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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/457-h.zip b/457-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b10b26 --- /dev/null +++ b/457-h.zip diff --git a/457-h/457-h.htm b/457-h/457-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..76473a5 --- /dev/null +++ b/457-h/457-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16876 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Price She Paid, by David Graham Phillips +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Price She Paid, by David Graham Phillips + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Price She Paid + +Author: David Graham Phillips + +Posting Date: September 27, 2008 [EBook #457] +Release Date: March, 1996 +[This file last updated: January 31, 2011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRICE SHE PAID *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE PRICE SHE PAID +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +David Graham Phillips +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4> + <A HREF="#chap01">I</A> + <A HREF="#chap02">II</A> + <A HREF="#chap03">III</A> + <A HREF="#chap04">IV</A> + <A HREF="#chap05">V</A> + <A HREF="#chap06">VI</A> + <A HREF="#chap07">VII</A> + <A HREF="#chap08">VIII</A> + <A HREF="#chap09">IX</A> + <A HREF="#chap10">X</A> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +I +</H3> + +<P> +HENRY GOWER was dead at sixty-one—the end of a lifelong fraud which +never had been suspected, and never would be. With the world, with his +acquaintances and neighbors, with his wife and son and daughter, he +passed as a generous, warm-hearted, good-natured man, ready at all +times to do anything to help anybody, incapable of envy or hatred or +meanness. In fact, not once in all his days had he ever thought or +done a single thing except for his own comfort. Like all intensely +selfish people who are wise, he was cheerful and amiable, because that +was the way to be healthy and happy and to have those around one +agreeable and in the mood to do what one wished them to do. He told +people, not the truth, not the unpleasant thing that might help them, +but what they wished to hear. His family lived in luxurious comfort +only because he himself was fond of luxurious comfort. His wife and his +daughter dressed fashionably and went about and entertained in the +fashionable, expensive way only because that was the sort of life that +gratified his vanity. He lived to get what he wanted; he got it every +day and every hour of a life into which no rain ever fell; he died, +honored, respected, beloved, and lamented. +</P> + +<P> +The clever trick he had played upon his fellow beings came very near to +discovery a few days after his death. His widow and her son and +daughter-in-law and daughter were in the living-room of the charming +house at Hanging Rock, near New York, alternating between sorrowings +over the dead man and plannings for the future. Said the widow: +</P> + +<P> +"If Henry had only thought what would become of us if he were taken +away!" +</P> + +<P> +"If he had saved even a small part of what he made every year from the +time he was twenty-six—for he always made a big income," said his son, +Frank. +</P> + +<P> +"But he was so generous, so soft-hearted!" exclaimed the widow. "He +could deny us nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"He couldn't bear seeing us with the slightest wish ungratified," said +Frank. +</P> + +<P> +"He was the best father that ever lived!" cried the daughter, Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +And Mrs. Gower the elder and Mrs. Gower the younger wept; and Mildred +turned away to hide the emotion distorting her face; and Frank stared +gloomily at the carpet and sighed. The hideous secret of the life of +duplicity was safe, safe forever. +</P> + +<P> +In fact, Henry Gower had often thought of the fate of his family if he +should die. In the first year of his married life, at a time when +passion for a beautiful bride was almost sweeping him into generous +thought, he had listened for upward of an hour to the eloquence of a +life insurance agent. Then the agent, misled by Gower's effusively +generous and unselfish expressions, had taken a false tack. He had +descanted upon the supreme satisfaction that would be felt by a dying +man as he reflected how his young widow would be left in affluence. He +made a vivid picture; Gower saw—saw his bride happier after his death +than she had been during his life, and attracting a swarm of admirers +by her beauty, well set off in becoming black, and by her independent +income. The generous impulse then and there shriveled to its weak and +shallow roots. With tears in his kind, clear eyes he thanked the agent +and said: +</P> + +<P> +"You have convinced me. You need say no more. I'll send for you in a +few days." +</P> + +<P> +The agent never got into his presence again. Gower lived up to his +income, secure in the knowledge that his ability as a lawyer made him +certain of plenty of money as long as he should live. But it would +show an utter lack of comprehension of his peculiar species of +character to imagine that he let himself into the secret of his own +icy-heartedness by ceasing to think of the problem of his wife and two +children without him to take care of them. On the contrary, he thought +of it every day, and planned what he would do about it—to-morrow. And +for his delay he had excellent convincing excuses. Did he not take +care of his naturally robust health? Would he not certainly outlive +his wife, who was always doctoring more or less? Frank would be able to +take care of himself; anyhow, it was not well to bring a boy up to +expectations, because every man should be self-supporting and +self-reliant. As for Mildred, why, with her beauty