her if you fired me out of this +office for it. And I can't rest--I'm fit for nothing-- +until this matter's settled. I came very near taking +her aside and proposing to her, just after I went out +of here a while ago." + +"You DAMN fool!" cried Norman, losing all control +of himself. "Take the afternoon express for Albany +instead of Harcott and attend to those registrations +and arrange for those hearings. I'll do my best to +save you. I'll bring the girl in here and keep her at +work until you get out of the way." + +Tetlow glanced at his friend; then the tears came +into his eyes. "You're a hell of a friend!" he +ejaculated. "And I thought you'd sympathize because you +were in love." + +"I do sympathize, Billy," Norman replied with an +abrupt change to shamefaced apology. "I sympathize +more than you know. I feel like a dog, doing this. +But it can't result in any harm, and I want you to get +a little fresh air in that hot brain of yours before you +commit yourself. Be reasonable, old man. Suppose +you rushed ahead and proposed--and she accepted--and +then, after a few days, you came to. What about her? +You must act on the level, Tetlow. Do the fair thing +by yourself and by her." + +Norman had often had occasion to feel proud of the +ingenuity and resourcefulness of his brain. He had +never been quite so proud as he was when he finished +that speech. It pacified Tetlow; it lightened his own +sense of guilt; it gave him a respite. + +Tetlow rewarded Norman with the look that in New +York is the equivalent of the handclasp friend seeks +from friend in times of stress. "You're right, Fred. +I'm much obliged to you. I haven't been considering +HER side of it enough. A man ought always to think +of that. The women--poor things--have a hard enough +time to get on, at best." + +Norman's smile was characteristically cynical. +Sentimentality amused him. "I doubt if there are more +female wrecks than male wrecks scattered about the +earth," rejoined he. "And I suspect the fact isn't +due to the gentleness of man with woman, either. Don't +fret for the ladies, Tetlow. They know how to take +care of themselves. They know how to milk with a sure +and a steady hand. You may find it out by depressing +experience some day." + +Tetlow saw the aim. His obstinate, wretched +expression came back. "I don't care. I've got----" + +"You went over that ground," interrupted Norman +impatiently. "You'd better be catching the train." + +As Tetlow withdrew, he rang for an office boy and +sent him to summon Miss Hallowell. + +Norman had been reasoning with himself--with the +aid of the self that was both better and more worldly +wise. He felt that his wrestlings had not been wholly +futile. He believed he had got the strength to face the +girl with a respectful mind, with a mind resolute in +duty--if not love--toward Josephine Burroughs. "I +LOVE Josephine," he said to himself. "My feeling for +this girl is some sort of physical attraction. I certainly +shall be able to control it enough to keep it within +myself. And soon it will die out. No doubt I've felt +much the same thing as strongly before. But it didn't +take hold because I was never bound before--never had +the sense of the necessity for restraint. That sense is +always highly dangerous for my sort of man." + +This sounded well. He eyed the entering girl coldly, +said in a voice that struck him as excellent indifference, +"Bring your machine in here, Miss Hallowell, and recopy +these papers. I've made some changes. If you +spoil any sheets, don't throw them away, but return +everything to me." + +"I'm always careful about the waste-paper baskets," +said she, "since they warned me that there are men +who make a living searching the waste thrown out of +offices." + +He made no reply. He could not have spoken if +he had tried. Once more the spell had seized him--the +spell of her weird fascination for him. As she sat +typewriting, with her back almost toward him, he sat watching +her and analyzing his own folly. He knew that +diagnosing a disease does not cure it; but he found an +acute pleasure in lingering upon all the details of the +effect she had upon his nerves. He did not dare move +from his desk, from the position that put a huge table +and a revolving case of reference books between them. +He believed that if he went nearer he would be unable +to resist seizing her in his arms and pouring out the +passion that was playing along his nerves as the delicate, +intense flame flits back and forth along the surface of +burning alcohol. + +A knock at the door. He plunged into his papers. +"Come!" he called. + +Tetlow thrust in his head. Miss Hallowell did not +look up. "I'm off," the head clerk said. His gaze +was upon the unconscious girl--a gaze that filled Norman +with longing to strangle him. + +"Telegraph me from Albany as soon as you get +there," said Norman. "Telegraph me at my club." + +Tetlow was gone. The machine tapped monotonously +on. The barette which held the girl's hair at +the back was so high that the full beauty of the nape +of her neck was revealed. That wonderful white skin +with the golden tint! How soft--yet how firm--her +flesh looked! How slender yet how strong was her +build---- + +"How do you like Tetlow?" he asked, because +speak to her he must. + +She glanced up, turned in her chair. He quivered +before the gaze from those enchanting eyes of hers. "I +beg pardon," she said. "I didn't hear." + +"Tetlow--how do you like him?" + +"He is very kind to me--to everyone." + +"How did your father like him?" + +He confidently expected some sign of confusion, but +there was no sign. "Father was delighted with him," +she said merrily. "He took an interest in the work +father's doing--and that was enough." + +She was about to turn back to her task. He +hastened to ask another question. "Couldn't I meet your +father some time? What Tetlow told me interested +me greatly." + +"Father would be awfully pleased," replied she. +"But--unless you really care about--biology, I don't +think you'd like coming." + +"I'm interested in everything interesting," replied +Norman dizzily. What was he saying? What was he +doing? What folly was his madness plunging him into? + +"You can come with Mr. Tetlow when he gets back." + +"I'd prefer to talk with him alone," said Norman. +"Perhaps I might see some way to be of service to +him." + +Her expression was vividly different from what it +had been when he offered to help HER. She became radiant +with happiness. "I do hope you'll come," she said +--her voice very low and sweet, in the effort she was +making to restrain yet express her feelings. + +"When? This evening?" + +"He's always at home." + +"You'll be there?" + +"I'm always there, too. We have no friends. It's +not easy to make acquaintances in the East--congenial +acquaintances." + +"I'd want you to be there," he explained with great +care, "because you could help him and me in getting +acquainted." + +"Oh, he'll talk freely--to anyone. He talks only +the one subject. He never thinks of anything else." + +She was resting her crossed arms on the back of her +chair and, with her chin upon them, was looking at him +--a childlike pose and a childlike expression. He said: +"You are SURE you are twenty?" + +She smiled gayly. "Nearly twenty-one." + +"Old enough to be in love." + +She lifted her head and laughed. She had charming +white teeth--small and sharp and with enough irregularity +to carry out her general suggestion of variability. +"Yes, I shall like that, when it comes," she said; +"But the chances are against it just now." + +"There's Tetlow." + +She was much amused. "Oh, he's far too old and +serious." + +Norman felt depressed. "Why, he's only thirty-five." + +"But I'm not twenty-one," she reminded him. "I'd +want some one of my own age. I'm tired of being so +solemn. If I had love, I'd expect it to change all that." + +Evidently a forlorn and foolish person--and doubtless +thinking of him, two years the senior of Tetlow +and far more serious, as an elderly person, in the same +class with her father. "But you like biology?" he said. +The way to a cure was to make her talk on. + +"I don't know anything about it," said she, looking +as frivolous as a butterfly or a breeze-bobbed blossom. +"I listen to father, but it's all beyond me." + +Yes--a light-weight. They could have nothing in +common. She was a mere surface--a thrillingly beautiful +surface, but not a full-fledged woman. So little did +conversation with him interest her, she had taken +advantage of the short pause to resume her work. No, +she had not the faintest interest in him. It wasn't a +trick of coquetry; it was genuine. He whom women had +always bowed before was unable to arouse in her a spark +of interest. She cared neither for what he had nor +for what he was, in himself. This offended and wounded +him. He struggled sulkily with his papers for half an +hour. Then he fell to watching her again and---- + +"You must not neglect to give me your address," +he said. "Write it on a slip of paper after you finish. +I might forget it." + +"Very well," she replied, but did not turn round. + +"Why, do you think, did Tetlow come to see you?" +he asked. He felt cheapened in his own eyes--he, the +great man, the arrived man, the fiance of Josephine +Burroughs, engaged in this halting and sneaking flirtation! +But he could not restrain himself. + +She turned to answer. "Mr. Tetlow works very +hard and has few friends. He had heard of my father +and wanted to meet him--just like you." + +"Naturally," murmured Norman, in confusion. "I +thought--perhaps--he was interested in YOU." + +She laughed outright--and he had an entrancing +view of the clean rosy interior of her mouth. "In ME? +--Mr. Tetlow? Why, he's too serious and important +for a girl like me." + +"Then he bored you?" + +"Oh, no. I like him. He is a good man-- +thoroughly good." + +This pleased Norman immensely. It may be fine to +be good, but to be called good--that is somehow a +different matter. It removes a man at once from the +jealousy-provoking class. "Good exactly describes him," +said Norman. "He wouldn't harm a fly. In love he'd +be ridiculous." + +"Not with a woman of his own age and kind," +protested she. "But I'm neglecting my work." + +And she returned to it with a resolute manner that +made him ashamed to interrupt again--especially after +the unconscious savage rebukes she had administered. +He sat there fighting against the impulse to watch her +--denouncing himself--appealing to pride, to shame, to +prudence--to his love for Josephine--to the sense of +decency that restrains a hunter from aiming at a harmless +tame song bird. But all in vain. He concentrated +upon her at last, stared miserably at her, filled with +longing and dread and shame--and longing, and yet +more longing. + +When she finished and stood at the other side of +the desk, waiting for him to pass upon her work, she +must have thought he was in a profound abstraction. +He did not speak, made a slight motion with his hand +to indicate that she was to go. Shut in alone, he +buried his face in his arms. "What madness!" he +groaned. "If I loved her, there'd be some excuse for +me. But I don't. I couldn't. Yet I seem ready to +ruin everything, merely to gratify a selfish whim--an +insane whim." + +On top of the papers she had left he saw a separate +slip. He drew it toward him, spread it out before him. +Her address. An unknown street in Jersey City! + +"I'll not go," he said aloud, pushing the slip away. +Go? Certainly not. He had never really meant to go. +He would, of course, keep his engagement with Josephine. +"And I'll not come down town until she has taken +another job and has caught Tetlow. I'll stop this idiocy +of trying to make an impression on a person not worth +impressing. What weak vanity--to be piqued by this +girl's lack of interest!" + +Nevertheless--he at six o'clock telephoned to the +Burroughs' house that he was detained down town. He +sent away his motor, dined alone in the station restaurant +in Jersey City. And at half past seven he set out +in a cab in search of--what? He did not dare answer +that interrogation. + + + +VI + + +LIFE many another chance explorer from New York, +Norman was surprised to discover that, within a few +minutes of leaving the railway station, his cab was +moving through a not unattractive city. He expected to +find the Hallowells in a tenement in some more or less +squalid street overhung with railway smoke and bedaubed +with railway grime. He was delighted when the +driver assured him that there was no mistake, that the +comfortable little cottage across the width of the +sidewalk and a small front yard was the sought-for +destination. + +"Wait, please," he said to the cabman. "Or, if you +like, you can go to that corner saloon down there. I'll +know where to find you." And he gave him half a +dollar. + +The cabman hesitated between two theories of this +conduct--whether it was the generosity it seemed or +was a ruse to "side step" payment. He--or his thirst +--decided for the decency of human nature; he drove +confidingly away. Norman went up the tiny stoop and +rang. The sound of a piano, in the room on the ground +floor where there was light, abruptly ceased. The door +opened and Miss Hallowell stood before him. She was +throughout a different person from the girl of the office. +She had changed to a tight-fitting pale-blue linen dress +made all in one piece. Norman could now have not an +instant's doubt about the genuineness, the bewitching +actuality, of her beauty. The wonder was how she +could contrive to conceal so much of it for the purposes +of business. It was a peculiar kind of beauty--not the +radiant kind, but that which shines with a soft glow +and gives him who sees it the delightful sense of being +its original and sole discoverer. An artistic eye--or an +eye that discriminates in and responds to feminine +loveliness--would have been captivated, as it searched in +vain for flaw. + +If Norman anticipated that she would be nervous +before the task of receiving in her humbleness so +distinguished a visitor, he must have been straightway +disappointed. Whether from a natural lack of that +sense of social differences which is developed to the most +pitiful snobbishness in New York or from her youth and +inexperience, she received him as if he had been one of +the neighbors dropping in after supper. And it was +Norman who was ill at ease. Nothing is more +disconcerting to a man accustomed to be received with +due respect to his importance than to find himself put +upon the common human level and compelled to "make +good" all over again from the beginning. He felt-- +he knew--that he was an humble candidate for her +favor--a candidate with the chances perhaps against +him. + +The tiny parlor had little in it beside the upright +piano because there was no space. But the paper, the +carpet and curtains, the few pieces of furniture, showed +no evidence of bad taste, of painful failure at the effort +to "make a front." He was in the home of poor people, +but they were obviously people who made a highly +satisfactory best of their poverty. And in the midst of it +all the girl shone like the one evening star in the mystic +opalescence of twilight. + +"We weren't sure you were coming," said she. "I'll +call father. . . . No, I'll take you back to his workshop. +He's easier to get acquainted with there." + +"Won't you play something for me first? Or-- +perhaps you sing? " + +"A very little," she admitted. "Not worth hearing." + +"I'm sure I'd like it. I want to get used to my +surroundings before I tackle the--the biology." + +Without either hesitation or shyness, she seated herself +at the piano. "I'll sing the song I've just learned." +And she began. Norman moved to the chair that gave +him a view of her in profile. For the next five minutes +he was witness to one of those rare, altogether charming +visions that linger in the memory in freshness and +fragrance until memory itself fades away. She sat +very straight at the piano, and the position brought +out all the long lines of her figure--the long, round +white neck and throat, the long back and bosom, the +long arms and legs--a series of lovely curves. It has +been scientifically demonstrated that pale blue is pre- +eminently the sex color. It certainly was pre-eminently +HER color, setting off each and every one of her charms +and suggesting the roundness and softness and whiteness +her drapery concealed. She was one of those rare +beings whose every pose is instinct with grace. And +her voice-- It was small, rather high, at times almost +shrill. But in every note of its register there sounded +a mysterious, melancholy-sweet call to the responding +nerves of man. + +Before she got halfway through the song Norman +was fighting against the same mad impulse that had all +but overwhelmed him as he watched her in the afternoon. +And when her last note rose, swelled, slowly +faded into silence, it seemed to him that had she kept +on for one note more he would have disclosed to her +amazed eyes the insanity raging within him. + +She turned on the piano stool, her hands dropped +listlessly in her lap. "Aren't those words beautiful?" +she said in a dreamy voice. She was not looking at +him. Evidently she was hardly aware of his presence. + +He had not heard a word. He was in no mood for +mere words. "I've never liked anything so well," he +said. And he lowered his eyes that she might not see +what they must be revealing. + +She rose. He made a gesture of protest. "Won't +you sing another?" he asked. + +"Not after that," she said. "It's the best I know. +It has put me out of the mood for the ordinary songs." + +"You are a dreamer--aren't you?" + +"That's my real life," replied she. "I go through +the other part just to get to the dreams." + +"What do you dream?" + +She laughed carelessly. "Oh, you'd not be +interested. It would seem foolish to you." + +"You're mistaken there," cried he. "The only +thing that ever has interested me in life is dreams-- +and making them come true." + +"But not MY kind of dreams. The only kind I like +are the ones that couldn't possibly come true." + +"There isn't any dream that can't be made to come +true." + +She looked at him eagerly. "You think so?" + +"The wildest ones are often the easiest." He had +a moving voice himself, and it had been known to affect +listening ears hypnotically when he was deeply in earnest, +was possessed by one of those desires that conquer +men of will and then make them irresistible instruments. +"What is your dream?--happiness? . . . love?" + +She gazed past him with swimming eyes, with a +glance that seemed like a brave bright bird exploring +infinity. "Yes," she said under her breath. "But it +could never--never come true. It's too perfect." + +"Don't doubt," he said, in a tone that fitted her +mood as the rhythm of the cradle fits the gentle breathing +of the sleeping child. "Don't ever doubt. And the +dream will come true." + +"You have been in love?" she said, under the spell +of his look and tone. + +He nodded slowly. "I am," he replied, and he was +under the spell of her beauty. + +"Is it--wonderful?" + +"Like nothing else on earth. Everything else seems +--poor and cheap--beside it." + +He drew a step nearer. "But you couldn't love-- +not yet," he said. "You haven't had the experience. +You will have to learn." + +"You don't know me," she cried. "I have been +teaching myself ever since I was a little girl. I've +thought of nothing else most of the time. Oh--" she +clasped her white hands against her small bosom--"if +I ever have the chance, how much I shall give!" + +"I know it! I know it!" he replied. "You will +make some man happier than ever man was before." +His infatuation did not blind him to the fact that she +cared nothing about him, looked on him in the most +unpersonal way. But that knowledge seemed only to +inflame him the more, to lash him on to the folly of an +ill-timed declaration. "I have felt how much you will +give--how much you will love--I've felt it from the +second time I saw you--perhaps from the first. I've +never seen any woman who interested me as you do-- +who drew me as you do--against my ambition--against +my will. I--I----" + +He had been fighting against the words that would +come in spite of him. He halted now because the food +of emotion suffocated speech. He stood before her, +ghastly pale and trembling. She did not draw back. +She seemed compelled by his will, by the force of his +passion, to stay where she was. But in her eyes was a +fascinated terror--a fear of him--of the passion that +dominated him, a passion like the devils that made men +gash themselves and leap from precipices into the sea. +To unaccustomed eyes the first sight of passion is +always terrifying and is usually repellent. One must +learn to adventure the big wave, the great hissing, +towering billow that conceals behind its menace the wild +rapture of infinite longing realized. + +"I have frightened you?" he said. + +"Yes," was her whispered reply. + +"But it is your dream come true." + +She shrank back--not in aversion, but gently. "No +--it isn't my dream," she replied. + +"You don't realize it yet, but you will." + +She shook her head positively. "I couldn't ever +think of you in that way." + +He did not need to ask why. She had already +explained when they were talking of Tetlow. There was +a finality in her tone that filled him with despair. It +was his turn to look at her in terror. What power +this slim delicate girl had over him! What a price +she could exact if she but knew! Knew? Why, he had +told her--was telling her in look and tone and gesture +--was giving himself frankly into captivity--was prostrate, +inviting her to trample. His only hope of escape +lay in her inexperience--that she would not realize. In +the insanities of passion, as in some other forms of +dementia, there is always left a streak of reason--of +that craft which leads us to try to get what we want +as cheaply as possible. Men, all but beside themselves +with love, will bargain over the terms, if they be of the +bargaining kind by nature. Norman was not a haggler. +But common prudence was telling him how unwise his +conduct was, how he was inviting the defeat of his own +purposes. + +He waved his hand impatiently. "We'll see, my +dear," he said with a light good-humored laugh. "I +mustn't forget that I came to see your father." + +She looked at him doubtfully. She did not understand-- +did not quite like--this abrupt change of mood. +It suggested to her simplicity a lack of seriousness, of +sincerity. "Do you really wish to see my father?" +she inquired. + +"Why else should I come away over to Jersey +City? Couldn't I have talked with you at the office?" + +This seemed convincing. She continued to study his +face for light upon the real character of this strange +new sort of man. He regarded her with a friendly +humorous twinkle in his eyes. "Then I'll take you to +him," she said at length. She was by no means satisfied, +but she could not discover why she was dissatisfied. + +"I can't possibly do you any harm," he urged, with +raillery. + +"No, I think not," replied she gravely. "But +you mustn't say those things!" + +"Why not?" Into his eyes came their strongest, +most penetrating look. "I want you. And I don't +intend to give you up. It isn't my habit to give up. +So, sooner or later I get what I go after." + +"You make me--afraid," she said nervously. + +"Of what?" laughed he. "Not of me, certainly. +Then it must be of yourself. You are afraid you will +end by wanting me to want you." + +"No--not that," declared she, confused by his quick +cleverness of speech. "I don't know what I'm afraid +of." + +"Then let's go to your father. . . . You'll not tell +Tetlow what I've said?" + +"No." And once more her simple negation gave +him a sense of her absolute truthfulness. + +"Or that I've been here?" + +She looked astonished. "Why not?" + +"Oh--office reasons. It wouldn't do for the others +to know." + +She reflected on this. "I don't understand," was +the result of her thinking. "But I'll do as you ask. +Only, you must not come again." + +"Why not? If they knew at the office, they'd +simply talk--unpleasantly." + +"Yes," she admitted hesitatingly after reflecting. +"So you mustn't come again. I don't like some kinds +of secrets." + +"But your father will know," he urged. "Isn't +that enough for--for propriety?" + +"I can't explain. I don't understand, myself. I +do a lot of things by instinct." She, standing with her +hands behind her back and with clear, childlike eyes +gravely upon him, looked puzzled but resolved. "And +my instinct tells me not to do anything secret about +you." + +This answer made him wonder whether after all he +might not be too positive in his derisive disbelief in +women's instincts. He laughed. "Well--now for your +father." + +The workshop proved to be an annex to the rear, +reached by a passage leading past a cosy little dining +room and a kitchen where the order and the shine of +cleanness were notable even to masculine eyes. "You +are well taken care of," he said to her--she was preceding +him to show the way. + +"We take care of ourselves," replied she. "I get +breakfast before I leave and supper after I come home. +Father has a cold lunch in the middle of the day, when +he eats at all--which isn't often. And on Saturday +afternoons and Sundays I do the heavy work." + +"You ARE a busy lady!" + +"Oh, not so very busy. Father is a crank about +system and order. He has taught me to plan everything +and work by the plans." + +For the first time Norman had a glimmer of real +interest in meeting her father. For in those remarks +of hers he recognized at once the rare superior man-- +the man who works by plan, where the masses of mankind +either drift helplessly or are propelled by some +superior force behind them without which they would +be, not the civilized beings they seem, but even as the +savage in the dugout or as the beast of the field. The +girl opened a door; a bright light streamed into the +dim hallway. + +"Father!" she called. "Here's Mr. Norman." + +Norman saw, beyond the exquisite profile of the +girl's head and figure, a lean tallish old man, dark and +gray, whose expression proclaimed him at first glance +no more in touch with the affairs of active life in the +world than had he been an inhabitant of Mars. + +Mr. Hallowell gave his caller a polite glance and +handshake--evidence of merest surface interest in him, +of amiable patience with an intruder. Norman saw in +the neatness of his clothing and linen further proof +of the girl's loving care. For no such abstracted +personality as this would ever bother about such things +for himself. These details, however, detained Norman +only for a moment. In the presence of Hallowell it +was impossible not to concentrate upon him. + +As we grow older what we are inside, the kind of +thoughts we admit as our intimates, appears ever more +strongly in the countenance. This had often struck +Norman, observing the men of importance about him, +noting how as they aged the look of respectability, of +intellectual distinction, became a thinner and ever thinner +veneer over the selfishness and greediness, the vanity and +sensuality and falsehood. But never before had he been +so deeply impressed by its truth. Evidently Hallowell +during most of his fifty-five or sixty years had lived +the purely intellectual life. The result was a look of +spiritual beauty, the look of the soul living in the high +mountain, with serenity and vast views constantly before +it. Such a face fills with awe the ordinary follower +of the petty life of the world if he have the brains to +know or to suspect the ultimate truth about existence. +It filled Norman with awe. He hastily turned his eyes +upon the girl--and once more into his face came the +resolute, intense, white-hot expression of a man +doggedly set upon an earthy purpose. + +There was an embarrassed silence. Then the girl +said, "Show him the worms, father." + +Mr. Hallowell smiled. "My little girl thinks no one +has seen that sort of thing," said he. "I can't make +her believe it is one of the commonplaces." + +"You've never had anyone here more ignorant than +I, sir," said Norman. "The only claim on your courtesy +I can make is that I'm interested and that I perhaps +know enough in a general way to appreciate." + +Hallowell waved his hand toward a row of large +glass bottles on one of the many shelves built against +the rough walls of the room. "Here they are," said +he. "It's the familiar illustration of how life may be +controlled." + +"I don't understand," said Norman, eying the +bottled worms curiously. + +"Oh, it's simply the demonstration that life is a +mere chemical process----" + +Norman had ceased to listen. The girl was moving +toward the door by which they had entered--was in the +doorway--was gone! He stood in an attitude of +attention; Hallowell talked on and on, passing from one +thing to another, forgetting his caller and himself, +thinking only of the subject, the beloved science, that +has brought into the modern world a type of men like +those who haunted the deserts and mountain caves in +the days when Rome was falling to pieces. With those +saintly hermits of the Dark Ages religion was the all- +absorbing subject. And seeking their own salvation +was the goal upon which their ardent eyes were necessarily +bent. With these modern devotees, science--the +search for the truth about the world in which they live +--is their religion; and their goal is the redemption of +the world. They are resolved--step by step, each +worker contributing his mite of discovery--to transform +the world from a hell of discomfort and pain and death +to a heaven where men and women, free and enlightened +and perhaps immortal, shall live in happiness. +They even dream that perhaps this race of gods shall +learn to construct the means to take them to another +and younger planet, when this Earth has become too +old and too cold and too nakedly clad in atmosphere +properly to sustain life. + +From time to time Norman caught a few words of +what Hallowell said--words that made him respect the +intelligence that had uttered them. But he neither +cared nor dared to listen. He refused to be deflected +from his one purpose. When he was as old as Hallowell, +it would be time to think of these matters. When +he had snatched the things he needed, it would be time +to take the generous, wide, philosopher view of life. +But not yet. He was still young; he could--and he +would!--drink of the sparkling heady life of the senses, +typefied now for him in this girl. How her loveliness +flamed in his blood--flamed as fiercely when he could +not see the actual, tangible charms as when they were +radiating their fire into his eyes and through his skin! +First he must live that glorious life of youth, of nerves +aquiver with ecstasy. Also, he must shut out the things +of the intellect--must live in brain as well as in body +the animal life--in brain the life of cunning and +strategy. For the intellectual life would make it +impossible to pursue such ignoble things. First, material +success and material happiness. Then, in its own time, +this intellectual life to which such men as Hallowell ever +beckon, from their heights, such men as Norman, deep +in the wallow that seems to them unworthy of them, even +as they roll in it. + +As soon as there came a convenient pause in Hallowell's +talk, Norman said, "And you devote your whole +life to these things?" + +Hallowell's countenance lost its fine glow of enthusiasm. +"I have to make a living. I do chemical analyses +for doctors and druggists. That takes most of my +time." + +"But you can dispatch those things quickly." + +Hallowell shook his head. "There's only one way +to do things. My clients trust me. I can't shirk." + +Norman smiled. He admired this simplicity. But +it amused him, too; in a world of shirking and shuffling, +not to speak of downright dishonesty, it struck the +humorous note of the incongruous. He said: + +"But if you could give all your time you would +get on faster." + +"Yes--if I had the time--AND the money. To make +the search exhaustive would take money--five or six +thousand a year, at the least. A great deal more than +I shall ever have." + +"Have you tried to interest capitalists?" + +Hallowell smiled ironically. "There is much talk +about capitalists and capital opening up things. But +I have yet to learn of an instance of their touching +anything until they were absolutely sure of large profits. +Their failed enterprises are not miscarriage of noble +purpose but mistaken judgment, judgment blinded by +hope and greed." + +"I see that a philosopher can know life without +living it," said Norman. "But couldn't you put your +scheme in such a way that some capitalist would be led +to hope?" + +"I'd have to tell them the truth. Possibly I might +discover something with commercial value, but I couldn't +promise. I don't think it is likely." + +Norman's eyes were on the door. His thoughts +were reaching out to the distant and faint sound of a +piano. "Just what do you propose to search for?" +inquired he. + +He tried to listen, because it was necessary that he +have some knowledge of Hallowell's plans. But he +could not fix his attention. After a few moments he +glanced at his watch, interrupted with, "I think I +understand enough for the present. I've stayed longer +than I intended. I must go now. When I come again +I may perhaps have some plan to propose." + +"Plan?" exclaimed Hallowell, his eyes lighting up. + +"I'm not sure--not at all sure," hastily added +Norman. "I don't wish to give you false hopes. The +matter is extremely difficult. But I'll try. I've small +hope of success, but I'll try." + +"My daughter didn't explain to me," said the +scientist. "She simply said one of the gentlemen for +whom she worked was coming to look at my place. I +thought it was mere curiosity." + +"So it was, Mr. Hallowell," said Norman. "But +I have been interested. I don't as yet see what can be +done. I'm only saying that I'll think it over." + +"I understand," said Hallowell. He was trying +to seem calm and indifferent. But his voice had the +tremulous note of excitement in it and his hands fumbled +nervously, touching evidence of the agitated gropings +of his mind in the faint, perhaps illusory, light of a new- +sprung hope. "Yes, I understand perfectly. Still-- +it is pleasant to think about such a thing, even if there's +no chance of it. I am very fond of dreaming. That +has been my life, you know." + +Norman colored, moved uneasily. The fineness of +this man's character made him uncomfortable. He could +pity Hallowell as a misguided failure. He could dilate +himself as prosperous, successful, much the more +imposing and important figure in the contrast. Yet there +was somehow a point of view at which, if one looked +carefully, his own sort of man shriveled and the Hallowell +sort towered. + +"I MUST be going," Norman said. "No--don't +come with me. I know the way. I've interrupted you +long enough." And he put out his hand and, by those +little clevernesses of manner which he understood so +well, made it impossible for Hallowell to go with him +to Dorothy. + +He was glad when he shut the door between him and +her father. He paused in the hall to dispel the vague, +self-debasing discomfort--and listening to HER voice as +she sang helped wonderfully. There is no more trying +test of a personality than to be estimated by the voice +alone. That test produces many strange and startling +results. Again and again it completely reverses our +judgment of the personality, either destroys or +enhances its charm. The voice of this girl, floating out +upon the quiet of the cottage--the voice, soft and sweet, +full of the virginal passion of dreams unmarred by +experience-- It was while listening to her voice, as he +stood there in the dimly lighted hall, that Frederick +Norman passed under the spell in all its potency. In +taking an anaesthetic there is the stage when we reach +out for its soothing effects; then comes the stage when +we half desire, half fear; then a stage in which fear is +dominant, and we struggle to retain our control of the +senses. Last comes the stage when we feel the full +power of the drug and relax and yield or are beaten +down into quiet. Her voice drew him into the final +stage, was the blow of the overwhelming wave's crest +that crushed him into submission. + +She glanced toward the door. He was leaning +there, an ominous calm in his pale, resolute face. She +gazed at him with widening eyes. And her look was +the look of helplessness before a force that may, indeed +must, be struggled against, but with the foregone +certainty of defeat. + +A gleam of triumph shone in his eyes. Then his +expression changed to one more conventional. "I +stopped a moment to listen, on my way out," said he. + +Her expression changed also. The instinctive, +probably unconscious response to his look faded into the +sweet smile, serious rather than merry, that was her +habitual greeting. "Mr. Tetlow didn't get away from +father so soon." + +"I stayed longer than I intended. I found it even +more interesting than I had expected. . . . Would you +be glad if your father could be free to do as he likes +and not be worried about anything?" + +"That is one of my dreams." + +"Well, it's certainly one that might come true. . . . +And you-- It's a shame that you should have to do so +much drudgery--both here and in New York." + +"Oh, I don't mind about myself. It's all I'm fit +for. I haven't any talent--except for dreaming." + +"And for making--SOME man's dreams come true." + +Her gaze dropped. And as she hid herself she +looked once more almost as insignificant and colorless +as he had once believed her to be. + +"What are you thinking about?" + +She shook her head slowly without raising her eyes +or emerging from the deep recess of her reserve. + +"You are a mystery to me. I can't decide whether +you are very innocent or very--concealing." + +She glanced inquiringly at him. "I don't understand," +she said. + +He smiled. "No more do I. I've seen so much of +faking--in women as well as in men--that it's hard for +me to believe anyone is genuine." + +"Do you think I am trying to deceive you? About +what?" + +He made an impatient gesture--impatience with his +credulity where she was concerned. "No matter. I +want to make you happy--because I want you to make +me happy." + +Her eyes became as grave as a wondering child's. +"You are laughing at me," she said. + +"Why do you say that?" + +"Because I could not make you happy." + +"Why not?" + +"What could a serious man like you find in me?" + +His intense, burning gaze held hers. "Some time +I will tell you." + +She shut herself within herself like a flower folding +away its beauty and leaving exposed only the +underside of its petals. It was impossible to say +whether she understood or was merely obeying an instinct. + +He watched her a moment in silence. Then he said: + +"I am mad about you--mad. You MUST understand. +I can think only of you. I am insane with jealousy +of you. I want you--I must have you." + +He would have seized her in his arms, but the look +of sheer amazement she gave him protected her where +no protest or struggle would. "You?" she said. "Did +you really mean it? I thought you were just talking." + +"Can't you see that I mean it?" + +"Yes--you look as if you did. But I can't believe +it. I could never think of you in that way." + +Once more that frank statement of indifference +infuriated him. He MUST compel her to feel--he must +give that indifference the lie--and at once! He caught +her in his arms. He rained kisses upon her pale face. +She made not the least resistance, but seemed dazed. +"I will teach you to love me," he cried, drunk now with +the wine of her lips, with the perfume of her exquisite +youth. "I will make you happy. We shall be mad +with happiness." + +She gently freed herself. "I don't believe I could +ever think of you in that way." + +"Yes, darling--you will. You can't help loving +where you are loved so utterly." + +She gazed at him wonderingly--the puzzled wonder +of a child. "You--love--me?" she said slowly. + +"Call it what you like. I am mad about you. I +have forgotten everything--pride--position--things +you can't imagine--and I care for nothing but you." + +And again he was kissing her with the soft fury of +fire; and again she was submitting with the passive, +dazed expression that seemed to add to his passion. To +make her feel! To make her respond! He, whom so +many women had loved--women of position, of fame for +beauty, of social distinction or distinction as singers, +players--women of society and women of talent all +kinds of worth-while women--they had cared, had run +after him, had given freely all he had asked and more. +And this girl--nobody at all--she had nothing for him. + +He held her away from him, cried angrily: "What +is the matter with you? What is the matter with me?" + +"I don't understand," she said. "I wish you +wouldn't kiss me so much." + +He released her, laughed satirically. "Oh--you are +playing a game. I might have known." + +"I don't understand," said she. "A while ago you +said you loved me. Now you act as if you didn't like +me at all." And she smiled gayly at him, pouting her +lips a little. Once more her beauty was shining. It +made his nerves quiver to see the color in her pure +white skin where he had kissed her. + +"I don't care whether it is a game or not," he +cried. And he was about to seize her again, when she +repulsed him. He crushed her resistance, held her +tight in his arms. + +"You frighten me," she murmured. "You--hurt +me." + +He released her. "What do you want?" he cried. +"Don't you care at all?" + +"Oh, yes. I like you--very much. I have from +the first time I saw you. But you seem older--and +more serious." + +"Never mind about that. We are going to love +each other--and I am going to make you and your +father happy." + +"If you make father happy I will do anything for +you. I don't want anything myself--but he is getting +old and sometimes his despair is terrible." There were +tears in her voice--tears and the most touching tenderness. +"He has some great secret that he wants to discover, +and he is afraid he will die without having had +the chance." + +"You will love me if I make your father happy?" + +He knew it was the question of a fool, but he so +longed to hear from her lips some word to give him +hope that he could not help asking it. She said: + +"Love you as--as you seem to love me? Not that +same way. I don't feel that way toward you. But I +will love you in my own way." + +He observed her with penetrating eyes. Was this +speech of hers innocence or calculation? He could get +no clue to the truth. He saw nothing but innocence; +the teaching of experience warned him to believe in +nothing but guile. He hid his doubt and chagrin behind +a mocking smile. "As you please," said he. "I +will do my part. Then--we'll see. . . . Do you care +about anyone else--in MY way of loving, I mean?" + +It was again the question of an infatuated fool, and +put in an infatuated fool's way. For, if she were a "deep +one," how could he hope to get the truth? But her +answer reassured him. "No," she said--her simple, +direct negation that had a convincing power he had +never seen equaled. + +"If I ever knew of another man's touching you," +he said, "I'd feel like strangling him." He laughed +at himself. "Not that I should strangle him. That +sort of thing isn't done any more. But I'd do +something devilish." + +"But I haven't promised not to kiss anyone else," +she said. "Why should I? I don't love you." + +He looked at her strangely. "But you're going to +love me," he said. + +She shrank within herself again. She looked at him +with uneasy eyes. "You won't kiss me any more until +I tell you that I do love you?" she asked with the +gravity and pathos and helplessness of a child. + +"Don't you want to learn to love me?--to learn to +love?" + +She was silent--a silence that maddened him. + +"Don't be afraid to speak," he said irritably. +"What are you thinking?" + +"That I don't want you to kiss me--and that I do +want father to be happy." + +Was this guile? Was it innocence? He put his +arms round her. "Look at me," he said. + +She gazed at him frankly. + +"You like me?" + +"Yes." + +"Why don't you want me to kiss you?" + +"I don't know. It makes me--dislike you." + +He released her. She laid her hand on his arm +eagerly. "Please--" she implored. "I don't mean +to hurt you. I wouldn't offend you for anything. Only +--when you ask me a question--mustn't I tell you the +truth?" + +"Always," he said, believing in her, in spite of the +warnings of cynical worldliness. "I don't know whether +you are sincere or not--as yet. So for the present +I'll give you the benefit of the doubt." He stood back +and looked at her from head to foot. "You are beautiful!-- +perfect," he said in a low voice. He laughed. +"I'll resist the temptation to kiss you again. I must +go now. About your father--I'll see what can be done." + +She stood with her hands behind her back, looking +up at him with an expression he could not fathom. Suddenly +she advanced, put up her lips and said gravely, + +"Won't you kiss me?" + +He eyed her quizzically. "Oh--you've changed +your mind? " + +She shook her head. + +"Then why do you ask me to kiss you? " + +"Because of what you said about father." + +He laughed and kissed her. And then she, too, +laughed. He said, "Not for my own sake--not a little +bit?" + +"Oh, yes," she cried, "when you kiss me that way. +I like to be kissed. I am very affectionate." + +He laughed again. "You ARE a queer one. If it's +a game, it's a good one. Is it a game?" + +"I don't know," said she gayly. "Good night. +This is dreadfully late for me." + +"Good night," he said, and they shook hands. "Do +you like me better--or less?" + +"Better," was her prompt, apparently honest reply. + +"Curiously enough, I'm beginning to LIKE you," +said he. "Now don't ask me what I mean by that. +If you don't know already, you'll not find out from me." + +"Oh, but I do know," cried she. "The way you +kissed me--that was one thing. The way you feel +toward me now--that's a different thing. Isn't it so?" + +"Exactly. I see we are going to get on." + +"Yes, indeed." + +They shook hands again in friendliest fashion, and +she opened the front door for him. And her farewell +smile was bright and happy. + + + +VII + + +IN the cold clear open he proceeded to take the +usual account of stock--with dismal results. She had +wound him round her fingers, had made him say only +the things he should not have said, and leave unsaid +the things that might have furthered his purposes. He +had conducted the affair ridiculously--"just what is +to be expected of an infatuated fool." However, there +was no consolation in the discovery that he was reduced, +after all these years of experience, to the common level +--man weak and credulous in his dealings with woman. +He hoped that his disgust with himself would lead on +to disgust, or, rather, distaste for her. It is the primal +instinct of vanity to dislike and to shun those who have +witnessed its humiliation. + +"I believe I am coming to my senses," he said. And +he ventured to call her up before him for examination +and criticism. This as he stood upon the forward deck +of the ferry with the magnificent panorama of New +York before him. New York! And he, of its strong +men, of the few in all that multitude who had rank +and power--he who had won as his promised wife the +daughter of one of the dozen mighty ones of the nation! +What an ill-timed, what an absurd, what a crazy step- +down this excursion of his! And for what? There he +summoned her before him. And at the first glance of his +fancy at her fair sweet face and lovely figure, he quailed. +He was hearing her voice again. He was feeling the +yield of her smooth, round form to his embrace, the +yield of her smooth white cheek to his caress. In his +nostrils was the fragrance of her youth, the matchless +perfume of nature, beyond any of the distillations of +art in its appeal to his normal and healthy nerves. And +he burned with the fire only she could quench. "I must +--I must.