and her cleverness +she could not but make a brilliant marriage. Really, there was for him +no problem of an orphaned family's future; there was no reason why he +should deny himself any comfort or luxury, or his vanity any of the +titillations that come from social display. +</P> + +<P> +That one of his calculations which was the most vital and seemed the +surest proved to be worthless. It is not the weaklings who die, after +infancy and youth, but the strong, healthy men and women. The +weaklings have to look out for themselves, receive ample warning in the +disastrous obvious effects of the slightest imprudence. The robust, +even the wariest of them, even the Henry Gowers, overestimate and +overtax their strength. Gower's downfall was champagne. He could not +resist a bottle of it for dinner every night. As so often happens, the +collapse of the kidneys came without any warning that a man of powerful +constitution would deem worthy of notice. By the time the doctor began +to suspect the gravity of his trouble he was too far gone. +</P> + +<P> +Frank, candidly greedy and selfish—"Such a contrast to his father!" +everyone said—was married to the prettiest girl in Hanging Rock and +had a satisfactory law practice in New York. His income was about +fifteen thousand a year. But his wife had tastes as extravagant as his +own; and Hanging Rock is one of those suburbs of New York where gather +well-to-do middle-class people to live luxuriously and to delude each +other and themselves with the notion that they are fashionable, rich +New Yorkers who prefer to live in the country "like the English." Thus, +Henry Gower's widow and daughter could count on little help from +Frank—and they knew it. +</P> + +<P> +"You and Milly will have to move to some less expensive place than +Hanging Rock," said Frank—it was the living-room conference a few days +after the funeral. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred flushed and her eyes flashed. She opened her lips to +speak—closed them again with the angry retort unuttered. After all, +Frank was her mother's and her sole dependence. They could hope for +little from him, but nothing must be said that would give him and his +mean, selfish wife a chance to break with them and refuse to do +anything whatever. +</P> + +<P> +"And Mildred must get married," said Natalie. In Hanging Rock most of +the girls and many of the boys had given names taken from Burke's +Peerage, the Almanac de Gotha, and fashionable novels. +</P> + +<P> +Again Mildred flushed; but her eyes did not flash, neither did she open +her lips to speak. The little remark of her sister-in-law, apparently +so harmless and sensible, was in fact a poisoned arrow. For Mildred +was twenty-three, had been "out" five years, and was not even in the +way to become engaged. She and everyone had assumed from her lovely +babyhood that she would marry splendidly, would marry wealth and social +position. How could it be otherwise? Had she not beauty? Had she not +family and position? Had she not style and cleverness? Yet—five +years out and not a "serious" proposal. An impudent poor fellow with +no prospects had asked her. An impudent rich man from fashionable New +York had hung after her—and had presently abandoned whatever dark +projects he may have been concealing and had married in his own set, +"as they always do, the miserable snobs," raved Mrs. Gower, who had +been building high upon those lavish outpourings of candy, flowers, and +automobile rides. Mildred, however, had accepted the defection more +philosophically. She had had enough vanity to like the attentions of +the rich and fashionable New Yorker, enough good sense to suspect, +perhaps not definitely, what those attentions meant, but certainly what +they did not mean. Also, in the back of her head had been an intention +to refuse Stanley Baird, if by chance he should ask her. Was there any +substance to this intention, sprung from her disliking the conceited, +self-assured snob as much as she liked his wealth and station? Perhaps +not. Who can say? At any rate, may we not claim credit for our good +intentions—so long as, even through lack of opportunity, we have not +stultified them? +</P> + +<P> +With every natural advantage apparently, Mildred's failure to catch a +husband seemed to be somehow her own fault. Other girls, less endowed +than she, were marrying, were marrying fairly well. Why, then, was +Mildred lagging in the market? +</P> + +<P> +There may have been other reasons, reasons of accident—for, in the +higher class matrimonial market, few are called and fewer chosen. There +was one reason not accidental; Hanging Rock was no place for a girl so +superior as was Mildred Gower to find a fitting husband. As has been +hinted, Hanging Rock was one of those upper-middle-class colonies where +splurge and social ambition dominate the community life. In such +colonies the young men are of two classes—those beneath such a girl as +Mildred, and those who had the looks, the manners, the intelligence, +and the prospects to justify them in looking higher socially—in +looking among the very rich and really fashionable. In the Hanging +Rock sort of community, having all the snobbishness of Fifth Avenue, +Back Bay, and Rittenhouse Square, with the added torment of the +snobbishness being perpetually ungratified—in such communities, +beneath a surface reeking culture and idealistic folderol, there is a +coarse and brutal materialism, a passion for money, for luxury, for +display, that equals aristocratic societies at their worst. No one can +live for a winter, much less grow up, in such a place without becoming +saturated with sycophantry. Thus, only by some impossible combination +of chances could there have been at Hanging Rock a young man who would +have appreciated Mildred and have had the courage of his