--My God, I MUST!" he muttered. + +When he reached home, he asked whether his sister +was in. The butler said that Mrs. Fitzhugh had just +come from the theater. In search of her, he went to the +library, found her seated there with a book and a +cigarette, her wrap thrown back upon her chair. +"Come out to supper with me, Ursula," he said. "I'm +starved and bored." + +"Why, you're not dressed!" exclaimed his sister. +"I thought you were at the Cameron dance with +Josephine." + +"Had to cut it out," replied he curtly. "Will +you come?" + +"I can't eat, but I'll drink. Yes, let's have a spree. +It's been years since we had one--not since we were +poor. Let's not go to a DEADLY respectable place. Let's +go where there are some of the other kind, too." + +"But I must have food. Why not the Martin?" + +"That'll do--though I'd prefer something a little +farther up Broadway." + +"The Martin is gay enough. The truth is, there's +nothing really gay any more. There's too much money. +Money suffocates gayety." + +To the Martin they went, and he ordered an enormous +supper--one of those incredible meals for which +he was famous. They dispatched a quart of champagne +before the supper began to come, he drinking at least +two thirds of it. He drank as much while he was eating +--and called for a third bottle when the coffee was +served. He had eaten half a dozen big oysters, a whole +guinea hen, a whole portion of salad, another of Boniface +cheese, with innumerable crackers. + +"If I could eat as you do!" sighed Ursula +enviously. "Yet it's only one of your accomplishments." + +"I'm not eating much nowadays," said he gloomily. +"I'm losing my appetite." And he lit a long black +cigar and swallowed half a large glass of the champagne. +"Nothing tastes good--not even champagne." + +"There IS something wrong with you," said Ursula. +"Did you ask me out for confidences, or for advice-- +or for both?" + +"None of them," replied he. "Only for company. +I knew I'd not be able to sleep for hours, and I wanted +to put off the time when I'd be alone." + +"I wish I had as much influence with you as you +have with me," said Ursula, by way of preparation for +confidences. + +"Influence? Don't I do whatever you say?" + +She laughed. "Nobody has influence over you," +she said. + +"Not even myself," replied he morosely. + +"Well--that talking-to you gave me has had its +effect," proceeded Mrs. Fitzhugh. "It set me to +thinking. There are other things besides love--man and +woman love. I've decided to--to behave myself and give +poor Clayton a chance to rest." She smiled, a little +maliciously. "He's had a horrible fright. But it's +over now. What a fine thing it is for a woman to have +a sensible brother!" + +Norman grunted, took another liberal draught of +the champagne. + +"If I had a mind like yours!" pursued Ursula. +"Now, you simply couldn't make a fool of yourself." + +He looked at her sharply. He felt as if she had +somehow got wind of his eccentric doings. + +"I've always resented your rather contemptuous +attitude toward women," she went on. "But you are +right--really you are. We're none of us worth the +excitement men make about us." + +"It isn't the woman who makes a fool of the man," +said Norman. "It's the man who makes a fool of himself. +A match can cause a terrific explosion if it's in the +right place--but not if it isn't." + +She nodded. "That's it. We're simply matches-- +and most of us of the poor sputtering kind that burns +with a bad odor and goes out right away. A very +inferior quality of matches." + +"Yes," repeated Norman, "it's the man who does +the whole business." + +A mocking smile curled her lips. "I knew you +weren't in love with Josephine." + +He stared gloomily at his cigar. + +"But you're going to marry her?" + +"I'm in love with her," he said angrily. "And +I'm going to marry her." + +She eyed him shrewdly. "Fred--are you in love +with some one else?" + +He did not answer immediately. When he did it was +with a "No" that seemed the more emphatic for the +delay. + +"Oh, just one of your little affairs." And she +began to poke fun at him. "I thought you had dropped +that sort of thing for good and all. I hope Josie +won't hear of it. She'd not understand. Women never +do--unless they don't care a rap about the man. . . . +Is she on the stage? I know you'll not tell me, but +I like to ask." + +Her brother looked at her rather wildly. "Let's +go home," he said. He was astounded and alarmed by +the discovery that his infatuation had whirled him to +the lunacy of longing to confide--and he feared lest, if +he should stay on, he would blurt out his disgraceful +secret. "Waiter, the bill." + +"Don't let's go yet," urged his sister. "The most +interesting people are beginning to come. Besides, I +want more champagne." + +He yielded. While she gazed round with the air +of a visitor to a Zoo that is affected by fashionable +people, and commented on the faces, figures, and clothes +of the women, he stared at his plate and smoked and +drank. Finally she said, "I'd give anything to see you +make a fool of yourself, just once." + +He grinned. "Things are in the way to having +your wish gratified," he said. "It looks to me as if +my time had come." + +She tried to conceal her anxiety. "Are you +serious?" she asked. Then added: "Of course not. You +simply couldn't. Especially now--when Josephine +might hear. I suppose you've noticed how Joe Culver +is hanging round her?" + +He nodded. + +"There's no danger--unless----" + +"I shall marry Josephine." + +"Not if she hears." + +"She's not going to hear." + +"Don't be too sure. Women love to boast. It +tickles their vanity to have a man. Yes, they pretend +to be madly in love simply to give themselves the excuse +for tattling." + +"She'll not hear." + +"You can't be sure." + +"I want you to help me out. I'm going to tell her +I'm tremendously busy these few next days--or weeks." + +"Weeks!" Ursula Fitzhugh laughed. "My, it +must be serious!" + +"Weeks," repeated her brother. "And I want you +to say things that'll help out--and to see a good deal +of her." He flung down his cigar. "You women don't +understand how it is with a man." + +"Don't we though! Why, it's a very ordinary +occurrence for a woman to be really in love with several +men at once." + +His eyes gleamed jealously. "I don't believe it," +he cried. + +"Not Josephine," she said reassuringly. "She's +one of those single-hearted, untemperamental women. +They concentrate. They have no imagination." + +"I wasn't thinking of Josephine," said he sullenly. +"To go back to what I was saying, I am in love with +Josephine and with no one else. I can't explain to +you how or why I'm entangled. But I'll get myself +untangled all right--and very shortly." + +"I know that, Fred. You aren't the permanent- +damn-fool sort." + +"I should say not!" exclaimed he. "It's a hopeful +sign that I know exactly how big a fool I am." + +She shook her head in strong dissent. "On the con- +trary," said she, "it's a bad sign. I didn't realize +I was making a fool of myself until you pointed it out +to me. That stopped me. If I had been doing it with +my eyes open, your jacking me up would only have +made me go ahead." + +"A woman's different. It doesn't take much to stop +a woman. She's about half stopped when she begins." + +Ursula was thoroughly alarmed. "Fred," she said +earnestly, "you're running bang into danger. The +time to stop is right now." + +"Can't do it," he said. "Let's not talk about it." + +"Can't? That word from YOU?" + +"From me," replied he. "Don't forget helping out +with Josephine. Let's go." + +And he refused to be persuaded to stay on--or to +be cajoled or baited into talking further of this secret +his sister saw was weighing heavily. + + +He was down town half an hour earlier than usual +the next morning. But no one noted it because his +habit had always been to arrive among the first--not +to set an example but to give his prodigious industry +the fullest swing. There was in Turkey a great poet +of whom it is said that he must have written twenty- +five hours a day. Norman's accomplishment bulked in +that same way before his associates. He had not slept +the whole night. But, thanks to his enormous vitality, +no trace of this serious dissipation showed. The huge +supper he had eaten--and drunk--the sleepless night +and the giant breakfast of fruit and cereal and chops +and wheat cakes and coffee he had laid in to stay him +until lunch time, would together have given pause to +any but such a physical organization as his. The only +evidence of it was a certain slight irritability--but this +may have been due to his state of intense self-dissatisfaction. + +As he entered the main room his glance sought the +corner where Miss Hallowell was ensconced. She +happened to look up at that instant. With a radiant smile +she bowed to him in friendliest fashion. He colored +deeply, frowned with annoyance, bowed coldly and strode +into his room. He fussed and fretted about with his +papers for a few minutes, then rang the bell. + +"Send in Miss Pritchard--no, Mr. Gowdy--no, +Miss Hallowell," he said to the office boy. And then he +looked sharply at the pert young face for possible +signs of secret cynical amusement. He saw none such, +but was not convinced. He knew too well how by a +sort of occult process the servants, all the subordinates, +round a person like himself discover the most intimate +secrets, almost get the news before anything has really +occurred. + +Miss Hallowell appeared, and very cold and reserved +she looked as she stood waiting. + +"I sent for you because--" he began. He glanced +at the door to make sure that it was closed--" because +I wanted to hear your voice." And he laughed +boyishly. He was in high good humor now. + +"Why did you speak to me as you did when you +came in?" said she. + +There was certainly novelty in this direct attack, +this equal to equal criticism of his manners. He was +not pleased with the novelty; but at the same time he +felt a lack of the courage to answer her as she deserved, +even if she was playing a clever game. "It isn't necessary +that the whole office should know our private business," +said he. + +She seemed astonished. "What private business?" + +"Last night," said he, uncertain whether she was +trifling with him or was really the innocent she pretended +to be. "If I were you, I'd not speak as friendlily +as you did this morning--not before people." + +"Why?" inquired she, her sweet young face still +more perplexed. + +"This isn't a small town out West," explained he. +"It's New York. People misunderstand--or rather--" +He gave her a laughing, mischievous glance--"or +rather--they don't." + +"I can't see anything to make a mystery about," +declared the girl. "Why, you act as if there were +something to be ashamed of in coming to see me." + +He was observing her sharply. How could a girl +live in the New York atmosphere several years without +getting a sensible point of view? Yet, so far as he +could judge, this girl was perfectly honest in her +ignorance. "Don't be foolish," said he. "Please accept the +fact as I give it to you. You mustn't let people see +everything." + +She made no attempt to conceal her dislike for this. +"I won't be mixed up in anything like that," said she, +quite gently and without a suggestion of pique or anger. +"It makes me feel low--and it's horribly common. +Either we are going to be friends or we aren't. And +if we are, why, we're friends whenever we meet. I'm +not ashamed of you. And if you are ashamed of me, +you can cut me out altogether." + +His color deepened until his face was crimson. His +eyes avoided hers. "I was thinking chiefly of you," he +said--and he honestly thought he was speaking the +whole truth. + +"Then please don't do so any more," said she, turning +to go. "I understand about New York snobbishness. +I want nothing to do with it." + +He disregarded the danger of the door being opened +at any moment. He rushed to her and took her reluctant +hand. "You mustn't blame me for the ways of +the world. I can't change them. Do be sensible, +dearest. You're only going to be here a few days longer. +I've got that plan for you and your father all thought +out. I'll put it through at once. I don't want the +office talking scandal about us--do you?" + +She looked at him pityingly. His eyes fell before +hers. "I know it's a weakness," he said, giving up +trying to deceive her and himself. "But I can't help +it. I was brought up that way." + +"Well--I wasn't. I see we can never be friends." + +What a mess he had made of this affair! This girl +must be playing upon him. In his folly he had let her +see how completely he was in her power, and she was +using that power to establish relations between them +that were the very opposite of what he desired--and +must have. He must control himself. "As you please," +he said coldly, dropping her hand. "I'm sorry, but +unless you are reasonable I can do nothing for you." +And he went to his desk. + +She hesitated a moment; as her back was toward +him, he could not see her expression. Without looking +round she went out of his office. It took all his +strength to let her go. "She's bluffing," he muttered. +"And yet--perhaps she isn't. There may be people +like that left in New York." Whatever the truth, he +simply must make a stand. He knew women; no woman +had the least respect for a man who let her rule--and +this woman, relying upon his weakness for her, was bent +upon ruling. If he did not make a stand, she was lost +to him. If he did make a stand, he could no more than +lose her. Lose her! That thought made him sick at +heart. "What a fool I am about her!" he cried. "I +must hurry things up. I must get enough of her-- +must get through it and back to my sober senses." + +That was a time of heavy pressure of important +affairs. He furiously attacked one task after another, +only to abandon each in turn. His mind, which had +always been his obedient, very humble servant, absolutely +refused to obey. He turned everything over to +his associates or to subordinates, fighting all morning +against the longing to send for her. At half past +twelve he strode out of the office, putting on the air +of the big man absorbed in big affairs. He descended +to the street. But instead of going up town to keep +an appointment at a business lunch he hung round the +entrance to the opposite building. + +She did not appear until one o'clock. Then out she +came--with the head office boy!--the good-looking, +young head office boy. + +Norman's contempt for himself there reached its +lowest ebb. For his blood boiled with jealousy-- +jealousy of his head office boy!--and about an obscure little +typewriter! He followed the two, keeping to the other +side of the street. Doubtless those who saw and +recognized him fancied him deep in thought about some +mighty problem of corporate law or policy, as he moved +from and to some meeting with the great men who +dictated to a nation of ninety millions what they should +buy and how much they should pay for it. He saw the +two enter a quick-lunch restaurant--struggled with a +crack-brained impulse to join them--dragged himself +away to his appointment. + +He was never too amiable in dealing with his clients, +because he had found that, in self-protection, to avoid +being misunderstood and largely increasing the difficulties +of amicable intercourse, he must keep the feel of +iron very near the surface. That day he was for the +first time irascible. If the business his clients were +engaged in had been less perilous and his acute intelligence +not indispensable, he would have cost the firm dear. But +in business circles, where every consideration yields to +that of material gain, the man with the brain may +conduct himself as he pleases--and usually does so, +when he has strength of character. + +All afternoon he wrestled with himself to keep away +from the office. He won, but it was the sort of victory +that gives the winner the chagrin and despondency of +defeat. At home, late in the afternoon, he found Josephine +in the doorway, just leaving. "You'll walk home +with me--won't you?" she said. And, taken unawares +and intimidated by guilt, he could think of no excuse. + +Some one--probably a Frenchman--has said that +there are always in a man's life three women--the one +on the way out, the one that is, and the one that is to +be. Norman--ever the industrious trafficker with the +feminine that the man of the intense vitality necessary +to a great career of action is apt to be--was by no +means new to the situation in which he now found +himself. But never before had the circumstances been so +difficult. Josephine in no way resembled any woman +with whom he had been involved; she was the first he +had taken seriously. Nor did the other woman resemble +the central figure in any of his affairs. He did not +know what she was like, how to classify her; but he +did know that she was unlike any woman he had ever +known and that his feeling for her was different-- +appallingly different--from any emotion any other woman +had inspired in him. So--a walk alone with Josephine-- +a first talk with her after his secret treachery-- +was no light matter. "Deeper and deeper," he said to +himself. "Where is this going to end?" + +She began by sympathizing with him for having so +much to do--"and father says you can get through +more work than any man he ever knew, not excluding +himself." She was full of tenderness and compliment, +of a kind of love that made him feel as the dirt beneath +his feet. She respected him so highly; she believed +in him so entirely. The thought of her discovering the +truth, or any part of it, gave him a sensation of nausea. +He was watching her out of the corner of his eye. Never +had he seen her more statelily beautiful. If he should +lose her!" I'm mad--MAD!" he said to himself. + +"Josephine is as high above her as heaven above earth. +What is there to her, anyhow? Not brains--nor taste +--nor such miraculous beauty. Why do I make an ass +of myself about her? I ought to go to my doctor." + +"I don't believe you're listening to what I'm saying," +laughed Josephine. + +"My head's in a terrible state," replied he. "I +can't think of anything." + +"Don't try to talk or to listen, dearest," said she +in the sweet and soothing tone that is neither sweet nor +soothing to a man in a certain species of unresponsive +mood. "This air will do you good. It doesn't annoy +you for me to talk to you, does it?" + +The question was one of those which confidently +expects, even demands, a sincere and strenuous negative +for answer. It fretted him, this matter-of-course +assumption of hers that she could not but be altogether +pleasing, not to say enchanting to him. Her position, +her wealth, the attentions she had received, the +flatteries-- In her circumstances could it be in human +nature not to think extremely well of oneself? And he +admitted that she had the right so to think. Still-- +For the first time she scraped upon his nerves. His +reply, "Annoy me? The contrary," was distinctly +crisp. To an experienced ear there would have sounded +the faint warning under-note of sullenness. + +But she, believing in his love and in herself, saw +nothing, suspected nothing. "We know each other so +thoroughly," she went on, "that we don't need to make +any effort. How congenial we are! I always understand +you. I feel such a sense of the perfect freedom +and perfect frankness between us. Don't you?" + +"You have wonderful intuitions," said he. + +It was the time to alarm him by coldness, by capr- +ciousness. But how could she know it? And she was +in love--really in love--not with herself, not with love, +but with him. Thus, she made the mistake of all true +lovers in those difficult moments. She let him see how +absolutely she was his. Nor did the spectacle of her +sincerity, of her belief in his sincerity put him in any +better humor with himself. + +The walk was a mere matter of a dozen blocks. He +thought it would never end. "You are sure you aren't +ill?" she said, when they were at her door--a superb +bronze door it was, opening into a house of the splendor +that for the acclimated New Yorker quite conceals and +more than compensates absence of individual taste. +"You don't look ill. But you act queerly." + +"I'm often this way when they drive me too hard +down town." + +She looked at him with fond admiration; he might +have been better pleased had there not been in the look +a suggestion of the possessive. "How they do need +you! Father says-- But I mustn't make you any +vainer than you are." + +He usually loved compliment, could take it in its +rawest form with fine human gusto. Now, he did not +care enough about that "father says" to rise to her +obvious bait. "I'm horribly tired," he said. "Shall +I see you to-morrow? No, I guess not--not for several +days. You understand?" + +"Perfectly," replied she. "I'll miss you dreadfully, +but my father has trained me well. I know I mustn't +be selfish--and tempt you to neglect things." + +"Thank you," said he. "I must be off." + +"You'll come in--just a moment?" Her eyes +sparkled. "The butler will have sense enough to go +straight away--and the small reception room will be +quite empty as usual." + +He could not escape. A few seconds and he was +alone with her in the little room--how often had he-- +they--been glad of its quiet and seclusion on such +occasions! She laid her hand upon his shoulders, gazed +at him proudly. "It was here," said she, "that you +first kissed me. Do you remember?" + +To take her gaze from his face and to avoid seeing +her look of loving trust, he put his arms round her. +"I don't deserve you," he said--one of those empty +pretenses of confession that yet give the human soul a +sense of truthfulness. + +"You'd not say that if you knew how happy you +make me," murmured she. + +The welcome sound of a step in the hall give him +his release. When he was in the street, he wiped his hot +face with his handkerchief. "And I thought I had no +moral sense left!" he reflected--not the first man, in +this climax day of the triumph of selfish philosophies, +to be astonished by the discovery that the dead hands +of heredity and tradition have a power that can +successfully defy reason. + +He started to walk back home, on impulse took a +passing taxi and went to his club. It was the Federal. +They said of it that no man who amounted to anything +in New York could be elected a member, because any +man on his way up could not but offend one or more of +the important persons in control. Most of its members +were nominated at birth or in childhood and elected as +soon as they were twenty-one. Norman was elected +after he became a man of consequence. He regarded it +as one of the signal triumphs of his career; and beyond +question it was proof of his power, of the eagerness of +important men, despite their jealousy, to please him and +to be in a position to get the benefit of his brains should +need arise. Norman's whole career, like every career +great and small, in the arena of action, was a derision +of the ancient moralities, a demonstration of the value +of fear as an aid to success. Even his friends--and he +had as many as he cared to have--had been drawn to +him by the desire to placate him, to stand well where +there was danger in standing ill. + +Until dinner time he stood at the club bar, drinking +one cocktail after another with that supreme +indifference to consequences to health which made his +fellow men gape and wonder--and cost an occasional +imitator health, and perhaps life. Nor did the powerful +liquor have the least effect upon him, apparently. Possibly +he was in a better humor, but not noticeably so. +He dined at the club and spent the evening at bridge, +winning several hundred dollars. He enjoyed the +consideration he received at that club, for his fellow +members being men of both social and financial consequence, +their conspicuous respect for him was a concentrated +essence of general adulation. He lingered on, eating +a great supper with real appetite. He went home in +high good humor with himself. He felt that he was a +conqueror born, that such things of his desire as did +not come could be forced to come. He no longer +regarded his passion for the nebulous girl of many +personalities as a descent from dignity. Was he not king? +Did not his favor give her whatever rank he pleased? +Might not a king pick and choose, according to his +fancy? Let the smaller fry grow nervous about these +matters of caste. They did well to take care lest they +should fall. But not he! He had won thus far by +haughtiness, never by cringing. His mortal day would +be that in which he should abandon his natural tactics +for the modes of lesser men. True, only a strong head +could remain steady in these giddy altitudes of self- +confidence. But was not his head strong? + +And without hesitation he called up the vision that +made him delirious-and detained it and reveled in it +until sleep came. + + + +VIII + + +THE longer he thought of it the stronger grew his +doubt that the little Hallowell girl could be so indifferent +to him as she seemed. Not that she was a fraud-- +that is, a conscious fraud--even so much of a fraud as +the sincerest of the other women he had known. Simply +that she was carrying out a scheme of coquetry. Could +it be in human nature, even in the nature of the most +indiscriminating of the specimens of young feminine +ignorance and folly, not to be flattered by the favor of +such a man as he? Common sense answered that it could +not be--but neglected to point out to him that almost +any vagary might be expected of human nature, when it +could produce such a deviation from the recognized +types as a man of his position agitated about such an +unsought obscurity as Miss Hallowell. He continued +to debate the state of her mind as if it were an affair +of mightiest moment--which, indeed, it was to him. And +presently his doubt strengthened into conviction. She +must be secretly pleased, flattered, responsive. She had +been in the office long enough to be impressed by his +position. Yes, there must be more or less pretense in her +apparently complete indifference--more or less pretense, +more or less coquetry, probably not a little timidity. + +She would come down from her high horse--with +help and encouragement from him. He was impatient to +get to the office and see just how she would do it-- +what absurd, amusing attractive child's trick she would +think out, imagining she could fool him, as lesser +intelligences are ever fatuously imagining they can outwit +greater. + +He rather thought she would come in to see him on +some pretext, would maneuver round like a bird +pretending to flutter away from the trap it has every +intention of entering. But eleven o'clock of a wasted +morning came and she did not appear. He went out to see if +she was there--she must be sick; she could not be there +or he would have heard from her. . . . Yes, she was at +her desk, exactly as always. No, not exactly the same. +She was obviously attractive now; the air of insignificance +had gone, and not the dullest eyes in that office +could fail to see at least something of her beauty. +And Tetlow was hanging over her, while the girls and +boys grinned and whispered. Clearly, the office was +"on to" Tetlow. . . . Norman, erect and coldly +infuriate, called out: + +"Mr. Tetlow--one moment, please." + +He went back to his den, Tetlow startling and +following like one on the way to the bar for sentence. +"Mr. Tetlow," he said, when they were shut in to- +gether, "you are making a fool of yourself before the +whole office." + +"Be a little patient with me, Mr. Norman," said the +head clerk humbly. "I've got another place for her. +She's going to take it to-morrow. Then--there'll be +no more trouble." + +Norman paled. "She wishes to leave?" he +contrived to articulate. + +"She spoke to me about leaving before I told her +I had found her another job." + +Norman debated--but for only a moment. "I do +not wish her to leave," he said coldly. "I find her +useful and most trustworthy." + +Tetlow's eyes were fixed strangely upon him. + +"What's the matter with you?" asked Norman, the +under-note of danger but thinly covered. + +"Then she was right," said Tetlow slowly. "I +thought she was mistaken. I see that she is right." + +"What do you mean?" said Norman--a mere +inquiry, devoid of bluster or any other form of +nervousness. + +"You know very well what I mean, Fred Norman," +said Tetlow. "And you ought to be ashamed of yourself." + +"Don't stand there scowling and grimacing like +an idiot," said Norman with an amused smile. "What +do you mean?" + +"She told me--about your coming to see her-- +about your offer to do something for her father--about +your acting in a way that made her uneasy." + +For an instant Norman was panic-stricken. Then +his estimate of her reassured him. "I took your +advice," said he. "I went to see for myself. How did +I act that she was made uneasy?" + +"She didn't say. But a woman can tell what a man +has in the back of his head--when it concerns her. And +she is a good woman--so innocent that you ought to be +ashamed of yourself for even thinking of her in that +way. God has given innocence instincts, and she felt +what you were about." + +Norman laughed--a deliberate provocation. "Love +has made a fool of you, old man," he said. + +"I notice you don't deny," retorted Tetlow +shrewdly. + +"Deny what? There's nothing to deny." He felt +secure now that he knew she had been reticent with +Tetlow as to the happenings in the cottage. + +"Maybe I'm wronging you," said Tetlow, but not +in the tone of belief. "However that may be, I know +you'll not refuse to listen to my appeal. I love her, +Norman. I'm going to make her my wife if I can. +And I ask you--for the sake of our old friendship-- +to let her alone. I've no doubt you could dazzle her. +You couldn't make a bad woman of her. But you +could make her very miserable." + +Norman pushed about the papers before him. His +face wore a cynical smile; but Tetlow, who knew him +in all his moods, saw that he was deeply agitated. + +"I don't know that I can win her, Fred," he pleaded. +"But I feel that I might if I had a fair chance." + +"You think she'd refuse YOU?" said Norman. + +"Like a flash, unless I'd made her care for me. +That's the kind she is." + +"That sounds absurd. Why, there isn't a woman +in New York who would refuse a chance to take a high +jump up." + +"I'd have said so, too. But since I've gotten +acquainted with her I've learned better. She may be +spoiled some day, but she hasn't been yet. God knows, +I wish I could tempt her. But I can't." + +"You're entirely too credulous, old man. She'll +make a fool of you." + +"I know better," Tetlow stubbornly maintained. +"Anyhow, I don't care. I love her, and I'd marry her, +no matter what her reason for marrying me was." + +What pitiful infatuation!--worse than his own. +Poor Tetlow!--he deserved a better fate than to be +drawn into this girl's trap--for, of course, she never +could care for such a heavy citizen--heavy and homely +--the loosely fat kind of homely that is admired by no +one, not even by a woman with no eye at all for the +physical points of the male. It would be a real kindness +to save worthy Tetlow. What a fool she'd make +of him!--how she'd squander his money--and torment +him with jealousy--and unfit him for his career. Poor +Tetlow! If he could get what he wanted, he'd be well +punished for his imprudence in wanting it. Really, +could friendship do him a greater service than to save +him? + +Norman gave Tetlow a friendly, humorous glance. +"You're a hopeless case, Billy," he said. "But at +least don't rush into trouble. Take your time. You +can always get in, you know; and you may not get +in quite so deep." + +"You promise to let her alone?" said Tetlow +eagerly. + +Again his distinguished friend laughed. "Don't +be an ass, old man. Why imagine that, just because +you've taken a fancy to a girl, everyone wants her?" +He clapped him on the shoulder, gave him a push +toward the door. "I've wasted enough time on this +nonsense." + +Tetlow did not venture to disregard a hint so plain. +He went with his doubt still unsolved--his doubt whether +his jealousy was right or his high opinion of his +hero friend whose series of ever-mounting successes had +filled him with adoration. He knew the way of success, +knew no man could tread it unless he had, or acquired, +a certain hardness of heart that made him an uncomfortable +not to say dangerous associate. He regretted +his own inability to acquire that indispensable hardness, +and envied and admired it in Fred Norman. But, at +the same time that he admired, he could not help distrusting. + +Norman battled with his insanity an hour, then sent +for Miss Hallowell. + +The girl had lost her look of strength and vitality. +She seemed frail and dim--so unimportant physically +that he wondered why her charm for him persisted. +Yet it did persist. If he could take her in his arms, +could make her drooping beauty revive!--through love +for him if possible; if not, then through anger and +hate! He must make her feel, must make her acknowledge, +that he had power. It seemed to him another +instance of the resistless fascination which the +unattainable, however unworthy, has ever had for the +conqueror temperament. + +"You are leaving?" he said curtly, both a question +and an affirmation. + +"Yes." + +"You are making a mistake--a serious mistake." + +She stood before him listlessly, as if she had no +interest either in what he was saying or in him. That +maddening indifference! + +"It was a mistake to tattle your trouble to Tetlow." + +"I did not tattle," said she quietly, colorlessly. "I +said only enough to make him help me." + +"And what did he say about me?" + +"That I had misjudged you--that I must be mistaken." + +Norman laughed. "How seriously the little people +of the world do take themselves!" + +She looked at him. His amused eyes met hers +frankly. "You didn't mean it?" she said. + +He beamed on her. "Certainly I did. But I'm +not a lunatic or a wild beast. Do you think I would +take advantage of a girl in your position?" + +Her eyes seemed to grow large and weary, and an +expression of experience stole over her young face, +giving it a strange appearance of age-in-youth. "It has +been done," said she. + +How reconcile such a look with the theory of her +childlike innocence? But then how reconcile any two +of the many varied personalities he had seen in her? +He said: "Yes--it has been done. But not by me. +I shall take from you only what you gladly give." + +"You will get nothing else," said she with quiet +strength. + +"That being settled--" he went on, holding up a +small package of papers bound together by an elastic-- +"Here are the proposed articles of incorporation of +the Chemical Research Company. How do you like +the name?" + +"What is it?" + +"The company that is to back your father. Capital +stock, twenty-five thousand dollars, one half paid +up. Your father to be employed as director of the +laboratories at five thousand a year, with a fund of +ten thousand to draw upon. You to be employed as +secretary and treasurer at fifteen hundred a year. I +will take the paid-up stock, and your father and you +will have the privilege of buying it back at par within +five years. Do you follow me?" + +"I think I understand," was her unexpected reply. +Her replies were usually unexpected, like the expressions +of her face and figure; she was continually +comprehending where one would have said she would not, +and not comprehending where it seemed absurd that +she should not. "Yes, I understand. . . . What else?" + +"Nothing else." + +She looked intently at him, and her eyes seemed to +be reading his soul to the bottom. + +"Nothing else," he repeated. + +"No obligation--for money--or--for anything?" + +"No obligation. A hope perhaps." He was smiling +with the gayest good humor. "But not the kind +of hope that ever becomes a disagreeable demand for +payment." + +She seated herself, her hands in her lap, her eyes +down--a lovely picture of pensive repose. He waited +patiently, feasting his senses upon her delicate, +aromatic loveliness. At last she said: + +"I accept." + +He had anticipated an argument. This promptness +took him by surprise. He felt called upon to explain, +to excuse her acceptance. "I am taking a little flyer +--making a gamble," said he. "Your father may turn +up nothing of commercial value. Again the company +may pay big----" + +She gave him a long look through half-closed eyes, +a queer smile flitting round her lips. "I understand +perfectly why you are doing it," she said. "Do you +understand why I am accepting?" + +"Why should you refuse?" rejoined he. "It is a +good business prop----" + +"You know very well why I should refuse. But--" +She gave a quiet laugh of experience; it made him feel +that she was making a fool of him--"I shall not refuse. +I am able to take care of myself. And I want father +to have his chance. Of course, I shan't explain to him." +She gave him a mischievous glance. "And I don't think +YOU will." + +He contrived to cover his anger, doubt, chagrin, +general feeling of having been outwitted. "No, I shan't +tell him," laughed he. "You are making a great fool +of me." + +"Do you want to back out?" + +What audacity! He hesitated--did not dare. Her +indifference to him--her personal, her physical indifference +gave her the mastery. His teeth clenched and his +passion blazed in his eyes as he said: "No--you witch! +I'll see it through." + +She smiled lightly. "I suppose you'll come to the +offices of the company--occasionally?" She drew +nearer, stood at the corner of the desk. Into her +exquisite eyes came a look of tenderness. "And I shall +be glad to see you." + +"You mean that?" he said, despising himself for +his humble eagerness, and hating her even as he loved +her. + +"Indeed I do." She smiled bewitchingly. "You +are a lot better man than you think." + +"I am an awful fool about you," retorted he. "You +see, I play my game with all my cards on the table. I +wish I could say the same of you." + +"I am not playing a game," replied she. "You +make a mystery where there isn't any. And--all your +cards aren't on the table." She laughed mockingly. +"At least, you think there's one that isn't--though, +really, it is." + +"Yes?" + +"About your engagement." + +He covered superbly. "Oh," said he in the most +indifferent tone. "Tetlow told you." + +"As soon as I heard that," she went on, "I felt +better about you. I understand how it is with men-- +the passing fancies they have for women." + +"How did you learn?" demanded he. + +"Do you think a girl could spend several years +knocking about down town in New York without getting +experience?" + +He smiled--a forced smile of raillery, hiding sud- +den fierce suspicion and jealousy. "I should say not. +But you always pretend innocence." + +"I can't be held responsible for what you read into +my looks and into what I say," observed she with her +air of a wise old infant. "But I was so glad to find +out that you were seriously in love with a nice girl up +town." + +He burst out laughing. She gazed at him in childlike +surprise. "Why are you laughing at me?" she +asked. + +"Nothing--nothing," he assured her. He would +have found it difficult to explain why he was so intensely +amused at hearing the grand Josephine Burroughs +called "a nice girl up town." + +"You are in love with her? You are engaged to +her?" she inquired, her grave eyes upon him with an +irresistible appeal for truth in them. + +"Tetlow didn't lie to you," evaded he. "You don't +know it, but Tetlow is going to ask you to marry him." + +"Yes, I knew," replied she indifferently. + +"How? Did he tell you?" + +"No. Just as I knew you were not going to ask +me to marry you." + +The mere phrase, even when stated as a negation, +gave him a sensation of ice suddenly laid against the +heart. + +"It's quite easy to tell the difference between the +two kinds of men--those that care for me more than +they care for themselves and those that care for +themselves more than they care for me." + +"That's the way it looks to you--is it?" + +"That's the way it is," said she. + +"There are some things you don't understand. This +is one of them." + +"Maybe I don't," said she. "But I've my own +idea--and I'm going to stick to it." + +This amused him. "You are a very opinionated +and self-confident young lady," said he. + +She laughed roguishly. "I'm taking up a lot of +your time." + +"Don't think of it. You haven't asked when the +new deal is to begin." + +"Oh, yes--and I shall have to tell Mr. Tetlow I'm +not taking the place he got for me." + +"Be careful what you say to him," cautioned +Norman. "You must see it wouldn't be well to tell him +what you are going to do. There's no reason on earth +why he should know your business--is there?" + +She did not reply; she was reflecting. + +"You are not thinking of marrying Tetlow--are +you?" + +"No," she said. "I don't love him--and couldn't +learn to." + +With a sincerely judicial air, now that he felt +secure, he said: "Why not? It would be a good match." + +"I don't love him," she repeated, as if that were a +sufficient and complete answer. And he was astonished +to find that he so regarded it, also, in spite of every +assault of all that his training had taught him to regard +as common sense about human nature. + +"You can simply say to Tetlow that you've decided +to stay at home and take care of your father. The +offices of the company will be at your house. Your +official duties practically amount to taking care of your +father. So you'll be speaking the truth." + +"Oh, it isn't exactly lying, to keep something from +somebody who has no right to know it. What you suggest +isn't quite the truth. But it's near enough, and +I'll say it to him." + +His own view of lying was the same as that she +had expressed. Also, he had no squeamishness about +saying what was in no sense true, if the falsehood were +necessary to his purposes. Yet her statement of her +code, moral though he thought it and eminently sensible +as well, lowered her once more in his estimation. He +was eager to find reason or plausible excuse for believing +her morally other and less than she seemed to be. +Immediately the prospects of his ultimate projects-- +whatever they might prove to be--took on a more hopeful +air. "And I'd advise you to have Tetlow keep away +from you. We don't want him nosing round." + +"No, indeed," said she. "He is a nice man, but +tiresome. And if I encouraged him ever so little, he'd +be sentimental. The most tiresome thing in the world +to a girl is a man who talks that sort of thing when +she doesn't want to hear it--from him." + +He laughed. "Meaning me?" he suggested. + +She nodded, much pleased. "Perhaps," she replied. + +"Don't worry about that," mocked he. + +"I shan't till I have to," she assured him. "And +I don't think I'll have to." + + +On the Monday morning following, Tetlow came in +to see Norman as soon as he arrived. "I want a two +weeks' leave," he said. "I'm going to Bermuda or down +there somewhere." + +"Why, what's the matter?" cried Norman. "You +do look ill, old man." + +"I saw her last night," replied the chief clerk, +dropping an effort at concealing his dejection. "She +--she turned me down." + +"Really? You?" Norman's tone of sympathetic +surprise would not have deceived half attentive ears. +But Tetlow was securely absorbed. "Why, Billy, she +can't hope to make as good a match." + +"That's what I told her--when I saw the game was +going against me. But it was no use." + +Norman trifled nervously with the papers before +him. Presently he said, "Is it some one else?" + +Tetlow shook his head. + +"How do you know?" + +"Because she said so," replied the head clerk. + +"Oh--if she said so, that settles it," said Norman +with raillery. + +"She's given up work--thank God," pursued Tetlow. +"She's getting more beautiful all the time-- +Norman, if you had seen her last night, you'd understand +why I'm stark mad about her." + +Norman's eyes were down. His hands, the muscles +of his jaw were clinched. + +"But, I mustn't think of that," Tetlow went on. +"As I was about to say, if she were to stay on in the +offices some one--some attractive man like you, only +with the heart of a scoundrel----" + +Norman laughed cynically. + +"Yes, a scoundrel!" reiterated the fat head-clerk. +"Some scoundrel would tempt her beyond her power to +resist. Money and clothes and luxury will do anything. +We all get to be harlots here in New York. Some of +us know it, and some don't. But we all look it and +act it. And she'd go the way of the rest--with or +without marriage. It's just as well she didn't marry +me. I know what'd have become of her." + +Norman nodded. + +Tetlow gave a weary sigh. "Anyhow, she's safe at +home with her father. He's found a backer for his +experiments." + +"That's good," said Norman. + +"You can spare me for ten days," Tetlow went +on. "I'd be of no use if I stayed." + +There was a depth of misery in his kind gray eyes +that moved Norman to get up and lay a friendly hand +on his shoulder. "It's the best thing, old man. She +wasn't for you." + +Tetlow dropped into a chair and sobbed. "It has +killed me," he groaned. "I don't mean I'll commit +suicide or die. I mean I'm dead inside--dead." + +"Oh, come, Billy--where's your good sense?" + +"I know what I'm talking about," said he. +"Norman, God help the man who meets the woman he really +wants--God help him if she doesn't want him. You +don't understand. You'll never have the experience. +Any woman you wanted would be sure to want you." + +Norman, his hand still on Tetlow's shoulder, was +staring ahead with a terrible expression upon his strong +features. + +"If she could see the inside of me--the part that's +the real me--I think she would love me--or learn to +love me. But she can only see the outside--this homely +face and body of mine. It's horrible, Fred--to have +a mind and a heart fit for love and for being loved, +and an outside that repels it. And how many of us +poor devils of that sort there are--men and women +both!" + +Norman was at the window now, his back to the +room, to his friend. After a while Tetlow rose and +made a feeble effort to straighten himself. "Is it all +right about the vacation?" he asked. + +"Certainly," said Norman, without turning. + +"Thank you, Fred. You're a good friend." + +"I'll see you before you go," said Norman, still +facing the window. "You'll come back all right." + +Tetlow did not answer. When Norman turned he +was alone. + + + +IX + + +IN no way was Norman's luck superior to most +men's more splendidly than in that his inborn tendency +to arrogant and extravagant desires was matched by an +inborn capacity to get the necessary money. His +luxurious tastes were certainly not moderated by his +associations--enormously rich people who, while they +could be stingy enough in some respects, at the same +time could and did fling away fortunes in gratifying +selfish whims--for silly showy houses, for retinues of +wasteful servants, for gewgaws that accentuated the +homeliness of their homely women and coarsened and +vulgarized their pretty women--or perhaps for a +night's gambling or entertaining, or for the forced +smiles and contemptuous caresses of some belle of the +other world. Norman fortunately cared not at all for +the hugely expensive pomp of the life of the rich; if he +had, he would have hopelessly involved himself, as after +all he was not a money-grubber but a lawyer. But when +there appeared anything for which he did care, he was +ready to bid for it like the richest of the rich. + +Therefore the investment of a few thousand dollars +seemed a small matter to him. He had many a time +tossed away far more for far less. He did not dole +out the sum he had agreed to provide. He paid it +into the Jersey City bank to the credit of the Chemical +Research Company and informed its secretary and treasurer +that she could draw freely against it. "If you +will read the by-laws of the company," said he, "you +will see that you've the right to spend exactly as you +see fit. When the money runs low, let me know." + +"I'll be very careful," said Dorothea Hallowell, +secretary and treasurer. + +"That's precisely what we don't want," replied he. +He glanced round the tiny parlor of the cottage. "We +want everything to be run in first-class shape. That's +the only way to get results. First of all, you must +take a proper house--a good-sized one, with large +grounds--room for building your father a proper +laboratory." + +Her dazed and dazzled expression delighted him. + +"And you must live better. You must keep at +least two servants." + +"But we can't afford it." + +"Your father has five thousand a year. You have +fifteen hundred. That makes sixty-five hundred. The +rent of the house and the wages and keep of the servants +are a charge against the corporation. So, you can well +afford to make yourselves comfortable." + +"I haven't got used to the idea as yet," said +Dorothea. "Yes--we ARE better off than we were." + +"And you must live better. I want you to get +some clothes--and things of that sort." + +She shrank within herself and sat quiet, her gaze +fixed upon her hands lying limp in her lap. + +"There is no reason why your father shouldn't be +made absolutely comfortable and happy. That's the +way to get the best results from a man of his sort." + +She faded on toward the self-effacing blank he had +first known. + +"Think it out, Dorothy," he said in his frankest, +kindliest way. "You'll see I'm right." + +"No," she said. + +"No? What does that mean?" + +"I've an instinct against it," replied she. "I'd +rather father and I kept on as we are." + +"But that's impossible. You've no right to live in +this small, cramping way. You must broaden out and +give HIM room to grow. . . . Isn't that sensible? " + +"It sounds so," she admitted. "But--" She gazed +round helplessly--"I'm afraid!" + +"Afraid of what?" + +"I don't know." + +"Then don't bother about it." + +"I'll have to be very--careful," she said thoughtfully. + +"As you please," replied he. "Only, don't live and +think on a ten-dollar-a-week basis. That isn't the way +to get on." + +He never again brought up the matter in direct +form. But most of his conversation was indirect and +more or less subtle suggestions as to ways of branching +out. She moved cautiously for a few days, then timidly +began to spend money. + +There is a notion widely spread abroad that people +who have little money know more about the art of spending +money and the science of economizing than those +who have much. It would be about as sensible to say +that the best swimmers are those who have never been +near the water, or no nearer than a bath tub. Anyone +wishing to be convinced need only make an excursion +into the poor tenement district and observe the garbage +barrels overflowing with spoiled food--or the trashy +goods exposed for sale in the shops and the markets. +Those who have had money and have lost it are probably, +as a rule, the wisest in thrift. Those who have +never had money are almost invariably prodigal-- +because they are ignorant. When Dorothea Hallowell was +a baby the family had had money. But never since she +could remember had they been anything but poor. + +She did not know how to spend money. She did +not know prices or values--being in that respect +precisely like the mass of mankind--and womankind--who +imagine they are economical because they hunt so-called +bargains and haggle with merchants who have got +doubly ready for them by laying in inferior goods and +by putting up prices in advance. She knew how much +ten dollars a week was, the meaning of the twenty to +thirty dollars a week her father had made. But she +had only a faint--and exaggeratedly mistaken--notion +about sixty-five hundred a year--six and a half +thousands. It seemed wealth to her, so vast that a hundred +thousand a year would have seemed no more. As soon +as she drifted away from the known course--the thirty +to forty dollars a week upon which they had been living +--Dorothea Hallowell was in a trackless sea, with a +broken compass and no chart whatever. A common +enough experience in America, the land of sudden +changes of fortune, of rosiest hopes about "striking it +rich," of carelessness and ignorance as to values, of +eager and untrained appetite for luxury and novelty +of any and every kind. + +At first any expenditure, however small, for the +plainest comfort which had been beyond their means seemed +a giddy extravagance. But a bank account--AND a +check book--soon dissipated that nervousness. A few +charge accounts, a little practice in the simple easy +gesture of drawing a check, and she was almost at her +ease. With people who have known only squalor or +with those who have earned their better fortune by +privation and slow accumulation, the spreading out +process is usually slow--not so slow as it used to be when +our merchants had not learned the art of tempting any +and every kind of human nature, but still far from +rapid. A piece of money reminds them vividly and +painfully of the toil put into acquiring it; and they shy +away from the pitfall of the facile check. With those +born and bred as Dorothy was and elevated into what +seems to them affluence by no effort of their own, the +spreading is a tropical, overnight affair. + +Counting all she spent and arranged to spend in +those first few weeks, you had no great total. But it +was great for a girl who had been making ten dollars a +week. Also there were sown in her mind broadcast and +thick the seeds of desire for more luxurious comfort, of +need for it, that could never be uprooted. + +Norman came over almost every evening. He got +a new and youthful and youth-restoring kind of pleasure +out of this process of expansion. He liked to hear +each trifling detail, and he was always making suggestions +that bore immediate fruit in further expenditure. +When he again brought up the subject of a larger +house, she listened with only the faintest protests. Her +ideas of such a short time before seemed small, laughably +small now. "Father was worrying only this morning +because he is so cramped," she admitted. + +"We must remedy that at once," said Norman. + +And on the following Sunday he and she went house +hunting. They found a satisfactory place--peculiarly +satisfactory to Norman because it was near the Hudson +tunnel, and so only a few minutes from his office. To +Dorothy it loomed a mansion, almost a palace. In fact +it was a modestly roomy old-fashioned brick house, with +a brick stable at the side that, with a little changing, +would make an admirable laboratory. + +"You haven't the time--or the experience--to fit +this place up," said Norman. "I'll attend to it--that +is, I'll have it attended to." Seeing her uneasy expression, +he added: "I can get much better terms. They'd +certainly overcharge you. There's no sense in wasting +money--is there?" + +"No," she admitted, convinced. + +He gave the order to a firm of decorators. It was +a moderate order, considering the amount of work that +had to be done. But if the girl had seen the estimates +Norman indorsed, she would have been terrified. However, +he saw to it that she did not see them; and she, +ignorant of values, believed him when he told her the +general account of the corporation must be charged with +two thousand dollars. + +Her alarm took him by surprise. The sum seemed +small to him--and it was only about one fifth what +the alterations and improvements had cost. Cried she, +"Why, that's more than our whole income for a year +has been!" + +"You are forgetting these improvements add to the +value of the property. I've bought it." + +That quieted her. "You are sure you didn't pay +those decorators and furnishers too much?" said she. + +"You don't like their work?" inquired he, chagrined. + +"Oh, yes--yes, indeed," she assured him. "I like +plain, solid-looking things. But--two thousand dollars +is a lot of money." + +Norman regretted that, as his whole object had +been to please her, he had not ordered the more showy +cheaper stuff but had insisted upon the simplest, plainest- +looking appointments throughout. Even her bedroom +furniture, even her dressing table set, was of the +kind that suggests cost only to the experienced, +carefully and well educated in values and in taste. + +"But I'm sure it isn't fair to charge ALL these things +to the company," she protested. "I can't allow it. Not +the things for my personal use." + +"You ARE a fierce watchdog of a treasurer," said +Norman, laughing at her but noting and respecting the +fine instinct of good breeding shown in her absence +of greediness, of desire to get all she could. "But I'm +letting the firm of decorators take over what you leave +behind in the old house. I'll see what they'll allow for +it. Maybe that will cover the expense you object to." + +This contented her. Nor was she in the least +suspicious when he announced that the decorators had made +such a liberal allowance that the deficit was but three +hundred dollars. "Those chaps," he explained, "have +a wide margin of profit. Besides, they're eager to get +more and bigger work from me." + +A few weeks, and he was enjoying the sight of her +ensconced with her father in luxurious comfort--with +two servants, with a well-run house, with pleasant gardens, +with all that is at the command of an income of +six thousand a year in a comparatively inexpensive city. +Only occasionally--and then not deeply--was he troubled +by the reflection that he was still far from his goal +--and had made apparently absurdly little progress +toward it through all this maneuvering. The truth was, +he preferred to linger when lingering gave him so many +new kinds of pleasure. Of those in the large and +motley company that sit down to the banquet of the +senses, the most are crude, if not coarse, gluttons. They +eat fast and furiously, having a raw appetite. Now +and then there is one who has some idea of the art of +enjoyment--the art of prolonging and varying both +the joys of anticipation and the joys of realization. + +He turned his attention to tempting her to extravagance +in dress. Rut his success there was not all he +could have wished. She wore better clothes--much +better. She no longer looked the poor working girl, +struggling desperately to be neat and clean. She had almost +immediately taken on the air of the comfortable classes. +Rut everything she got for herself was inexpensive. +and she made dresses for herself, and trimmed all her +hats. With the hats Norman found no fault. There +her good taste produced about as satisfactory results as +could have been got at the fashionable milliners--more +satisfactory than are got by the women who go there, +with no taste of their own beyond a hazy idea that they +want "something like what Mrs. So-and-So is wearing." +But homemade dresses were a different matter. + +Norman longed to have her in toilettes that would +bring out the full beauty of her marvelous figure. He, +after the manner of the more intelligent and worldly- +wise New York men, had some knowledge of women's +clothes. His sister knew how to dress; Josephine knew +how, though her taste was somewhat too sober to suit +Norman--at least to suit him in Dorothy. He thought +out and suggested dresses to Dorothy, and told her +where to get them. Dorothy tried to carry out at home +such of his suggestions as pleased her--for, like all +women, she believed she knew how to dress herself. Her +handiwork was creditable. It would have contented a +less exacting and less trained taste than Norman's. It +would have contented him had he not been infatuated +with her beauty of face and form. As it was, the +improvement in her appearance only served to intensify +his agitation. He now saw in her not only all that +had first conquered him, but also those unsuspected +beauties and graces--and possibilities of beauty and +grace yet more entrancing, were she but dressed properly. + +"You don't begin to appreciate how beautiful you +are," said he. It had ever been one of his rules in +dealing with women to feed their physical vanity sparingly +and cautiously, lest it should blaze up into one of +those consuming flames that produce a very frenzy of +conceit. But this rule, like all the others, had gone by +the board. He could not conceal his infatuation from +her, not even when he saw that it was turning her head +and making his task harder and harder. "If you +would only go over to New York to several dressmakers +whose names I'll give you, I know you'd get clothes +from them that you could touch up into something +uncommon." + +"I can't afford it," said she. "What I have is good +enough--and costs more than I've the right to pay." +And her tone silenced him; it was the tone of finality, +and he had discovered that she had a will. + + +Never before had Frederick Norman let any +important thing drift. And when he started in with +Dorothy he had no idea of changing that fixed policy. He +would have scoffed if anyone had foretold to him that +he would permit the days and the weeks to go by with +nothing definite accomplished toward any definite +purpose. Yet that was what occurred. Every time he +came he had in mind a fixed resolve to make distinct +progress with the girl. Every time he left he had a +furious quarrel with himself for his weakness. "She is +making a fool of me," he said to himself. "She MUST +be laughing at me." But he returned only to repeat +his folly, to add one more to the lengthening, mocking +series of lost opportunities. + +The truth lay deeper than he saw. He recognized +only his own weakness of the infatuated lover's fatuous +timidity. He did not realize how potent her charm for +him was, how completely content she made him when +he was with her, just from the fact that they were +together. After a time an unsatisfied passion often thus +diffuses itself, ceases to be a narrow torrent, becomes a +broad river whose resistless force is hidden beneath +an appearance of sparkling calm. Her ingenuousness +amused him; her developing taste and imagination +interested him; her freshness, her freedom from any sense +of his importance in the world fascinated him, and there +was a keener pleasure than he dreamed in the novel +sensation of breathing the perfume of what he, the one +time cynic, would have staked his life on being unsullied +purity. Their relations were to him a delightful +variation upon the intimacy of master and pupil. Either +he was listening to her or was answering her questions +--and the time flew. And there never was a moment +when he could have introduced the subject that most +concerned him when he was not with her. To have +introduced it would have been rudely to break the +charm of a happy afternoon or evening. + +Was she leading him on and on nowhere deliberately? +Or was it the sweet and innocent simplicity it seemed? +He could not tell. He would have broken the charm +and put the matter to the test had he not been afraid +of the consequences. What had he to fear? Was she +not in his power? Was she not his, whenever he should +stretch forth his hand and claim her? Yes--no doubt +--not the slightest doubt. But-- He was afraid to +break the charm; it was such a satisfying charm. + +Then--there was her father. + +Men who arrive anywhere in any direction always +have the habit of ignoring the nonessential more or less +strongly developed. One reason--perhaps the chief +reason--why Norman had got up to the high places +of material success at so early an age was that he +had an unerring instinct for the essential and wasted +no time or energy upon the nonessential. In his present +situation Dorothy's father, the abstracted man of +science, was one of the factors that obviously fell into +the nonessential class. Norman knew little about him, +and cared less. Also, he took care to avoid knowing +him. Knowing the father would open up possibilities +of discomfort-- But, being a wise young man, Norman +gave this matter the least possible thought. + +Still, it was necessary that the two men see +something of each other. Hallowell discovered nothing +about Norman, not enough about his personal appearance +to have recognized him in the street far enough +away from the laboratory to dissociate the two ideas. +Human beings--except his daughter--did not interest +Hallowell; and his feeling for her was somewhat in the +nature of an abstraction. Norman, on the other hand, +was intensely interested in human beings; indeed, he +was interested in little else. He was always thrusting +through surfaces, probing into minds and souls. He +sought thoroughly to understand the living machines +he used in furthering his ambitions and desires. So it +was not long before he learned much about old Newton +Hallowell--and began to admire him--and with a man +of Norman's temperament to admire is to like. + +He had assumed at the outset that the scientist was +more or less the crank. He had not talked with him +many times before he discovered that, far from being +in any respect a crank, he was a most able and well- +balanced mentality--a genius. The day came when, +Dorothy not having returned from a shopping tour, +he lingered in the laboratory talking with the father, +or, rather, listening while the man of great ideas +unfolded to him conceptions of the world that set his +imagination to soaring. + +Most of us see but dimly beyond the ends of our +noses, and visualize what lies within our range of sight +most imperfectly. We know little about ourselves, less +about others. We fancy that the world and the human +race always have been about as they now are, and always +will be. History reads to us like a fairy tale, to which +we give conventional acceptance as truth. As to the +future, we can conceive nothing but the continuation of +just what we see about us in the present. Norman, +practical man though he was, living in and for the +present, had yet an imagination. He thought Hallowell +a kind of fool for thinking only of the future and +working only for it--but he soon came to think him n +divine fool. And through Hallowell's spectacles he was +charmed for many an hour with visions of the world +that is to be when, in the slow but steady processes of +evolution, the human race will become intelligent, will +conquer the universe with the weapons of science and +will make it over. + +When he first stated his projects to Norman, the +young man had difficulty in restraining his amusement. +A new idea, in any line of thought with which we are +not familiar, always strikes us as ridiculous. Norman +had been educated in the ignorant conventional way still +in high repute among the vulgar and among those whose +chief delight is to make the vulgar gape in awe. He +therefore had no science, that is, no knowledge--outside +his profession--but only what is called learning, though +tommyrot would be a fitter name for it. He had only +the most meager acquaintance with that great fundamental +of a sound and sane education, embryology. He +knew nothing of what science had already done to +destroy all the still current notions about the mystery of +life and birth. He still laughed, as at a clever bit of +legerdemain, when Hallowell showed him how far science +had progressed toward mastery of the life of the +lower forms of existence--how those "worms" could be +artificially created, could be aged, made young again, +made diseased and decrepit, restored to perfect health, +could be swung back and forth or sideways or sinuously +along the span of existence--could even be killed and +brought back to vigor. + +"We've been at this sort of thing only a few +years," said Hallowell. "I rather think it will not be +many years now before we shall not even need the initial +germ of life to enable us to create but can do it by +pure chemical means, just as a taper is lighted by holding +a match to it." + +Norman ceased to think of sleight-of-hand. + +"Life," continued the juggler, transformed now into +practical man, leader of men, "life has been +demonstrated to be simply one of the forms of energy, or +one of the consequences of energy. The final discovery +is scientifically not far away. Then--" His eyes +lighted up. + +"Then what?" asked Norman. + +"Then immortality--in the body. Eternal youth +and health. A body that is renewable much as any of +our inanimate machines of the factory is renewable. +Why not? So far as we know, no living thing ever +dies except by violence. Disease--old age--they are +quite as much violence as the knife and the bullet. What +science can now do with these `worms,' as my daughter +calls them--that it will be able to do with the higher +organisms." + +"And the world would soon be jammed to the last +acre," objected Norman. + +Hallowell shrugged his shoulders. "Not at all. +There will be no necessity to create new people, except +to take the place of those who may be accidentally +obliterated." + +"But the world is dying--the earth, itself, I mean." + +"True. But science may learn how to arrest that +cooling process--or to adapt man to it. Or, it may +be that when the world ceases to be inhabitable we shall +have learned how to cross the star spaces, as I think +I've suggested before. Then--we should simply find a +planet in its youth somewhere, and migrate to it, as a +man now moves to a new house when the old ceases +to please him." + +"That is a long flight of the fancy," said Norman. + +"Long--but no stronger than the telegraph or the +telephone. The trouble with us is that we have been +long stupefied by the ignorant theological ideas of the +universe--ideas that have come down to us from the +childhood of the race. We haven't got used to the new +era--the scientific era. And that is natural. Why, +until less than three generations ago there was really +no such thing as science." + +"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Norman. +"We certainly have got on very fast in those three +generations." + +"Rather fast. Not so fast, however, as we shall +in the next three. Science--chemistry--is going speedily +to change all the conditions of life because it will turn +topsy-turvy all the ways of producing things--food, +clothing, shelter. Less than two generations ago men +lived much as they had for thousands of years. But +it's very different to-day. It will be inconceivably +different to-morrow." + +Norman could not get these ideas out of his brain. +He began to understand why Hallowell cared nothing +about the active life of the day--about its religion, +politics, modes of labor, its habits of one creature preying +upon another. To-morrow, not religion, not politics, +but chemistry, not priests nor politicians, but chemists, +would change all that--and change it by the only methods +that compel. An abstract idea of liberty or justice +can be rejected, evaded, nullified. But a telephone, a +steam engine, a mode of prolonging life--those realizations +of ideas COMPEL. + +When Dorothy came, Norman went into the garden +with her in a frame of mind so different from any he +had ever before experienced that he scarcely recognized +himself. As the influence of the father's glowing +imagination of genius waned before the daughter's physical +loveliness and enchantment for him, he said to himself, +"I'll keep away from him." Why? He did not permit +himself to go on to examine into his reasons. But he +could not conceal them from himself quickly enough +to hide the knowledge that they were moral. + +"What is the matter with you to-day?" said +Dorothy. "You are not a bit interesting." + +"Interested, you mean," he said with a smile of +raillery, for he had long since discovered that she was +not without the feminine vanity that commands the +centering of all interest in the woman herself and +resents any wandering of thought as a slur upon her +own powers of fascination. + +"Well, interested then," said she. "You are thinking +about something else." + +"Not now," he assured her. + +But he left early. No sooner had he got away from +the house than the scientific dreaming vanished and he +wished himself back with her again--back where every +glance at her gave him the most exquisite sensations. +And when he came the following day he apparently had +once more restored her father to his proper place of a +nonessential. All that definitely remained of the day +before's impression was a certain satisfaction that he +was aiding with his money an enterprise of greater +value and of less questionable character than merely his +own project. But the powerful influences upon our life +and conduct are rarely direct and definite. He, quite +unconsciously, had a wholly different feeling about +Dorothy because of her father, because of what his new +knowledge of and respect for her father had revealed +and would continue to reveal to him as to the girl +herself--her training, her inheritance, her character that +could not but be touched with the splendor of the father's +noble genius. And long afterward, when the father as +a distinct personality had been almost forgotten, Nor- +man was still, altogether unconsciously, influenced by +him--powerfully, perhaps decisively influenced. Norman +had no notion of it, but ever after that talk in the +laboratory, Dorothy Hallowell was to him Newton +Hallowell's daughter. + +When he came the following day, with his original +purposes and plans once more intact, as he thought, he +found that she had made more of a toilet than usual, +had devised a new way of doing her hair that enabled +him to hang a highly prized addition in his memory gallery +of widely varied portraits of her. + +The afternoon was warm. They sat under a big old +tree at the end of the garden. He saw that she was +much disturbed--and that it had to do with him. From +time to time she looked at him, studying his face when +she thought herself unobserved. As he had learned that +it is never wise to open up the disagreeable, he waited. +After making several futile efforts at conversation, she +abruptly said: + +"I saw Mr. Tetlow this morning--in Twenty-third +Street. I was coming out of a chemical supplies store +where father had sent me." + +She paused. But Norman did not help her. He +continued to wait. + +"He--Mr. Tetlow--acted very strangely," she went +on. "I spoke to him. He stared at me as if he weren't +going to speak--as if I weren't fit to speak to." + +"Oh!" said Norman. + +"Then he came hurrying after me. And he said, +`Do you know that Norman is to be married in two +weeks?' " + +"So!" said Norman. + +"And I said, `What of it? How does that interest +me?' " + +"It didn't interest you?" + +"I was surprised that you hadn't spoken of it," +replied she. "But I was more interested in Mr. +Tetlow's manner. What do you think he said next?" + +"I can't imagine," said Norman. + +"Why--that I was even more shameless than he +thought. He said: `Oh, I know all about you. I found +out by accident. I shan't tell anyone, for I can't help +loving you still. But it has killed my belief in woman +to find out that YOU would sell yourself.' " + +She was looking at Norman with eyes large and +grave. "And what did you say?" he inquired. + +"I didn't say anything. I looked at him as if he +weren't there and started on. Then he said, `When +Norman abandons you, as he soon will, you can count +on me, if you need a friend.' " + +There was a pause. Then Norman said, "And +that was all?" + +"Yes," replied she. + +Another pause. Norman said musingly: "Poor +Tetlow! I've not seen him since he went away to +Bermuda--at least he said he was going there. One +day he sent the firm a formal letter of resignation. . . . +Poor Tetlow! Do you regret not having married him?" + +"I couldn't marry a man I didn't love." She looked +at him with sweet friendly eyes. "I couldn't even +marry you, much as I like you." + +Norman laughed--a dismal attempt at ease and +raillery. + +"When he told me about your marrying," she went +on, "I knew how I felt about you. For I was not a +bit jealous. Why haven't you ever said anything +about it?" + +He disregarded this. He leaned forward and with +curious deliberateness took her hand. She let it lie +gently in his. He put his arm round her and drew +her close to him. She did not resist. He kissed her +upturned face, kissed her upon the lips. She remained +passive, looking at him with calm eyes. + +"Kiss me," he said. + +She kissed him--without hesitation and without +warmth. + +"Why do you look at me so?" he demanded. + +"I can't understand." + +"Understand what?" + +"Why you should wish to kiss me when you love +another woman. What would she say if she knew?" + +"I'm sure I don't know. And I rather think I don't +care. You are the only person on earth that interests me." + +"Then why are you marrying?" + +"Let's not talk about that. Let's talk about +ourselves." He clasped her passionately, kissed her at first +with self-restraint, then in a kind of frenzy. "How +can you be so cruel!" he cried. "Are you utterly +cold?" + +"I do not love you," she said. + +"Why not?" + +"There's no reason. I--just don't. I've sometimes +thought perhaps it was because you don't love me." + +"Good God, Dorothy! What do you want me to +say or do?" + +"Nothing," replied she calmly. "You asked me +why I didn't love you, and I was trying to explain. +I don't want anything more than I'm getting. I am +content--aren't you?" + +"Content!" He laughed sardonically. "As well +ask Tantalus if he is content, with the water always +before his eyes and always out of reach. I want you +--all you have to give. I couldn't be content with less." + +"You ought not to talk to me this way," she +reproved gently, "when you are engaged." + +He flung her hand into her lap. "You are making +a fool of me. And I don't wonder. I've invited it. +Surely, never since man was created has there been +such another ass as I." He drew her to her feet, seized +her roughly by the shoulders. "When are you coming +to your senses?" he demanded. + +"What do you mean?" she inquired, in her child- +like puzzled way. + +He shook her, kissed her violently, held her at +arm's length. "Do you think it wise to trifle with +me?" he asked. "Don't your good sense tell you +there's a limit even to such folly as mine?" + +"What IS the matter?" she asked pathetically. +"What do you want? I can't give you what I haven't +got to give." + +"No," he cried. "But I want what you HAVE got +to give." + +She shook her head slowly. "Really, I haven't, Mr. +Norman." + +He eyed her with cynical amused suspicion. "Why +did you call me MR. Norman just then? Usually you +don't call me at all. It's been weeks since you have +called me Mister. Was your doing it just then one of +those subtle, adroit, timely tricks of yours?" + +She was the picture of puzzled innocence. "I don't +understand," she said. + +"Well--perhaps you don't," said he doubtfully. +"At any rate, don't call me Mr. Norman. Call me +Fred." + +"I can't. It isn't natural. You seem Mister to +me. I always think of you as Mr. Norman." + +"That's it. And it must stop!" + +She smiled with innocent gayety. "Very well-- +Fred. . . . Fred. . . . Now that I've said it, I don't find +it strange." She looked at him with an expression +between appeal and mockery. "If you'd only let me get +acquainted with you. But you don't. You make me +feel that I've got to be careful with you--that I must +be on my guard. I don't know against what--for you +are certainly the very best friend that I've ever had-- +the only real friend." + +He frowned and bit his lip--and felt uncomfortable, +though he protested to himself that he was simply +irritated at her slyness. Yes, it must be slyness. + +"So," she went on, "there's no REASON for being +on guard. Still, I feel that way." She looked at him +with sweet gravity. "Perhaps I shouldn't if you didn't +talk about love to me and kiss me in a way I feel you've +no right to." + +Again he laid his hands upon her shoulders. This +time he gazed angrily into her eyes. "Are you a fool? +Or are you making a fool of me?" he said. "I can't +decide which." + +"I certainly am very foolish," was her apologetic +answer. "I don't know a lot of things, like you and +father. I'm only a girl." + +And he had the maddening sense of being baffled +again--of having got nowhere, of having demonstrated +afresh to himself and to her his own weakness where she +was concerned. What unbelievable weakness! Had +there ever been such another case? Yes, there must +have been. How little he had known of the possibil- +ities of the relations of men and women--he who had +prided himself on knowing all! + +She said, "You are going to marry?" + +"I suppose so," replied he sourly. + +"Are you worried about the expense? Is it costing +you too much, this helping father? Are you sorry you +went into it?" + +He was silent. + +"You are sorry?" she exclaimed. "You feel that +you are wasting your money?" + +His generosity forbade him to keep up the pretense +that might aid him in his project. "No," he said +hastily. "No, indeed. This expense--it's nothing." +He flushed, hung his head in shame before his own +weakness, as he added, in complete surrender, "I'm very +glad to be helping your father." + +"I knew you would be!" she cried triumphantly. +"I knew it!" And she flung her arms round his neck +and kissed him. + +"That's better!" he said with a foolishly delighted +laugh. "I believe we are beginning to get acquainted." + +"Yes, indeed. I feel quite different already." + +"I hoped so. You are coming to your senses?" + +"Perhaps. Only--" She laid a beautiful white +pleading hand upon his shoulder and gazed earnestly +into his eyes--"please don't frighten me with that talk +--and those other kisses." + +He looked at her uncertainly. "Come round in +your own way," he said at last. "I don't want to +hurry you. I suppose every bird has its own way of +dropping from a perch." + +"You don't like my way?" she inquired. + +It was said archly but also in the way that always +made him vaguely uneasy, made him feel like one facing +a mystery which should be explored cautiously. "It +is graceful," he admitted, with a smile since he could +not venture to frown. "Graceful--but slow." + +She laughed--and he could not but feel that the +greater laughter in her too innocent eyes was directed +at him. She talked of other things--and he let her-- +charmed, yet cursing his folly, his slavery, the while. + + +X + +MANY a time he had pitied a woman for letting him +get away from her, when she obviously wished to hold +him and failed solely because she did not understand +her business. Like every other man, he no sooner began +to be attracted by a woman than he began to invest her +with a mystery and awe which she either could +dissipate by forcing him to see the truth of her +commonplaceness or could increase into a power that would +enslave him by keeping him agitated and interested and +ever satisfied yet ever baffled. But no woman had shown +this supreme skill in the art of love--until Dorothy +Hallowell. She exasperated him. She fascinated him. +She kept him so restless that his professional work was +all but neglected. Was it her skill? Was it her folly? +Was she simply leading him on and on, guided blindly +by woman's instinct to get as much as she could and +to give as little as she dared? Or was she protected +by a real indifference to him--the strongest, indeed the +only invulnerable armor a woman can wear? Was she +protecting herself? Or was it merely that he, weakened +by his infatuation, was doing the protecting for +her? + +Beside these distracting questions, the once all- +important matter of professional and worldly ambition +seemed not worth troubling about. They even so vexed +him that he had become profoundly indifferent as to +Josephine. He saw her rarely. When they were alone +he either talked neutral subjects or sat almost mute, +hardly conscious of her presence. He received her +efforts at the customary caressings with such stolidity +that she soon ceased to annoy him. They reduced their +outward show of affection to a kiss when they met, +another when they separated. He was tired--always tired +--worn out--half sick--harassed by business concerns. +He did not trouble himself about whether his listless +excuses would be accepted or not. He did not care what +she thought--or might think--or might do. + +Josephine was typical of the women of the +comfortable class. For them the fundamentally vital +matters of life--the profoundly harassing questions of food, +clothing, and shelter--are arranged and settled. What +is there left to occupy their minds? Little but the idle +emotions they manufacture and spread foglike over +their true natures to hide the barrenness, the monotony. +They fool with phrases about art or love or religion +or charity--for none of those things can be vivid realities +to those who are swathed and stupefied in a luxury +they have not to take the least thought to provide for +themselves. Like all those women, Josephine fancied +herself complex--fancied she was a person of variety +and of depth because she repeated with a slight change +of wording the things she read in clever books or heard +from clever men. There seemed to Norman to be small +enough originality, personality, to the ordinary man +of the comfortable class; but there was some, because +his necessity of struggling with and against his fellow +men in the several arenas of active life compelled him to +be at least a little of a person. In the women there +seemed nothing at all--not even in Josephine. When +he listened to her, when he thought of her, now--he +was calmly critical. He judged her as a human +specimen--judged much as would have old Newton Hallowell +to whom the whole world was mere laboratory. + +She bored him now--and he made no effort beyond +bare politeness to conceal the fact from her. The situation +was saved from becoming intolerable by that universal +saver of intolerable situations, vanity. She had +the ordinary human vanity. In addition, she had the +peculiar vanity of woman, the creation of man's +flatteries lavished upon the sex he alternately serves and +spurns. In further addition, she had the vanity of her +class--the comfortable class that feels superior to the +mass of mankind in fortune, in intellect, in taste, in +everything desirable. Heaped upon all these vanities +was her vanity of high social rank--and atop the whole +her vanity of great wealth. None but the sweetest and +simplest of human beings can stand up and remain +human under such a weight as this. If we are at all +fair in our judgments of our fellow men, we marvel +that the triumphant class--especially the women, whose +point of view is never corrected by the experiences of +practical life--are not more arrogant, more absurdly +forgetful of the oneness and the feebleness of humanity. + +Josephine was by nature one of the sweet and simple +souls. And her love for Norman, after the habit of +genuine love, had destroyed all the instinct of coquetry. +The woman--or, the man--has to be indeed interesting, +indeed an individuality, to remain interesting when +sincerely in love, and so elevated above the petty but +potent sex trickeries. Josephine, deeply in love, was +showing herself to Norman in her undisguised natural +sweet simplicity--and monotony. But, while men +admire and reverence a sweet and simple feminine soul-- +and love her in plays and between the covers of a book +and when she is talking highfaluting abstractions of +morality--and wax wroth with any other man who +ignores or neglects her--they do not in their own persons +become infatuated with her. Passion is too much +given to moods for that; it has a morbid craving for +variety, for the mysterious and the baffling. + +The only thing that saves the race from ruin +through passion is the rarity of those by nature or by +art expert in using it. Norman felt that he was paying +the penalty for his persistent search for this rarity; one +of the basest tricks of destiny upon man is to give him +what he wants--wealth, or fame, or power, or the wom- +an who enslaves. Norman felt that destiny had suddenly +revealed its resolve to destroy him by giving him not +one of the things he wanted, but all. + +The marriage was not quite two weeks away. About +the time that the ordinary plausible excuses for +Norman's neglect, his abstraction, his seeming indifference +were exhausted, Josephine's vanity came forward to +explain everything to her, all to her own glory. As the +elysian hour approached--so vanity assured her--the +man who loved her as her complex soul and many physical +and social advantages deserved was overcome with +that shy terror of which she had read in the poets and +the novelists. A large income, fashionable attire and +surroundings, a carriage and a maid--these things gave +a woman a subtle and superior intellect and soul. How? +Why? No one knew. But everyone admitted, indeed +saw, the truth. Further, these beings--these great +ladies--according to all the accredited poets, novelists, +and other final authorities upon life--always inspired +the most awed and worshipful and diffident feelings in +their lovers. Therefore, she--the great lady--was +getting but her due. She would have liked something else +--something common and human--much better. But, +having always led her life as the conventions dictated, +never as the common human heart yearned, she had no +keen sense of dissatisfaction to rouse her to revolt and +to question. Also, she was breathlessly busy with +trousseau and the other arrangements for the grand wedding. + +One afternoon she telephoned Norman asking him +to come on his way home that evening. "I particularly +wish to see you," she said. He thought her voice +sounded rather queer, but he did not take sufficient +interest to speculate about it. When he was with her +in the small drawing room on the second floor, he noted +that her eyes were regarding him strangely. He +thought he understood why when she said: + +"Aren't you going to kiss me, Fred?" + +He put on his good-natured, slightly mocking smile. +"I thought you were too busy for that sort of thing +nowadays." And he bent and kissed her waiting lips. +Then he lit a cigarette and seated himself on the sofa +beside her--the sofa at right angles to the open fire. +"Well?" he said. + +She gazed into the fire for full a minute before she +said in a voice of constraint, "What became of that-- +that girl--the Miss Hallowell----" + +She broke off abruptly. There was a pause choked +with those dizzy pulsations that fill moments of silence +and strain. Then with a sob she flung herself against +his breast and buried her face in his shoulder. "Don't +answer!" she cried. "I'm ashamed of myself. I'm +ashamed--ashamed!" + +He put his arm about her shoulders. "But why +shouldn't I answer?" said he in the kindly gentle tone +we can all assume when a matter that agitates some one +else is wholly indifferent to us. + +"Because--it was a--a trap," she answered +hysterically. "Fred--there was a man here this afternoon +--a man named Tetlow. He got in only because he +said he came from you." + +Norman laughed quietly. "Poor Tetlow!" he said. +"He used to be your head clerk--didn't he?" + +"And one of my few friends." + +"He's not your friend, Fred!" she cried, sitting +upright and speaking with energy that quivered in her +voice and flashed in her fine brown eyes. "He's your +enemy--a snake in the grass--a malicious, poisonous----" + +Norman's quiet, even laugh interrupted. "Oh, no," +said he. "Tetlow's a good fellow. Anything he said +would be what he honestly believed--anything he said +about me." + +"He pleaded that he was doing it for your good," +she went on with scorn. "They always do--like the +people that write father wicked anonymous letters. He +--this man Tetlow--he said he wanted me for the sake +of my love for you to save you from yourself." + +Norman glanced at her with amused eyes. "Well, +why don't you? But then you ARE doing it. You're +marrying me, aren't you?" + +Again she put her head upon his shoulder. "Indeed +I am!" she cried. "And I'd be a poor sort if I +let a sneak shake my confidence in you." + +He patted her shoulder, and there was laughter in +his voice as he said, "But I never professed to be +trustworthy." + +"Oh, I know you USED to--" She laughed and +kissed his cheek. "Never mind. I've heard. But while +you were engaged to me--about to marry me--why, +you simply couldn't!" + +"Couldn't what?" inquired he. + +"Do you want me to tell you what he said?" + +"I think I know. But do as you like." + +"Maybe I'd better tell you. I seem to want to get +rid of it." + +"Then do." + +"It was about that girl." She sat upright and +looked at him for encouragement. He nodded. She +went on: "He said that if I asked you, you would not +dare deny you were--were--giving her money." + +"Her and her father." + +She shrank, startled. Then her lips smiled bravely, +and she said, "He didn't say anything about her +father." + +"No. That was my own correction of his story." + +She looked at him with wonder and doubt. "You +aren't--DOING it, Fred!" she exclaimed. + +He nodded. "Yes, indeed." He looked at her +placidly. "Why not?" + +"You are SUPPORTING her?" + +"If you wish to put it that way," said he +carelessly. "My money pays the bills--all the bills." + +"Fred!" + +"Yes? What is it? Why are you so agitated?" +He studied her face, then rose, took a final pull at the +cigarette, tossed it in the fire. "I must be going," he +said, in a cool, even voice. + +She started up in a panic. "Fred! What do you +mean? Are you angry with me?" + +His calm regard met hers. "I do not like--this +sort of thing," he said. + +"But surely you'll explain. Surely I'm entitled to +an explanation." + +"Why should I explain? You have evidently found +an explanation that satisfies you." He drew himself +up in a quiet gesture of haughtiness. "Besides, it has +never been my habit to allow myself to be questioned or +to explain myself." + +Her eyes widened with terror. "Fred!" she +gasped. "What DO you mean?" + +"Precisely what I say," said he, in the same cool, +inevitable way. "A man came to you with a story +about me. You listened. A sufficient answer to the +story was that I am marrying you. That answer +apparently does not content you. Very well. I shall +make no other." + +She gazed at him uncertainly. She felt him going +--and going finally. She seized him with desperate +fingers, cried: "I AM content. Oh, Fred--don't frighten +me this way!" + +He smiled satirically. "Are you afraid of the +scandal--because everything for the wedding has gone +so far?" + +"How can you think that!" cried she--perhaps too +vigorously, a woman would have thought. + +"What else is there for me to think? You certainly +haven't shown any consideration for me." + +"But you told me yourself that you were false +to me." + +"Really? When?" + +She forgot her fear in a gush of rage rising from +sudden realization of what she was doing--of how +leniently and weakly and without pride she was dealing +with this man. "Didn't you admit----" + +"Pardon me," said he, and his manner might well +have calmed the wildest tempest of anger. "I did not +admit. I never admit. I leave that to people of the +sort who explain and excuse and apologize. I simply +told you I was paying the expenses of a family named +Hallowell." + +"But WHY should you do it, Fred?" + +His smile was gently satirical. "I thought Tetlow +told you why." + +"I don't believe him!" + +"Then why this excitement?" + +One could understand how the opposition witnesses +dreaded facing him. "I don't know just why," she +stammered. "It seemed to me you were admitting-- +I mean, you were confirming what that man accused +you of." + +"And of what did he accuse me? I might say, of +what do YOU accuse me?" When she remained silent +he went on: "I am trying to be reasonable, Josephine. +I am trying to keep my temper." + +The look in her eyes--the fear, the timidity--was +a startling revelation of character--of the cowardice +with which love undermines the strongest nature. "I +know I've been foolish and incoherent, Fred," she +pleaded. "But--I love you! And you remember how +I always was afraid of that girl." + +"Just what do you wish to know?" + +"Nothing, dear--nothing. I am not sillily jealous. +I ought to be admiring you for your generosity--your +charity." + +"It's neither the one nor the other," said he with +exasperating deliberateness. + +She quivered. "Then WHAT is it?" she cried. +"You are driving me crazy with your evasions." +Pleadingly, "You must admit they ARE evasions." + +He buttoned his coat in tranquil preparation to +depart. She instantly took alarm. "I don't mean that. +It's my fault, not asking you straight out. Fred, tell +me--won't you? But if you are too cross with me, +then--don't tell me." She laughed nervously, hiding +her submission beneath a seeming of mocking exaggeration +of humility. "I'll be good. I'll behave." + +A man who admired her as a figure, a man who liked +her, a man who had no feeling for her beyond the +general human feeling of wishing well pretty nearly +everybody--in brief, any man but one who had loved her +and had gotten over it would have deeply pitied and +sympathized with her. Fred Norman said, his look and +his tone coolly calm: + +"I am backing Mr. Hallowell in a company for +which he is doing chemical research work. We are +hatching eggs, out of the shell, so to speak. Also we +are aging and rejuvenating arthropods and the like. So +far we have declared no dividends. But we have hopes." + +She gave a hysterical sob of relief. "Then it's only +business--not the girl at all!" + +"Oh, yes, it's the girl, too," replied he. "She's +an officer of the company. In fact, it was to make a +place for her that I went into the enterprise originally." +With an engaging air of frankness he inquired, "Anything more?" + +She was gazing soberly, almost somberly, into the +fire. "You'll not be offended if I ask you one question?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Is there anything between you and--her?" + +"You mean, am I having an affair with her?" + +She hung her head, but managed to make a slight +nod of assent. + +He laughed. "No." He laughed again. "No-- +not thus far, my dear." He laughed a third time, with +still stronger and stranger mockery. "She congratulated +me on my engagement with a sincerity that would +have piqued a man who was interested in her." + +"Will you forgive me?" Josephine said. "What +I've just been feeling and saying and putting you +through--it's beneath both of us. I suppose a woman +--no woman--can help being nasty where another woman +is concerned." + +With his satirical good-humored smile, "I don't in +the least blame you." + +"And you'll not think less of me for giving way +to a thing so vulgar?" + +He kissed her with a carelessness that made her +wince But she felt that she deserved it--and was +grateful. He said: "Why don't you go over and see +for yourself? No doubt Tetlow gave you the address +--and no doubt you have remembered it." + +She colored and hastily turned her head. "Don't +punish me," she pleaded. + +"Punish you? What nonsense! . . . Do you want +me to take you over? The laboratory would interest +you--and Miss Hallowell is lovelier than ever. She +has an easier life now. Office work wears on women +terribly." + +Josephine looked at him with a beautiful smile of +love and trust. "You wish to be sure I'm cured. Well, +can't you see that I am?" + +"I don't see why you should be. I've said nothing +one way or the other." + +She laughed gayly. "You can't tempt me. I'm +really cured. I think the only reason I had the attack +was because Mr. Tetlow so evidently believed he was +speaking the truth." + +"No doubt he did think he was. I'm sure, in the +same circumstances, I'd think of anyone else just what +he thinks of me." + +"Then why do you do it, Fred?" urged she with +ill-concealed eagerness. "It isn't fair to the girl, is +it?" + +"No one but you and Tetlow knows I'm doing it." + +"You're mistaken there, dear. Tetlow says a great +many people down town are talking about it--that they +say you go almost every day to Jersey City to see her. +He accuses you of having ruined her reputation. He +says she is quite innocent. He blames the whole thing +upon you." + +Norman, standing with arms folded upon his broad +chest, was gazing thoughtfully into the fire. + +"You don't mind my telling you these things?" she +said anxiously. "Of course, I know they are lies----" + +"So everyone is talking about it," interrupted he, +so absorbed that he had not heard her. + +"You don't realize how conspicuous you are." + +He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it can't be +helped." + +"You can't afford to be mixed up in a scandal," she +ventured, "or to injure a poor little creature-- I'm +afraid you'll have to--to stop it." + +"Stop it." His eyes gleamed with mirth and something +else. "It isn't my habit to heed gossip." + +"But think of HER, Fred!" + +He smiled ironically. "What a generous, thoughtful +dear you are!" said he. + +She blushed. "I'll admit I don't like it. I'm not +jealous--but I wish you weren't doing it." + +"So do I!" he exclaimed, with sudden energy that +astonished and disquieted her. "So do I! But since +it can't be helped I shall go on." + +Never had she respected him so profoundly. For +the first time she had measured strength with him and +had been beaten and routed. She fancied herself +enormously proud; for she labored under the common +delusion which mistakes for pride the silly vanity of class, +or birth, or wealth, or position. She had imagined she +would never lower that cherished pride of hers to any +man. And she had lowered it into the dust. No wonder +women had loved him, she said to herself; couldn't he +do with them, even the haughtiest of them, precisely as +he pleased? He had not tried to calm, much less to +end her jealousy; on the contrary, he had let it flame +as high as it would, had urged it higher. And she did +not dare ask him, even as a loving concession to her +weakness, to give up an affair upon which everybody +was putting the natural worst possible construction! +On the contrary, she had given him leave to go on-- +because she feared--yes, knew--that if she tried to +interfere he would take it as evidence that they could +not get on together. What a man! + + +But there was more to come that day. As he was +finishing dressing for dinner his sister Ursula knocked. +"May I come, Frederick?" she said. + +"Sure," he cried. "I'm fixing my tie." + +Ursula, in a gown that displayed the last possible +--many of the homelier women said impossible--inch of +her beautiful shoulders, came strolling sinuously in and +seated herself on the arm of the divan. She watched +him, in his evening shirt, as he with much struggling +did his tie. "How young you do look, Fred!" said +she. "Especially in just that much clothes. Not a +day over thirty." + +"I'm not exactly a nonogenarian," retorted he. + +"But usually your face--in spite of its smoothness +and no wrinkles--has a kind of an old young--or do +I mean young old?--look. You've led such a serious +life." + +"Um. That's the devil of it." + +"You're looking particularly young to-night." + +"Same to you, Urse." + +"No, I'm not bad for thirty-four. People half +believe me when I say I'm twenty-nine." She glanced +complacently down at her softly glistening shoulders. +"I've still got my skin." + +"And a mighty good one it is. Best I ever saw-- +except one." + +She reflected a moment, then smiled. "I know it +isn't Josephine's. Hers is good but not notable. Eyes +and teeth are her strongholds. I suppose it's--the +other lady's." + +"Exactly." + +"I mean the one in Jersey City." + +He went on brushing his hair with not a glance at +the bomb she had exploded under his very nose. + +"You're a cool one," she said admiringly. + +"Cool?" + +"I thought you'd jump. I'm sure you never +dreamed I knew." + +He slid into his white waistcoat and began to button it. + +"Though you might know I'd find out," she went +on, "when everyone's talking." + +"Everyone's always talking," said he indifferently. + +"And they rattle on to beat the band when they +get a chance at a man like you. Do you know what +they're saying?" + +"Certainly. Loosen these straps in the back of my +waistcoat--the upper ones, won't you?" + +As she fussed with the buckles she said: "But you +don't know that they say you're going to pieces-- +neglecting your cases--keeping away from your office +--wasting about half of your day with your lady love. +They say that you have gone stark mad--that you are +rushing to ruin." + +"A little looser. That's better. Thanks." + +"And everyone's wondering when Josephine will +hear and go on the rampage. She's so proud and so +stuck on herself that they're betting she'll give you +the bounce." + +"Well--" getting into his coat--"you'd delight in +that. For you don't like her." + +"Oh--so--so," replied Ursula. "She's all right, +as women go. You know we women don't ever think +any too well of each other. We're `on.' Now, I'm +frank to admit I'm not worth the powder to blow me +up. I can't do anything worth doing. I don't know +anything worth knowing--except how to dress and make +a fool of an occasional man. I'm not a good house- +keeper, nor a good wife--and I'd as lief go to jail for +two years as have a baby. But I admit I'm n. g. +Most women are as poor excuses as I am, yet they +think they're GRAND!" + +Norman, standing before his sister and smiling +mysteriously, said: "My dear Urse, let me give you a great +truth in a sentence. The value of anything is not its +value to itself or in itself, but its value to some one else. +A woman--even as incompetent a person as you----" + +"Or Josephine." + +"--or Josephine--may seem to some man to be +pricelessly valuable. And if she happens to seem so to +him, why, she IS so." + +"Meaning--Jersey City?" + +His eyes glittered curiously. "Meaning Jersey +City," he said. + +A long silence. Then Ursula: "But suppose +Josephine hears?" + +He stood beside the doorway, waiting for her to +pass out. His face expressed nothing. "Let's go +down. I'm hungry. We were talking about it this +afternoon." + +"You and Jo!" + +"Josephine and I." + +"And it's all right?" + +"Why not?" + +"You fooled her?" + +"I don't stoop to that sort of thing." + +"No, indeed," she laughed. "You rise to heights +of deception that would make anyone else giddy. Oh, +I'd give anything to have heard." + +"There's nothing to deceive about," said he. + +She shook her head. "You can't put it over me, +Fred. You've never before made a fool of yourself +about a woman. I'd like to see her. I suppose I'd +be amazed. I've observed that the women who do the +most extraordinary things with men are the most ordinary +sort of women." + +"Not to the men," said he bitterly. "Not while +they're doing it." + +"Does SHE seem extraordinary to YOU still?" + +He thrust his hands deep in his pockets. "What +you heard is true. I'm letting everything slide--work +--career--everything. I think of nothing else. Ursula, +I'm mad about her--mad!" + +She threw back her head, looked at him admiringly. +Never had she so utterly worshiped this wonderful, +powerful brother of hers. He was in love--really-- +madly in love--at last. So he was perfect! "How +long do you think it will hold, Fred?" she said, all +sympathy. + +"God knows!" + +"Yet--caring for her you can go on and marry +another woman!" + +He looked at his sister cynically. "You wouldn't +have me marry HER, would you?" + +"Of course not," protested she hastily. Her +passion for romance did not carry her to that idiocy. +"You couldn't. She's a sort of working girl--isn't +she?--anyhow, that class. No, you couldn't marry +her. But how can you marry another woman?" + +"How could I give up Josephine?--and give her +up probably to Bob Culver?" + +Ursula nodded understandingly. "But--what are +you going to do?" + +"How should I know? Perhaps break it off when +I marry--if you can call it breaking off, when there's +nothing to break but--me." + +"You don't mean--" she cried, stopping when her +tone had carried her meaning. + +He laughed. "Yes--that's the kind of damn fool +I've been." + +"You must have let her see how crazy you were +about her." + +"Was anyone ever able to hide that sort of insanity?" + +Ursula gazed wonderingly at him, drew a long +breath. "You!" she exclaimed. "Of all men--you!" + +"Let's go down." + +"She must be a deep one--dangerous," said Ursula, +furious against the woman who was daring to resist her +matchless brother. "Fred, I'm wild to see her. Maybe +I'd see something that'd help cure you." + +"You keep out of it," he replied, curtly but not +with ill humor. + +"It can't last long." + +"It'd do for me, if it did." + +"The marriage will settle everything," said Ursula +with confidence. + +"It's got to," said he grimly. + + + +XI + + +THE next day or the next but one Dorothy +telephoned him. He often called her up on one pretext +or another, or frankly for no reason at all beyond the +overwhelming desire to hear her voice. But she had +never before "disturbed" him. He had again and +again assured her that he would not regard himself +as "disturbed," no matter what he might be doing. She +would not have it so. As he was always watching for +some faint sign that she was really interested in him, +this call gave him a thrill of hope--a specimen of the +minor absurdities of those days of extravagant folly. + +"Are you coming over to-day?" she asked. + +"Right away, if you wish." + +"Oh, no. Any time will do." + +"I'll come at once. I'm not busy." + +"No. Late this afternoon. Father asked me to +call up and make sure. He wants to see you." + +"Oh--not you?" + +"I'm a business person," retorted she. "I know +better than to annoy you, as I've often said." + +He knew it was foolish, tiresome; yet he could not +resist the impulse to say, "Now that I've heard your +voice I can't stay away. I'll come over to lunch." + +Her answering voice was irritated. "Please don't. +I'm cleaning house. You'd be in the way." + +He shrank and quivered like a boy who has been +publicly rebuked. "I'll come when you say," he replied. + +"Not a minute before four o'clock." + +"That's a long time--now you've made me crazy +to see you." + +"Don't talk nonsense. I must go back to work." + +"What are you doing?" he asked, to detain her. + +"Dusting and polishing. Molly did the sweeping +and is cleaning windows now." + +"What have you got on?" + +"How silly you are!" + +"No one knows that better than I. But I want +to have a picture of you to look at." + +"I've got on an old white skirt and an old shirt +waist, both dirty, and a pair of tennis shoes that were +white once but are gray now, where they aren't black. +And I've got a pink chiffon rag tied round my hair." + +"Pink is wonderful when you wear it." + +"I look a fright. And my face is streaked--and +my arms." + +"Oh, you've got your sleeves rolled up. That's an +important detail." + +"You're making fun of me." + +"No, I'm thinking of your arms. They are-- +ravishing." + +"That's quite enough. Good-by." + +And she rang off. He was used to her treating +compliment and flattery from him in that fashion. He +could not--or was it would not?--understand why. He +had learned that she was not at all the indifferent and +unaware person in the matter of her physical charms +he had at first fancied her. On the contrary, she had +more than her share of physical vanity--not more than +was her right, in view of her charms, but more than +she could carry off well. With many a secret smile he +had observed that she thought herself perfect +physically. This did not repel him; it never does repel +a man--when and so long as he is under the enchantment +of the charms the woman more or less exaggerates. +But, while he had often seen women with inordinate +physical vanity, so often that he had come +to regarding it as an essential part of feminine +character, never before had he seen one so content with +her own good opinion of herself that she was indifferent +to appreciation from others. + +He did not go back to the office after lunch. +Several important matters were coming up; if he got within +reach they might conspire to make it impossible for +him to be with her on time. If his partners, his clients +knew! He the important man of affairs kneeling at +the feet of a nobody!--and why? Chiefly because he +was unable to convince her that he amounted to +anything. His folly nauseated him. He sat in a corner +in the dining room of the Lawyers' Club and drank +one whisky and soda after another and brooded over +his follies and his unhappiness, muttering monotonously +from time to time: "No wonder she makes a fool of +me. I invite it, I beg for it, damned idiot that I am!" +By three o'clock he had drunk enough liquor to have +dispatched the average man for several days. It had +produced no effect upon him beyond possibly a slight +aggravation of his moodiness. + +It took only twenty minutes to get from New York +to her house. He set out at a few minutes after three; +arrived at twenty minutes to four. As experience of +her ways had taught him that she was much less friendly +when he disobeyed her requests, he did not dare go to +the house, but, after looking at it from a corner two +blocks away, made a detour that would use up some +of the time he had to waste. And as he wandered he +indulged in his usual alternations between self-derision +and passion. He appeared at the house at five minutes +to four. Patrick, who with Molly his wife looked after +the domestic affairs, was at the front gate gazing down +the street in the direction from which he always came. +At sight of him Pat came running. Norman quickened +his pace, and every part of his nervous system was in +turmoil. + +"Mr. Hallowell--he's--DEAD," gasped Pat. + +"Dead?" echoed Norman. + +"Three quarters of an hour ago, sir. He came +from the lobatry, walked in the sitting room where Miss +Dorothy was oiling the furniture and I was oiling the +floor. And he sets down--and he looks at her--as cool +and calm as could be--and he says, `Dorothy, my child, +I'm dying.' And she stands up straight and looks at +him curious like--just curious like. And he says, +`Dorothy, good-by.' And he shivers, and I jumps up just +in time to catch him from rolling to the floor. He +was dead then--so the doctor says." + +"Dead!" repeated Norman, looking round vaguely. + +He went on to the house, Pat walking beside him +and chattering on and on--a stream of words Norman +did not hear. As he entered the open front door Dorothy +came down the stairs. He had thought he knew +how white her skin was. But he did not know until +then. And from that ghostly pallor looked the eyes of +grief beyond tears. He advanced toward her. But she +seemed to be wrapped in an atmosphere of aloofness. +He felt himself a stranger and an alien. After a brief +silence she said: "I don't realize it. I've been upstairs +where Pat carried him--but I don't realize it. It simply +can't be." + +"Do you know what he wished to say to me?" he +asked. + +"No. I guess he felt this coming. Probably it +came quicker than he expected. Now I can see that +he hasn't been well for several days. But he would +never let anything about illness be said. He thought +talking of those things made them worse." + +"You have relatives--somebody you wish me to telegraph?" + +She shook her head. "No one. Our relatives out +West are second cousins or further away. They care +nothing about us. No, I'm all alone." + +The tears sprang to his eyes. But there were no +tears in her eyes, no forlornness in her voice. She was +simply stating a fact. He said: "I'll look after +everything. Don't give it a moment's thought." + +"No, I'll arrange," replied she. "It'll give me +something to do--something to do for him. You see, +it's my last chance." And she turned to ascend the +stairs. "Something to do," she repeated dully. "I +wish I hadn't cleaned house this morning. That would +be something more to do." + +This jarred on him--then brought the tears to his +eyes again. How childish she was!--and how desolate! +"But you'll let me stay?" he pleaded. "You'll need +me. At any rate, I want to feel that you do." + +"I'd rather you didn't stay," she said, in the same +calm, remote way. "I'd rather be alone with him, this +last time. I'll go up and sit there until they take +him away. And then--in a few days I'll see what to do +--I'll send for you." + +"I can't leave you at such a time," he cried. "You +haven't realized yet. When you do you will need some +one." + +"You don't understand," she interrupted. "He +and I understood each other in some ways. I know he'd +not want--anyone round." + +At her slight hesitation before "anyone" he winced. + +"I must be alone with him," she went on. "Thank +you, but I want to go now." + +"Not just yet," he begged. Then, seeing the +shadow of annoyance on her beautiful white face, he +rose and said: "I'm going. I only want to help you." +He extended his hand impulsively, drew it back before +she had the chance to refuse it. For he felt that she +would refuse it. He said, "You know you can rely +on me." + +"But I don't need anybody," replied she. "Good-by." + +"If I can do anything----" + +"Pat will telephone." She was already halfway +upstairs. + +He found Pat in the front yard, and arranged with +him to get news and to send messages by way of the +drug store at the corner, so that she would know nothing +about it. He went to a florist's in New York and +sent masses of flowers. And then--there was nothing +more to do. He stopped in at the club and drank and +gambled until far into the morning. He fretted gloomily +about all the next day, riding alone in the Park, +driving with his sister, drinking and gambling at the +club again and smiling cynically to himself at the covert +glances his acquaintances exchanged. He was growing +used to those glances. He cared not the flip of a penny +for them. + +On the third day came the funeral, and he went. He +did not let his cabman turn in behind the one carriage +that followed the hearse. At the graveyard he stood +afar off, watching her in her simple new black, noting +her calm. She seemed thinner, but he thought it might +be simply her black dress. He could see no change in +her face. As she was leaving the grave, she looked in +his direction but he was uncertain whether she had +seen him. Pat and Molly were in the big, gloomy looking +carriage with her. + +He ventured to go to the front gate an hour later. +Pat came out. "It's no use to go in, Mr. Norman," +he said. "She'll not see you. She's shut up in her +own room." + +"Hasn't she cried yet, Pat?" + +"Not yet. We're waiting for it, sir. We're afraid +her mind will give way. At least, Molly is. I don't +think so. She's a queer young lady--as queer as she +looks--though at first you'd never think it. She's +always looking different. I never seen so many persons +in one." + +"Can't Molly MAKE her cry?--by talking about +him?" + +"She's tried, sir. It wasn't no use. Why, Miss +Dorothy talks about him just as if he was still here." +Pat wiped the sweat from his forehead. "I've been in +many a house of mourning, but never through such a +strain as this. Somehow I feel as if I'd never before +been round where there was anyone that'd lost somebody +they REALLY cared about. Weeping and moaning +don't amount to much beside what she's doing." + +Norman stayed round for an hour or more, then +rushed away distracted. He drank like a madman-- +drank himself into a daze, and so got a few hours of +a kind of sleep. He was looking haggard and wild +now, and everyone avoided him, though in fact there +was not the least danger of an outburst of temper. His +sister--Josephine--the office--several clients telephoned +for him. To all he sent the same refusal--that he was +too ill to see anyone. Not until the third day after the +funeral did Dorothy telephone for him. + +He took an ice-cold bath, got himself together as +well as he could, and reached the house in Jersey City +about half past three in the afternoon. She came gliding +into the room like a ghost, trailing a black negligee +that made the whiteness of her skin startling. Her eye- +lids were heavy and dark, but unreddened. She gazed +at him with calm, clear melancholy, and his heart +throbbed and ached for her. She seated herself, clasped +her hands loosely in her lap, and said: + +"I've sent for you so that I could settle things up." + +"Your father's affairs? Can't I do it better?" + +"He had arranged everything. There are only the +papers--his notes--and he wrote out the addresses of +the men they were to be sent to. No, I mean settle +things up with you." + +"You mustn't bother about that," said he. +"Besides, there's nothing to settle." + +"I shan't pretend I'm going to try to pay you +back," she went on, as if he had not spoken. "I never +could do it. But you will get part at least by selling +this furniture and the things at the laboratory." + +"Dorothy--please," he implored. "Don't you +understand you're to stay on here, just the same? What +sort of man do you think I am? I did this for you, +and you know it." + +"But I did it for my father," replied she, "and +he's gone." She was resting her melancholy gaze upon +him. "I couldn't take anything from you. You didn't +think I was that kind?" + +He was silent. + +"I cared nothing about the scandal--what people +said--so long as I was doing it for him. . . . I'd have +done ANYTHING for him. Sometimes I thought you were +going to compel me to do things I'd have hated to do. +I hope I wronged you, but I feared you meant that." +She sat thinking several minutes, sighed wearily. "It's +all over now. It doesn't matter. I needn't bother +about it any more." + +"Dorothy, let's not talk of these things now," said +Norman. "There's no hurry. I want you to wait until +you are calm and have thought everything over. Then +I'm sure you'll see that you ought to stay on." + +"How could I?" she asked wonderingly. + +"Why not? Am I demanding anything of you? +You know I'm not--and that I never shall." + +"But there's no reason on earth why YOU should +support ME. I can work. Why shouldn't I? And if +I didn't, if I stayed on here, what sort of woman would +I be?" + +He was unable to find an answer. He was trying +not to see a look in her face--or was it in her soul, +revealed through her eyes?--a look that made him think +for the first time of a resemblance between her and her +father. + +"You see yourself I've got to go. Any money I +could earn wouldn't more than pay for a room and +board somewhere." + +"You can let me advance you money while you--" +He hesitated, had an idea which he welcomed eagerly-- +"while you study for the stage. Yes, that's the sensible +thing. You can learn to act. Then you will be able to +make a decent living." + +She slowly shook her head. "I've no talent for it +--and no liking. No, Mr. Norman, I must go back to +work--and right away." + +"But at least wait until you've looked into the stage +business," he urged. "You may find that you like it +and that you have talent for it." + +"I can't take any more from you," she said. + +"You think I am not to be trusted. I'm not going +to say now how I feel toward you. But I can honestly +say one thing. Now that you are all alone and +unprotected, you needn't have the least fear of me." + +She smiled faintly. "I see you don't believe me. +Well, it doesn't matter. I've seen Mr. Tetlow and he +has given me a place at twelve a week in his office." + +Norman sank back in his chair. "He is in for +himself now?" + +"No. He's head clerk for Pitchley & Culver." + +"Culver!" exclaimed Norman. "I don't want you +to go into Culver's office. He's a scoundrel." + +Again Dorothy smiled faintly. Norman colored. +"I know he stands well--as well as I do. But I can't +trust you with him. That sounds ridiculous but--it's +true." + +"I think I can trust myself," she said quietly. Her +grave regard fixed his. "Don't you?" she asked. + +His eyes lowered. "Yes," he replied. "But--why +shouldn't you come back with us? I'll see that you get +a much better position than Culver's giving you." + +Over her face crept one of those mysterious +transformations that made her so bafflingly fascinating to +him. Behind that worldly-wise, satirical mask was she +mocking at him? All she said was: "I couldn't work +there. I've settled it with Mr. Tetlow. I go to work +to-morrow." + +"To-morrow!" he cried, starting up. + +"And I've found a place to live. Pat and Molly; +will take care of things for you here." + +"Dorothy! You don't MEAN this? You're not +going to break off?" + +"I shan't see you again--except as we may meet +by accident." + +"Do you realize what you're saying means to me?" +he cried. "Don't you know how I love you?" He +advanced toward her. She stood and waited passively, +looking at him. "Dorothy--my love--do you want +to kill me?" + +"When are you to be married?" she asked quietly. + +"You are playing with me!" he cried. "You are +tormenting me. What have I ever done that you should +treat me this way?" He caught her unresisting hands +and kissed them. "Dear--my dear--don't you care for +me at all?" + +"No," she said placidly. "I've always told you so." + +He seized her in his arms, kissed her with a frenzy +that was savage, ferocious. "You will drive me mad. +You HAVE driven me mad!" he muttered. And he added, +unconscious that he was speaking his thoughts, so +distracted was he: "You MUST love me--you MUST! No +woman has ever resisted me. You cannot." + +She drew herself away from him, stood before him +like snow, like ice. "One thing I have never told you. +I'll tell you now," she said deliberately. "I despise +you." + +He fell back a step and the chill of her coldness +seemed to be freezing the blood in his veins. + +"I've always despised you," she went on, and he +shivered before that contemptuous word--it seemed only +the more contemptuous for her calmness. "Sometimes +I've despised you thoroughly--again only a little--but +always that feeling." + +For a moment he thought she had at last stung his +pride into the semblance of haughtiness. He was able +to look at her with mocking eyes and to say, "I +congratulate you on your cleverness in concealing your +feelings." + +"It wasn't my cleverness," she said wearily. "It +was your blindness. I never deceived you." + +"No, you never have," he replied sincerely. +"Perhaps I deserve to be despised. Again, perhaps if you +knew the world--the one I live in--better, you'd think +less harshly of me." + +"I don't think harshly of you. How could I-- +after all you did for my father?" + +"Dorothy, if you'll stay here and study for the +stage--or anything you choose--I promise you I'll +never speak of my feeling for you--or show it in any +way--unless you yourself give me leave." + +She smiled with childlike pathos. "You ought not +to tempt me. Do you want me to keep on despising +you? Can't you ever be fair with me?" + +The sad, frank gentleness of the appeal swung his +unhinged mind to the other extreme--from the savagery +of passion to a frenzy of remorse. "Fair to YOU? +No," he cried, "because I love you. Oh, I'm ashamed +--bitterly ashamed. I'm capable of any baseness to +get you. You're right. You can't trust me. In going +you're saving me from myself." He hesitated, stared +wildly, appalled at the words that were fighting for +utterance--the words about marriage--about marrying +her! He said hoarsely: "I am mad--mad! I don't +know what I'm saying. Good-by-- For God's sake, +don't think the worst of me, Dorothy. Good-by. I +WILL be a man again--I will!" + +And he wrung her hand and, talking incoherently, +he rushed from the room and from the house. + + + +XII + + +HE went straight home and sought his sister. She +had that moment come in from tea after a matinee. +She talked about the play--how badly it was acted-- +and about the women she had seen at tea--how badly +dressed they were. "It's hard to say which is the +more dreadful--the ugly, misshapen human race without +clothes or in the clothes it insists on wearing. And +the talk at that tea! Does no one ever say a pleasant +thing about anyone? Doesn't anyone ever do a pleasant +thing that can be spoken about? I read this morning +Tolstoy's advice about resolving to think all day only +nice thoughts and sticking to it. That sounded good +to me, and I decided to try it." Ursula laughed and +squirmed about in her tight-fitting dress that made an +enchanting display of her figure. "What is one to do? +_I_ can't be a fraud, for one. And if I had stuck to my +resolution I'd have spent the day in lying. What's +the matter, Fred?" Now that her attention was +attracted she observed more closely. "What HAVE you +been doing? You look--frightful!" + +"I've broken with her," replied he. + +"With Jo?" she cried. "Why, Fred, you can't +--you can't--with the wedding only five days away!" + +"Not with Jo." + +Ursula breathed noisy relief. She said cheerfully: +"Oh--with the other. Well, I'm glad it's over." + +"Over?" said he sardonically. "Over? It's only +begun." + +"But you'll stick it out, Fred. You've made a fool +of yourself long enough. What was the girl playing +for? Marriage?" + +He nodded. "I guess so." He laughed curtly. +"And she almost won." + +Ursula smiled with fine mockery. "Almost, but not +quite. I know you men. Women do that sort of fool +thing. But men--never--at least not the ambitious, +snobbish New York men." + +"She almost won," he repeated. "At least, I +almost did it. If I had stayed a minute longer I'd have +done it." + +"You like to think you would," mocked Ursula. +"But if you had tried to say the words your lungs +would have collapsed, your vocal chords snapped and +your tongue shriveled." + +"I am not so damn sure I shan't do it yet," he burst +out fiercely. + +"But I am," said Ursula, calm, brisk, practical. +"What's she going to do?" + +"Going to work." + +Ursula laughed joyously. "What a joke! A woman +go to work when she needn't!" + +"She is going to work." + +"To work another man." + +"She meant it." + +"How easily women fool men!--even the wise men +like you." + +"She meant it." + +"She still hopes to marry you--or she has heard +of your marriage----" + +Norman lifted his head. Into his face came the +cynical, suspicious expression. + +"And has fastened on some other man. Or perhaps +she's found some good provider who's willing to marry +her." + +Norman sprang up, his eyes blazing, his mouth +working cruelly. "By God!" he cried. "If I thought +that!" + +His sister was alarmed. Such a man--in such a +delirium--might commit any absurdity. He flung himself +down in despair. "Urse, why can't I get rid of +this thing? It's ruining me. It's killing me!" + +"Your good sense tells you if you had her you'd +be over it--" She snapped her fingers--"like that." + +"Yes--yes--I know it! But--" He groaned-- +"she has broken with me." + +Ursula went to him and kissed him and took his +head in her arms. "What a BOY-boy it is!" she said +tenderly. "Oh, it must be dreadful to have always +had whatever one wanted and then to find something +one can't have. We women are used to it--and the +usual sort of man. But not your sort, Freddy--and +I'm so sorry for you." + +"I want her, Urse--I want her," he groaned, and +he was almost sobbing. "My God, I CAN'T get on +without her." + +"Now, Freddy dear, listen to me. You know she's +'way, 'way beneath you--that she isn't at all what +you've got in the habit of picturing her--that it's all +delusion and nonsense----" + +"I want her," he repeated. "I want her." + +"You'd be ashamed if you had her as a wife-- +wouldn't you?" + +He was silent. + +"She isn't a LADY." + +"I don't know," replied he. + +"She hasn't any sense. A low sort of cunning, +yes. But not brains--not enough to hold you." + +"I don't know," replied he. "She's got enough for +a woman. And--I WANT her." + +"She isn't to be compared with Josephine." + +"But I don't want Josephine. I want HER." + +"But which do you want to MARRY?--to bring +forward as your wife?--to spend your life with?" + +"I know. I'm a mad fool. But, Urse, I can't help +it." He stood up suddenly. "I've used every weapon +I've got. Even pride--and it skulked away. My +sense of humor--and it weakened. My will--and it +snapped." + +"Is she so wonderful?" + +"She is so--elusive. I can't understand her--I +can't touch her. I can't find her. She keeps me going +like a man chasing an echo." + +"Like a man chasing an echo," repeated Ursula +reflectively. "I understand. It is maddening. She must +be clever--in her way." + +"Or very simple. God knows which; I don't--and +sometimes I think she doesn't, either." He made a +gesture of dismissal. "Well, it's finished. I must pull +myself together--or try to." + +"You will," said his sister confidently. "A +fortnight from now you'll be laughing at yourself." + +"I am now. I have been all along. But--it does +no good." + +She had to go and dress. But she could not leave +until she had tried to make him comfortable. He was +drinking brandy and soda and staring at his feet which +were stretched straight out toward the fire. "Where's +your sense of humor?" she demanded. "Throw yourself +on your sense of humor. It's a friend that sticks +when all others fail." + +"It's my only hope," he said with a grim smile. "I +can see myself. No wonder she despises me." + +"Despises you?" scoffed Ursula. "A WOMAN des- +pise YOU! She's crazy about you, I'll bet anything you +like. Before you're through with this you'll find out +I'm right. And then--you'll have no use for her." + +"She despises me." + +"Well--what of it? Really, Fred, it irritates me +to see you absolutely unlike yourself. Why, you're as +broken-spirited as a henpecked old husband." + +"Just that," he admitted, rising and looking drearily +about. "I don't know what the devil to do next. +Everything seems to have stopped." + +"Going to see Josephine this evening?" + +"I suppose so," was his indifferent reply. + +"You'll have to dress after dinner. There's no +time now." + +"Dress?" he inquired vaguely. "Why dress? +Why do anything?" + +She thought he would not go to Josephine but +would hide in his club and drink. But she was mistaken. +Toward nine o'clock he, in evening dress, with the +expression of a horse in a treadmill, rang the bell of +Josephine's house and passed in at the big bronze doors. +The butler must have particularly admired the way he +tossed aside his coat and hat. As soon as he was in +the presence of his fiancee he saw that she was again in +the throes of some violent agitation. + +She began at once: "I've just had the most frightful +scene with father," she said. "He's been hearing +a lot of stuff about you down town and it set him wild." + +"Do you mind if I smoke a cigar?" said he, looking +at her unseeingly with haggard, cold eyes. "And +may I have some whisky?" + +She rang. "I hope the servants didn't hear him," +she said. Then, as a step sounded outside she put on +an air of gayety, as if she were still laughing at some +jest he had made. In the doorway appeared her father +one of those big men who win half the battle in +advance on personal appearance of unconquerable might. +Burroughs was noted for his generosity and for his +violent temper. As a rule men of the largeness necessary +to handling large affairs are free from petty vindictiveness. +They are too busy for hatred. They do not +forgive; they are most careful not to forget; they +simply stand ready at any moment to do whatever it +is to their interest to do, regardless of friendships or +animosities. Burroughs was an exception in that he +got his highest pleasure out of pursuing his enemies. +He enjoyed this so keenly that several times--so it was +said--he had sacrificed real money to satisfy a revenge. +But these rumors may have wronged him. It is hardly +probable that a man who would let a weakness carry +him to that pitch of folly could have escaped destruction. +For of all the follies revenge is the most dangerous-- +as well as the most fatuous. + +Burroughs had a big face. Had he looked less +powerful the bigness of his features, the spread of cheek +and jowl, would have been grotesque. As it was, the +face was impressive, especially when one recalled how +many, many millions he owned and how many more he +controlled. The control was better than the ownership. +The millions he owned made him a coward--he was +afraid he might lose them. The millions he controlled, +and of course used for his own enrichment, made him +brave, for if they were lost in the daring ventures in +which he freely staked them, why, the loss was not his, +and he could shift the blame. Usually Norman treated +him with great respect, for his business gave the firm +nearly half its total income, and it was his daughter and +his wealth, prestige and power, that Norman was marrying. +But this evening he looked at the great man +with a superciliousness that was peculiarly disrespectful +from so young a man to one well advanced toward +old age. Norman had been feeling relaxed, languid, +exhausted. The signs of battle in that powerful face +nerved him, keyed him up at once. He waited with a +joyful impatience while the servant was bringing cigars +and whisky. The enormous quantities of liquor he had +drunk in the last few days had not been without effect. +Alcohol, the general stimulant, inevitably brings out +in strong relief a man's dominant qualities. The +dominant quality of Norman was love of combat. + +"Josephine tells me you are in a blue fury," said +Norman pleasantly when the door was closed and the +three were alone. "No--not a blue fury. A black +fury." + +At the covert insolence of his tone Josephine became +violently agitated. "Father," she said, with the +imperiousness of an only and indulged child, "I have asked +you not to interfere between Fred and me. I thought +I had your promise." + +"I said I'd think about it," replied her father. He +had a heavy voice that now and then awoke some string +of the lower octaves of the piano in the corner to a +dismal groan. "I've decided to speak out." + +"That's right, sir," said Norman. "Is your quarrel +with me?" + +Josephine attempted an easy laugh. "It's that silly +story we were talking about the other day, Fred." + +"I supposed so," said he. "You are not smoking, +Mr. Burroughs--" He laughed amiably--"at least +not a cigar." + +"The doctor only allows me one, and I've had it," +replied Burroughs, his eyes sparkling viciously at this +flick of the whip. "What is the truth about that business, +Norman?" + +Norman's amused glance encountered the savage +glare mockingly. "Why do you ask?" he inquired. + +"Because my daughter's happiness is at stake. +Because I cannot but resent a low scandal about a man +who wishes to marry my daughter." + +"Very proper, sir," said Norman graciously. + +"My daughter," continued Burroughs with accele- +rating anger, "tells me you have denied the story." + + +{illust. caption = " `Father . . . I have asked you not to +interfere between +Fred and me.' "} + + + +Norman interrupted with an astonished look at +Josephine. She colored, gazed at him imploringly. His +face terrified her. When body and mind are in health +and at rest the fullness of the face hides the character +to a great extent. But when a human being is sick or +very tired the concealing roundness goes and in the +clearly marked features the true character is revealed. +In Norman's face, haggard by his wearing emotions, his +character stood forth--the traits of strength, of +tenacity, of inevitable purpose. And Josephine saw and +dreaded. + +"But," Burroughs went on, "I have it on the best +authority that it is true." + +Norman, looking into the fascinating face of danger, +was thrilled. "Then you wish to break off the engagement?" +he said in the gentlest, smoothest tone. + +Burroughs brought his fist down on the table--and +Norman recognized the gesture of the bluffer. "I wish +you to break off with that woman!" he cried. "I +insist upon it--upon positive assurances from you." + +"Fred!" pleaded Josephine. "Don't listen to him. +Remember, I have said nothing." + +He had long been looking for a justifying grievance +against her. It now seemed to him that he had +found it. "Why should you?" he said genially but +with subtle irony, "since you are getting your father +to speak for you." + +There was just enough truth in this to entangle her +and throw her into disorder. She had been afraid of +the consequences of her father's interfering with a man +so spirited as Norman, but at the same time she had +longed to have some one put a check upon him. Norman's +suave remark made her feel that he could see into +her inmost soul--could see the anger, the jealousy, the +doubt, the hatred-tinged love, the love-saturated hate +seething and warring there. + +Burroughs was saying: "If we had not committed +ourselves so deeply, I should deal very differently with +this matter." + +"Why should that deter you?" said Norman--and +Josephine gave a piteous gasp. "If this goes much +farther, I assure you I shall not be deterred." + +Burroughs, firmly planted in a big leather chair, +looked at the young man in puzzled amazement. "I +see you think you have us in your power," he said at +last. "But you are mistaken." + +"On the contrary," rejoined the young man, "I +see you believe you have me in your power. And in a +sense you are NOT mistaken." + +"Father, he is right," cried Josephine agitatedly. +"I shouldn't love and respect him as I do if he would +submit to this hectoring." + +"Hectoring!" exclaimed Burroughs. "Josephine, +leave the room. I cannot discuss this matter properly +before you." + +"I hope you will not leave, Josephine," said Nor- +man. "There is nothing to be said that you cannot +and ought not to hear." + +"I'm not an infant, father," said Josephine. +"Besides, it is as Fred says. He has done nothing-- +improper." + +"Then why does he not say so?" demanded +Burroughs, seeing a chance to recede from his former too +advanced position. "That's all I ask." + +"But I told you all about it, father," said Josephine +angrily. "They've been distorting the truth, and the +truth is to his credit." + +Norman avoided the glance she sent to him; it was +only a glance and away, for more formidably than ever +his power was enthroned in his haggard face. He +stood with his back to the fire and it was plain that +the muscles of his strong figure were braced to give +and to receive a shock. "Mr. Burroughs," he said, +"your daughter is mistaken. Perhaps it is my fault +--in having helped her to mislead herself. The plain +truth is, I have become infatuated with a young woman. +She cares nothing about me--has repulsed me. I have +been and am making a fool of myself about her. I've +been hoping to cure myself. I still hope. But I am +not cured." + +There was absolute silence in the room. Norman +stole a glance at Josephine. She was sitting erect, a +greenish pallor over her ghastly face. + +He said: "If she will take me, now that she knows +the truth, I shall be grateful--and I shall make what +effort I can to do my best." + +He looked at her and she at him. And for an +instant her eyes softened. There was the appeal of weak +human heart to weak human heart in his gaze. Her lip +quivered. A brief struggle between vanity and love-- +and vanity, the stronger, the strongest force in her life, +dominating it since earliest babyhood and only seeming +to give way to love when love came--it was vanity that +won. She stiffened herself and her mouth curled with +proud scorn. She laughed--a sneer of jealous rage. +"Father," she said, "the lady in the case is a common +typewriter in his office." + +But to men--especially to practical men-- +differences of rank and position among women are not +fundamentally impressive. Man is in the habit of taking what +he wants in the way of womankind wherever he finds it, +and he understands that habit in other men. He was +furious with Norman, but he did not sympathize with +his daughter's extreme attitude. He said to Norman +sharply: + +"You say you have broken with the woman?" + +"She has broken with me," replied Norman. + +"At any rate, everything is broken off." + +"Apparently." + +"Then there is no reason why the marriage should +not go on." He turned to his daughter. "If you +understood men, you would attach no importance to this +matter. As you yourself said, the woman isn't a lady +--isn't in our class. That sort of thing amounts to +nothing. Norman has acted well. He has shown the +highest kind of honesty--has been truthful where most +men would have shifted and lied. Anyhow, things have +gone too far." Not without the soundest reasons had +Burroughs accepted Norman as his son-in-law; and he +had no fancy for giving him up, when men of his +pre-eminent fitness were so rare. + +There was another profound silence. Josephine +looked at Norman. Had he returned her gaze, the event +might have been different; for within her there was +now going on a struggle between two nearly evenly +matched vanities--the vanity of her own outraged pride +and the vanity of what the world would say and think, +if the engagement were broken off at that time and in +those circumstances. But he did not look at her. He +kept his eyes fixed upon the opposite wall, and there +was no sign of emotion of any kind in his stony +features. Josephine rose, suppressed a sob, looked +arrogant scorn from eyes shining with tears--tears of self- +pity. "Send him away, father," she said. "He has +tried to degrade ME! I am done with him." And she +rushed from the room, her father half starting from +his chair to detain her. + +He turned angrily on Norman. "A hell of a mess +you've made!" he cried. + +"A hell of a mess," replied the young man. + +"Of course she'll come round. But you've got to +do your part." + +"It's settled," said Norman. And he threw his +cigar into the fireplace. "Good night." + +"Hold on!" cried Burroughs. "Before you go, +you must see Josie alone and talk with her." + +"It would be useless," said Norman. "You know +her." + +Burroughs laid his hand friendlily but heavily upon +the young man's shoulder. "This outburst of nonsense +might cost you two young people your happiness +for life. This is no time for jealousy and false pride. +Wait a moment." + +"Very well," said Norman. "But it is useless." +He understood Josephine now--he who had become a +connoisseur of love. He knew that her vanity-founded +love had vanished. + +Burroughs disappeared in the direction his daughter +had taken. Norman waited several minutes--long +enough slowly to smoke a cigarette. Then he went into +the hall and put on his coat with deliberation. No one +appeared, not even a servant. He went out into the +street. + +In the morning papers he found the announcement +of the withdrawal of the invitations--and from half a +column to several columns of comment, much of it +extremely unflattering to him. + + + +XIII + + +WHEN a "high life" engagement such as that of +Norman and Miss Burroughs, collapses on the eve of +the wedding, the gossip and the scandal, however great, +are but a small part of the mess. Doubtless many a +marriage--and not in high life alone, either--has been +put through, although the one party or the other or +both have discovered that disaster was inevitable--solely +because of the appalling muddle the sensible course +would precipitate. In the case of the Norman-Burroughs +fiasco, there were--to note only a few big items +--such difficulties as several car loads of presents from +all parts of the earth to be returned, a house furnished +throughout and equipped to the last scullery maid and +stable boy to be disposed of, the entire Burroughs +domestic economy which had been reconstructed to be +put back upon its former basis. + +It is not surprising that, as Ursula Fitzhugh was +credibly informed, Josephine almost decided to send for +Bob Culver and marry him on the day before the day +appointed for her marriage to Fred. The reason given +for her not doing this sounded plausible. Culver, +despairing of making the match on which his ambition-- +and therefore his heart was set--and seeing a chance to +get suddenly rich, had embarked for a career as a blackmailer +of corporations. That is, he nosed about for a +big corporation stealthily doing or arranging to do +some unlawful but highly profitable acts; he bought a +few shares of its stock, using a fake client as a blind; he +then proceeded to threaten it with exposure, expensive +hindrances and the like, unless it bought him off at a +huge profit to himself. This business was regarded as +most disreputable and--thanks to the power of the big +corporations over the courts--had resulted in the sending +of several of its practisers to jail or on hasty journeys +to foreign climes. But Culver, almost if not quite +as good a lawyer as Norman, was too clever to be caught +in that way. However, while he was getting very rich +rapidly, he was as yet far from rich enough to overcome +the detestation of old Burroughs, and to be eligible for +the daughter. + +So, Josephine sailed away to Europe, with the +consolation that her father was so chagrined by the fizzle +that he had withdrawn his veto upon the purchase of a +foreign title--that veto having been the only reason she +had looked at home for a husband. Strange indeed are +the ways of love--never stranger than when it comes +into contact with the vanities of wealth and social +position and the other things that cause a human being to +feel that he or she is lifted clear of and high above the +human condition. Josephine had her consolation. For +Norman the only consolation was escape from a marriage +which had become so irksome in anticipation that +he did not dare think what it would be in the reality. +Over against this consolation was set a long list of +disasters. He found himself immediately shunned by all +his friends. Their professed reason was that he had +acted shabbily in the breaking of the engagement; for, +while it was assumed that Josephine must have done the +actual breaking, it was also assumed that he must have +given her provocation and to spare. This virtuous +indignation was in large part mere pretext, as virtuous +indignation in frail mortals toward frail mortals is apt +to be. The real reason for shying off from Norman was +his atmosphere of impending downfall. And certainly +that atmosphere had eaten away and dissipated all his +former charm. He looked dull and boresome--and he +was. + +But the chief disaster was material. As has been +said, old Burroughs, in his own person and in the enterprises +he controlled, gave Norman's firm about half its +income. The day Josephine sailed, Lockyer, senior +partner of the firm, got an intimation that unless Norman +left, Burroughs would take his law business elsewhere, +and would "advise" others of their clients to +follow his example. Lockyer no sooner heard than he +began to bestir himself. He called into consultation the +learned Benchley and the astute Sanders and the soft +and sly Lockyer junior. There could be no question +that Norman must be got rid of. The only point was, +who should inform the lion that he had been deposed? + +After several hours of anxious discussion, Lockyer, +his inward perturbations hid beneath that mask of smug +and statesmanlike respectability, entered the lion's den +--a sick lion, sick unto death probably, but not a dead +lion. "When you're ready to go uptown, Frederick," +said he in his gentlest, most patriarchal manner, "let me +know. I want to have a little talk with you." + +Norman, heavy eyed and listless, looked at the handsome +old fraud. As he looked something of the piercing +quality and something of the humorous came back into +his eyes. "Sit down and say it now," said he. + +"I'd prefer to talk where we can be quiet." + +Norman rang his bell and when an office boy +appeared, said "No one is to disturb me until I ring +again." Then as the boy withdrew he said to Lockyer: +"Now, sir, what is it?" + +Lockyer strolled to the window, looked out as if +searching for something he failed to find, came back to +the chair on the opposite side of the desk from Norman, +seated himself. "I don't know how to begin," said he. +"It is hard to say painful things to anyone I have such +an affection for as I have for you." + +Norman pushed a sheet of letter paper across the +desk toward his partner. "Perhaps that will help you," +observed he carelessly. + +Lockyer put on his nose glasses with the gesture of +grace and intellect that was famous. He read--a brief +demand for a release from the partnership and a request +for an immediate settlement. Lockyer blinked off his +glasses with the gesture that was as famous and as +admiringly imitated by lesser legal lights as was his gesture +of be-spectacling himself. "This is most astounding, +my boy," said he. "It is most--most----" + +"Gratifying?" suggested Norman with a sardonic +grin. + +"Not in the least, Frederick. The very reverse-- +the exact reverse." + +Norman gave a shrug that said "Why do you persist +in those frauds--and with ME?" But he did not +speak. + +"I know," pursued Lockyer, "that you would not +have taken this step without conclusive reasons. And +I shall not venture the impertinence of prying or of +urging." + +"Thanks," said Norman drily. "Now, as to the +terms of settlement." + +Lockyer, from observation and from gossip, had a +pretty shrewd notion of the state of his young partner's +mind, and drew the not unwarranted conclusion that he +would be indifferent about terms--would be "easy." +With the suavity of Mr. Great-and-Good-Heart he said: +"My dear boy, there can't be any question of money +with us. We'll do the generously fair thing--for, we're +not hucksterers but gentlemen." + +"That sounds terrifying," observed the young man, +with a faint ironic smile. "I feel my shirt going and +the cold winds whistling about my bare body. To save +time, let ME state the terms. You want to be rid of me. +I want to go. It's a whim with me. It's a necessity for +you." + +Lockyer shifted uneasily at these evidences of +unimpaired mentality and undaunted spirit. + +"Here are my terms," proceeded Norman. "You +are to pay me forty thousand a year for five years-- +unless I open an office or join another firm. In that +case, payments are to cease from the date of my re- +entering practice." + +Lockyer leaned back and laughed benignantly. "My +dear Norman," he said with a gently remonstrant shake +of the head, "those terms are impossible. Forty thousand +a year! Why that is within ten thousand of the +present share of any of us but you. It is the income of +nearly three quarters of a million at six per cent--of +a million at four per cent!" + +"Very well," said Norman, settling back in his +chair. "Then I stand pat." + +"Now, my dear Norman, permit me to propose +terms that are fair to all----" + +"When I said I stood pat I meant that I would +stay on." His eyes laughed at Lockyer. "I guess we +can live without Burroughs and his dependents. Maybe +they will find they can't live without us." He slowly +leaned forward until, with his forearms against the edge +of his desk, he was concentrating a memorable gaze upon +Lockyer. "Mr. Lockyer," said he, "I have been +exercising my privilege as a free man to make a damn fool +of myself. I shall continue to exercise it so long as I +feel disposed that way. But let me tell you something. +I can afford to do it. If a man's asset is money, or +character or position or relatives and friends or popular +favor or any other perishable article, he must take care +how he trifles with it. He may find himself irretrievably +ruined. But my asset happens to be none of those +things. It is one that can be lost or damaged only by +insanity or death. Do you follow me?" + +The old man looked at him with the sincere and most +flattering tribute of compelled admiration. "What a +mind you've got, Frederick--and what courage!" + +"You accept my terms?" + +"If the others agree--and I think they will." + +"They will," said Norman. + +The old man was regarding him with eyes that had +genuine anxiety in them. "Why DO you do it, Fred?" +he said. + +"Because I wish to be free," replied Norman. He +would never have told the full truth to that incredulous +old cynic of a time-server--the truth that he was resigning +at the dictation of a pride which forbade him to +involve others in the ruin he, in his madness, was bent +upon. + +"I don't mean, why do you resign," said Lockyer. +"I mean the other--the--woman." + +Norman laughed harshly. + +"I've seen too much of the world not to understand," +continued Lockyer. "The measureless power +of woman over man--especially--pardon me, my dear +Norman--especially a bad woman!" + +"The measureless power of a man's imagination +over himself," rejoined Norman. "Did you ever see +or hear of a man without imagination being upset by +a woman? It's in here, Mr. Lockyer"--he rapped his +forehead--"altogether in here." + +"You realize that. Yet you go on--and for such a +--pardon me, my boy, for saying it--for such a trifling +object." + +"What does `trifling' mean, sir?" replied the +young man. "What is trifling and what is important? +It depends upon the point of view. What I want-- +that is vital. What I do not want--that is paltry. +It's my nature to go for what I happen to want--to +go for it with all there is in me. I will take nothing +else--nothing else." + +There was in his eyes the glitter called insanity-- +the glitter that reflects the state of mind of any strong +man when possessed of one of those fixed ideas that are +the idiosyncrasy of the strong. It would have been +impossible for Lockyer to be possessed in that way; he +had not the courage nor the concentration nor the inde- +pendence of soul; like most men, even able men, he +dealt only in the conventional. Not in his wildest youth +could he have wrecked or injured himself for a woman; +women, for him, occupied their conventional place in the +scheme of things, and had no allure beyond the +conventionally proper and the conventionally improper-- +for, be it remembered, vice has its beaten track no less +than virtue and most of the vicious are as tame and +unimaginative as the plodders in the high roads of +propriety. Still, Lockyer had associated with strong men, +men of boundless desires; thus, he could in a measure +sympathize with his young associate. What a pity that +these splendid powers should be perverted from the +ordinary desires of strong men! + +Norman rose, to end the interview. "My address is +my house. They will forward--if I go away." + +Lockyer gave him a hearty handclasp, made a few +phrases about good wishes and the like, left him alone. +The general opinion was that Norman was done for. +But Lockyer could not see it. He had seen too many +men fall only to rise out of lowest depths to greater +heights than they had fallen from. And Norman was +only thirty-seven. Perhaps this would prove to be +merely a dip in a securely brilliant career and not a fall +at all. In that case--with such a brain, such a genius +for the lawlessness of the law, what a laughing on the +other side of the mouth there might yet be among young +Norman's enemies--and friends! + +He spent most of the next few days--the lunch time, +the late afternoon, finally the early morning hours-- +lurking about the Equitable Building, in which were the +offices of Pytchley and Culver. As that building had +entrances on four streets, the best he could do was to +walk round and round, with an occasional excursion +through the corridors and past the elevators. He had +written her, asking to see her; he had got no answer. +He ceased to wait at the elevators after he had twice +narrowly escaped being seen by Tetlow. He was +indifferent to Tetlow, except as meeting him might make +it harder to see Dorothy. He drank hard. But drink +never affected him except to make him more grimly +tenacious in whatever he had deliberately and soberly +resolved. Drink did not explain--neither wholly nor in +any part--this conduct of his. It, and the more erratic +vagaries to follow, will seem incredible conduct for a man +of Norman's character and position to feeble folk with +their feeble desires, their dread of criticism and ridicule, +their exaggerated and adoring notions of the master +men. In fact, it was the natural outcome of the man's +nature--arrogant, contemptuous of his fellowmen and +of their opinions, and, like all the master men, capable +of such concentration upon a desire that he would adopt +any means, high or low, dignified or the reverse, if only +it promised to further his end. Fred Norman, at these +vulgar vigils, took the measure of his own self-abasement +to a hair's breadth. But he kept on, with the fever of +his infatuation burning like a delirium, burning higher +and deeper with each baffled day. + +At noon, one day, as he swung into Broadway from +Cedar street, he ran straight into Tetlow. It was +raining and his umbrella caught in Tetlow's. It was a +ludicrous situation, but there was no answering smile in +his former friend's eyes. Tetlow glowered. + +"I've heard you were hanging about," he said. +"How low you have sunk!" + +Norman laughed in his face. "Poor Tetlow," he +said. "I never expected to see you develop into a +crusader. And what a Don Quixote you look. Cheer up, +old man. Don't take it so hard." + +"I warn you to keep away from her," said Tetlow +in subdued, tense tones, his fat face quivering with +emotion. "Hasn't she shown you plainly that she'll have +nothing to do with you?" + +"I want only five minutes' talk with her, Tetlow," +said Norman, dropping into an almost pleading tone. +"And I guarantee I'll say nothing you wouldn't +approve, if you heard. You are advising her badly. You +are doing her an injury." + +"I am protecting her from a scoundrel," retorted +Tetlow. + +"She'll not thank you for it, when she finds out the +truth." + +"You can write to her. What a shallow liar you +are!" + +"I cannot write what I must say," said Norman. It +had never been difficult for him, however provoked, to +keep his temper--outwardly. Tetlow's insults were to +him no more than the barkings of a watch dog, and +one not at all dangerous, but only amusing. "I must +see her. If you are her friend, and not merely a jealous, +disappointed lover, you'll advise her to see me." + +"You shall not see her, if I can help it," cried his +former friend. "And if you persist in annoying +her----" + +"Don't make futile threats, Tetlow," Norman +interrupted. "You've done me all the mischief you can do. +I see you hate me for the injuries you've done me. That's +the way it always is. But I don't hate you. It was at +my suggestion that the Lockyer firm is trying to get +you back as a partner." Then, as Tetlow colored-- +"Oh, I see you're accepting their offer." + +"If I had thought----" + +"Nonsense. You're not a fool. How does it matter +whose the hand, if only it's a helping hand? And you +may be sure they'd never have made you the offer if they +didn't need you badly. All the credit I claim is having +the intelligence to enlighten their stupidity with the +right suggestion." + +In spite of himself Tetlow was falling under the spell +of Norman's personality, of the old and deep admiration +the lesser man had for the greater. + +"Norman," he said, "how can you be such a com- +bination of bigness and petty deviltry? You are a +monster of self-indulgence. It's a God's mercy there +aren't more men with your selfishness and your desires." + +Norman laughed sardonically. "The difference +between me and most men," said he, "isn't in selfishness +or in desires, but in courage. Courage, Billy--there's +what most of you lack. And even in courage I'm not +alone. My sort fill most of the high places." + +Tetlow looked dismal confession of a fear that Norman +was right. + +"Yes," pursued Norman, "in this country there are +enough wolves to attend to pretty nearly all the sheep-- +though it's amazing how much mutton there is." With +an abrupt shift from raillery, "You'll help me with her, +Billy?" + +"Why don't you let her alone, Fred?" pleaded +Tetlow. "It isn't worthy of you--a big man like you. Let +her alone, Fred!--the poor child, trying to earn her own +living in an honest way." + +"Let her alone? Tetlow, I shall never let her alone +--as long as she and I are both alive." + +The fat man, with his premature wrinkles and his +solemn air of law books that look venerable though fresh +from the press, took on an added pastiness. "Fred--for +God's sake, can't you love her in a noble way--a way +worthy of you?" + +Norman gave him a penetrating glance. "Is love-- +such love as mine--AND yours--" There Tetlow flushed +guiltily--"is it ever noble?--whatever that means. No, +it's human--human. But I'm not trying to harm her. +I give you my word. . . . Will you help me--and her?" + +Tetlow hesitated. His heavy cheeks quivered. "I +don't trust you," he cried violently--the violence of a +man fighting against an enemy within. "Don't ever +speak to me again." And he rushed away through the +rain, knocking umbrellas this way and that. + +About noon two days later, as Norman was making +one of his excursions past the Equitable elevators, he +saw Bob Culver at the news stand. It so happened that +as he recognized Culver, Culver cast in the direction of +the elevators the sort of look that betrays a man waiting +for a woman. Unseen by Culver, Norman stopped short. +Into his face blazed the fury of suspicion, jealousy, and +hate--one of the cyclones of passion that swept him +from time to time and revealed to his own appalled self +the full intensity of his feeling, the full power of the +demon that possessed him. Culver was of those glossy, +black men who are beloved of women. He was much +handsomer than Norman, who, indeed, was not handsome +at all, but was regarded as handsome because he had +the air of great distinction. Many times these two +young men had been pitted against each other in legal +battles. Every time Norman had won. Twice they had +contended for the favor of the same lady. Each had +scored once. But as Culver's victory was merely for a +very light and empty-headed lady of the stage while he +had won Josephine Burroughs away from Culver, the +balance was certainly not against him. + +As Norman slipped back and into the cross corridor +to avoid meeting Culver, Dorothy Hallowell hurried from +a just descended elevator and, with a quick, frightened +glance toward Culver, in profile, almost ran toward +Norman. It was evident that she had only one thought +--to escape being seen by her new employer. When she +realized that some one was standing before her and +moved to one side to pass, she looked up. "Oh!" she +gasped, starting back. And then she stood there white +and shaking. + +"Is that beast Culver hounding you?" demanded +Norman. + +She recovered herself quickly. With flashing eyes, +she cried: "How dare you! How dare you!" + +Norman, possessed by his rage against Culver, paid +no attention. "If he don't let you alone," he said, "I'll +thrash him into a hospital for six months. You must +leave his office at once. You'll not go back there." + +"You must be crazy," replied she, calm again. +"I've no complaint to make of the way I'm being +treated. I never was so well off in my life. And Mr. +Culver is very kind and polite." + +"You know what that means," said Norman harshly. + +"Everyone isn't like you," retorted she. + +He was examining her from head to foot, as if to +make sure that it was she with no charm missing. He +noted that she was much less poorly dressed than when +she worked for his firm. In those days she often looked +dowdy, showed plainly the girl who has to make a hasty +toilet in a small bedroom, with tiny wash-stand and +looking-glass, in the early, coldest hours of a cold morning. +Now she looked well taken care of physically, not +so well, not anything like so well as the women uptown-- +the ladies with nothing to do but make toilettes; still, +unusually well looked after for a working girl. At first +glance after those famished and ravening days of longing +for her and seeking her, she before him in rather +dim reality of the obvious office-girl, seemed disappointing. +It could not be that this insignificance was the +cause of all his fever and turmoil. He began to hope +that he was recovering, that the cloud of insane desire +was clearing from his sky. But a second glance killed +that hope. For, once more he saw her mystery, her +beauties that revealed their perfection and splendor only +to the observant. + +While he looked she was regaining her balance, as +the fading color in her white skin and the subsidence +of the excitement in her eyes evidenced. "Let me pass, +please," she said coldly--for, she was against the wall +with him standing before her in such a way that she +could not go until he moved aside. + +"We'll lunch together," he said. "I want to talk +with you. Did that well-meaning ass--Tetlow--tell +you?" + +"There is nothing you can say that I wish to hear," +was her quiet reply. + +"Your eyes--the edges of the lids are red. You have +been crying?" + +She lifted her glance to his and he had the sense of a +veil drawing aside to reveal a desolation. "For my +father," she said. + +His face flushed. He looked steadily at her. "Now +that he is gone, you have no one to protect you. I +am----" + +"I need no one," said she with a faintly contemptuous smile. + +"You do need some one--and I am going to undertake it." + +Her face lighted up. He thought it was because of +what he had said. But she immediately undeceived him. +She said in a tone of delighted relief, "Here comes Mr. +Tetlow. You must excuse me." + +"Dorothy--listen!" he cried. "We are going to +be married at once." + +The words exploded dizzily in his ears. He assumed +they would have a far more powerful effect upon her. +But her expression did not change. "No," she said +hastily. "I must go with Mr. Tetlow." Tetlow was +now at hand, his heavy face almost formidable in its dark +ferocity. She said to him: "I was waiting for you. +Come on" + +Norman turned eagerly to his former friend. He +said: "Tetlow, I have just asked Miss Hallowell to be +my wife." + +Tetlow stared. Then pain and despair seemed to +flood and ravage his whole body. + +"I told you the other day," Norman went on, "that +I was ready to do the fair thing. I have just been +saying to Miss Hallowell that she must have some one to +protect her. You agree with me, don't you?" + +Tetlow, fumbling vaguely with his watch chain, +gazed straight ahead. "Yes," he said with an effort. +"Yes, you are right, Norman. An office is no place for +an attractive girl as young as she is." + +"Has Culver been annoying her?" inquired Norman. + +Tetlow started. "Ah--she's told you--has she? I +rather hoped she hadn't noticed or understood." + +Both men now looked at the girl. She had shrunk +into herself until she was almost as dim and unimpressive, +as cipher-like as when Norman first beheld her. Also +she seemed at least five years less than her twenty. +"Dorothy," said Norman, "you will let me take care of +you--won't you?" + +"No," she said--and the word carried all the quiet +force she was somehow able to put into her short, direct +answers. + +Tetlow's pasty sallowness took on a dark red tinge. +He looked at her in surprise. "You don't understand, +Miss Dorothy," he said. "He wants to marry you." + +"I understand perfectly," replied she, with the far- +away look in her blue eyes. "But I'll not marry him. +I despise him. He frightens me. He sickens me." + +Norman clinched his hands and the muscles of his +jaw in the effort to control himself. "Dorothy," he +said, "I've not acted as I should. Tetlow will tell you +that there is good excuse for me. I know you don't +understand about those things--about the ways of the +world----" + +"I understand perfectly," she interrupted. "It's +you that don't understand. I never saw anyone so +conceited. Haven't I told you I don't love you, and don't +want anything to do with you?" + +Tetlow, lover though he was--or perhaps because he +was lover, of the hopeless kind that loves generously-- +could not refrain from protest. The girl was flinging +away a dazzling future. It wasn't fair to her to let her +do it when if she appreciated she would be overwhelmed +with joy and gratitude. "I believe you ought to listen +to Norman, Miss Dorothy," he said pleadingly. "At +any rate, think it over--don't answer right away. He +is making you an honorable proposal--one that's +advantageous in every way----" + +Dorothy regarded him with innocent eyes, wide and +wondering. "I didn't think you could talk like that, +Mr. Tetlow!" she exclaimed. "You heard what I said +to him--about the way I felt. How could I be his wife? +He tried everything else--and, now, though he's ashamed +of it, he's trying to get me by marriage. Oh, I understand. +I wish I didn't. I'd not feel so low." She looked +at Norman. "Can't you realize EVER that I don't want +any of the grand things you're so crazy about--that I +want something very different--something you could +never give me--or get for me?" + +"Isn't there anything I can do, Dorothy, to make +you forget and forgive?" he cried, like a boy, an +infatuated boy. "For God's sake, Tetlow, help me! Tell +her I'm not so rotten as she thinks. I'll be anything you +like, my darling--ANYTHING--if only you'll take me. +For I must have you. You're the only thing in the +world I care for--and, without you, I've no interest in +life--none--none!" + +He was so impassioned that passersby began to +observe them curiously. Tetlow became uneasy. But +Norman and Dorothy were unconscious of what was going +on around them. The energy of his passion compelled +her, though the passion itself was unwelcome. +"I'm sorry," she said gently. "Though you would have +hurt me, if you could, I don't want to hurt you. . . . +I'm sorry. I can't love you. . . . I'm sorry. Come on, +Mr. Tetlow." + +Norman stood aside. She and Tetlow went on out of +the building. He remained in the same place, oblivious +of the crowd streaming by, each man or woman with a +glance at his vacant stare. + + + +XIV + + +THAN Fred Norman no man ever had better reason +to feel securely entrenched upon the heights of success. +It was no silly vaunt of optimism for him to tell Lockyer +that only loss of life or loss of mind could dislodge +him. And a few days after Dorothy had extinguished +the last spark of hope he got ready to pull himself +together and show the world that it was indulging too +soon in its hypocritical headshakings over his ruin. + +"I am going to open an office of my own at once," +he said to his sister. + +She did not wish to discourage him, but she could +not altogether keep her thoughts from her face. She +had, in a general way, a clear idea of the complete +system of tollgates, duly equipped with strong barriers, +which the mighty few have established across practically +all the highroads to material success. Also, she +felt in her brother's manner and tone a certain profound +discouragement, a lack of the unconquerable +spirit which had carried him so far so speedily. It is +not a baseless notion that the man who has never been +beaten is often destroyed by his first reverse. Ursula +feared the spell of success had been broken for him. + +"You mean," she suggested, with apparent carelessness, +"that you will give up your forty thousand a +year?" + +He made a disdainful gesture. "I can make more +than that," said he. "It's a second rate lawyer who +can't in this day." + +"Of course you can," replied she tactfully. "But +why not take a rest first? Then there's old Burroughs +--on the war path. Wouldn't it be wise to wait till +he calms down?" + +"If Burroughs or any other man is necessary to +me," rejoined Fred, "the sooner I find it out the better. +I ought to know just where I--I myself--stand." + +"No one is necessary to you but yourself," said +Ursula, proudly and sincerely. "But, Fred-- Are +you yourself just now?" + +"No, I'm not," admitted he. "But the way to +become so again isn't by waiting but by working." An +expression of sheer wretchedness came into his listless, +heavy eyes. "Urse, I've got to conquer my weakness +now, or go under." + +She was eager to hold on to the secure forty +thousand a year--for his sake no less than for her own. +She argued with him with all the adroitness of a mind +as good in its way as his own. But she could not shake +his resolution. And she in prudence, desisted when he +said bitterly: "I see you've lost confidence in me. +Well, I don't blame you. . . . So have I." Then after +a moment, violently rather than strongly: "But I've +got to get it back. If I don't I'm only putting off the +smash--a complete smash." + +"I don't see quite how it's to be arranged," said +she, red and hesitating. For, she feared he would +think her altogether selfish in her anxiety. He +certainly would have been justified in so thinking; he knew +how rarely generosity survived in the woman who leads +the soft and idle life. + +"How long can we keep on as we're living now-- +if there's nothing, or little, coming in?" + +"I don't know," confessed she. She was as poor at +finance as he, and had certainly not been improved by +his habit of giving her whatever she happened to think +was necessary. "I can't say. Perhaps a few months-- +I don't know-- Not long, I'm afraid." + +"Six months?" + +"Oh, no. You see--the fact is--I've been rather +careless about the bills. You're so generous, Fred-- +and one is so busy in New York. I guess we owe a +good deal--here and there and yonder. And--the last +few days some of the tradespeople have been pressing +for payment." + +"You see!" exclaimed he. "The report is going +round that I'm ruined and done for. I've simply got +to make good. If you can't keep up a front, shut up +the house and go abroad. You can stay till I've got +my foot back on its neck." + +She believed in him, at bottom. She could not +conceive how appearances and her forebodings could be +true. Such strength as his could not be overwhelmed +thus suddenly. And by so slight a thing!--by an +unsatisfied passion for a woman, and an insignificant +woman, at that. For, like all women, like all the world +for that matter, she measured a passion by the woman +who was the object of it, instead of by the man who +fabricated it. "Yes--I'll go abroad," said she, +hopefully. + +"Quietly arrange for a long stay," he advised. "I +HOPE it won't be long. But I never plan on hope." + +Thus, with his sister and Fitzhugh out of the way +and the heaviest of his burdens of expense greatly +lightened, he set about rehabitating himself. He took an +office, waited for clients. And clients came--excellent +clients. Came and precipitately left him. + +There were two reasons for it. The first--the one +most often heard--was the story going round that he +had been, and probably still was, out of his mind. No +deadlier or crueler weapon can be used against a man +than that same charge as to his sanity. It has been +known to destroy, or seriously maim, brilliant and able +men with no trace of any of the untrustworthy kinds of +insanity. Where the man's own conduct gives color to +the report, the attack is usually mortal. And Norman +had acted the crazy man. The second reason was the +hostility of Burroughs, reinforced by all the hatreds +and jealousies Norman's not too respectful way of +dealing with his fellow men had been creating through +fifteen years. + +The worst moment in the life of a man who has +always proudly regarded himself as above any need +whatever from his fellow men is when he discovers all +in a flash, that the timid animal he spurned as it fawned +has him upon his back, has its teeth and claws at his +helpless throat. + +For four months he stood out against the isolation, +the suspicion as to his sanity, the patronizing pity of +men who but a little while before had felt honored when +he spoke to them. For four months he gave battle to +unseen and silent foes compassing him on every side. +He had no spirit for the fight; his love of Dorothy +Hallowell and his complete rout there had taken the +spirit out of him--and with it had gone that confidence +in himself and in his luck which had won him so many +critical battles. Then-- He had been keeping up a +large suite of offices, a staff of clerks and stenographers +and all the paraphernalia of the great and successful +lawyer. He had been spreading out the little business +he got in a not unsuccessful effort to make it appear +big and growing. He now gave up these offices and +the costly pride, pomp and circumstance--left with +several thousand dollars owing. He took two small rooms +in a building tenanted by beginners and cheap shysters. +He continued to live at his club, where even the servants +were subtly insolent to him; he could see the time +approaching when he might have to let himself be dropped +for failing to pay dues and bills. + +He stared at his ruin in stupid and dazed amazement. +Usually, to hear or to read about such a catastrophe +as this is to get a vague, rather impressive +notion of something picturesque and romantic. Ruined, +like all the big fateful words, has a dignified sound. +But the historians and novelists and poets and other +keepers of human records have a pleasant, but not very +honest way, of omitting practically all the essentials +from their records and substituting glittering imaginings +that delight the reader--and wofully mislead him +as to the truth about life. What wonder that we +learn slowly--and improve slowly. How wofully we +have been, and are, misled by all upon whom we have +relied as teachers. + +Already one of these charming tales of majestic +downfall was in process of manufacture, with Frederick +Norman as the central figure. It was only awaiting +his suicide or some other mode of complete submergence +for its final glose of glamor. In this manufacture, the +truth, as usual, had been almost omitted; such truth as +was retained for this artistic version of a human +happening was so perverted that it was falser than the +simon pure fictions with which it was interwoven. Just +as the literal truth about his success was far from being +altogether to his credit, so the literal truth as to his fall +gave him little of the vesture of the hero, and that +little ill fitting, to cover his naked humanness. Let +him who has risen to material success altogether by +methods approved by the idealists, let him who has +fallen from on high with graceful majesty, without +hysterical clutchings and desperate attempts at self- +salvation in disregard of the safety of others--let either +of these superhuman beings come forward with the first +stone for Norman. + +Those at some distance from the falling man could +afford to be romantic and piteous over his fate. Those +in his dangerous neighborhood were too busy getting +out of the way. "Man falling--stand from under!" +was the cry--how familiar it is!--and acquaintances +and friends fled in mad skedaddle. He would surely be +asking favors--would be trying to borrow money. It +is no peculiarity of rats to desert a sinking ship; it is +simply an inevitable precaution in a social system +modeled as yet upon nature's cruel law of the survival of +the fittest. A falling man is first of all a warning to +all other men high enough up to be able to fall--a +warning to them to take care lest they fall also where +footing is so insecure and precipices and steeps beset +every path. + +Norman, falling, falling, gazed round him and up +and down, in dazed wonder. He had seen many others +fall. He had seen just where and just why they missed +their footing. And he had been confident that with him +no such misstep was possible. He could not believe; a +little while, and luck would turn, and up he would go +again--higher than before. Many a lawyer--to look +no farther than his own profession--had through +recklessness or pride or inadvertence got the big men down +on him. But after a time they had relented or had +found an exact use for him; and fall had been succeeded +by rise. Was there a single instance where a man of +good brain had been permanently downed? No, not +one. Stay-- Some of these unfortunates had failed to +reappear on the heights of success. Yes, thinking of +the matter, he recalled several such. Had he been +altogether right in assuming, in his days of confidence and +success, that they stayed down because they belonged +down? Perhaps he had judged them harshly? Yes, +he was sure he had judged them harshly. There was +such a thing as breaking a proud spirit--and he found +within himself apparent proof that precisely this calamity +had befallen him. + +There came a time--and it came soon--when he had +about exhausted his desperate ingenuity at cornering +acquaintances and former friends and "sticking them +up" for loans of five hundred, a hundred, fifty, twenty- +five-- Because these vulgar and repulsive facts are not +found in the usual records of the men who have dropped +and come up again, do not imagine that only the hopeless +and never-reappearing failures pass through such +experiences. On the contrary, they are part of the +common human lot, and few indeed are the men who +have not had them--and worse--if they could but be +brought to tell the truth. Destiny rarely permits any +one of us to go from cradle to grave without doing +many a thing shameful and universally condemned. +How could it be otherwise under our social system? +When Norman was about at the end of all his resources +Tetlow called on him--Tetlow, now a partner in the +Lockyer firm. + +He came with an air of stealth. "I don't want +anyone to know I'm doing this," said he frankly. "If +it got out, I'd be damaged and you'd not profit." + +Rarely does anyone, however unworthy--and Fred +Norman was far from unworthy, as we humans go-- +rarely does anyone find himself absolutely without a +friend. There is a saying that no man ever sunk so +low, ever became so vile and squalid in soul and body, +but that if he were dying, and the fact were noised +throughout the world, some woman somewhere would +come--perhaps from a sense of duty, perhaps from +love, perhaps for the sake of a moment of happiness +long past but never equaled, and so never forgotten-- +but from whatever motive, she would come. In the +same manner, anyone in dire straits can be sure of some +friend. There were several others whom Norman had +been expecting--men he had saved by his legal +ingenuity at turning points in their careers. None of +these was so imprudent as uselessly to involve himself. +It was Tetlow who came--Tetlow, with whom his +accounts were more than balanced, with the balance +against him. Tetlow, whom he did not expect. + +Norman did not welcome him effusively. He said +at once: "How is--she?" + +Tetlow shifted uneasily. "I don't know. She's not +with us. I gave her a place there--to get her away +from Culver. But she didn't stay long. No doubt she's +doing well." + +"I thought you cared about her," said Norman, +who in estimating Tetlow's passion had measured it by +his own, had neglected to consider that the desires of +most men soon grow short of breath and weary of leg. + +"Yes--so I did care for her," said Tetlow, in the +voice of a man who has been ill but is now well. "But +that's all over. Women aren't worth bothering about +much. They're largely vanity. The way they soon +take a man for granted if he's at all kind to them +discourages any but the poorest sort of fool. At least +that's my opinion." + +"Then you don't come from her?" said Norman +with complete loss of interest in his caller. + +"No. I've come-- Fred, I hear you're in difficulties." + +Norman's now deep-set eyes gleamed humorously in +his haggard and failed-looking face. "IN difficulties? +Not at all. I'm UNDER them--drowned forty fathoms +deep." + +"Then you'll not resent my coming straight to the +point and asking if I can help you?" + +"That's a rash offer, Tetlow. I never suspected +rashness was one of your qualities." + +"I don't mean to offer you a loan or anything of +that sort," pursued Tetlow. "There's only one thing +that can help a man in your position. He must either +be saved outright or left to drown. I've come with +something that may save you." + +There was so much of the incongruous in a situation +where HE was listening to an offer of salvation from +such a man as Billy Tetlow that Norman smiled. + +"Well, what is it?" he said. + +"There's a chance that within six months or so-- +perhaps sooner--Burroughs and Galloway may end +their truce and declare war on each other. If so, +Galloway will win. Anyhow, the Galloway connection would +be better than the Burroughs connection." + +Norman looked at Tetlow shrewdly. "How do you +know this?" he asked. + +Tetlow's eyes shifted. "Can't tell you. But I +know." + +"Galloway hates me." + +Tetlow nodded. "You were the one who forced +him into a position where he had to make peace with +Burroughs. But Galloway's a big man, big enough to +admire ability wherever he sees it. He has admired +you ever since." + +"And has given his business to another firm." + +"But if the break comes he'll need you. And he's +the sort of man who doesn't hesitate to take what he +needs." + +"Too remote," said Norman, and his despondent +gesture showed how quickly hope had lighted up. +"Besides, Billy, I've lost my nerve. I'm no good." + +"But you've gotten over that--that attack of insanity." + +Norman shook his head. + +"I can't understand it," ejaculated Tetlow. + +"Of course you can't," said Norman. "But-- +there it is." + +"You haven't seen her lately?" + +"Not since that day . . . Billy, she hasn't--" +Norman stopped, and Tetlow saw that his hands were +trembling with agitation, and marveled. + +"Oh, no," replied Tetlow. "So far as I know, +she's still respectable. But--why don't you go to see +her? I think you'd be cured." + +"Why do you say that?" demanded Norman, the +veins in his forehead bulging with the fury he was ready +to release. + +"For no especial reason--on my honor, Fred," +replied Tetlow. "Simply because time works wonders +in all sorts of ways, including infatuations. Also-- +well, the fact is, it didn't seem to me that young lady +improved on acquaintance. Maybe I got tired, or +piqued--I don't know. If she hadn't been a silly little +fool, would she have refused you? I know it sounds +well--in a novel or a play--for a poor girl to refuse a +good offer, just from sentiment. But, all the same, +only a fool girl does it--in life--eh? But go to see +her. You'll understand what I mean, I think. I want +you to brace up. That may help." + +"What's she doing?" + +"I don't know. I'll send you her address. I can +get it. About Galloway-- If that break comes, I +propose that we get his business--you and I. I want you +for a partner. I always did. I think I know how to +get work out of you. I understand you better, than +anyone else. That's why I'm here." + +"It's useless," said Norman. + +"I'm willing to take the risk. Now, here's what I +propose. I'll stake you to the extent of a thousand +dollars a month for the next six months, you to keep +on as you are and not to tie yourself up to any other +lawyer, or to any client likely to hamper us if we get +the Galloway business." + +"I've been borrowing right and left----" + +"I know about that," interrupted Tetlow. "I'm +not interested. If you'll agree to my proposal, I'll +take my chances." + +"You are throwing away six thousand dollars." + +"I owe you a position where I make five times that +much." + +Norman shrugged his shoulders. "Very well. Can +I have five hundred at once?" + +"I'll send you a check to-day. I'll send two checks +a month--the first and the fifteenth." + +"I am drinking a great deal." + +"You always did." + +"Not until recently. I never knew what drinking +meant until these last few months." + +"Well, do as you like with the money. Drink it +all, if you please. I'm making no conditions beyond +the two I stated." + +"You will send me that address?" + +"In the letter with the check." + +"Will she see me, do you think?" + +"I haven't an idea," replied Tetlow. + +"What's the mystery?" asked Norman. "Why do +you speak of her so indifferently?" + +"It's the way I feel." Then, in answer to the +unspoken suspicion once more appearing in Norman's +eyes, he added: "She's a very nice, sweet girl, Norman +--so far as I know or believe. Beyond that-- Go to +see her." + +It had been many a week since Norman had heard a +friendly voice. The very sound of the human voice +had become hateful to him, because he was constantly +detecting the note of nervousness, the scarcely concealed +fear of being entangled in his misfortunes. As Tetlow +rose to go, Norman tried to detain him. The sound of +an unconstrained voice, the sight of a believing face +that did not express one or more of the shadings of +contempt between pity and aversion--the sight and +sound of this friend Tetlow was acting upon him like +one of those secret, unexpected, powerful tonics which +nature at times suddenly injects into a dying man to +confound the doctors and cheat death. + +"Tetlow," said he, "I'm down--probably down for +good. But if I ever get up again, I'll not make one +mistake--the one that cost me this fall. Do you know +what that mistake was?" + +"I suppose you mean Miss Hallowell?" + +"No," said Norman, to his surprise. "I mean my +lack of money, of capital, of a large and secure income. +I used to imagine that brains were the best, the only +sure asset. I was guilty of the stupidity of overvaluing +my own possessions." + +"Brains are a mighty good asset, Fred." + +"Yes--and necessary. But a man of action must +have under his brains another asset--MUST have it, +Billy. The one secure asset is a big capital. Money +rules this world. Some men have been lucky enough to +rise and stay risen, without money. But not a man +of all the men who have been knocked out could have +been dislodged if he had been armed and armored with +money. My prodigality was my fatal mistake. I +shan't make it again--if I get the chance. You don't +know, Tetlow, how hard it is to get money when you are +tumbling and must have it. I never dreamed what a +factor it is in calamities of EVERY sort. It's THE factor." + +"I don't like to hear you talk that way, Norman," +said Tetlow earnestly. "I've always most admired in +you the fact that you weren't mercenary." + +"And I never shall be," said Norman, with the +patient smile of a swift, keen mind at one that is slow +and hard to make understand. "It isn't my nature. +But, if I'm resurrected, I'll seem to be mercenary until +I get a full suit of the only armor that's invulnerable in +this world. Why, I built my fort like a fool. It was +impregnable except for one thing--one obvious thing. +It hadn't a supply of water. If I build again it'll be +round a spring--an income big enough for my needs +and beyond anybody's power to cut off." + +Tetlow showed that he was much cheered by Norman's +revived interest in life. But he went away +uneasy; for the last thing Norman said to him was: + +"Don't forget that address!" + + + +XV + + +BUT it chanced that Norman met her in the street +about an hour after Tetlow's call. + +He was on the way to lunch at the Lawyer's Club +--one of those apparent luxuries that are the dire and +pitiful necessities of men in New York fighting to maintain +the semblance and the reputation of prosperity. +It must not be imagined by those who are here let into +Norman's inmost secrets that his appearance betrayed +the depth to which he had fallen. At least to the casual +eye he seemed the same rich and powerful personage. +An expert might have got at a good part of the truth +from his somber eyes and haggard face, from the subtle +transformation of the former look of serene pride into +the bravado of pretense. And as, in a general way, +the facts of his fall were known far and wide, all his +acquaintances understood that his seeming of undiminished +success was simply the familiar "bluff." Its +advantage to him with them lay in its raising a doubt as +to just what degree of disaster it hid--no small advantage. +Nor was this "bluff" altogether for the benefit +of the outside world. It made his fall less hideously +intolerable to himself. In the bottom of his heart he +knew that when drink and no money should finally force +him to release his relaxing hold upon his fashionable +clubs, upon luxurious attire and habits, he would +suddenly and with accelerated speed drop into the abyss-- +We have all caught glimpses of that abyss--frayed fine +linen cheaply laundered, a tie of one time smartness +showing signs of too long wear, a suit from the best +kind of tailor with shiny spot glistening here, patch +peeping there, a queer unkemptness about the hair and +skin--these the beginnings of a road that leads straight +and short to the barrel-house, the park bench, and the +police station. Because, when a man strikes into that +stretch of the road to perdition, he ceases to be one of +our friends, passes from view entirely, we have the habit +of SAYING that such things rarely if ever happen. But +we KNOW better. Many's the man now high who has +had the sort of drop Norman was taking. We remember +when he was making a bluff such as Norman was +making in those days; but we think now that we were +mistaken in having suspected it of being bluff. + +Norman, dressed with more than ordinary care-- +how sensitive a man becomes about those things when +there is neither rustle nor jingle in his pockets, and +his smallest check would be returned with the big black +stamp "No Funds"-- Norman, groomed to the last +button, was in Broadway near Rector Street. Ahead +of him he saw the figure of a girl--a trim, attractive +figure, slim and charmingly long of line. A second +glance, and he recognized her. What was the change +that had prevented his recognizing her at once? He +had not seen that particular lightish-blue dress before +--nor the coquettish harmonizing hat. But that was +not the reason. No, it was the coquetry in her toilet-- +the effort of the girl to draw attention to her charms +by such small devices as are within the reach of +extremely modest means. He did not like this change. +It offended his taste; it alarmed his jealousy. + +He quickened his step, and when almost at her side +spoke her name--"Miss Hallowell." + +She stopped, turned. As soon as she recognized +him there came into her quiet, lovely face a delightful +smile. He could not conceal his amazement. She was +glad to see him! Instantly, following the invariable +habit of an experienced analytical mind, he wondered +for what unflattering reason this young woman who +did not like him was no longer showing it, was seeming +more than a little pleased to see him. "Why, how d'ye +do, Mr. Norman?" said she. And her friendliness and +assurance of manner jarred upon him. There was not +a suggestion of forwardness; but he, used to her old- +time extreme reserve, felt precisely as if she were bold +and gaudy, after the fashion of so many of the working +girls who were popular with the men. + +This unfavorable impression disappeared--or, +rather, retired to the background--even as it became +definite. And once more he was seeing the charms of +physical loveliness, of physical--and moral, and mental-- +mystery that had a weird power over him. As +they shook hands, a quiver shot through him as at the +shock of a terrific stimulant; and he stood there longing +to take her in his arms, to feel the delicate yet perfect +and vividly vital life of that fascinating form-- +longing to kiss that sensitive, slightly pouted rosy +mouth, to try to make those clear eyes grow soft and +dreamy---- + +She was saying: "I've been wondering what had +become of you." + +"I saw Tetlow," he said. "He promised to send +me your address." + +At Tetlow's name she frowned slightly; then a +gleam of ridicule flitted into her eyes. "Oh, that silly, +squeamish old maid! How sick I got of him!" + +Norman winced, and his jealousy stirred. "Why?" +he asked. + +"Always warning me against everybody. Always +giving me advice. It was too tiresome. And at last he +began to criticize me--the way I dressed--the way I +talked--said I was getting too free in my manner. +The impudence of him!" + +Norman tried to smile. + +"He'd have liked me to stay a silly little mouse +forever." + +"So you've been--blossoming out?" said Norman. + +"In a quiet way," replied she, with a smile of self- +content, so lovely as a smile that no one would have +minded its frank egotism. "There isn't much chance +for fun--unless a girl goes too far. But at the same +time I don't intend life to be Sunday when it isn't work. +I got very cross with him--Mr. Tetlow, I mean. And +I took another position. It didn't pay quite so well-- +only fifteen a week. But I couldn't stand being +watched--and guyed by all the other girls and boys +for it." + +"Where are you working?" + +"With an old lawyer named Branscombe. It's awful +slow, as I'm the only one, and he's old and does +everything in an old-fashioned way. But the hours are +easy, and I don't have to get down till nine--which +is nice when you've been out at a dance the night before." + +Norman kept his eyes down to hide from her the +legion of devils of jealousy. "You HAVE changed," he +said. + +"I'm growing up," replied she with a charming toss +of her small head--what beautiful effects the sunlight +made in among those wavy strands and strays! + +"And you're as lovely as ever--lovelier," he said-- +and his eyes were the eyes of the slave she had spurned. + +She did not spurn him now--and it inflamed his +jealousy that she did not. She said: "Oh, what's the +good of looks? The town's full of pretty girls. And +so many of them have money--which I haven't. To +make a hit in New York a girl's got to have both looks +and dress. But I must be going. I've an engagement +to lunch--" She gave a proud little smile--"at the +Astor House. It's nice upstairs there." + +"With Bob Culver?" + +She laughed. "I haven't seen him since I left his +office. You know, Mr. Tetlow took me with him--back +to your old firm. I didn't like Mr. Culver. I don't +care for those black men. They are bad-tempered and +two-faced. Anyhow, I'd not have anything to do with +a man who wanted to slip round with me as if he were +ashamed of me." + +She was looking at Norman pleasantly enough. He +wasn't sure that the hit was for him as well as for +Culver, but he flushed deeply. "Will you lunch with me +at the Astor House at one to-morrow?" + +"I've got an engagement," said she. "And I must +be going. I'm awfully late." He had an instinct that +her engagement on both days was with the same man. +"I'm glad to have seen you----" + +"Won't you let me call on you?" he said imploringly, +but with the suggestion that he had no hope of +being permitted to come. + +"Certainly," responded she with friendly promptness. +She opened the shopping bag swinging on her +arm. "Here is one of my cards." + +"When? This evening?" + +Her laugh showed the beautiful deep pink and daz- +zling white behind her lips. "No--I'm going to a +party." + +"Let me take you." + +She shook her head. "You wouldn't like it. Only +young people." + +"But I'm not so old." + +She looked at him critically. "No--you're not. +It always puzzled me. You aren't old--you look like +a boy lots of the time. But you always SEEM old to +me." + +"I'll try to do better. To-night?" + +"Not to-night," laughed she. "Let's see--to- +morrow's Sunday. Come to-morrow--about half past +two." + +"Thank you," he said so gratefully that he cursed +himself for his folly as he heard his voice--the idiotic +folly of so plainly betraying his feelings. No wonder +she despised him! Beginning again--and beginning; +wrong. + +"Good-by." Her eyes, her smile flashed and he +was alone, watching her slender grace glide through +the throngs of lower Broadway. + +At his office again at three, he found a note from +Tetlow inclosing another of Dorothy's cards and also +the promised check. Into his face came the look that +always comes into the faces of the prisoners of despair +when the bolts slide back and the heavy door swings +and hope stands on the threshold instead of the famil- +iar grim figure of the jailer. "This looks like the +turn of the road," he muttered. Yes, a turn it certainly +was--but was it THE turn? "I'll know more as to +that," said he with a glance at the clock, "about this +time to-morrow." + + +It was a boarding house on the west side. And +when the slovenly, smelly maid said, "Go right up to +her room," he knew it was--probably respectable, but +not rigidly respectable. However, working girls must +receive, and they cannot afford parlors and chaperons. +Still-- It was no place for a lovely young girl, full +of charm and of love of life--and not brought up in +the class where the women are trained from babyhood +to protect themselves. + +He ascended two flights, knocked at the door to the +rear. "Come!" called a voice, and he entered. It +was a small neat room, arranged comfortably and with +some taste. He recognized at first glance many little +things from her room in the Jersey City house--things +he had provided for her. On the chimney piece was a +large photograph of her father--Norman's eyes hastily +shifted from that. The bed was folded away into +a couch--for space and for respectability. At first +he did not see her. But when he advanced a step +farther, she was disclosed in the doorway of a deep closet +that contained a stationary washstand. + +He had never seen her when she was not fully +dressed. He was now seeing her in a kind of wrapper +--of pale blue, clean but not fresh. It was open at the +throat; its sleeves fell away from her arms. And, to +cap the climax of his agitation, her hair, her wonderful +hair, was flowing loosely about her face and shoulders. + +"What's the matter with you?" she cried laughingly. +Her eyes sparkled and danced; the waves of her +hair, each hair standing out as if it were alive, sparkled +and danced. It was a smile never to be forgotten. +"Why are you so embarrassed?" + +He was embarrassed. He was thrilled. He was +enraged--enraged because, if she would thus receive +him whom she did not like, she would certainly thus +receive any man. + +"I don't mind you," she went on, mockingly. "I'd +have to be careful if it was one of the boys." + +"Do you receive the--boys--here?" demanded he +glumly, his voice arrogant with the possessive rights a +man feels when he cares for a woman, whether she cares +for him or not. + +"Why not?" scoffed she. "Where else would I +see them? I don't make street corner dates, thank you. +You're as bad as fat, foolish Mr. Tetlow." + +"I beg your pardon," said he humbly. + +She straightway relented, saying: "Of course I'd +not let one of the boys come up when I was dressed like +this. But I didn't mind YOU." He winced at this +amiable, unconscious reminder of her always exasperating +and tantalizing and humiliating indifference to him-- +"And as I'm going to a grand dance to-night I simply +had to wash my hair. Does that satisfy you, Mr. +Primmey?" + +He hid the torment of his reopened wound and seated +himself at the center table. She returned to a chair +in the window where the full force of the afternoon sun +would concentrate upon her hair. And he gazed spell +bound. He had always known that her hair was fine. +He had never dreamed it was like this. It was thick, +it was fine and soft. In color, as the sunbeams streamed +upon it, it was all the shades of gold and all the other +beautiful shades between brown and red. It fell about +her face, about her neck, about her shoulders in a +gorgeous veil. And her pure white skin-- It was an even +more wonderful white below the line of her collar-- +where he had never seen it before. Such exquisitely +modeled ears--such a delicate nose--and the curve of +her cheeks--and the glory of her eyes! He clinched +his teeth and his hands, sat dumb with his gaze down. + +"How do you like my room?" she chattered on. +"It's not so bad--really quite comfortable--though +I'm afraid I'll be cold when the weather changes. But +it's the best I can do. As it is, I don't see how I'm +going to make ends meet. I pay twelve of my fifteen +for this room and two meals. The rest goes for lunch +and car fare. As soon as I have to get clothes--" She +broke off, laughing. + +"Well," he said, "what then?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," replied she carelessly. +"Perhaps old Mr. Branscombe'll give me a raise. Still, +eighteen or twenty is the most I could hope for--and +that wouldn't mean enough for clothes." + +She shook her head vigorously and her hair stood +out yet more vividly and the sunbeams seemed to go +mad with joy as they danced over and under and +through it. He had ventured to glance up; again he +hastily looked down. + +"You spoiled me," she went on. "Those few +months over there in Jersey City. It made SUCH a +change in me, though I didn't realize it at the time. +You see, I hadn't known since I was a tiny little girl +what it was to live really decently, and so I was able +to get along quite contentedly. I didn't know any +better." She made a wry face. "How I loathe the +canned and cold storage stuff I have to eat nowadays. +And how I do miss the beautiful room I had in that big +house over there! and how I miss Molly and Pat--and +the garden--and doing as I pleased--and the clothes I +had: I thought I was being careful and not spoiling +myself. You may not believe it, but I was really +conscientious about spending money." She laughed in a +queer, absent way. "I had such a funny idea of what +I had a right to do and what I hadn't. And I didn't +spend so very much on out-and-out luxury. But-- +enough to spoil me for this life." + +As Norman listened, as he noted--in her appearance, +manner, way of talking--the many meaning signs +of the girl hesitating at the fork of the roads--he felt +within him the twinges of fear, of jealousy--and +through fear and jealousy, the twinges of conscience. +She was telling the truth. He had undermined her ability +to live in purity the life to which her earning power +assigned her. . . . WHY had she been so friendly to +him? Why had she received him in this informal, almost +if not quite inviting fashion? + +"So you think I've changed?" she was saying. +"Well--I have. Gracious, what a little fool I was!" + +His eyes lifted with an agonized question in them. + +She flushed, glanced away, glanced at him again +with the old, sweet expression of childlike innocence +which had so often made him wonder whether it was +merely a mannerism, or was a trick, or was indeed a +beam from a pure soul. "I'm foolish still--in certain +ways," she said significantly. + +"And you always intend to be?" suggested he with +a forced smile. + +"Oh--yes," replied she--positively enough, yet it +somehow had not the full force of her simple short +statements in the former days. + +He believed her. Perhaps because he wished to +believe, must believe, would have been driven quite mad +by disbelief. Still, he believed. As yet she was good. +But it would not last much longer. With him--or +with some other. If with him, then certainly afterward +with another--with others. No matter how jealously +he might guard her, she would go that road, if once she +entered it. If he would have her for his very own he +must strengthen her, not weaken her, must keep her +"foolish still--in certain ways." + +He said: "There's nothing in the other sort of life." + +"That's what they say," replied she, with ominous +irritation. "Still--some girls--LOTS of girls seem to +get on mighty well without being so terribly particular." + +"You ought to see them after a few years." + +"I'm only twenty-one," laughed she. "I've got +lots of time before I'm old. . . . You haven't--married?" + +"No," said he. + +"I thought I'd have heard, if you had." She +laughed queerly--again shook out her hair, and it +shimmered round her face and over her head and out +from her shoulders like flames. "You've got a kind of +a--Mr. Tetlow way of talking. It doesn't remind me +of you as you were in Jersey City." + +She said nothing, she suggested nothing that had +the least impropriety in it, or faintest hint of +impropriety. It was nothing positive, nothing aggressive, +but a certain vague negative something that gave him +the impression of innocence still innocent but looking +or trying to look tolerantly where it should not. And +he felt dizzy and sick, stricken with shame and remorse +and jealous fear. Yes--she was sliding slowly, +gently, unconsciously down to the depth in which he +had been lying, sick and shuddering--no, to deeper +depths--to the depths where there is no light, no trace +of a return path. And he had started her down. He +had done it when he, in his pride and selfishness, had +ignored what the success of his project would mean +for her. But he knew now; in bitterness and shame and +degradation he had learned. "I was infamous!" he +said to himself. + +She began to talk in a low, embarrassed voice: + +"Sometimes I think of getting married. There's a +young man--a young lawyer--he makes twenty-five +a week, but it'll be years and years before he has a +good living. A man doesn't get on fast in New York +unless he has pull." + +Norman, roused from his remorse, blazed inside. +"You are in love with him?" + +She laughed, and he could not tell whether it was +to tease him or to evade. + +"You'd not care about him long," said Norman, +"unless there were more money coming in than he'd +be likely to get soon. Love without money doesn't go +--at least, not in New York." + +"Do you suppose I don't know that?" said she +with the irritation of one faced by a hateful fact. +"Still--I don't see what to do." + +Norman, biting his lip and fuming and observing +her with jealous eyes, said in the best voice he could +command, "How long have you been in love with him?" + +"Did I say I was in love?" mocked she. + +"You didn't say you weren't. Who is he?" + +"If you'll stay on about half an hour or so, you'll +see him. No--you can't. I've got to get dressed before +I let him up. He has very strict ideas--where I'm concerned." + +"Then why did you let ME come up?" Norman said, +with a penetrating glance. + +She lowered her gaze and a faint flush stole into her +cheeks. Was it confession of the purpose he suspected? +Or, was it merely embarrassment? + +"I heard of a case once," continued Norman, his +gaze significantly direct, "the case of a girl who was +in love with a poor young fellow. She wanted money +--luxury. Also, she wanted the poor young fellow." + +The color flamed into the girl's face, then left it pale. +Her white fingers fluttered with nervous grace into her +masses of hair and back to her lap again, to rest there +in timid quiet. + +"She knew another man," pursued Norman, "one +who was able to give her what she wanted in the way of +comfort. So, she decided to make an arrangement with +the man, and keep it hidden from her lover--and in that +way get along pleasantly until her lover was in better +circumstances ." + +Her gaze was upon her hands, listless in her lap. He +felt that he had spoken her unspoken, probably +unformed thoughts. Yes, unformed. Men and women, +especially women, habitually pursued these unacknowledged +and--even unformed purposes, in their conflicts of +the desire to get what they wanted and their desire to +appear well to themselves. + +"What would you think of an arrangement like +that?" asked he, determined to draw her secret heart +into the open where he could see, where she could see. + +She lifted frank, guileless eyes to his. "I suppose +the girl was trying to do the best she could." + +"What do you think of a girl who'd do that?" + +"I don't judge anybody--any more. I've found out +that this world isn't at all as I thought--as I was +taught." + +"Would YOU do it?" + +She smiled faintly. "No," she replied uncertainly. +Then she restored his wavering belief in her essential +honesty and truthfulness by adding: "That is to say, I +don't think I would." + +She busied herself with her hair, feeling it to see +whether it was not yet dry, spreading it out. He looked +at her unseeingly. At last she said: "You must go. +I've got to get dressed." + +"Yes--I must be going," said he absently, rising +and reaching for his hat on the center table. + +She stood up, put out her hand. "I'm glad you +came." + +"Thank you," said he, still in the same abstraction. +He shook hands with her, moved hesitatingly toward the +door. With his hand on the knob he turned and glanced +keenly at her. He surprised in her face a look of mystery-- +of seriousness, of sadness--was there anxiety in it, +also? And then he saw a certain elusive reminder of her +father--and it brought to him with curious force the +memory of how she had been brought up, of what must +be hers by inheritance and by training--she, the daughter +of a great and simple and noble man-- + +"You'll come again?" she said, and there was the +note in her voice that made his nerves grow tense and +vibrate. + +But he seemed not to have heard her question. Still +at the unopened door, he folded his arms upon his chest +and said, speaking rapidly yet with the deliberation of +one who has thought out his words in advance: + +"I don't know what kind of girl you are. I never +have known. I've never wanted to know. If you told +me you were--what is called good, I'd doubt it. If you +told me you weren't, I'd want to kill you and myself. +They say there's a fatal woman for every man and a +fatal man for every woman. I always laughed at the +idea--until you. I don't know what to make of myself." + +She suddenly laid her finger on her lips. It irritated +him, to discover that, as he talked, speaking the things +that came from the very depths of his soul, she had been +giving him only part of her attention, had been listening +for a step on the stairs. He was hearing the ascending +step now. He frowned. "Can't you send him away?" +he asked. + +"I must," said she in a low tone. "It wouldn't do +for him to know you were here. He has strict ideas-- +and is terribly jealous." + +A few seconds of silence, then a knock on the other +side of the door. + +"Who's there?" she called. + +"I'm a little early," came in an agreeable, young +man's voice. "Aren't you ready?" + +"Not nearly," replied she, in a laughing, innocent +voice. "You'll have to go away for half an hour." + +"I'll wait out here on the steps." + +Her eyes were sparkling. A delicate color had +mounted to her skin. Norman, watching her jealously, +clinched his strong jaws. She said: "No--you must +go clear away. I don't want to feel that I'm being +hurried. Don't come back until a quarter past four." + +"All right. I'm crazy to see you." This in the +voice of a lover. She smiled radiantly at Norman, as if +she thought he would share in her happiness at these +evidences of her being well loved. The unseen young +man said: "Exactly a quarter past. What time does +your clock say it is now?" + +"A quarter to," replied she. + +"That's what my watch says. So there'll be no +mistake. For half an hour--good-by!" + +"Half an hour!" she called. + +She and Norman stood in silence until the footsteps +died away. Then she said crossly to Norman: "You +ought to have gone before. I don't like to do these +things." + +"You do them well," said he, with a savage gleam. + +She was prompt and sure with his punishment. She +said, simply and sweetly: "I'd do anything to keep HIS +good opinion of me." + +Norman felt and looked cowed. "You don't know +how it makes me suffer to see you fond of another man," +he cried. + +She seemed not in the least interested, went to the +mirror of the bureau and began to inspect her hair with +a view to doing it up. "You can go in five minutes," +said she. "By that time he'll be well out of the way. +Anyhow, if he saw you leaving the house he'd not know +but what you had been to see some one else. He knows +you by reputation but not by sight." + +Norman went to her, took her by the shoulders gently +but strongly. "Look at me," he said. + +She looked at him with an expression, or perhaps +absence of expression, that was simple listening. + +"If you meant awhile ago some such thing as I +hinted--I will have nothing to do with it. You must +marry me--or it's nothing at all." + +Her gaze did not wander, but before his wondering +eyes she seemed to fade, fade toward colorlessness insig- +nificance. The light died from her eyes, the flush of +health from her white skin, the freshness from her lips, +the sparkle and vitality from her hair. A slow, gradual +transformation, which he watched with a frightened +tightening at the heart. + +She said slowly: "You--want--me--to--MARRY-- +you?" + +"I've always wanted it, though I didn't realize," +replied he. "How else could I be sure of you? Besides--" +He flushed, added hurriedly, almost in an undertone-- +"I owe it to you." + +She seated herself deliberately. + +After he had waited in vain for her to speak, he +went on: "If you married me, I know you'd play square. +I could trust you absolutely. I don't know--can't find +out much about you--but at least I know that." + +"But I don't love you," said she. + +"You needn't remind me of it," rejoined he curtly. + +"I don't think so--so poorly of you as I used to," +she went on. "I understand a lot of things better +than I did. But I don't love you, and I feel that I +never could." + +"I'll risk that," said Norman. Through his +clinched teeth, "I've got to risk it." + +"I'd be marrying you because I don't feel able to +--to make my own way." + +"That's the reason most girls have for marrying," +said he. "Love comes afterward--if it comes. And +it's the more likely to come for the girl not having +faked the man and herself beforehand." + +She glanced at the clock. He frowned. She started +up. "You MUST go," she said. + +"What is your answer?" + +"Oh, I couldn't decide so quickly. I must think." + +"You mean you must see your young man again +--see whether there isn't some way of working it out +with him." + +"That, too," replied she simply. "But--it's nearly +four o'clock----" + +"I'll come back at seven for my answer." + +"No, I'll write you to-night." + +"I must know at once. This suspense has got to +end. It unfits me for everything." + +"I'll--I'll decide--to-night," she said, with a queer +catch in her voice. "You'll get the letter in the morning +mail." + +"Very well." And he gave her his club address. + +She opened the door in her impatience to be rid of +him. He went with a hasty "Good-by" which she +echoed as she closed the door. + +When he left the house he saw standing on the curb +before it a tall, good-looking young man--with a frank +amiable face. He hesitated, glowering at the young +man's profile. Then he went his way, suffocating with +jealous anger, depressed, despondent, fit for nothing +but to drink and to brood in fatuous futility. + + + +XVI + + +UNTIL very recently indeed psychology was not an +ology at all but an indefinite something or other "up +in the air," the sport of the winds and fogs of +transcendental tommy rot. Now, however, science has drawn +it down, has fitted it in its proper place as a branch of +physiology. And we are beginning to have a clearer +understanding of the thoughts and the thought-producing +actions of ourselves and our fellow beings. Soon +it will be no longer possible for the historian and the +novelist, the dramatist, the poet, the painter or sculptor +to present in all seriousness as instances of sane human +conduct, the aberrations resulting from various forms +of disease ranging from indigestion in its mild, temper- +breeding forms to acute homicidal or suicidal mania. +In that day of greater enlightenment a large body of +now much esteemed art will become ridiculous. Practically +all the literature of strenuous passion will go by +the board or will be relegated to the medical library +where it belongs; and it, and the annals of violence +found in the daily newspapers of our remote time will +be cited as documentary proof of the low economic and +hygienic conditions prevailing in that almost barbarous +period. For certain it is that the human animal when +healthy and well fed is invariably peaceable and kindly +and tolerant--up to the limits of selfishness, and even +encroaching upon those limits. + +Of writing rubbish about love and passion there is +no end--and will be no end until the venerable traditional +nonsense about those interesting emotions shares +the fate that should overtake all the cobwebs of ignorance +thickly clogging the windows and walls of the +human mind. Of all the fiddle-faddle concerning passion +probably none is more shudderingly admired than the +notion that one possessed of an overwhelming desire for +another longs to destroy that other. It is true there +is a form of murderous mania that involves practically +all the emotions, including of course the passions--which +are as readily subject to derangement as any other part +of the human organism. But passion in itself--even +when it is so powerful that it dominates the whole life, +as in the case of Frederick Norman--passion in itself +is not a form of mental derangement in the medical +sense. And it does not produce acute selfishness, +paranoiac egotism, but a generous and beautiful kind of +unselfishness. Not from the first moment of Fred Norman's +possession did he wish to injure or in any way +to make unhappy the girl he loved. He longed to be +happy with her, to have her happy with and through +him. He represented his plotting to himself as a plan +to make her happier than she ever had been; as for +ultimate consequences, he refused to consider them. +The most hardened rake, when passion possesses him, +wishes all happiness to the woman of his pursuit. +Indifference, coldness--the natural hard-heartedness of +the normal man--returns only when the inspiration and +elevation of passion disappear in satiety. The man or +the woman who continues to inspire passion continues +to inspire tenderness and considerateness. + +So when Norman left Dorothy that Sunday afternoon, +he, being a normal if sore beset human being, was +soon in the throes of an agonized remorse. There may +have been some hypocrisy in it, some struggling to cover +up the baser elements in his infatuation for her. What +human emotion of upward tendency has not at least a +little of the varnish of hypocrisy on certain less presentable +spots in it? But in the main it was a creditable, +a manly remorse, and not altogether the writhings of +jealousy and jealous fear of losing her. + +He saw clearly that she was telling the truth, and +telling it too gently, when she said he was responsible +for her having standards of living which she could not +unaided hope to attain. It is a dreadful thing to interfere +in the destiny of a fellow being. We do it all the +time; we do it lightly. Nevertheless, it is a dreadful +thing--not one that ought not to be done, but one that +ought to be done only under imperative compulsion, +and then with every precaution. He had interfered in +Dorothy Hallowell's destiny. He had lifted her out of +the dim obscure niche where she was ensconced in +comparative contentment. He had lifted her up where she +had seen and felt the pleasures of a life of luxury. + +"But for me," he said to himself, "she would now +be marrying this poor young lawyer, or some chap of +the same sort, and would be looking forward to a life +of happiness in a little flat or suburban cottage." + +If she should refuse his offer--what then? Clearly +he ought to do his best to help her to happiness with +the other man. He smiled cynically at the moral height +to which his logic thus pointed the way. Nevertheless, +he did not turn away but surveyed it--and there formed +in his mind an impulse to make an effort to attempt +that height, if Fate should rule against him with her. +"If I were a really decent man," thought he, "I'd +sit down now and write her that I would not marry +her but would give her young man a friendly hand in +the law if she wished to marry him." But he knew that +such utter generosity was far beyond him. "Only a +hero could do it," said he; he added with what a +sentimentalist might have called a return of his normal +cynicism, "only a hero who really in the bottom of +his heart didn't especially want the girl." And a +candid person of experience might possibly admit that +there was more truth than cynicism in his look askance +at the grand army of martyrs of renunciation, most +of whom have simply given up something they didn't +really want. + +"If she accepts me, I'll make it impossible for her +not to be happy," he said to himself, in all the fine +unselfishness of passion--not divine unselfishness but +human--not the kind we read about and pretend to have +--and get a savage attack of bruised vanity if we are +accused of not having it--no, but just the kind we +have and show in our daily lives--the unselfishness of +longing to make happy those whom it would make us +happier to see happy. "She may think she cares for +this young clerk--" so ran his thoughts--"but she +doesn't know her own mind. When she is mine, I'll take +her in hand as a gardener does a delicate rare flower +--and, by Heaven, how I shall make her blossom and +bloom!" + +It would hardly be possible for a human being to +pass a stormier night than was that night of his. +Alternations between hope and despair--fantastic +pictures of future with and without her, wild pleadings +with her--those delirious transports to which our +imaginations give way if we happen to be blessed and cursed +with imaginations--in the security of the darkness and +aloneness of night and bed. And through it all he was +tormented body and soul by her loveliness--her hair, +her skin, her eyes, the shy, slender graces of her form-- +He tossed about until his bed was so wildly disheveled +that he had to rise and remake it. + +When day came and the first mail, there was her +letter on the salver of the boy entering the room. +He reached for it with eager, trembling arm, drew back. +"Put it on the table," he said. + +The boy left. He was alone. Leaning upon his +elbow in the bed he stared at the letter with hollow, +terrified eyes. It contained his destiny. If she accepted, +he would go up, for his soul sickness would be cured. +If she refused, he would cease to struggle. He rose, +took from a locked drawer a bottle of rye whisky. He +poured a tall glass--the kind called a bar glass--half +full, drank it straight down without a pause or a quiver. +The shock brought him up standing. He looked and +acted like his former self as he went to the table, took +the letter, opened it, and read: + + +"I am willing to marry you, if you really want me. +I am so tired of struggling, and I don't see anything but +dark ahead.--D. H." + + +Norman struggled over to the bed, threw himself +down, flat upon his back, arms and legs extended wide +and whole body relaxed. He felt the blood whirl up +into his brain like the great red and black tongues of +flame and smoke in a conflagration, and then he slept +soundly until nearly one o'clock. + +To an outsider there would have been a world of +homely commonplace pathos in that little letter of the +girl's if read aright, that is to say, if read with what +was between the lines supplied. It is impossible to live +in cities any length of time and with any sort of eyes +without learning the bitter unromantic truths about +poverty--city poverty. In quiet, desolate places one +may be poor, very poor, without much conscious +suffering. There are no teasing contrasts, no torturing +temptations. But in a city, if one knows anything at +all of the possibilities of civilized life, of the joys and +comforts of good food, clothing, and shelter, of theater +and concert and excursion, of entertaining and being +entertained, poverty becomes a hell. In the country, +in the quiet towns, the innocent people wonder at the +greediness of the more comfortable kinds of city people, +at their love of money, their incessant dwelling upon +it, their reverence for those who have it, their panic- +like flight from those who have it not. They wonder +how folk, apparently human, can be so inhuman. Let +them be careful how they judge. If you discover any +human being anywhere acting as you think a human +being should not, investigate all the circumstances, look +thoroughly into all the causes of his or her conduct, +before you condemn him or her as inhuman, unworthy of +your kinship and your sympathy. + +In her brief letter the girl showed that, young though +she was and not widely experienced in life, she yet had +seen the horrors of city poverty, how it poisons and +kills all the fine emotions. She had seen many a loving +young couple start out confidently, with a few hundred +dollars of debt for furniture--had seen the love fade +and wither, shrivel, die--had seen appear peevishness +and hatred and unfaithfulness and all the huge, foul +weeds that choke the flowers of married life. She knew +what her lover's salary would buy--and what it would +not buy--for two. She could imagine their fate if +there should be three or more. She showed frankly her +selfishness of renunciation. But there could be read +between the lines--concealed instead of vaunted--perhaps +unsuspected--her unselfishness of renunciation for +the sake of her lover and for the sake of the child or +the children that might be. In our love of moral sham +and glitter, we overlook the real beauties of human +morality; we even are so dim or vulgar sighted that we +do not see them when they are shown to us. + +As Norman awakened, he reached for the telephone, +said to the boy in charge of the club exchange: "Look +in the book, find the number of a lawyer named Branscombe, +and connect me with his office." After some +confusion and delay he got the right office, but Dorothy +was out at lunch. He left a message that she was to +call him up at the club as soon as she came in. He was +shaving when the bell rang. + +He was at the receiver in a bound. "Is it you?" +he said. + +"Yes," came in her quiet, small voice. + +"Will you resign down there to-day? Will you +marry me this afternoon?" + +A brief silence, then--"Yes." + +Thus it came about that they met at the City Hall +license bureau, got their license, and half an hour later +were married at the house of a minister in East Thirty- +third Street, within a block of the Subway station. He +was feverish, gay, looked years younger than his thirty- +seven. She was quiet, dim, passive, neither grave nor +gay, but going through her part without hesitation, +with much the same patient, plodding expression she +habitually bore as she sat working at her machine--as +if she did not quite understand, but was doing her best +and hoped to get through not so badly. + +"I've had nothing to eat," said he as they came out +of the parsonage. + +"Nor I," said she. + +"We'll go to Delmonico's," said he, and hailed a +passing taxi. + +On the way, he sitting in one corner explained to her, +shrunk into the other corner: "I can confess now that +I married you under false pretenses. I am not prosperous, +as I used to be. To be brief and plain, I'm down +and out, professionally." + +She did not move. Apparently she did not change +expression. Yet he, speaking half banteringly, felt +some frightful catastrophe within her. "You are-- +poor?" she said in her usual quiet way. + +"WE are poor," corrected he. "I have at present +only a thousand dollars a month--a little more, but not +enough to talk about." + +She did not move or change expression. Yet he felt +that her heart, her blood were going on again. + +"Are you--angry?" he asked. + +"A thousand dollars a month seems an awful lot of +money to me," she said. + +"It's nothing--nothing to what we'll soon have. +Trust me." And back into his eyes flashed their former +look. "I've been sick. I'm well again. I shall get +what I want. If you want anything, you've only to +ask for it. I'll get it. I know how. . . . I don't prey, +myself--I've no fancy for the brutal sports. But I +teach lions how to prey, and I make them pay for the +lessons." He laughed with an effervescing of young +vitality and self-confidence that made him look handsome +and powerful. "In the future they'll have to pay still +higher prices." + +She was looking at him with weary, wondering, +pathetic eyes that gazed from the pallor of her dead- +white face mysteriously. + +"What are you thinking?" he asked. + +"I was listening," replied she. + +"Doesn't it make you happy--what you are going +to have?" + +"No," replied she. "But it makes me content." + +With eyes suddenly suffused, he took her hand--so +gently. "Dorothy," he said, "you will try to love +me?" + +"I'll try," said she. "You'll be kind to me?" + +"I couldn't be anything else," he cried. And in a +gust of passion he caught her to his breast and kissed +her triumphantly. "I love you--and you're mine--mine!" + +She released herself with the faint insistent push +that seemed weak, but always accomplished its purpose. +Her lip was trembling. "You said you'd be kind," she +murmured. + +He gazed at her with a baffled expression. "Oh--I +understand," he said. "And I shall be kind. But I +must teach you to love me." + +Her trembling lip steadied. "You must be careful +or you may teach me to hate you," said she. + +He studied her in a puzzled way, laughed. "What +a mystery you are!" he cried with raillery. "Are you +child or are you woman? No matter. We shall be +happy." + +The taxicab was swinging to the curb. In the +restaurant he ordered an enormous meal. And he ate +enormously, and drank in due proportion. She ate and +drank a good deal herself--a good deal for her. And +the results were soon apparent in a return of the spirits +that are normal to twenty-one years, regardless of what +may be lurking in the heart, in a dark corner, to come +forth and torment when there is nothing to distract the +attention. + +"We shall have to live quietly for a while," said he. +"Of course you must have clothes-at once. I'll take +you shopping to-morrow." He laughed grimly. +"Just at present we can get only what we pay cash for. +Still, you won't need much. Later on I'll take you over +to Paris. Does that attract you?" + +Her eyes shone. "How soon?" she asked. + +"I can tell you in a week or ten days." He became +abstracted for a moment. "I can't understand how I +let them get me down so easily--that is, I can't understand +it now. I suppose it's just the difference between +being weak with illness and strong with health." His +eyes concentrated on her. "Is it really you?" he cried +gaily. "And are you really mine? No wonder I feel +strong! It was always that way with me. I never +could leave a thing until I had conquered it." + +She gave him a sweet smile. "I'm not worth all the +trouble you seem to have taken about me," said she. + +He laughed; for he knew the intense vanity so +pleasantly hidden beneath her shy and modest exterior. +"On the contrary," said he good-humoredly, "you in +your heart think yourself worth any amount of trouble. +It's a habit we men have got you women into. And +you-- One of the many things that fascinate me in +you is your supreme self-control. If the king were to +come down from his throne and fall at your feet, you'd +take it as a matter of course." + +She gazed away dreamily. And he understood that +her indifference to matters of rank and wealth and +power was not wholly vanity but was, in part at least, +due to a feeling that love was the only essential. Nor +did he wonder how she was reconciling this belief of high +and pure sentiment with what she was doing in marrying +him. He knew that human beings are not consistent, +cannot be so in a universe that compels them to +face directly opposite conditions often in the same +moment. But just as all lines are parallel in infinity, so +all actions are profoundly consistent when referred to +the infinitely broad standard of the necessity that every +living thing shall look primarily to its own well being. +Disobedience to this fundamental carries with it +inevitable punishment of disintegration and death; and +those catastrophes are serious matters when one has but +the single chance at life, that will be repeated never +again in all the eternities. + +After their late lunch or early dinner, they drove to +her lodgings. He went up with her and helped her to +pack--not a long process, as she had few belongings. +He noted that the stockings and underclothes she took +from the bureau drawers were in anything but good +condition, that the half dozen dresses she took from the +closet and folded on the couch were about done for. +Presently she said, cheerfully and with no trace of false +shame: + +"You see, I'm pretty nearly in rags." + +"Oh, that's soon arranged," replied he. "Why +bother to take these things? Why not give them to +the maid?" + +She debated with herself. "I think you're right," +she decided. "Yes, I'll give them to Jennie." + +"The underclothes, too," he urged. "And the +hats." + +It ended in her having left barely enough loosely to +fill the bottom of a small trunk with two trays. + +They drove to the Knickerbocker Hotel, and he took +a small suite, one of the smallest and least luxurious in +the house, for with all his desire to make her feel the +contrast of her change of circumstances sharply, he +could not forget how limited his income was, and how +unwise it would be to have to move in a few days to +humbler quarters. He hoped that the rooms, +englamoured by the hotel's general air of costly luxury, +would sufficiently impress her. And while she gave no +strong indication but accepted everything in her wonted +quiet, passive manner, he was shrewd enough to see that +she was content. "To-morrow," he said to himself, +"after she has done some shopping, the last regret will +leave her, and her memory of that clerk will begin to +fade fast. I'll give her too much else to think about." + + +The following morning, when they faced each other +at breakfast in their sitting room, he glanced at her +from time to time in wonder and terror. She looked not +merely insignificant, but positively homely. Her skin +had a sickly pallor; her hair seemed to be of many +different and disagreeable shades of uninteresting dead +yellow. Her eyes suggested faded blue china dishes, +with colorless lashes and reddened edges of the lids. +Her lips had lost their rosy freshness, her teeth their +sparkling whiteness. + +His heavy heart seemed to be resting nauseously +upon the pit of his stomach. Was his infatuation sheer +delusion, with no basis of charm in her at all? Was +she, indeed, nothing but this unattractive, faded little +commonplaceness?--a poor specimen of an inferior +order of working girl? What an awakening! And she +was his WIFE!--was his companion for the yet more +brilliant career he had resolved and was planning! He +must introduce her everywhere, must see the not to be +concealed amazement in the faces of his acquaintances, +must feel the cruel covert laughter and jeering at his +weak folly! Was there ever in history or romance a +parallel to such fatuity as his? Why, people would be +right in thinking him a sham, a mere bluffer at the high +and strong qualities he was reputed to have. + +Had Norman been, in fact, the man of ice and iron +the compulsions of a career under the social system made +him seem, the homely girl opposite him that morning +would speedily have had something to think about other +than her unhappiness of the woman who has given her +person to one man and her heart to another. Instead, +the few words he addressed to her were all gentleness and +forbearance. Stronger than his chagrin was his pity +for her--the poor, unconscious victim of his mad hallu- +cination. If she thought about the matter at all, she +assumed that he was still the slave of her charms--for, +the florid enthusiasm of man's passion inevitably deludes +the woman into fancying it objective instead of wholly +subjective; and, only the rare very wise woman, after +much experience, learns to be suspicious of the validity +of her own charms and to concentrate upon keeping up +the man's delusions. + +At last he rose and kissed her on the brow and let +his hand rest gently on her shoulder--what a difference +between those caresses and the caresses that had made +her beg him to be "kind" to her! Said he: + +"Do you mind if I leave you alone for a while? I +ought to go to the club and have the rest of my things +packed and sent. I'll not be gone long--about an +hour." + +"Very well," said she lifelessly. + +"I'll telephone my office that I'll not be down +to-day." + +With an effort she said, "There's no reason for +doing that. I don't want to interfere with your business." + +"I'm neglecting nothing. And that shopping must +be done." + +She made no reply, but went to the window, and +from the height looked down and out upon the mighty +spread of the city. He observed her a moment with a +dazed pitying expression, took his hat and departed. + +It was nearly two hours before he got together suffi- +cient courage to return. He had been hoping--had +been saying to himself with vigorous effort at confidence +--that he had simply seen one more of the many +transformations, each of which seemed to present her as a +wholly different personality. When he should see her +again, she would have wiped out the personality that +had shocked and saddened him, would appear as some +new variety of enchantress, perhaps even more potent +over his senses than ever before. But a glance as he +entered demolished that hope. She was no different +than when he left. Evidently she had been crying, and +spasms of that sort always accentuate every unloveliness. +He did not try to nerve himself to kiss her, but +said: + +"It'll not take you long to get ready?" + +She moved to rise from her languid rest upon the +sofa. She sank back. "Perhaps we'd better not go +to-day," suggested she. + +"Don't you feel well?" he asked, and his tone was +more sympathetic than it would have been had his sympathy +been genuine. + +"Not very," replied she, with a faint deprecating +smile. "And not very--not very----" + +"Not very what?" he said, in a tone of encouragement. + +"Not very happy," she confessed. "I'm afraid +I've made a--a dreadful mistake." + +He looked at her in silence. She could have said +nothing that would have caused a livelier response within +himself. His cynicism noted the fact that while he had +mercifully concealed his discontent, she was thinking +only of herself. But he did not blame her. It was +only the familiar habit of the sex, bred of man's +assiduous cultivation of its egotism. He said: "Oh, you'll +feel differently about it later. Let's get some fresh air +and see what the shops have to offer." + +A pause, then she, timidly: "Would you mind very +much if I--if I didn't--go on?" + +"You mean, if you left me?" + +She nodded without looking at him. He could not +understand himself, but as he sat observing her, so +young, so inexperienced and so undesirable, a pity of +which he would not have dreamed his nature capable +welled up in him, choking his throat with sobs he could +scarcely restrain and filling his eyes with tears he had +secretly to wipe away. And he felt himself seized of a +sense of responsibility for her as strong in its solemn, +still way as any of the paroxysms of his passion had +been. + +He said: "My dear--you mustn't decide anything +so important to you in a hurry." + +A tremor passed over her, and he thought she was +going to dissolve in hysterics. But she exhibited once +more that marvelous and mysterious self-control, whose +secret had interested and baffled him. She said in her +dim, quiet way: + +"It seems to me I just can't stay on." + +"You can always go, you know. Why not try it a +few days?" + +He could feel the trend of her thoughts, and in the +way things often amuse us without in the least moving +us to wish to laugh, he was amused by noting that she +was trying to bring herself to stay on, out of consideration +for HIS feelings! He said with a kind of paternal +tenderness: + +"Whenever you want to go, I am willing to arrange +things for you--so that you needn't worry about money. +But I feel that, as I am older than you, I ought to do all +I can to keep you from making a mistake you might +soon regret." + +She studied him dubiously. He saw that she-- +naturally enough--did not believe in his disinterestedness, +that she hadn't a suspicion of his change, or, +rather collapse, of feeling. She said: + +"If you ask it, I'll stay a while. But you must +promise to--to be kind to me." + +There was only gentleness in his smile. But what a +depth of satirical self-mockery and amusement at her +innocent young egotism it concealed! "You'll never +have reason to speak of that again, my dear," said he. + +"I--can--trust you?" she said. + +"Absolutely," replied he. "I'll have another room +opened into this suite. Would you like that?" + +"If you--if you don't mind." + +He stood up with sudden boyish buoyance. "Now +--let's go shopping. Let's amuse ourselves." + +She rose with alacrity. She eyed him uncertainly, +then flung her arms round his neck and kissed him. + +"You are SO good to me!" she cried. "And I'm not a +bit nice." + +He did not try to detain her, but sent her to finish +dressing, with an encouraging pat on the shoulder and a +cheerful, "Don't worry about yourself--or me." + + + + +XVII + + +ABOUT half an hour later the door into the bedroom +opened and she appeared on the threshold of the sitting +room, ready for the street. He stared at her in the +dazed amazement of a man faced by the impossible, and +uncertain whether it is sight or reason that is tricking +him. She had gone into the bedroom not only homely +but commonplace, not only commonplace but common, +a dingy washed-out blonde girl whom it would be a +humiliation to present as his wife. She was standing there, +in the majesty of such proud pale beauty as poets +delight to ascribe to a sorrowful princess. Her wonderful +skin was clear and translucent, giving her an ethereal +look. Her hair reminded him again of what marvels he +had seen in the sunlight of Sunday afternoon. And +looking at her form and the small head so gracefully +capping it, he could think only of the simile that had +always come to him in his moments of ecstasy--the lily +on its tall stem. + +And once more, like a torrent, the old infatuation +sprang from its dried sources and came rushing and +overwhelming through vein and nerve. "Am I mad +now?--was I mad a few moments ago?--is it she or is +it my own disordered senses?" + +She was drawing on her gloves, was unconscious of +his confusion. He controlled himself and said: "You +have a most disconcerting way of changing your appearance." + +She glanced down at her costume. "No, it's the +same dress. I've only the one, you know." + +He longed to take her in his arms, but could not +trust himself. And this wonder-girl, his very own, was +talking of leaving him! And he--not an hour before-- +he, apparently in his right senses had been tolerating +such preposterous talk! Give her up? Never! He +must see to it that the subject did not find excuse for +intruding again. "I have frightened her--have +disgusted her. I must restrain myself. I must be patient +--and teach her slowly--and win her gradually." + +They spent an interesting and even exciting afternoon, +driving from shop to shop and selecting the first +beginnings of her wardrobe. He had only about three +hundred dollars. Some of the things they ordered were +ready for delivery, and so had to be paid for at once. +When they returned to the hotel he had but fifty dollars +left--and had contracted debts that made it necessary +for him to raise at least a thousand dollars within a week. +He saw that his freedom with sums of money which +terrified her filled her with awe and admiration--and that +he was already more successful than he had expected to +be, in increasing her hesitation about leaving him. +Among the things they had bought were a simple black +chiffon dress and a big plumed black hat to match. +These needed no alterations and were delivered soon +after they returned. Some silk stockings came also and +a pair of slippers bought for the dinner toilet. + +"You can dress to-night," said he, "and I'll take +you to Sherry's, and to the theater afterwards." + +She was delighted. At last she was going to look +like the women of whom she had been dreaming these +last few months. She set about dressing herself, he +waiting in the sitting room in a state of acute nervousness. +What would be the effect of such a toilet? Would +she look like a lady--or like--what she had suggested +that morning? She was so changeable, had such a wide +range of variability that he dared not hope. When she +finally appeared, he was ready to fall down and worship. +He was about to take her where his world would see her, +where every inch of her would be subjected to the cruelest, +most hostile criticism. One glance at her, and he +knew a triumph awaited him. No man and no woman +would wonder that he had lost his head over such beauty +as hers. Hat and dress seemed just what had been +needed to bring out the full glory of her charms. + +"You are incredibly beautiful," he said in an awed +tone. "I am proud of you." + +A little color came into her cheeks. She looked at +herself in the mirror with her quiet intense secret, yet +not covert vanity. He laughed in boyish pleasure. +"This is only the small beginning," said he. "Wait a +few months." + +At dinner and in a box at the theater afterwards, he +had the most exquisite pleasure of his life. She had been +seen by many of his former friends, and he was certain +they knew who she was. He felt that he would have no +difficulty in putting her in the place his wife should +occupy. A woman with such beauty as hers was a sensation, +one fashionable society would not deny itself. +She had good manners, an admirable manner. With a +little coaching she would be as much at home in grandeur +as were those who had always had it. + +The last fear of losing her left him. On the way +back to the hotel he, in a delirium of pride and passion, +crushed her in his arms and caressed her with the frenzy +that had always terrified her. She resisted only faintly, +was almost passive. "She is mine!" he said to himself, +exultantly. "She is really mine!" + + +When he awoke in the morning she was still asleep-- +looked like a tired lovely child. Several times, while he +was dressing, he went in to feast his eyes upon her +beauty. How could he possibly have thought her +homely, in whatever moment of less beauty or charm +she might have had? The crowning charm of infinite +variety! She had a delightfully sweet disposition. He +was not sure how much or how little intelligence she +had--probably more than most women. But what did +that matter? It would be impossible ever to grow weary +or to be anything but infatuated lover when she had +such changeful beauty. + +He kissed her lightly on her thick braids, as he was +about to go. He left a note explaining that he did not +wish to disturb her and that it was necessary for him +to be at the office earlier. And that morning in all +New York no man left his home for the day's struggle +for dollars with a freer or happier heart, or readier to +play the game boldly, skillfully, with success. + +Certainly he needed all his courage and all his skill. + +To most of the people who live in New York and +elsewhere throughout the country--or the world, for +that matter--an income of a thousand dollars a month +seems extremely comfortable, to say the least of it. The +average American family of five has to scrape along +on about half that sum a year. But among the +comfortable classes in New York--and perhaps in one or +two other cities--a thousand dollars a month is literally +genteel poverty. To people accustomed to what is +called luxury nowadays--people with the habit of the +private carriage, the private automobile, and several +servants--to such people a thousand dollars a month is +an absurd little sum. It would not pay for the food +alone. It would not buy for a man and his wife, with +no children, clothing enough to enable them to make a +decent appearance. + +Norman, living alone and living very quietly indeed, +might have got along for a while on that sum, if he had +taken much thought about expenditures, had persisted +in such severe economies as using street cars instead of +taxicabs and drinking whisky at dinner instead of his +customary quart of six-dollar champagne. Norman, +the married man, could not escape disaster for a single +month on an income so pitiful. + +Probably on the morning on which he set out for +downtown in search of money enough to enable him to +live decently, not less than ten thousand men on +Manhattan Island left comfortable or luxurious homes faced +with precisely the same problem. And each and every +one of them knew that on that day or some day soon +they must find the money demanded imperiously by their +own and their families' tastes and necessities or be ruined +--flung out, trampled upon, derided as failures, hated +by the "loved ones" they had caused to be humiliated. +And every man of that legion had a fine, an unusually +fine brain--resourceful, incessant, teeming with schemes +for wresting from those who had dollars the dollars they +dared not go home without. And those ten thousand +quickest and most energetic brains, by their mode of +thought and action, determined the thought and action +of the entire country--gave the mercenary and unscrupulous +cast to the whole social system. Themselves the +victims of conditions, they were the bellwethers to +millions of victims compelled to follow their leadership. + +Norman, by the roundabout mode of communication +he and Tetlow had established, summoned his friend and +backer to his office. "Tetlow," he began straight off, +"I've got to have more money." + +"How much?" said Tetlow. + +"More than you can afford to advance me." + +"How much?" repeated Tetlow. + +"Three thousand a month right away--at the +least." + +"That's a big sum," said Tetlow. + +"Yes, for a man used to dealing in small figures. +But in reality it's a moderate income." + +"Few large families spend more." + +"Few large or small families in my part of New +York pinch along on so little." + +"What has happened to you?" said Tetlow, dropping +into a chair and folding his fat hands on his +stomach. + +"Why?" asked Norman. + +"It's in your voice--in your face--in your cool +demand for a big income." + +"Let's start right, old man," said Norman. "Don't +CALL thirty-six thousand a year big or you'll THINK it big. +And if you think it big, you will stay little." + +Tetlow nodded. "I'm ready to grow," said he. +"Now what's happened to you?" + +"I've got married," replied Norman. + +"I thought so. To Miss--Hallowell?" + +"To Miss Hallowell. So my way's clear, and I'm +going to resume the march." + +"Yes?" + +"I've two plans. Either will serve. The first is +yours--the one you partly revealed to me the other +day." + +"Partly?" said Tetlow. + +"Partly," repeated Norman, laughing. "I know +you, Billy, and that means I know you're absolutely +incapable of plotting as big a scheme as you suggested +to me. It came either from Galloway or from some one +of his clique." + +"I said all I'm at liberty to say, Fred." + +"I don't wish you to break your promise. All I +want to know is, can I get the three thousand a month +and assurance of its lasting and leading to something +bigger?" + +"What is your other scheme?" said Tetlow, and it +was plain to the shrewder young lawyer that the less +shrewd young lawyer wished to gain time. + +"Simple and sure," replied Norman. "We will buy +ten shares of Universal Fuel Company through a dummy +and bring suit to dissolve it. I looked into the matter +for Burroughs once when he was after the Fosdick- +Langdon group. Universal Fuel wouldn't dare defend +the action I could bring. We could get what we pleased +for our ten shares to let up on the suit. The moment +their lawyers saw the papers I'd draw, they'd advise it." + +Tetlow shook his large, impressively molded head. +"Shady," said he. "Shady." + +Norman smiled with good-natured patience. "You +sound like Burroughs or Galloway when they are +denouncing a man for trying to get rich by the same +methods they pursued. My dear Bill, don't be one of +those lawyers who will do the queer work for a client +but not for themselves. There's no sense, no morality, +no intelligent hypocrisy even, in that. We didn't create +the commercial morality of the present day. For God's +sake, let's not be of the poor fools who practice it but +get none of its benefits." + +Tetlow shifted uneasily. "I don't like to hear that +sort of thing," said he, apologetic and nervous. + +"Is it true?" + +"Yes. But--damn it, I don't like to hear it." + +"That is to say, you're willing to pay the price of +remaining small and obscure just for the pleasure of +indulging in a wretched hypocrisy of a self-deception. +Bill, come out of the small class. Whether you go in +with me or not, come out of the class of understrappers. +What's the difference between the big men and their +little followers? Why, the big men SEE. They don't +deceive themselves with the cant they pour out for the +benefit of the ignorant mob." + +Tetlow was listening like a pupil to a teacher. That +was always his attitude toward Norman. + +"The big men," continued Norman, "know that +canting is necessary--that one must always profess +high and disinterested motives, and so on, and so on. +But they don't let their hypocritical talk influence their +actions. How is it with the little fellows? Why, they +believe the flapdoodle the leaders talk. They go into +the enterprise, do all the small dirty work, lie and cheat +and steal, and hand over the proceeds to the big fellows, +for the sake of a pat on the back and a noisy `Honest +fellow! Here are a few crumbs for you.' And crumbs +are all that a weak, silly, hypocritical fool deserves. +Can you deny it?" + +"No doubt you're right, Fred," conceded Tetlow. +"But I'm afraid I haven't the nerve." + +"Come in behind me. I've got nerve for two-- +NOW!" + +At that triumphant "now" Tetlow looked curiously +at his friend. "Yes, IT has changed you--changed you +back to what you were. I don't understand." + +"It isn't necessary that you understand," rejoined +Norman." + +"Do you think you could really carry through that +scheme you've just outlined?" + +"I see it fascinates you." + +"I've no objection to rising to the class of big +men," said Tetlow. "But aren't you letting your +confidence in yourself deceive you?" + +"Did I ever let it deceive me?" + +"No," confessed Tetlow. "I've often watched you, +and thought you'd fall through it, or stumble at least. +But you never did." + +"And shall I tell you why? Because I use my self- +confidence and my hopefulness and all my optimistic +qualities only to create an atmosphere of success. But +when it comes to planning a move of any kind, when +I assemble my lieutenants round the council board in +my brain, I never permit a single cheerful one to speak, +or even to enter. It's a serious, gloomy circle of faces, +Bill." + +Tetlow nodded reminiscently. "Yes, you always +were like that, Fred." + +"And the one who does the most talking at my +council is the gloomiest of all. He's Lieutenant Flaw- +picker. He can't see any hope for anything. He sees +all the possibilities of failure. He sees all the chances +against success. And what's the result? Why, when +the council rises it has taken out of the plan every +chance of mishap that my intelligence could foresee +and it has provided not one but several safe lines of +orderly retreat in case success proves impossible." + +Tetlow gazed at Norman in worshipful admiration. +"What a brain! What a mind!" he ejaculated. +"And to think that YOU could be upset by a WOMAN!" + +Norman leaned back in his chair smiling broadly. +"Not by a woman," he corrected. "By a girl--an +inexperienced girl of twenty." + +"It seems incredible." + +"A grain of dust, dropped into a watch movement +in just the right place--you know what happens." + +Tetlow nodded. Then, with a sharp, anxious look, +"But it's all over?" + +Norman hesitated. "I believe so," he said. + +Tetlow rose and rubbed his thighs. He had been +sitting long in the same position, and he was now stout +enough to suffer from fat man's cramp. "Well," said +he, "we needn't bother about that Universal Fuel +scheme at present. I can guarantee you the three +thousand dollars, and the other things." + +Norman shook his head. "Not enough," he said. + +"You want more money?" + +"No. But I will not work, or rather, wait, in the +dark. Tell your principals that I must be let in." + +Tetlow hesitated, walking about the office. Finally +he said, "Look here, Fred--you think I deceived you +the other day--posed as your friend when in reality +I was simply acting as agent for people who wanted +you." + +Norman gave Tetlow a look that made him redden +with pleasure. "No, I don't, old man," said he. "I +know you recommended me--and that they were shy of +me because of the way I've been acting--and that you +stood sponsor for me. Isn't that right?" + +"Something like that," admitted Tetlow. "But +they were eager to get you. It was only a question of +trusting you. I was able to do you a good turn there." + +"And I'll make a rich man, and a famous one, of +you," said Norman. + +"Yes. I believe you will," cried Tetlow, tears in +his prominent studious eyes. "I'll see those people in +a day or two, and let you know. Do you need money +right away? Of course you do." And down he sat and +drew a check for fifteen hundred dollars. + +Norman laughed as he glanced to see if it was +correctly drawn. "I'd not have dared return to my bride +with empty pockets. That's what it means to live in +New York." + +Tetlow grinned. "A sentimental town, isn't it? +Especially the women." + +"Oh, I don't blame them," said Norman. "They +need the money, and the only way they've got of making +it is out of sentiment. And you must admit they +give a bully good quality, if the payment is all right." + +Tetlow shrugged his shoulders. "I'm glad I don't +need them," said he. "It gives me the creeps to see +them gliding about with their beautiful dresses and +their sweet, soft faces." + +He and Norman lunched together in an out-of-the +way restaurant. After a busy and a happy afternoon, +Norman returned early to the hotel. He had cashed +his check. He was in funds. He would give her +another and more thrilling taste of the joy that was to +be hers through him--and soon she would be giving +even as she got--for he would teach her not to fear +love, not to shrink from it, but to rejoice in it and to +let it permeate and complete all her charms. + +He ascended to the apartment and knocked. There +was no answer. He searched in vain for a chamber- +maid to let him in. He descended to the office. "Oh, +Mr. Norman," said one of the clerks. "Your wife left +this note for you." + +Norman took it. "She went out?" + +"About three o'clock--with a young gentleman +who called on her. They came back a while ago and +she left the note." + +"Thank you," said Norman. He took his key, +went up to the apartment. Not until he had closed and +locked the door did he open the note. He read: + + +"Last night you broke your promise. So I am +going away. Don't look for me. It won't be any use. +When I decide what to do I'll send you word." + + +He was standing at the table. He tossed the note +on the marble, threw open the bedroom door. The +black chiffon dress, the big plumed hat, and all the +other articles they had bought were spread upon the +bed, arranged with the obvious intention that he should +see at a glance she had taken nothing away with her. + +"Hell!" he said aloud. "Why didn't I let her go +yesterday morning?" + + + +XVIII + + +A FEW days later, Tetlow, having business with Norman, +tried to reach him by telephone. After several +failures he went to the hotel, and in the bar learned +enough to enable him to guess that Norman was of on +a mad carouse. He had no difficulty in finding the trail +or in following it; the difficulty lay in catching up, for +Norman was going fast. Not until late at night--that +is, early in the morning--of the sixth day from the +beginning of his search did he get his man. + +He was prepared to find a wreck, haggard, wildly +nervous and disreputably disheveled; for, so far as he +could ascertain Norman had not been to bed, but had +gone on and on from one crowd of revelers to another, +in a city where it is easy to find companions in dissipation +at any hour of the twenty-four. Tetlow was even +calculating upon having to put off their business many +weeks while the crazy man was pulling through delirium +tremens or some other form of brain fever. + +An astonishing sight met his eyes in the Third +Avenue oyster house before which the touring car Norman +had been using was drawn up. At a long table, +eating oysters as fast as the opener could work, sat +Norman and his friend Gaskill, a fellow member of the +Federal Club, and about a score of broken and battered +tramps. The supper or breakfast was going forward +in admirable order. Gaskill, whom Norman had +picked up a few hours before, showed signs of having +done some drinking. But not Norman. It is true his +clothing might have looked fresher; but hardly the +man himself. + +"Just in time!" he cried out genially, at sight of +Tetlow. "Sit down with us. Waiter, a chair next to +mine. Gentlemen, Mr. Tetlow. Mr. Tetlow, gentlemen. +What'll you have, old man?" + +Tetlow declined champagne, accepted half a dozen +of the huge oysters. "I've been after you for nearly +a week," said he to Norman. + +"Pity you weren't WITH me," said Norman. "I've +been getting acquainted with large numbers of my fellow +citizens." + +"From the Bowery to Yonkers." + +"Exactly. Don't fall asleep, Gaskill." + +But Gaskill was snoring with his head on the back +of his chair and his throat presented as if for the as +of the executioner. "He's all in," said Tetlow. + +"That's the way it goes," complained Norman. +"I can't find anyone to keep me company." + +Tetlow laughed. "You look as if you had just +started out," said he. "Tell me--WHERE have you +slept?" + +"I haven't had time to sleep as yet." + +"I dropped in to suggest that a little sleep wouldn't +do any harm." + +"Not quite yet. Watch our friends eat. It gives +me an appetite. Waiter, another dozen all round--and +some more of this carbonated white wine you've labeled +champagne." + +As he called out this order, a grunt of satisfaction +ran round the row of human derelicts. Tetlow shuddered, +yet was moved and thrilled, too, as he glanced +from face to face--those hideous hairy countenances, +begrimed and beslimed, each countenance expressing +in its own repulsive way the one emotion of gratified +longing for food and drink. "Where did you get +'em?" inquired he. + +"From the benches in Madison Square," replied +Norman. He laughed queerly. "Recognize yourself +in any of those mugs, Tetlow?" he asked. + +Tetlow shivered. "I should say not!" he exclaimed. + +Norman's eyes gleamed. "I see myself in all of +'em," said he. + +"Poor wretches!" muttered Tetlow. + +"Pity wasted," he rejoined. "You might feel +sorry for a man on the way to where they've got. But +once arrived--as well pity a dead man sleeping quietly +in his box with three feet of solid earth between him and +worries of every kind." + +"Shake this crowd," said Tetlow impatiently. "I +want to talk with you." + +"All right, if it bores you." He sent the waiter +out for enough lodging-house tickets to provide for all. +He distributed them himself, to make sure that the +proprietor of the restaurant did not attempt to graft. +Then he roused Gaskill and bundled him into the car +and sent it away to his address. The tramps +gathered round and gave Norman three cheers--they +pressed close while four of them tried to pick his and +Tetlow's pockets. Norman knocked them away good- +naturedly, and he and Tetlow climbed into Tetlow's +hansom. + +"To my place," suggested Tetlow. + +"No, to mine--the Knickerbocker," replied Norman. + +"I'd rather you went to my place first," said +Tetlow uneasily. + +"My wife isn't with me. She has left me," said +Norman calmly. + +Tetlow hesitated, extremely nervous, finally +acquiesced. They drove a while in silence, then Norman +said, "What's the business?" + +"Galloway wants to see you." + +"Tell him to come to my office to-morrow--that +means to-day--at any time after eleven." + +"But that gives you no chance to pull yourself +together," objected Tetlow. + +Norman's face, seen in the light of the street lamp +they happened to be passing, showed ironic amusement. +"Never mind about me, Billy. Tell him to come." + +Tetlow cleared his throat nervously. "Don't you +think, old man, that you'd better go to see him? I'll +arrange the appointment." + +Norman said quietly: "Tetlow, I've dropped pretty +far. But not so far that I go to my clients. The rule +of calls is that the man seeking the favor goes to the +man who can grant it." + +"But it isn't the custom nowadays for a lawyer to +deal that way with a man like Galloway." + +"And neither is it the custom for anyone to have +any self-respect. Does Galloway need my brains more +than I need his money, or do I need his money more +than he needs my brains? You know what the answer +to that is, Billy. We are partners--you and I. I'm +training you for the position." + +"Galloway won't come," said Tetlow curtly. + +"So much the worse for him," retorted Norman +placidly. "No--I've not been drinking too much, old +man--as your worried--old-maid look suggests. Do a +little thinking. If Galloway doesn't get me, whom +will he get?" + +"You know very well, Norman, there are scores of +lawyers, good ones, who'd crawl at his feet for his +business. Nowadays, most lawyers are always looking +round for a pair of rich man's boots to lick." + +"But I am not `most lawyers,' " said Norman. +"Of course, if Galloway could make me come to him, +he'd be a fool to come to me. But when he finds I'm +not coming, why, he'll behave himself--if his business +is important enough for me to bother with." + +"But if he doesn't come, Fred?" + +"Then--my Universal Fuel scheme, or some other +equally good. But you will never see me limbering my +knees in the anteroom of a rich man, when he needs +me and I don't need him." + +"Well, we'll see," said Tetlow, with the air of a +sober man patient with one who is not sober. + +"By the way," continued Norman, "if Galloway +says he's too ill to come--or anything of that sort-- +tell him I'd not care to undertake the affairs of a man +too old or too feeble to attend to business, as he might +die in the midst of it." + +Tetlow's face was such a wondrous exhibit of +discomfiture that Norman laughed outright. Evidently +he had forestalled his fat friend in a scheme to get him +to Galloway in spite of himself. "All right--all right," +said Tetlow fretfully. "We'll sleep on this. But I +don't see why you're so opposed to going to see the +man. It looks like snobbishness to me--false pride-- +silly false pride." + +"It IS snobbishness," said Norman. "But you +forget that snobbishness rules the world. The way to +rule fools is to make them respect you. And the way +to make them respect you is by showing them that +they are your inferiors. I want Galloway's respect +because I want his money. And I'll not get his money-- +as much of it as belongs to me--except by showing +him my value. Not my value as a lawyer, for he +knows that already, but my value as a man. Do you +see?" + +"No, I don't," snapped Tetlow. + +"That's what it means to be Tetlow. Now, I do +see--and that's why I'm Norman." + +Tetlow looked at him doubtfully, uncertain whether +he had been listening to wisdom put in a jocose form +of audacious egotism or to the effervescings of intoxication. +The hint of a smile lurking in the sobriety of +the powerful features of his extraordinary friend only +increased his doubt. Was Norman mocking him, and +himself as well? If so, was it the mockery of sober +sense or of drunkenness? + +"You seem to be puzzled, Billy," said Norman, and +Tetlow wondered how he had seen. "Don't get your +brains in a stew trying to understand me. I'm acting +the way I've always acted--except in one matter. You +know that I know what I'm about?" + +"I certainly do," replied his admirer. + +"Then, let it go at that. If you could understand +me--the sort of man I am, the sort of thing I do-- +you'd not need me, but would be the whole show yourself +--eh? That being true, don't show yourself a com- +monplace nobody by deriding and denying what your +brain is unable to comprehend. Show yourself a +somebody by seeing the limitations of your ability. The +world is full of little people who criticise and judge and +laugh at and misunderstand the few real intelligences. +And very tedious interruptions of the scenery those little +people are. Don't be one of them. . . . Did you know +my wife's father?" + +Tetlow startled. "No--that is, yes," he stammered. +"That is, I met him a few times." + +"Often enough to find out that he was crazy?" + +"Oh, yes. He explained some of his ideas to me. +Yes--he was quite mad, poor fellow." + +Norman gave way to a fit of silent laughter. "I +can imagine," he presently said, "what you'd have +thought if Columbus or Alexander or Napoleon or +Stevenson or even the chaps who doped out the telephone +and the telegraph--if they had talked to you +before they arrived. Or even after they arrived, if they +had been explaining some still newer and bigger idea +not yet accomplished." + +"You don't think Mr. Hallowell was mad?" + +"He was mad, assuming that you are the standard +of sanity. Otherwise, he was a great man. There'll +be statues erected and pages of the book of fame devoted +to the men who carry out his ideas." + +"His death was certainly a great loss to his daughter," +said Tetlow in his heaviest, most bourgeois manner. + +"I said he was a great man," observed Norman. +"I didn't say he was a great father. A great man is +never a great father. It takes a small man to be a +great father." + +"At any rate, her having no parents or relatives +doesn't matter, now that she has you," said Tetlow, his +manner at once forced and constrained. + +"Um," muttered Norman. + +Said Tetlow: "Perhaps you misunderstood why I-- +I acted as I did about her, toward the last." + +"It was of no importance," said Norman brusquely. +"I wish to hear nothing about it." + +"But I must explain, Fred. She piqued me by +showing so plainly that she despised me. I must admit +the truth, though I've got as much vanity as the next +man, and don't like to admit it. She despised me, and +it made me mad." + +An expression of grim satire passed over Norman's +face. Said he: "She despised me, too." + +"Yes, she did," said Tetlow. "And both of us +were certainly greatly her superiors--in every +substantial way. It seemed to me most--most----" + +"Most impertinent of her?" suggested Norman. + +"Precisely. MOST impertinent." + +"Rather say, ignorant and small. My dear Tetlow, +let me tell you something. Anybody, however +insignificant, can be loved. To be loved means nothing, +except possibly a hallucination in the brain of the lover. +But to LOVE--that's another matter. Only a great soul +is capable of a great love." + +"That is true," murmured Tetlow sentimentally, +preening in a quiet, gentle way. + +Said Norman sententiously: "YOU stopped loving. +It was _I_ that kept on." + +Tetlow looked uncomfortable. "Yes--yes," he said. +"But we were talking of her--of her not appreciating +the love she got. And I was about to say--" +Earnestly-- "Fred, she's not to be blamed for her folly! +She's very, very young--and has all the weaknesses and +vanities of youth----" + +"Here we are," interrupted Norman. + +The hansom had stopped in Forty-second Street +before the deserted but still brilliantly lighted entrances +to the great hotel. Norman sprang out so lightly and +surely that Tetlow wondered how it was possible for +this to be the man who had been racketing and roistering +day after day, night after night for nearly a week. +He helped the heavy and awkward Tetlow to descend, +said: + +"You'll have to pay, Bill. I've got less than a +dollar left. And I touched Gaskill for a hundred and +fifty to-night. You can imagine how drunk he was, to +let me have it. How they've been shying off from +ME these last few months!" + +"And you want GALLOWAY to come to YOU," thrust +Tetlow, as he counted out the money. + +"Don't go back and chew on that," laughed +Norman. "It's settled." He took the money, gave it to +the driver. "Thanks," he said to Tetlow. "I'll pay +you to-morrow--that is, later to-day--when you send +me another check." + +"Why should you pay for my cab?" rejoined +Tetlow. + +"Because it's easier for me to make money than it +is for you," replied Norman. "If you were in my +position--the position I've been in for months--would +anybody on earth give you three thousand dollars a +month?" + +Tetlow looked sour. His good nature was rubbing +thin in spots. + +"Don't lose your temper," laughed Norman. +"I'm pounding away at you about my superiority, +partly because I've been drinking, but chiefly for your +own good--so that you'll realize I'm right and not mess +things with Galloway." + +They went up to Norman's suite. Norman tried to +unlock the door, found it already unlocked. He turned +the knob, threw the door wide for Tetlow to enter first. +Then, over Tetlow's shoulder he saw on the marble- +topped center table Dorothy's hat and jacket, the one +she had worn away, the only one she had. He stared +at them, then at Tetlow. A confused look in the fat, +slow face made him say sharply: + +"What does this mean, Tetlow?" + +"Not so loud, Fred," said Tetlow, closing the door +into the public hall. "She's in the bedroom--probably +asleep. She's been here since yesterday." + +"You brought her back?" demanded Norman. + +"She wanted to come. I simply----" + +Norman made a silencing gesture. Tetlow's faltering +voice stopped short. Norman stood near the table, +his hands deep in his trousers' pockets, his gaze fixed +upon the hat and jacket. When Tetlow's agitation +could bear the uncertainties of that silence no longer, +he went on: + +"Fred, you mustn't forget how young and inexperienced +she is. She's been foolish, but nothing more. +She's as pure as when she came into the world. And +it's the truth that she wanted to come back. I saw it +as soon as I began to talk with her." + +"What are you chattering about?" said Norman +fiercely. "Why did you meddle in my affairs? Why +did you bring her back?" + +"I knew she needed you," pleaded Tetlow. "Then, +too--I was afraid-- I knew how you acted before, +and I thought you'd not get your gait again until you +had her." + +Norman gave a short sardonic laugh. "If you'd +only stop trying to understand me!" he said. + +Tetlow was utterly confused. "But, Fred, you +don't realize--not all," he cried imploringly. "She +discovered--she thinks, I believe--that is--she--she +--that probably--that in a few months you'll be +something more than a husband--and she something more +than a wife--that you--that--you and she will be a +father and a mother." + +Tetlow's meaning slowly dawned on Norman. He +seated himself in his favorite attitude, legs sprawled, +fingers interlaced behind his head. + +"Wasn't I right to bring her back--to tell her she +needn't fear to come?" pleaded Tetlow. + +Norman made no reply. After a brief silence he +said: "Well, good night, old man. Come round to +my office any time after ten." He rose and gave +Tetlow his hand. "And arrange for Galloway whenever +you like. Good night." + +Tetlow hesitated. "Fred--you'll not be harsh to +her?" he said. + +Norman smiled--a satirical smile, yet exquisitely +gentle. "If you ONLY wouldn't try to understand me, +Bill," he said. + +When he was alone he sat lost in thought. At last +he rang for a bell boy. And when the boy came, he +said: "That door there"--indicating one in the opposite +wall of the sitting room--"what does it lead +into?" + +"Another bedroom, sir." + +"Unlock it, and tell them at the office I wish that +room added to my suite." + +As soon as the additional bedroom was at his dis- +posal, he went in and began to undress. When he had +taken off coat and waistcoat he paused to telephone +to the office a call for eight o'clock. As he finished and +hung up the receiver, a sound from the direction of the +sitting room made him glance in there. On the threshold +of the other bedroom stood his wife. She was in +her nightgown; her hair, done in a single thick braid, +hung down across her bosom. There was in the room +and upon her childish loveliness the strange commingling +of lights and shadows that falls when the electricity +is still on and the early morning light is pushing +in at the windows. They looked at each other in +silence for some time. If she was frightened or in the +least embarrassed she did not show it. She simply +looked at him, while ever so slowly a smile dawned-- +a gleam in the eyes, a flutter round the lips, growing +merrier and merrier. He did not smile. He continued +to regard her gravely. + +"I heard you and Mr. Tetlow come in," she said. +"Then--you talked so long--I fell asleep again. I +only this minute awakened." + +"Well, now you can go to sleep again," said he. + +"But I'm not a bit sleepy. What are you doing in +that room ?" + +She advanced toward his door. He stood aside. +She peeped in. She was so close to him that her nightgown +brushed the bosom of his shirt. "Another +bedroom!" she exclaimed. "Just like ours." + +"I didn't wish to disturb you," said he, calm and +grave. + +"But you wouldn't have been disturbing me," +protested she, leaning against the door frame, less than +two feet away and directly facing him. + +"I'll stay on here," said he. + +She gazed at him with great puzzled eyes. "Aren't +you glad I'm back?" she asked. + +"Certainly," said he with a polite smile. "But I +must get some sleep." And he moved away. + +"You must let me tell you how I happened to go +and why I came----" + +"Please," he interrupted, looking at her with a +piercing though not in the least unfriendly expression +that made her grow suddenly pale and thoughtful. "I +do not wish to hear about it--not now--not ever. Tetlow +told me all that it's necessary for me to know. +You have come to stay, I assume?" + +"Yes--if"--her lip quivered--"if you'll let me." + +"There can be no question of that," said he with +the same polite gravity he had maintained throughout. + +"You want me to leave you alone?" + +"Please. I need sleep badly--and I've only three +hours." + +"You are--angry with me?" + +He looked placidly into her lovely, swimming eyes. +"Not in the least." + +"But how can you help being? I acted dreadfully." + +He smiled gently. "But you are back--and the +incident is closed." + +She looked down at the carpet, her fingers playing +with her braid, twisting and untwisting its strands. He +stood waiting to close the door. She said, without +lifting her eyes--said in a quiet, expressionless way, "I +have killed your love?" + +"I'll not trouble you any more," evaded he. And +he laid his hand significantly upon the knob. + +"I don't understand," she murmured. Then, with +a quick apologetic glance at him, "But I'm very +inconsiderate. You want to sleep. Good night." + +"Good night," said he, beginning to close the door. + +She impulsively stood close before him, lifted her +small white face, as if for a kiss. "Do you forgive +me?" she asked. "I was foolish. I didn't understand +--till I went back. Then--nothing was the same. And +I knew I wasn't fitted for that life--and didn't really +care for him--and----" + +He kissed her on the brow. "Don't agitate yourself," +said he. "And we will never speak of this again." + +She shrank as if he had struck her. Her head +drooped, and her shoulders. When she was clear of +the door, he quietly closed it. + + + +XIX + + +IT was not many minutes after ten when Tetlow +hurried into Norman's office. "Galloway's coming at +eleven!" said he, with an air of triumph. + +"So you mulled over what I said and decided that +I was not altogether drunk?" + +"I wasn't sure of that," replied Tetlow. "But I +was afraid you'd be offended if I didn't try to get him. +He gave me no trouble at all. As soon as I told him +you'd be glad to see him at your office, he astounded me +by saying he'd come." + +"He and I have had dealings," said Norman. +"He understood at once. I always know my way when +I'm dealing with a big man. It's only the little people +that are muddled and complex. I hope you'll not forget +this lesson, Billy." + +"I shan't," promised Tetlow. + +"We are to be partners," pursued Norman. "We +shall be intimately associated for years. You'll save +me a vast amount of time and energy and yourself a +vast amount of fuming and fretting, if you'll simply +accept what I say, without discussion. When I want +discussion I'll ask your advice." + +"I'm afraid you don't think it's worth much," said +Tetlow humbly, "and I guess it isn't." + +"On the contrary, invaluable," declared Norman +with flattering emphasis. "Where you lack and I excel +is in decision and action. I'll often get you to tell me +what ought to be done, and then I'll make you do it-- +which you'd never dare, by yourself." + +At eleven sharp Galloway came, looking as nearly +like a dangerous old eagle as a human being well could. +Rapacious, merciless, tyrannical; a famous philanthropist. +Stingy to pettiness; a giver away of millions. +Rigidly honest, yet absolutely unscrupulous; faithful to +the last letter of his given word, yet so treacherous where +his sly mind could nose out a way to evade the spirit of +his agreements that his name was a synonym for unfaithfulness. +An assiduous and groveling snob, yet so militantly +democratic that, unless his interest compelled, +he would not employ any member of the "best families" +in any important capacity. He seemed a bundle of +contradictions. In fact he was profoundly consistent. +That is to say, he steadily pursued in every thought +and act the gratification of his two passions--wealth +and power. He lost no seen opportunity, however +shameful, to add to his fortune or to amuse himself +with the human race, which he regarded with the +unpitying contempt characteristic of every cold nature +born or risen to success. + +His theory of life--and it is the theory that explains +most great financial successes, however they may pretend +or believe--his theory of life was that he did not +need friends because the friends of a strong man weaken +and rob him, but that he did need enemies because he +could grow rich and powerful destroying and despoiling +them. To him friends suggested the birds living in a +tree. They might make the tree more romantic to the +unthinking observer; but they in fact ate its budding +leaves and its fruit and rotted its bough joints with +their filthy nests. + +We Americans are probably nearest to children of +any race in civilization. The peculiar conditions of +life--their almost Arcadian simplicity--up to a generation +or so ago, gave us a false training in the study of +human nature. We believe what the good preacher, the +novelist and the poet, all as ignorant of life as nursery +books, tell us about the human heart. We fancy that +in a social system modeled upon the cruel and immoral +system of Nature, success is to the good and kind. Life +is like the pious story in the Sunday-school library; +evil is the exception and to practice the simple virtues +is to tread with sure step the highway to riches and +fame. This sort of ignorance is taught, is proclaimed, +is apparently accepted throughout the world. Literature +and the drama, representing life as it is dreamed +by humanity, life as it perhaps may be some day, create +an impression which defies the plain daily and hourly +mockings of experience. Because weak and petty of- +fenders are often punished, the universe is pictured as +sternly enforcing the criminal codes enacted by priests +or lawyers. But, while all the world half inclines to this +agreeable mendacity about life, only in America of all +civilization is the mendacity accepted as gospel, and +suspicion about it frowned upon as the heresy of +cynicism. So the Galloways prosper and are in high moral +repute. Some day we shall learn that a social system +which is merely a slavish copy of Nature's barbarous +and wasteful sway of the survival of the toughest could +be and ought to be improved upon by the intelligence +of the human race. Some day we shall put Nature in +its proper place as kindergarten teacher, and drop it +from godship and erect enlightened human understanding +instead. But that is a long way off. Meanwhile the +Galloways will reign, and will assure us that they won +their success by the Decalogue and the Golden Rule-- +and will be believed by all who seek to assure for +themselves in advance almost certain failure at material +success in the arena of action. + +But they will not be believed by men of ambition, +pushing resolutely for power and wealth. So Frederick +Norman knew precisely what he was facing when Galloway's +tall gaunt figure and face of the bird of prey +appeared before him. Galloway had triumphed and was +triumphing not through obedience to the Sunday sermons +and the silly novels, poems, plays, and the nonsense +chattered by the obscure multitudes whom the +mighty few exploit, but through obedience to the +conditions imposed by our social system. If he raised +wages a little, it was in order that he might have +excuse for raising prices a great deal. If he gave away +millions, it was for his fame, and usually to quiet the +scandal over some particularly wicked wholesale robbery. +No, Galloway was not a witness to the might of altruistic +virtue as a means to triumph. Charity and all the +other forms of chicanery by which the many are +defrauded and fooled by the few--those "virtues" he +understood and practiced. But justice--humanity's +ages-long dream that at last seems to glitter as a hope +in the horizon of the future--justice--not legal justice, +nor moral justice, but human justice--that idea would +have seemed to him ridiculous, Utopian, something for +the women and the children and the socialists. + +Norman understood Galloway, and Galloway understood +Norman. Galloway, with an old man's garrulity +and a confirmed moral poseur's eagerness about appearances, +began to unfold his virtuous reasons for the +impending break with Burroughs--the industrial and +financial war out of which he expected to come doubly +rich and all but supreme. Midway he stopped. + +"You are not listening," said he sharply to the +young man. + +Their eyes met. Norman's eyes were twinkling. +"No," said he, "I am waiting." + +There was the suggestion of an answering gleam of +sardonic humor in Galloway's cold gray eyes. "Waiting +for what?" + +"For you to finish with me as father confessor, to +begin with me as lawyer. Pray don't hurry. My time +is yours." This with a fine air of utmost suavity and +respect. + +In fact, while Galloway was doddering on and on with +his fake moralities, Norman was thinking of his own +affairs, was wondering at his indifference about Dorothy. +The night before--the few hours before--when he had +dealt with her so calmly, he, even as he talked and +listened and acted, had assumed that the enormous amount +of liquor he had been consuming was in some way +responsible. He had said to himself, "When I am over +this, when I have had sleep and return to the normal, I +shall again be the foolish slave of all these months." +But here he was, sober, having taken only enough +whisky to prevent an abrupt let-down--here he was +viewing her in the same tranquil light. No longer all +his life; no longer even dominant; only a part of life-- +and he was by no means certain that she was an important part. + +How explain the mystery of the change? Because +she had voluntarily come back, did he feel that she was +no longer baffling but was definitely his? Or had passion +running madly on and on dropped--perhaps not +dead, but almost dead--from sheer exhaustion?--was +it weary of racing and content to saunter and to stroll? +. . . He could not account for the change. He only +knew that he who had been quite mad was now quite +sane. . . . Would he like to be rid of her? Did he +regret that they were tied together? No, curiously +enough. It was high time he got married; she would +do as well as another. She had beauty, youth, +amiability, physical charm for him. There was advantage +in the fact that her inferiority to him, her dependence +on him, would enable him to take as much or as little of +her as he might feel disposed, to treat her as the warrior +must ever treat his entire domestic establishment +from wife down to pet dog or cat or baby. . . . No, +he did not regret Josephine. He could see now disadvantages +greater than her advantages. All of value she +would have brought him he could get for himself, and +she would have been troublesome--exacting, disputing +his sway, demanding full value or more in return for +the love she was giving with such exalted notions of its +worth. + +"You are married?" Galloway suddenly said, +interrupting his own speech and Norman's thought. + +"Yes," said Norman. + +"Just married, I believe?" + +"Just." + +Young and old, high and low, successful and failed, +we are a race of advice-givers. As for Galloway, he +was not one to neglect that showy form of inexpensive +benevolence. "Have plenty of children," said he. + +"And keep your family in the country till they grow +up. Town's no place for women. They go crazy. +Women--and most men--have no initiative. They +think only about whatever's thrust at them. In the +country it'll be their children and domestic things. In +town it'll be getting and spending money." + +Norman was struck by this. "I think I'll take your +advice," said he. + +"A man's home ought to be a retreat, not an inn. +We are humoring the women too much. They are +forgetting who earns what they spend in exhibiting +themselves. If a woman wants that sort of thing, let her +get out and earn it. Why should she expect it from the +man who has undertaken her support because he wanted +a wife to take care of his house and a mother for his +children? If a woman doesn't like the job, all right. +But if she takes it and accepts its pay, why, she should +do its work." + +"Flawless logic," said Norman. + +"When I hire a man to work, he doesn't expect to +idle about showing other people how handsome he is in +the clothes my money pays for. Not that marriage is +altogether a business--not at all. But, my dear sir--" +And Galloway brought his cane down with the emphasis +of one speaking from a heart full of bitter experience-- +"unless it is a business at bottom, organized and +conducted on sound business principles, there's no +sentiment either. We are human beings--and that means +we are first of all BUSINESS beings, engaged in getting +food, clothing, shelter. No sentiment--NO sentiment, +sir, is worth while that isn't firmly grounded. It's a +house without a foundation. It's a steeple without a +church under it." + +Norman looked at the old man with calm penetrating +eyes. "I shall conduct my married life on a sound, +business basis, or not at all," said he. + +"We'll see," said Galloway. "That's what I said +forty years ago-- No, I didn't. I had no sense about +such matters then. In my youth the men knew nothing +about the woman question." He smiled grimly. "I +see signs that they are learning." + +Then as abruptly as he had left the affairs he was +there to discuss he returned to them. His mind seemed +to have freed itself of all irrelevancy and superfluity, as +a stream often runs from a faucet with much spluttering +and rather muddy at first, then steadies and clears. +Norman gave him the attention one can get only from +a good mind that is interested in the subject and +understands it thoroughly. Such attention not merely +receives the words and ideas as they fall from the mouth +of him who utters them, but also seems to draw them +by a sort of suction faster and in greater abundance. +It was this peculiar ability of giving attention, as much +as any other one quality, that gave Norman's clients +their confidence in him. Galloway, than whom no man +was shrewder judge of men, showed in his gratified eyes +and voice, long before he had finished, how strongly his +conviction of Norman's high ability was confirmed. + +When Galloway ended, Norman rapidly and in clear +and simple sentences summarized what Galloway had +said. "That is right?" he asked. + +"Precisely," said Galloway admiringly. "What a +gift of clear statement you have, young man!" + +"It has won me my place," said Norman. "As to +your campaign, I can tell you now that the legal part of +it can be arranged. That is what the law is for--to +enable a man to do whatever he wants. The penalties +are for those who have the stupidity to try to do things +in an unlawful way." + +Galloway laughed. "I had heard that they were +for doing unlawful things." + +"Nothing is unlawful," said Norman, "except in +method." + +"That's an interesting view of courts of justice." + +"But we have no courts of justice. We have only +courts of law." + +Galloway threw back his head and laughed till the +tears rolled down his cheeks. "What a gift for clear +statement!" he cried. + +Norman beamed appreciation of a compliment so +flattering. But he went back to business. "As I was +saying, you can do what you want to do. You wish +me to show you how. In our modern way of doing +things, the relation of lawyer and client has somewhat +changed. To illustrate by this case, you are the bear +with the taste for honey and the strength to rob the +bees. I am the honey bird--that is, the modern lawyer +--who can show you the way to the hive. Most of the +honey birds--as yet--are content with a very small +share of the honey--whatever the bear happens to be +unable to find room for. But I--" Norman's eyes +danced and his strong mouth curved in a charming smile +--"I am a honey bird with a bear appetite." + +Galloway was sitting up stiffly. "I don't quite +follow you, sir," he said. + +"Yet I am plain enough. My ability at clear +statement has not deserted me. If I show you the way +through the tangled forest of the law to this hive you +scent--I must be a partner in the honey." + +Galloway rose. "Your conceptions of your profession-- +and of me, I may say--are not attractive. I +have always been, and am willing and anxious to pay +liberally--more liberally than anyone else--for legal +advice. But my business, sir, is my own." + +Norman rose, his expression one of apology and +polite disappointment. "I see I misunderstood your +purpose in coming to me," said he. "Let us take no +more of each other's time." + +"And what did you think my object was in coming?" +demanded Galloway. + +"To get from me what you realized you could get +nowhere else--which meant, as an old experienced trader +like you must have known, that you were ready to pay +my price. Of course, if you can get elsewhere the +assistance you need, why, you would be most unwise to +come to me." + +Galloway moved toward the door. "And you +might have charged practically any fee you wished," +said he, laughing satirically. "Young man, you are +making the mistake that is ruining this generation. +You wish to get rich all at once. You are not willing to +be patient and to work and to build your fortune solidly +and slowly." + +Norman smiled as at a good joke. "What an asset +to you strong men has been the vague hope in the minds +of the masses that each poor devil of them will have his +turn to loot and grow rich. I used to think ignorance +kept the present system going. But I have discovered +that it is that sly, silly, corrupt hope. But, sir, it does +not catch me. I shall not work for you and the other +strong men, and patiently wait my turn that would +never come. My time is NOW." + +"You threaten me!" cried Galloway furiously. + +"Threaten you?" exclaimed Norman, amazed. + +"You think, because I have given you, my lawyer, +my secrets, that you can compel me----" + +With an imperious gesture Norman stopped him. +"Good day, sir," he said haughtily. "Your secrets are +safe with me. I am a lawyer, not a financier." + +Galloway was disconcerted. "I beg your pardon, +Mr. Norman," he said. "I misunderstood you. I +thought I heard you say in effect that you purposed to +be rich, and that you purposed to compel me to make +you so." + +"So I did," replied Norman. "But not by the +methods you financiers are so adept at using. Not by +high-class blackmail and blackjacking. I meant that +my abilities were such that you and your fellow masters +of modern society would be compelled to employ me on +my own terms. A few moments ago you outlined to me +a plan. It may be you can find other lawyers competent +to steer it through the channel of the law. I doubt it. +I may exaggerate my value. But--" He smiled +pleasantly--"I don't think so." + +In this modern world of ours there is no more delicate +or more important branch of the art of material success +than learning to play one's own tune on the trumpets of +fame. To those who watch careers intelligently and +critically, and not merely with mouth agape and ears +awag for whatever sounds the winds of credulity bear, +there is keen interest in noting how differently this high +art is practiced by the fame-seekers--how well some +modest heroes disguise themselves before essaying the +trumpet, how timidly some play, how brazenly others. +It is an art of infinite variety. How many there are +who can echo Shakespeare's sad lament, through Hamlet's +lips--"I lack advancement!" Those are they +who have wholly neglected, as did Shakespeare, this +essential part of the art of advancement--Shakespeare, +who lived almost obscure and was all but forgotten for +two centuries after his death. + +Norman, frankly seeking mere material success, and +with the colossal egotism that disdains egotism and +shrugs at the danger of being accused of it--Norman +did not hesitate to proclaim his own merits. He +reasoned that he had the wares, that crying them would +attract attention to them, that he whose attention was +attracted, if he were a judge of wares and a seeker of +the best, would see that the Norman wares were indeed +as Norman cried them. At first blush Galloway was +amused by Norman's candid self-esteem. But he had +often heard of Norman's conceit--and in a long and +busy life he had not seen an able man who was unaware +of his ability; any more than he had seen a pretty +woman unaware of her prettiness. So, at second blush, +Galloway was tempted by Norman's calm strong blast +upon his own trumpet to look again at the wares. + +"I always have had a high opinion of you, young +man," said he, with laughing eyes. "Almost as high an +opinion as you have of yourself. Think over the legal +side of my plan. When you get your thoughts in order, +let me know--and make me a proposition as to your own +share. Does that satisfy you?" + +"It's all I ask," said Norman. + +And they parted on the friendliest terms--and +Norman knew that his fortune was assured, if Galloway +lived another nine months. When he was alone, the +sweat burst out upon him and, trembling from head to +foot, he locked his door and flung himself at full length +upon the rug. It was half an hour before the fit of +silent hysterical reaction passed sufficiently to let him +gather strength to rise. He tottered to his desk chair, +and sat with his head buried in his arms upon the desk. +After a while the telephone at his side rang insistently. +He took the receiver in a hand he could not steady. + +"Yes?" he called. + +"It's Tetlow. How'd you come out?" + +"Oh--" He paused to stiffen his throat to attack +the words naturally--"all right. We go ahead." + +"With G.?" + +"Certainly. But keep quiet. Don't let him know +you've heard, if you see him or he sends for you. +Remember, it's in my hands entirely." + +"Trust me." Tetlow's voice, suppressed and jubilant, +suggested a fat, hoarse rooster trying to finish a +crow before a coming stone from a farm boy reaches +him. "It seems natural and easy to you, old man. +But I'm about crazy with joy. I'll come right over." + +"No. I'm going home." + +"Can't I see you there?" + +"No. I've other matters to attend to. Come +about lunch time to-morrow--to the office, here." + +"All right," said Tetlow disappointedly, and Norman +rang off. + + + +XX + + +IN the faces of men who have dominion of whatever +kind over their fellow men--be it the brutal rule of the +prize fighter over his gang or the apparently gentle +sway of the apparently meek bishop over his loving +flock--in the faces of all men of power there is a +dangerous look. They may never lose their tempers. +They may never lift their voices. They may be ever +suave and civil. The dangerous look is there--and the +danger behind it. And the sense of that look and of +its cause has a certain restraining effect upon all but +the hopelessly impudent or solidly dense. Norman was +one of the men without fits of temper. In his moments +of irritation, no one ever felt that a storm of violent +language might be impending. But the danger signal +flaunted from his face. Danger of what? No one could +have said. Most people would have laughed at the idea +that so even tempered a man, pleased with himself and +with the world, could ever be dangerous. Yet everyone +had instinctively respected that danger flag--until +Dorothy. + +Perhaps it had struck for her--had really not been +there when she looked at him. Perhaps she had been +too inexperienced, perhaps too self-centered, to see it. +Perhaps she had never before seen his face in an hour +of weariness and relaxation--when the true character, +the dominating and essential trait or traits, shows +nakedly upon the surface, making the weak man or woman +look pitiful, the strong man or woman formidable. + +However that may be, when he walked into the sitting +room, greeted her placidly and kissed her on the +brow, she, glancing uncertainly up at him, saw that +danger signal for the first time. She studied his face, +her own face wearing her expression of the puzzled +child. No, not quite that expression as it always had +been theretofore, but a modified form of it. To any +self-centered, self-absorbed woman--there comes in her +married life, unless she be married to a booby, a time, +an hour, a moment even--for it can be narrowed down +to a point--when she takes her first SEEING look at the +man upon whom she is dependent for protection, whether +spiritual or material, or both. In her egotism and +vanity she has been regarding him as her property. +Suddenly, and usually disagreeably, it has been revealed +to her that she is his property. That hour had come +for Dorothy Norman. And she was looking at her husband, +was wondering who and what he was. + +"You've had your lunch?" he said. + +"No," replied she. + +"You have been out for the air?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"You didn't tell me what to do." + +He smiled good humoredly. "Oh, you had no +money." + +"Yes--a little. But I--" She halted. + +"Yes?" + +"You hadn't told me what to do," she repeated, as +if on mature thought that sentence expressed the whole +matter. + +He felt in his pockets, found a small roll of bills. +He laid twenty-five dollars on the table. "I'll keep +thirty," he said, "as I shan't have any more till I see +Tetlow to-morrow. Now, fly out and amuse yourself. +I'm going to sleep. Don't wake me till you're ready +for dinner." + +And he went into his bedroom and closed the door. +When he awoke, he saw that it was dark outside, and +some note in the din of street noises from far below +made him feel that it was late. He wrapped a bath- +robe round him, opened the door into the sitting room. +It was dark. + +"Dorothy!" he called. + +"Yes," promptly responded the small quiet voice, +so near that he started back. + +"Oh!" he exclaimed, and switched on the light. +"There you are--by the window. What were you doing, +in the dark?" + +She was dressed precisely as when he had last seen +her. She was sitting with her hands listless in her lap +and her face a moving and beautiful expression of +melancholy dreams. On the table were the bills--where +he had laid them. "You've been out?" he said. + +"No," she replied. + +"Why not?" + +"I've been--waiting." + +"For what?" laughed he. + +"For--I don't know," she replied. "Just waiting." + +"But there's nothing to wait for." + +She looked at him interrogatively. "No--I suppose +not," she said. + +He went back into his room and glanced at his watch. +"Eleven o'clock!" he cried. "Why didn't you wake +me? You must be nearly starved." + +"Yes, I am hungry," said she. + +Her patient, passive resignation irritated him. "I'm +ravenous," he said. "I'll dress--and you dress, too. +We'll go downstairs to supper." + +When he reappeared in the sitting room, in a dinner +jacket, she was again seated near the window, hands +listless in her lap and eyes gazing dreamily into vacancy. +But she was now dressed in the black chiffon and the +big black hat. He laughed. "You are prompt and +obedient," said he. "Nothing like hunger to subdue." + +A faint flush tinged her lovely skin; the look of the +child that has been struck appeared in her eyes. + +He cast about in his mind for the explanation. Did +she think he meant it was need that had brought her +meekly back to him? That was true enough, but he +had not intended to hint it. In high good humor +because he was so delightfully hungry and was about +to get food, he cried: "Do cheer up! There's nothing +to be sad about--nothing." + +She lifted her large eyes and gazed at him timidly. +"What are you going to do with me?" + +"Take you downstairs and feed you." + +"But I mean--afterward?" + +"Bring--or send--you up here to go to bed." + +"Are you going away?" + +"Where?" + +"Away from me." + +He looked at her with amused eyes. She was +exquisitely lovely; never had he seen her lovelier. It +delighted him to note her charms--the charms that had +enslaved him--not a single charm missing--and to feel +that he was no longer their slave, was his own master +again. + +A strange look swept across her uncannily mobile +face--a look of wonder, of awe, of fear, of dread. +"You don't even like me any more," she said in her +colorless way. + +"What have I done to make you think I dislike +you?" said he pleasantly. + +She gazed down in silence. + +"You need have no fear," said he. "You are my +wife. You will be well taken care of, and you will not +be annoyed. What more can I say?" + +"Thank you," she murmured. + +He winced. She had made him feel like an unpleasant +cross between an alms-giver and a bully. "Now," +said he, with forced but resolute cheerfulness, "we will +eat, drink and be merry." + +On the way down in the elevator he watched her +out of the corner of his eye. When they reached the +hall leading to the supper room he touched her arm +and halted her. "My dear," said he in the pleasant +voice which yet somehow never failed to secure attention +and obedience, "there will be some of my acquaintances +in there at supper. I don't want them to see you +with that whipped dog look. There's no occasion for it." + +Her lip trembled. "I'll do my best," said she. + +"Let's see you smile," laughed he. "You have +often shown me that you know the woman's trick of +wearing what feelings you choose on the outside. So +don't pretend that you've got to look as if you were +about to be hung for a crime you didn't commit. +There!--that's better." + +And indeed to a casual glance she looked the happy +bride trying--not very successfully--to seem used to +her husband and her new status. + +"Hold it!" he urged gayly. "I've no fancy for +leading round a lovely martyr in chains. Especially as +you're about as healthy and well placed a person as I +know. And you'll feel as well as you look when you've +had something to eat." + +Whether it was obedience or the result of a decision +to drop an unprofitable pose he could not tell, but as +soon as they were seated and she had a bill of fare before +her and was reading it, her expression of happiness lost +its last suggestion of being forced. "Crab meat!" she +said. "I love it!" + +"Two portions of crab meat," he said to the waiter +with pad and pencil at attention. + +"Oh, I don't want that much," she protested. + +"You forget that I am hungry," rejoined he. +"And when I am hungry, the price of food begins to +go up." He addressed himself to the waiter: "After +that a broiled grouse--with plenty of hominy--and +grilled sweet potatoes--and a salad of endive and hot- +house tomatoes--and I know the difference between hot- +house tomatoes and the other kinds. Next--some +cheese--Coullomieres--yes, you have it--I got the +steward to get it--and toasted crackers--the round +kind, not the square--and not the hard ones that +unsettle the teeth--and--what kind of ice, my dear?--or +would you prefer a fresh peach flambee?" + +"Yes--I think so," said Dorothy. + +"You hear, waiter?--and a bottle of--there's the +head waiter--ask him--he knows the champagne I +like." + +As Norman had talked, in the pleasant, insistent +voice, the waiter had roused from the air of mindless, +mechanical sloth characteristic of the New York +waiter--unless and until a fee below his high expectation +is offered. When he said the final "very good, +sir," it was with the accent of real intelligence. + +Dorothy was smiling, with the amusement of youth +and inexperience. "What a lot of trouble you took +about it," said she. + +He shrugged his shoulders. "Anything worth doing +at all is worth taking trouble about. You will see. +We shall get results. The supper will be the best this +house can put together." + +"You can have anything you want in this world, +if you only can pay for it," said she. + +"That's what most people think," replied he. +"But the truth is, the paying is only a small part of +the art of getting what one wants." + +She glanced nervously at him. "I'm beginning to +realize that I'm dreadfully inexperienced," said she. + +"There's nothing discouraging in that," said he. +"Lack of experience can be remedied. But not lack +of judgment. It takes the great gift of judgment to +enable one to profit by mistakes, to decide what is the +real lesson of an experience." + +"I'm afraid I haven't any judgment, either," +confessed she. + +"That remains to be seen." + +She hesitated--ventured: "What do you think is +my worst fault?" + +He shook his head laughingly. "We are going to +have a happy supper." + +"Do you think I am very vain?" persisted she. + +"Who's been telling you so?" + +"Mr. Tetlow. He gave me an awful talking to, +just before I--" She paused at the edge of the +forbidden ground. "He didn't spare me," she went on. +"He said I was a vain, self-centered little fool." + +"And what did you say?" + +"I was very angry. I told him he had no right +to accuse me of that. I reminded him that he had never +heard me say a word about myself." + +"And did he say that the vainest people were just +that way--never speaking of themselves, never thinking +of anything else?" + +"Oh, he told you what he said," cried she. + +"No," laughed he. + +She reddened. "YOU think I'm vain?" + +He made a good-humoredly satirical little bow. "I +think you are charming," said he. "It would be a +waste of time to look at or to think of anyone else when +oneself is the most charming and interesting person in +the world. Still--" He put into his face and voice a +suggestion of gravity that caught her utmost attention-- +"if one is to get anywhere, is to win consideration +from others--and happiness for oneself--one sim- +ply must do a little thinking about others--occasionally." + +Her eyes lowered. A faint color tinged her cheeks. + +"The reason most of us are so uncomfortable-- +downright unhappy most of the time--is that we never +really take our thoughts off our precious fascinating +selves. The result is that some day we find that the +liking--and friendship--and love--of those around us +has limits--and we are left severely alone. Of course, +if one has a great deal of money, one can buy excellent +imitations of liking and friendship and even love--I +ought to say, especially love----" + +The color flamed in her face. + +"But," he went on, "if one is in modest circumstances +or poor, one has to take care." + +"Or dependent," she said, with one of those unexpected +flashes of subtle intelligence that so complicated +the study of her character. He had been talking to +amuse himself rather than with any idea of her +understanding. Her sudden bright color and her two +words--"or dependent"--roused him to see that she +thought he was deliberately giving her a savage +lecture from the cover of general remarks. "With the +vanity of the typical woman," he said to himself, "she +always imagines SHE is the subject of everyone's thought +and talk." + +"Or dependent," said he to her, easily. "I wasn't +thinking of you, but yours IS a case in point. Come, +now--nothing to look blue about! Here's something +to eat. No, it's for the next table." + +"You won't let me explain," she protested, between +the prudence of reproach and the candor of anger. + +"There's nothing to explain," replied he. "Don't +bother about the mistakes of yesterday. Remember +them--yes. If one has a good memory, to forget is +impossible--not to say unwise. But there ought to +be no more heat or sting in the memory of past mistakes +than in the memory of last year's mosquito bites." + +The first course of the supper arrived. Her +nervousness vanished, and he got far away from the +neighborhood of the subjects that, even in remotest hint, +could not but agitate her. And as the food and the +wine asserted their pacific and beatific sway, she and +he steadily moved into better and better humor with +each other. Her beauty grew until it had him thinking +that never, not in the most spiritual feminine conceptions +of the classic painters, had he seen a loveliness +more ethereal. Her skin was so exquisite, the coloring +of her hair and eyes and of her lips was so delicately +fine that it gave her the fragility of things bordering +upon the supernal--of rare exotics, of sunset and +moonbeam effects. No, he had been under no spell of +illusion as to her beauty. It was a reality--the more +fascinating because it waxed and waned not with +regularity of period but capriciously. + +He began to look round furtively, to see what effect +this wife of his was producing on others. These last +few months, through prudence as much as through +pride, he had been cultivating the habit of ignoring his +surroundings; he would not invite cold salutations or +obvious avoidance of speaking. He now discovered +many of his former associates--and his vanity dilated +as he noted how intensely they were interested in his +wife. + +Some men of ability have that purest form of egotism +which makes one profoundly content with himself, +genuinely indifferent to the approval or the disapproval +of others. Norman's vanity had a certain amount +of alloy. He genuinely disdained his fellow-men--their +timidity, their hypocrisy, their servility, their limited +range of ideas. He was indifferent to the verge of +insensibility as to their adverse criticism. But at the +same time it was necessary to his happiness that he get +from them evidences of their admiration and envy. +With that amusing hypocrisy which tinges all human +nature, he concealed from himself the satisfaction, the +joy even, he got out of the showy side of his position. +And no feature of his infatuation for Dorothy +surprised him so much as the way it rode rough shod and +reckless over his snobbishness. + +With the fading of infatuation had come many +reflections upon the practical aspects of what he had +done. It pleased him with himself to find that, in this +first test, he had not the least regret, but on the con- +trary a genuine pride in the courageous independence +he had shown--another and strong support to his +conviction of his superiority to his fellow-men. He might +be somewhat snobbish--who was not?--who else in his +New York was less than supersaturated with snobbishness? +But snobbishness, the determining quality in the +natures of all the women and most of the men he knew, +had shown itself one of the incidental qualities in his +own nature. After all, reflected he, it took a man, a +good deal of a man, to do what he had done, and not +to regret it, even in the hour of disillusionment. And +it must be said for this egotistic self-approval of his +that like all his judgments there was sound merit of +truth in it. The vanity of the nincompoop is ridiculous. +The vanity of the man of ability is amusing and no +doubt due to a defective point of view upon the proportions +of the universe; but it is not without excuse, and +those who laugh might do well to discriminate even as +they guffaw. + +Looking discreetly about, Norman was suddenly +confronted by the face of Josephine Burroughs, only +two tables away. + +Until their eyes squarely met he did not know she +was there, or even in America. Before he could make a +beginning of glancing away, she gave him her sweetest +smile and her friendliest bow. And Dorothy, looking +to see to whom he was speaking, was astonished to +receive the same radiance of cordiality. Norman was +pleased at the way his wife dealt with the situation. +She returned both bow and smile in her own quiet, +slightly reserved way of gentle dignity. + +"Who was that, speaking?" asked she. + +"Miss Burroughs. You must remember her." + +He noted it as characteristic that she said, quite +sincerely: "Oh, so it is. I didn't remember her. That +is the girl you were engaged to." + +"Yes--`the nice girl uptown,' " said he. + +"I didn't like her," said Dorothy, with evident +small interest in the subject. "She was vain." + +"You mean you didn't like her way of being vain," +suggested Norman. "Everyone is vain; so, if we disliked +for vanity we should dislike everyone." + +"Yes, it was her way. And just now she spoke to +us both, as if she were doing us a favor." + +"Gracious, it's called," said he. "What of it? It +does us no harm and gives her about the only happiness +she's got." + +Norman, without seeming to do so, noted the rest +of the Burroughs party. At Josephine's right sat a +handsome young foreigner, and it took small experience +of the world to discover that he was paying court to +her, and that she was pleased and flattered. Norman +asked the waiter who he was, and learned that he came +from the waiter's own province of France, was the Duc +de Valdome. At first glance Norman had thought him +distinguished. Afterward he discriminated. There are +several kinds or degrees of distinction. There is +distinction of race, of class, of family, of dress, of person. +As Frenchman, as aristocrat, as a scion of the ancient +family of Valdome, as a specimen of tailoring and valeting, +Miss Burroughs's young man was distinguished. +But in his own proper person he was rather insignificant. +The others at the table were Americans. Following Miss +Burroughs's cue, they sought an opportunity to speak +friendlily to Norman--and he gave it them. His +acknowledgment of those effusive salutations was polite +but restrained. + +"They are friends of yours?" said Dorothy. + +"They were," said he. "And they may be again-- +when they are friends of OURS." + +"I'm not very good at making friends," she warned +him. "I don't like many people." This time her +unconscious and profound egotism pleased him. Evidently +it did not occur to her that she should be eager +to be friends with those people on any terms, that the +only question was whether they would receive her. + +She asked: "Why was Miss--Miss Burroughs so +friendly?" + +"Why shouldn't she be?" + +"But I thought you threw her over." + +He winced at this crude way of putting it. "On +the contrary, she threw me over." + +Dorothy laughed incredulously. "I know better. +Mr. Tetlow told me." + +"She threw me over," repeated he coldly. "Tetlow +was repeating malicious and ignorant gossip." + +Dorothy laughed again--it was her second glass of +champagne. "You say that because it's the honorable +thing to say. But I know." + +"I say it because it's true," said he. + +He spoke quietly, but if she had drunk many more +than two glasses of an unaccustomed and heady liquor +she would have felt his intonation. She paled and +shrank and her slim white fingers fluttered nervously +at the collar of her dress. "I was only joking," she +murmured. + +He laughed good-naturedly. "Don't look as if I +had given you a whipping," said he. "Surely you're +not afraid of me." + +She glanced shyly at him, a smile dancing in her +eyes and upon her lips. "Yes," she said. And after a +pause she added: "I didn't used to be. But that was +because I didn't know you--or much of anything." +The smile irradiated her whole face. "You used to be +afraid of me. But you aren't, any more." + +"No," said he, looking straight at her. "No, I'm +not." + +"I always told you you were mistaken in what you +thought of me. I really don't amount to much. A man +as serious and as important as you are couldn't-- +couldn't care about me." + +"It's true you don't amount to much, as yet," said +he. "And if you never do amount to much, you'd be no +less than most women and most men. But I've an idea +--at times--that you COULD amount to something." + +He saw that he had wounded her vanity, that her +protestations of humility were precisely what he had +suspected. He laughed at her: "I see you thought I'd +contradict you. But I can't afford to be so amiable +now. And the first thing you've got to get rid of is +the part of your vanity that prevents you from growing. +Vanity of belief in one's possibilities is fine. No +one gets anywhere without it. But vanity of belief in +one's present perfection--no one but a god could afford +that luxury." + +Observing her closely he was amused--and pleased +--to note that she was struggling to compose herself to +endure his candors as a necessary part of the duties and +obligations she had taken on herself when she gave up +and returned to him. + +"What YOU thought of ME used to be the important +thing in our relations," he went on, in his way of raillery +that took all or nearly all the sting out of what he said, +but none of its strength. "Now, the important thing +is what I think of you. You are much younger than +I, especially in experience. You are going to school to +life with me as teacher. You'll dislike the teacher for +the severity of the school. That isn't just, but it's +natural--perhaps inevitable. And please--my dear-- +when you are bitterest over what YOU have to put up +with from ME--don't forget what _I_ have to put up with +from YOU." + +She was fighting bravely against angry tears. As +for him, he had suddenly become indifferent to what +the people around them might be thinking. With all +his old arrogance come back in full flood, he was feeling +that he would live his own life in his own way and that +those who didn't approve--yes, including Dorothy-- +might do as they saw fit. She said: + +"I don't blame you for regretting that you didn't +marry Miss Burroughs." + +"But I don't regret it," replied he. "On the +contrary, I'm glad." + +She glanced hopefully at him. But the hopeful +expression faded as he went on: + +"Whether or not I made a mistake in marrying you, +I certainly had an escape from disaster when she +decided she preferred a foreigner and a title. There's a +good sensible reason why so many girls of her class-- +more and more all the time--marry abroad. They are +not fit to be the wives of hard-working American +husbands. In fact I've about reached the conclusion that +of the girls growing up nowdays very few in any class +are fit to be American wives. They're not big enough. +They're too coarse and crude in their tastes. They're +only fit for the shallow, showy sort of thing--and the +European aristocracy is their hope--and their place." + +Her small face had a fascinating expression of a + + +{illust. caption = "At Josephine s right sat a handsome young +foreigner."} + + +child trying to understand things far beyond its depth. +He was interested in his own thoughts, however, and +went on--for, if he had been in the habit of stopping +when his hearers failed to understand, or when they +misunderstood, either he would have been silent most +of the time in company or his conversation would have +been as petty and narrow and devoid of originality or +imagination as is the mentality of most human beings +--as is the talk and reading that impress them as +interesting--and profound! + +"The American man of the more ambitious sort," +he went on, "either has to live practically if not +physically apart from his wife or else has to educate some +not too difficult woman to be his wife." + +She understood that. "You are really going to +educate me?" she said, with an arch smile. Now that +Norman had her attention, now that she was centering +upon him instead of upon herself, she was interested +in him, and in what he said, whether she understood +it or not, whether it pleased her vanity or wounded +it. The intellects of women work to an unsuspected +extent only through the sex charm. Their appreciations +of books, of art, of men are dependant, often in +the most curious indirect ways, upon the fact that +the author, the artist, the politician or what not is +betrousered. Thus, Dorothy was patient, respectful, +attentive, was not offended by Norman's didactic +way of giving her the lessons in life. Her smile was +happy as well as coquettish, as she asked him to educate her. + +He returned her smile. "That depends," answered +he. + +"You're not sure I'm worth the trouble?" + +"You may put it that way, if you like. But I'd +say, rather, I'm not sure I can spare the time--and +you're not sure you care to fit yourself for the place." + +"Oh, but I do!" cried she. + +"We'll see--in a few weeks or months," replied he. + +The Burroughs party were rising. Josephine had +choice of two ways to the door. She chose the one +that took her past Norman and his bride. She +advanced, beaming. Norman rose, took her extended +hand. Said she: + +"So glad to see you." Then, turning the radiant +smile upon Dorothy, "And is this your wife? Is this +the pretty little typewriter girl?" + +Dorothy nodded--a charming, ingenuous bend of +the head. Norman felt a thrill of pride in her, so +beautifully unconscious of the treacherous attempt at insult. +It particularly delighted him that she had not made +the mistake of rising to return Josephine's greeting but +had remained seated. Surely this wife of his had the +right instincts that never fail to cause right manners. +For Josephine's benefit, he gazed down at Dorothy with +the proudest, fondest eyes. "Yes--this is she," said +he. "Can you blame me?" + +Josephine paled and winced visibly, as if the blow +she had aimed at him had, after glancing off harmlessly, +returned to crush her. She touched Dorothy's proffered +hand, murmured a few stammering phrases of vague +compliment, rejoined her friends. Said Dorothy, when +she and Norman were settled again: + +"I shall never like her. Nor she me." + +"But you do like this cheese? Waiter, another +bottle of that same." + +"Why did she put you in such a good humor?" +inquired his wife. + +"It wasn't she. It was you!" replied he. But he +refused to explain. + + + +XXI + + +GALLOWAY accepted Norman's terms. He would +probably have accepted terms far less easy. But Norman +as yet knew with the thoroughness which must +precede intelligent plan and action only the legal side +of financial operations; he had been as indifferent to +the commercial side as a pilot to the value of the cargo +in the ship he engages to steer clear of shoals and rocks. +So with the prudence of the sagacious man's audacities +he contented himself with a share of this first venture +that would simply make a comfortable foundation for +the fortune he purposed to build. As the venture could +not fail outright, even should Galloway die, he rented +a largish place at Hempstead, with the privilege of +purchase, and installed his wife and himself with a dozen +servants and a housekeeper. + +"This housekeeper, this Mrs. Lowell," said he to +Dorothy, "is a good enough person as housekeepers +go. But you will have to look sharply after her." + +Dorothy seemed to fade and shrink within herself, +which was her way of confessing lack of courage and +fitness to face a situation: "I don't know anything +about those things," she confessed. + +"I understand perfectly," said he. "But you +learned something at the place in Jersey City--quite +enough for the start. Really, all you need to know +just now is whether the place is clean or not, and +whether the food comes on the table in proper condition. +The rest you'll pick up gradually." + +"I hope so," said she, looking doubtful and helpless; +these new magnitudes were appalling, especially +now that she was beginning to get a point of view upon +life. + +"At any rate, don't bother me for these few next +months," said he. "I'm going to be very busy--shall +leave early in the morning and not be back until near +dinner time--if I come at all. No, you'll not be +annoyed by me. You'll be absolute mistress of your time." + +She tried to look as if this contented her. But he +could not have failed to see how dissatisfied and +disquieted she really was. He had the best of reasons for +thinking that she was living under the same roof with +him only because she preferred the roof he could provide +to such a one as she could provide for herself whether +by her own earnings or by marrying a man more to her +liking personally. Yet here she was, piqued and +depressed because of his indifference--because he was not +thrusting upon her gallantries she would tolerate only +through prudence! + +"You will be lonely at times, I'm afraid," said he. +"But I can't provide friends or even acquaintances for +you for several months--until my affairs are in better +order and my sister and her husband come back from +Europe." + +"Oh, I shan't be lonely," cried she. "I've never +cared for people." + +"You've your books, and your music--and riding +--and shopping trips to town--and the house and +grounds to look after." + +"Yes--and my dreams," said she hopefully, her +eyes suggesting the dusky star depths. + +"Oh--the dreams. You'll have little time for them," +said he drily. "And little inclination, I imagine, as +you wake up to the sense of how much there is to be +learned. Dreaming is the pastime of people who haven't +the intelligence or the energy to accomplish anything. +If you wish to please me--and you do--don't you?" + +"Yes," she murmured. She forced her rebellious +lips to the laconic assent. She drooped the lids over +her rebellious eyes, lest he should detect her wounded +feelings and her resentment. + +"I assumed so," said he, with a secret smile. +"Well, if you wish to please me, you'll give your time +to practical things--things that'll make you more +interesting and make us both more comfortable. It was +all very well to dream, while you had little to do and +small opportunity. But now-- Try to cut it out." + +It is painful to an American girl of any class to +find that she has to earn her position as wife. The +current theory, a tradition from an early and woman- +revering day, is that the girl has done her share and +more when she has consented to the suit of the ardent +male and has intrusted her priceless charms to his +exclusive keeping. According to that same theory, it is +the husband who must earn his position--must continue +to earn it. He is a humble creature, honored by the +presence of a wonderful being, a cross between a queen +and a goddess. He cannot do enough to show his +gratitude. Perhaps--but only perhaps--had Norman +married Josephine Burroughs, he might have assented, +after a fashion, to this idea of the relations of the man +and the woman. No doubt, had he remained under the +spell of Dorothy's mystery and beauty, he would have +felt and acted the slave he had made of himself at the +outset. But in the circumstances he was looking at +their prospective life together with sane eyes. And +so she had, in addition to all her other reasons for +heartache, a sense that she, the goddess-queen, the +American woman, with the birthright of dominion over +the male, was being cheated, humbled, degraded. + +At first he saw that this sense of being wronged +made it impossible for her to do anything at all toward +educating herself for her position. But time brought +about the change he had hoped for. A few weeks, and +she began to cheer up, almost in spite of herself. What +was the use in sulking or sighing or in self-pitying, +when it brought only unhappiness to oneself? The +coarse and brutal male in the case was either unaware +or indifferent. There was no one and no place to fly +to--unless she wished to be much worse off than her +darkest mood of self-pity represented her to her +sorrowing self. The housekeeper, Mrs. Lowell, was a +"broken down gentlewoman" who had been chastened +by misfortune into a wholesome state of practical good +sense about the relative values of the real and the +romantic. Mrs. Lowell diagnosed the case of the young +wife--as Norman had shrewdly guessed she would-- +and was soon adroitly showing her the many advantages +of her lot. Before they had been three months at +Hempstead, Dorothy had discovered that she, in fact, +was without a single ground for serious complaint. She +had a husband who was generous about money, and left +her as absolutely alone as if he were mere occasional +visitor at the house. She had her living--and such a +living!--she had plenty of interesting occupation--she +had not a single sordid care--and perfect health. + +The dreams, too-- It was curious about those +dreams. She would now have found it an intolerable +bore to sit with hands idle in her lap and eyes upon +vacancy, watching the dim, luminous shadows flit aimlessly +by. Yet that was the way she used to pass hours--entire +days. She used to fight off sleep at night the longer to +enjoy her one source of pure happiness. There was +no doubt about it, the fire of romance was burning low, +and she was becoming commonplace, practical, resigned. +Well, why not? Was not life over for her?--that is, +the life a girl's fancy longs for. In place of hope of +romance, there was an uneasy feeling of a necessity of +pleasing this husband of hers--of making him comfortable. +What would befall her if she neglected trying +to please him or if she, for all her trying, failed? She +did not look far in that direction. Her uneasiness +remained indefinite--yet definite enough to keep her +working from waking until bedtime. And she dropped +into the habit of watching his face with the same +anxiety with which a farmer watches the weather. When +he happened one day to make a careless, absent-minded +remark in disapproval of something in the domestic +arrangements, she was thrown into such a nervous flutter +that he observed it. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Nothing--nothing," replied she in the hurried +tone of one who is trying hastily to cover his thoughts. + +He reflected, understood, burst into a fit of hearty +laughter. "So, you are trying to make a bogey of +me?" + +She colored, protested faintly. + +"Don't you know I'm about the least tyrannical, +least exacting person in the world?" + +"You've been very patient with me," said she. + +"Now--now," cried he in a tone of raillery, "you +might as well drop that. Don't you know there's no +reason for being afraid of me?" + +"Yes, I KNOW it," replied she. "But I FEEL afraid, +just the same. I can't help it." + +It was impossible for him to appreciate the effect +of his personality upon others--how, without his trying +or even wishing, it made them dread a purely imaginary +displeasure and its absurdly imaginary consequences. +But this confession of hers was not the first time he had +heard of the effect of potential and latent danger he +had upon those associated with him. And, as it was +most useful, he was not sorry that he had it. He made +no further attempt to convince her that he was harmless. +He knew that he was harmless where she was concerned. +Was it not just as well that she should not know +it, when vaguely dreading him was producing excellent +results? As with a Christian the fear of the Lord +was the beginning of wisdom, so with a wife the fear +of her husband was the beginning of wisdom. In striving +to please him, to fit herself for the position of wife, +she was using up the time she would otherwise have +spent in making herself miserable with self-pity--that +supreme curse of the idle both male and female, that +most prolific of the breeders of unhappy wives. Yes, +wives were unhappy not because their husbands neglected +them, for busy people have no time to note +whether they are neglected or not, but because they +gave their own worthless, negligent, incapable selves +too much attention. + +One evening, she, wearing the look of the timid but +resolute intruder, came into his room while he was +dressing for dinner and hung about with an air no man +of his experience could fail to understand. + +"Something wrong about the house?" said he +finally. "Need more money?" + +"No--nothing," she replied, with a slight flush. +He saw that she was mustering all her courage for +some grand effort. He waited, only mildly curious, as +his mind was busy with some new business he and Tetlow +had undertaken. Presently she stood squarely before +him, her hands behind her back and her face up- +turned. "Won't you kiss me?" she said. + +"Sure!" said he. And he kissed her on the cheek +and resumed operations with his military brushes. + +"I didn't mean that--that kind of a kiss," said she +dejectedly. + +He paused with a quick characteristic turn of the +head, looked keenly at her, resumed his brushing. A +quizzical smile played over his face. "Oh, I see," said +he. "You've been thinking about duty. And you've +decided to do yours. . . . Eh?" + +"I think-- It seems to me-- I don't think--" she +stammered, then said desperately, "I've not been acting +right by you. I want to--to do better." + +"That's good," said he briskly, with a nod of +approval--and never a glance in her direction. "You +think you'll let me have a kiss now and then--eh? All +right, my dear." + +"Oh, you WON'T understand me!" she cried, ready +to weep with vexation. + +"You mean I won't misunderstand you," replied +he amiably, as he set about fixing his tie. "You've +been mulling things over in your mind. You've decided +I'm secretly pining for you. You've resolved to be +good and kind and dutiful--generous--to feed old dog +Tray a few crumbs now and then. . . . That's nice and +sweet of you--" He paused until the crisis in tying +was passed--"very nice and sweet of you--but-- +There's nothing in it. All I ask of you for myself is +to see that I'm comfortable--that Mrs. Lowell and the +servants treat me right. If I don't like anything, I'll +speak out--never fear." + +"But--Fred--I want to be your wife--I really +do," she pleaded. + +He turned on her, and his eyes seemed to pierce +into the chamber of her thoughts. "Drop it, my dear," +he said quietly. "Neither of us is in love with the +other. So there's not the slightest reason for pretending. +If I ever want to be free of you, I'll tell you so. +If you ever want to get rid of me, all you have to do +is to ask--and it'll be arranged. Meanwhile, let's enjoy +ourselves." + +His good humor, obviously unfeigned, would have +completely discouraged a more experienced woman, +though as vain as Dorothy and with as much ground +as he had given her for self-confidence where he was +concerned. But Dorothy was depressed rather than +profoundly discouraged. A few moments and she +found courage to plead: "But you used to care for +me. Don't I attract you any more?" + +"You say that quite pathetically," said he, in good- +humored amusement. "I'm willing to do anything +within reason for your happiness. But really--just +to please your vanity I can't make myself over again +into the fool I used to be about you. You'd hate it +yourself. Why, then, this pathetic air?" + +"I feel so useless--and as if I were shirking," she +persisted. "And if you did care for me, it wouldn't +offend me now as it used to. I've grown much wiser-- +more sensible. I understand things--and I look at +them differently. And--I always did LIKE you." + +"Even when you despised me?" mocked he. It +irritated him a little vividly to recall what a consummate +fool he had made of himself for her, even though +he had every reason to be content with the event of his +folly. + +"A girl always thinks she despises a man when she +can do as she pleases with him," replied she. "As Mr. +Tetlow said, I was a fool." + +"_I_ was the fool," said he. "Where did that man +of mine lay the handkerchief?" + +"I, too," cried she, eagerly. "You were foolish to +bother about a little silly like me. But, oh, what a FOOL +I was not to realize----" + +"You're not trying to tell me you're in love with +me?" said he sharply. + +"Oh, no--no, indeed," she protested in haste, +alarmed by his overwhelming manner. "I'm not trying +to deceive you in any way." + +"Never do," said he. "It's the one thing I can't +stand." + +"But I thought--it seemed to me--" she persisted, +"that perhaps if we tried to--to care for each other, +we'd maybe get to--to caring--more or less. Don't +you think so?" + +"Perhaps," was his careless reply. He added, +"But I, for one, am well content with things as they +are. I confess I don't look back with any satisfaction +on those months when I was making an ass of myself +about you. I was ruining my career. Now I'm happy, +and everything is going fine in my business. No +experiments, if you please." He shook his head, looking +at her with smiling raillery. "It might turn out that +I'd care for you in the same crazy way again, and that +you didn't like it. Again you might get excited about +me and I'd remain calm about you. That would give +me a handsome revenge, but I'm not looking for revenge." + +He finished his toilet, she standing quiet and +thoughtful in an attitude of unconscious grace. + +"No, my dear," resumed he, as he prepared to +descend for dinner, "let's have a peaceful, cheerful mar- +ried life, with no crazy excitements. Let's hang on to +what we've got, and take no unnecessary risks." He +patted her on the shoulder. "Isn't that sensible?" + +She looked at him with serious, appealing eyes. +"You are SURE you aren't unhappy?" + +It was amusing to him--though he concealed it-- +to see how tenaciously her feminine egotism held to the +idea that she was the important person. And, when +women of experience thus deluded themselves, it was +not at all strange that this girl should be unable to +grasp the essential truth as to the relations of men and +women--that, while a woman who makes her sex her +profession must give to a man, to some man, a dominant +place in her life, a man need give a woman--at +least, any one woman--little or no place. But he +would not wantonly wound her harmless vanity. "Don't +worry about me, please," said he in the kindest, +friendliest way. "I am telling you the truth." + +And they descended to the dining room. Usually +he was preoccupied and she did most of the talking-- +not a difficult matter for her, as she was one of those +who by nature have much to say, who talk on and on, +giving lively, pleasant recitals of commonplace daily +happenings. That evening it was her turn to be +abstracted, or, at least, silent. He talked volubly, +torrentially, like a man of teeming mind in the highest +spirits. And he was in high spirits. The Galloway +enterprise had developed into a huge success; also, it +did not lessen his sense of the pleasantness of life to +have learned that his wife was feeling about as well +disposed toward him as he cared to have her feel, had +come round to that state of mind which he, as a practical +man, wise in the art of life, regarded as ideal for +a wife. + +A successful man, with a quiet and comfortable +home, well enough looked after by an agreeable wife, +exceeding good to look at and interested only in her +home and her husband--what more could a man ask? + + +What more could a man ask? Only one thing more +--a baby. The months soon passed and that rounding +out of the home side of his life was consummated with +no mishap. The baby was a girl, which contented him +and delighted Dorothy. He wished it to be named after +her, she preferred his sister's name--Ursula. It was +Ursula who decided the question. "She looks like you, +Fred," she declared, after an earnest scanning of the +wierd little face. "Why not call her Frederica?" + +Norman thought this clumsy, but Dorothy instantly +assented--and the baby was duly christened Frederica. + +Perhaps it was because he was having less pressing +business in town, but whatever the reason, he began to +stay at home more--surprisingly more. And, being at +home, he naturally fell into the habit of fussing with the +baby, he having the temperament that compels a man to +be always at something, and the baby being convenient +and in the nature of a curiosity. Ursula, who was +stopping in the house, did not try to conceal her amazement +at this extraordinary development of her brother's +character. + +Said she: "I never before knew you to take the +slightest interest in a child." + +Said he: "I never before saw a child worth taking +the slightest interest in." + +"Oh, well," said Ursula, "it won't last. You'll +soon grow tired of your plaything." + +"Perhaps you're right," said Norman. "I hope +you're wrong." He reflected, added: "In fact, I'm +almost certain you're wrong. I'm too selfish to let myself +lose such a pleasure. If you had observed my life +closely, you'd have discovered that I have never given up +a single thing I found a source of pleasure. That is +good sense. That is why the superior sort of men and +women retain something of the boy and the girl all their +lives. I still like a lot of the games I played as a boy. +For some years I've had no chance to indulge in them. +I'll be glad when Rica is old enough to give me the chance +again." + +She was much amused. "Who'd have suspected +that YOU were a born father !" + +"Not I, for one," confessed he. "We never know +what there is in us until circumstances bring it out." + +"A devoted father and a doting husband," pursued +Ursula. "I must say I rather sympathize with you as +a doting husband. Of course, I, a woman, can't see her +as you do. I can't imagine a man--especially a man +of your sort--going stark mad about a mere woman. +But, as women go, I'll admit she is a good specimen. +Not the marvel of intelligence and complex character +you imagine, but still a good specimen. And physically--" +She laughed-- "THAT'S what caught you. +That's what holds you--and will hold you as long as it +lasts." + +"Was there ever a woman who didn't think that?-- +and didn't like to think it, though I believe many of them +make strong pretense at scorning the physical." Fred +was regarding his sister with a quizzical expression. +"You approve of her?" he said. + +"More than I'd have thought possible. And after +I've taken her about in the world a while she'll be perfect." + +"No doubt," said Norman. "But, alas, she'll never +be perfect. For, you're not going to take her about." + +"So she says when I talk of it to her," replied +Ursula. "But I know you'll insist. You needn't be uneasy +as to how she'll be received." + +"I'm not," said Norman dryly. + +"You've got back all you lost--and more. How +we Americans do worship success!" + +"Don't suggest to Dorothy anything further about +society," said Norman. "I've no time or taste for it, +and I don't wish to be annoyed by intrusions into my +home." + +"But you'll not be satisfied always with just her," +urged his sister. "Besides, you've got a position to +maintain." + +Norman's smile was cynically patient. "I want my +home and I want my career," said he. "And I don't +want any society nonsense. I had the good luck to +marry a woman who knows and cares nothing about it. +I don't purpose to give up the greatest advantage of +my marriage." + +Ursula was astounded. She knew the meaning of +his various tones and manners, and his way of rejecting +her plans for Dorothy--and, incidentally, for her own +amusement--convinced her that he was through and +through in earnest. "It will be dreadfully lonesome +for her, Fred," she pleaded. + +"We'll wait till that trouble faces us," replied he, +not a bit impressed. "And don't forget--not a word +of temptation to her from you." This with an expression +that warned her how well he knew her indirect ways +of accomplishing what she could not gain directly. + +"Oh, I shan't interfere," said she in a tone that +made it a binding promise. "But you can't expect me +to sympathize with your plans for an old-fashioned +domestic life." + +"Certainly not," said Norman. "You don't +understand. Women of your sort never do. That's why +you're not fit to be the wives of men worth while. A +serious man and a society woman can't possibly hit it +off together. For a serious man the outside world is a +place to work, and home is a place to rest. For a society +woman, the world is a place to idle and home is a work +shop, an entertainment factory. It's impossible to +reconcile those two opposite ideas." + +She saw his point at once, and it appealed to her +intelligence. And she had his own faculty for never +permitting prejudice to influence judgment. She said in a +dubious tone, "Do you think Dorothy will sympathize +with your scheme?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," replied he. + +"If she doesn't--" Ursula halted there. + +Her brother shrugged his shoulders. "If she proves +to be the wrong sort of woman for me, she'll go her way +and I mine." + +"Why, I thought you loved her!" + +"What have I said that leads you to change your +mind?" said he. + +"A man does not take the high hand with the woman +he adores." + +"So?" said Norman tranquilly. + +"Well," said his puzzled sister by way of conclusion, +"if you persist in being the autocrat----" + +"Autocrat?--I?" laughed he. "Am I trying to +compel her to do anything she doesn't wish to do? +Didn't I say she would be free to go if she were dissatis- +fied with me and my plan--if she didn't adopt it gladly +as her own plan, also?" + +"But you know very well she's dependent upon you, +Fred." + +"Is that my fault? Does a man force a woman to +become dependent? And just because she is dependent, +should he therefore yield to her and let her make of his +life a waste and a folly?" + +"You're far too clever for me to argue with. +Anyhow, as I was saying, if you persist in what I call +tyranny----" + +"When a woman cries tyranny, it means she's furious +because she is not getting HER autocratic way." + +"Maybe so," admitted Ursula cheerfully. "At +any rate, if you persist--unless she loves you utterly, +your life will be miserable." + +"She may make her own life miserable, but not +mine," replied he. "If I were the ordinary man-- +counting himself lucky to have induced any woman to +marry him--afraid if he lost his woman he'd not be able +to get another--able to give his woman only an indifferent +poor support, and so on--if I were one of those +men, what you say might be true. But what deep and +permanent mischief can a frail woman do a strong +man?" + +"There's instance after instance in history" + +"Of strong men wrecking THEMSELVES through various +kinds of madness, including sex madness. But, my +dear Ursula, not an instance--not one--where the +woman was responsible. If history were truth, instead +of lies--you women might have less conceit." + +"You--talking this way!" mocked Ursula. + +"Meaning, I suppose, my late infatuation?" +inquired he, unruffled. + +"I never saw or read of a worse case." + +"Am I ruined?" + +"No. But why not? Because you got her. If +you hadn't--" Ursula blew out a large cloud of +cigarette smoke with a "Pouf!" + +"If I hadn't got her," said Norman, "I'd have got +well, just the same, in due time. A sick WEAK man goes +down; a sick STRONG man gets well. When a man who's +reputed to be strong doesn't get well, it's because he +merely seemed strong but wasn't. The poets and novelists +and the historians and the rest of the nature fakers +fail to tell ALL the facts, dear sister. All the facts would +spoil a pretty story." + +Ursula thought a few minutes, suddenly burst out +with, "Do you think Dorothy loves you now?" + +Norman rose to go out doors. "I don't think about +such unprofitable things," said he. "As long as we suit +each other and get along pleasantly--why bother about +a name for it?" + +In the French window he paused, stood looking out +with an expression so peculiar that Ursula, curious, +came to see the cause. A few yards away, under a big +symmetrical maple in full leaf sat Dorothy with the +baby on her lap. She was dressed very simply in white. +There was a little sunlight upon her hair, a sheen of gold +over her skin. She was looking down at the baby. Her +expression-- + +Said Ursula: "Several of the great painters have +tried to catch that expression. But they've failed." + +Norman made no reply. He had not heard. All +in an instant there had been revealed to him a whole +new world--a view of man and woman--of woman-- +of sex--its meaning so different from what he had +believed and lived. + +"What're you thinking about, Fred?" inquired his +sister. + +He shook his head, with a mysterious smile, and +strolled away. + + + +XXII + + +THE baby grew and thrived, as the habit is with +healthy children well taken care of. Mrs. Norman soon +got back her strength, her figure, and perhaps more +than her former beauty--as the habit is with healthy +women well taken care of. Norman's career continued +to prosper, likewise according to the habit of all healthy +things well taken care of. In a world where nothing +happens by chance, mischance, to be serious, must have +some grave fault as its hidden cause. We mortals, who +love to live at haphazard and to blame God or destiny +or "bad luck" for our calamities, hate to take this +modern and scientific view of the world and life. But, +whether we like it or not, it is the truth--and, as we +can't get round it, why not accept it cheerfully and, so +appear a little less ignorant and ridiculous? + +During their first year at the Hempstead place the +results in luxury and comfort had at no time accounted +for the money it cost and the servants it employed-- +that is to say, paid. But Norman was neither unreasonable +nor impatient. Also, in his years of experience +with his sister's housekeeping, and of observation of +the other women, he had grown exceedingly moderate +in his estimate of the ability of women and in his +expectations from them. He had reached the conclusion +that the women who were sheltered and pampered by +the men of the successful classes were proficient only +in those things that call for no skill or effort beyond +the wagging of the tongue. He saw that Dorothy was +making honest endeavor to learn her business, and he +knew that learning takes time--much time. + +He believed that in the end she would do better than +any other wife of his acquaintance, at the business of +wife and mother. + +Before the baby was two years old, his belief was +rewarded. Things began to run better--began to run +well, even. Dorothy--a serious person, unhampered of +a keen sense of humor, had taught herself the duties +of her new position in much the same slow plodding way +in which she had formerly made of herself a fair stenographer +and a tolerable typewriter. Mrs. Lowell had +helped--and Ursula, too--and Norman not a little. +But Dorothy, her husband discovered, was one of those +who thoroughly assimilate what they take in--who make +it over into part of themselves. So, her manner of keeping +house, of arranging the gardens, of bringing up the +baby, of dressing herself, was peculiarly her own. It +was not by any means the best imaginable way. It was +even what many energetic, systematic and highly competent +persons would speak contemptuously of. But it +satisfied Norman--and that was all Dorothy had in +mind. + +If those who have had any considerable opportunity +to observe married life will forget what they have read +in novels and will fix their minds on what they have +observed at first hand, they will recognize the Norman +marriage, with the husband and wife living together +yet apart as not peculiar but of a rather common type. +Neither Fred nor Dorothy had any especial reason on +any given day to try to alter their relations; so the +law of inertia asserted itself and matters continued as +they had begun. It was, perhaps, a chance remark of +Tetlow's that was the remote but efficient cause of a +change, as the single small stone slipping high up on +the mountain side results in a vast landslide into the +valley miles below. Tetlow said one day, in connection +with some estate they were settling: + +"I've always pitied the only child. It must be +miserably lonesome." + +No sooner were the words out of his mouth than +he colored violently; for, he remembered that the +Normans had but one child and he knew the probable reason +for it. Norman seemed not to have heard or seen. +Tetlow hoped he hadn't, but, knowing the man, feared +otherwise. And he was right. + +In the press of other matters Norman forgot +Tetlow's remark--remembered it again a few days later +when he was taking the baby out for an airing in the +motor--forgot it again--finally, when he took a several +days' rest at home, remembered it and kept it in mind. +He began to think of Dorothy once more in a definite, +personal way, began to observe her as his wife, instead +of as mere part of his establishment. An intellectual +person she certainly was not. She had a quaint +individual way of speaking and of acting. She had the +marvelous changeable beauty that had once caused him +to take the bit in his teeth and run wild. But he would +no more think of talking with her about the affairs that +really interested him than--well, than the other men of +large career in his acquaintance would think of talking +those matters to their wives. + +But-- He was astonished to discover that he liked +this slim, quiet, unobtrusive little wife of his better than +he liked anyone else in the world, that he eagerly turned +away from the clever and amusing companionship he +might have at his clubs to come down to the country +and be with her and the baby--not the baby alone, but +her also. Why? He could not find a satisfactory reason. +He saw that she created at that Hempstead place +an atmosphere of rest, of tranquility. But this merely +thrust the mystery one step back. HOW did she create +this atmosphere--and for a man of his varied and +discriminating tastes? To that question he could work +out no answer. She had for him now a charm as different +from the infatuation of former days as calm sea is +from tempest-racked sea--utterly different, yet fully +as potent. As he observed her and wondered at these +discoveries of his, the ghost of a delight he had thought +forever dead stirred in his heart, in his fancy. Yes, +it was a pleasure, a thrilling pleasure to watch her. +There was music in those quiet, graceful movements of +hers, in that quiet, sweet voice. Not the wild, blood- +heating music of the former days, but a kind far more +melodious--tender, restful to nerves sorely tried by the +tensions of ambition. He made some sort of an attempt +to define his feeling for her, but could not. It seemed +to fit into none of the usual classifications. + +Then, he wondered-- "What is SHE thinking +of ME?" + +To find out he resorted to various elaborate round +about methods that did credit to the ingenuity of his +mind. But he made at every cunning cast a barren +water-haul. Either she was not thinking of him at all +or what she thought swam too deep for any casts he +knew how to make in those hidden and unfamiliar +waters. Or, perhaps she did not herself know what +she thought, being too busy with the baby and the +household to have time for such abstract and not pressing, +perhaps not important, matters. He moved slowly +in his inquiries into her state of mind because there +was all the time in the world and no occasion for haste. +He moved cautiously because he wished to do nothing +that might disturb the present serenity of their home +life. Did she dislike him? Was she indifferent? Had +she developed a habit of having him about that was in +a way equivalent to liking? + +These languid but delightful investigations--not +unlike the pastimes one spins out when one has a long, +long lovely summer day with hours on hours for luxurious +happy idling--these investigations were abruptly +suspended by a suddenly compelled trip to Europe. +He arranged for Dorothy to send him a cable every +day--"about yourself and the baby"--and he sent an +occasional cabled bulletin about himself in reply. But +neither wrote to the other; their relationship was not +of the letter-exchanging kind--and had no need of pretense +at what it was not. + +In the third month of his absence, his sister Ursula +came over for dresses, millinery and truly aristocratic +society. She had little time for him, or he for her, but +they happened to lunch alone about a week after his +arrival. + +"You're looking cross and unhappy," said she. +"What's the matter? Business?" + +"No--everything's going well." + +"Same thing that's troubling Dorothy, then?" + +"Is Dorothy ill?" inquired he, suddenly as alert as +he had been absent. "She hasn't let me know anything +about it." + +"Ill? Of course not," reassured Ursula. "She's +never ill. But--I've not anywhere or ever seen two +people as crazy about each other as you and she." + +"Really?" Norman had relapsed into interest in +what he was eating. + +"You live all alone down there in the country. +You treat anyone who comes to see you as intruder. +And as soon as darling husband goes away, darling +wife wanders about like a damned soul. Honestly, it +gave me the blues to look at her eyes. And I used to +think she cared more about the baby than about you." + +"She's probably worried about something else," +said Norman. "More salad? No? There's no dessert-- +at least I've ordered none. But if you'd like some +strawberries----" + +"I thought of that," replied Ursula, not to be +deflected. "I mean of her being upset about something +beside you. I'm slow to suspect anyone of really caring +about any ONE else. But, although she didn't confess, +I soon saw that it was your absence. And she +wasn't putting on for my benefit, either. My maid hears +the same thing from all the servants." + +"This is pleasant," said Norman in his mocking +good-humored way. + +"And you're in the same state," she charged with +laughing but sympathetic eyes. "Why, Fred, you're +as madly in love with her as ever." + +"I wonder," said he reflectively. + +"Why didn't you bring her with you?" + +He stared at his sister like a man who has just +discovered that he, with incredible stupidity, had over- +looked the obvious. "I didn't think I'd be away long," +evaded he. + +He saw Ursula off for the Continent, half promised +to join her in a few weeks at Aix. A day or so after +her departure he had a violent fit of blues, was haunted +by a vision of the baby and the comfortable, peaceful +house on Long Island. He had expected to stay about +two months longer. "I'm sick of England and of +hotels," he said, and closed up his business and sailed the +following week. + + +She and the baby were at the pier to meet him. He +looked for signs of the mourning Ursula had described, +but he looked in vain. Never had he seen her lovelier, +or so sparkling. And how she did talk!--rattling on +and on, with those interesting commonplaces of domestic +event--the baby, the household, the garden, the baby +--the horses, the dogs, the baby--the servants, her new +dresses, the baby--and so on, and so on--and the +baby. + +But when they got into the motor at Hempstead +station for the drive home, silence fell upon her--he +had been almost silent from the start of the little +journey. As the motor swung into the grounds, looking +their most beautiful for his homecoming, an enormous +wave of pure delight began to surge up in him, to swell, +to rush, to break, dashing its spray of tears into his +eyes. He turned his head away to hide the too obvious +display of feeling. They went into the house, he carrying +the baby. He gave it to the nurse--and he and +she were alone. + +"It certainly is good to be home again," he said. + +The words were the tamest commonplace. We always +speak in the old stereotyped commonplaces when +we speak directly from the heart. His tone made her +glance quickly at him. + +"Why, I believe you ARE glad," said she. + +He took her hand. They looked at each other. +Suddenly she flung herself wildly into his arms and +clung to him in an agony of joy and fear. "Oh, I +missed you so!" she sobbed. "I missed you so!" + +"It was frightful," said he. "It shall never +happen again." + + + + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Dust by David Graham Phillips + |