appreciation. +This combination did not happen. In Mildred's generation and set there +were only the two classes of men noted above. The men of the one of +them which could not have attracted her accepted their fate of mating +with second-choice females to whom they were themselves second choice. +The men of the other class rarely appeared at Hanging Rock functions, +hung about the rich people in New York, Newport, and on Long Island, +and would as soon have thought of taking a Hanging Rock society girl to +wife as of exchanging hundred-dollar bills for twenty-five-cent pieces. +Having attractions acceptable in the best markets, they took them +there. Hanging Rock denounced them as snobs, for Hanging Rock was +virtuously eloquent on the subject of snobbishness—we human creatures +being never so effective as when assailing in others the vice or +weakness we know from lifelong, intimate, internal association with it. +But secretly the successfully ambitious spurners of that suburban +society were approved, were envied. And Hanging Rock was most gracious +to them whenever it got the chance. +</P> + +<P> +In her five years of social life Mildred had gone only with the various +classes of fashionable people, had therefore known only the men who are +full of the poison of snobbishness. She had been born and bred in an +environment as impregnated with that poison as the air of a +kitchen-garden with onions. She knew nothing else. The secret +intention to refuse Stanley Baird, should he propose, was therefore the +more astonishing—and the more significant. From time to time in any +given environment you will find some isolated person, some personality, +with a trait wholly foreign and out of place there. Now it is a soft +voice and courteous manners in a slum; again it is a longing for a life +of freedom and equality in a member of a royal family that has known +nothing but sordid slavery for centuries. Or, in the petty +conventionality of a prosperous middle- or upper-class community you +come upon one who dreams—perhaps vaguely but still longingly—of an +existence where love and ideas shall elevate and glorify life. In +spite of her training, in spite of the teaching and example of all +about her from the moment of her opening her eyes upon the world, +Mildred Gower at twenty-three still retained something of these dream +flowers sown in the soil of her naturally good mind by some book or +play or perhaps by some casually read and soon forgotten article in +magazine or newspaper. We have the habit of thinking only weeds +produce seeds that penetrate and prosper everywhere and anywhere. The +truth is that fine plants of all kinds, vegetable, fruit, and flower of +rarest color and perfume, have this same hardiness and fecundity. Pull +away at the weeds in your garden for a while, and see if this is not +so. Though you may plant nothing, you will be amazed at the results if +you but clear a little space of its weeds—which you have been planting +and cultivating. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred—woman fashion—regarded it as a reproach upon her that she had +not yet succeeded in making the marriage everyone, including herself, +predicted for her and expected of her. On the contrary, it was the +most savage indictment possible of the marriageable and marrying men +who had met her—of their stupidity, of their short-sighted and +mean-souled calculation, of their lack of courage—the courage to take +what they, as men of flesh and blood wanted, instead of what their +snobbishness ordered. And if Stanley Baird, the nearest to a +flesh-and-blood man of any who had known her, had not been so +profoundly afraid of his fashionable mother and of his sister, the +Countess of Waring— But he was profoundly afraid of them; so, it is +idle to speculate about him. +</P> + +<P> +What did men see when they looked at Mildred Gower? Usually, when men +look at a woman, they have a hazy, either pleasant or unpleasant, sense +of something feminine. That, and nothing more. Afterward, through +some whim or some thrust from chance they may see in her, or fancy they +see in her, the thing feminine that their souls—it is always +"soul"—most yearns after. But just at first glance, so colorless or +conventionally colored is the usual human being, the average +woman—indeed every woman but she who is exceptional—creates upon man +the mere impression of pleasant or unpleasant petticoats. In the +exceptional woman something obtrudes. She has astonishing hair, or +extraordinary eyes, or a mouth that seems to draw a man like a magnet; +or it is the allure of a peculiar smile or of a figure whose +sinuosities as she moves seem to cause a corresponding wave-disturbance +in masculine nerves. Further, the possession of one of these signal +charms usually causes all her charms to have more than ordinary +potency. The sight of the man is so bewitched by the one potent charm +that he sees the whole woman under a spell. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred Gower, of the medium height and of a slender and well-formed +figure, had a face of the kind that is called lovely; and her smile, +sweet, dreamy, revealing white and even teeth, gave her loveliness +delicate animation. She had an abundance of hair, neither light nor +dark; she had a fine clear skin. Her eyes, gray and rather serious and +well set under long straight brows, gave her a look of honesty and +intelligence. But the charm that won men, her charm of charms, was her +mouth—mobile, slightly pouted, not too narrow, of a wonderful, vividly +healthy and vital red. She had beauty, she had intelligence. But it +was impossible for a man to think of either, once his glance had been +caught by those expressive, inviting lips of hers, so young, so fresh, +with their ever-changing, ever-fascinating line expressing in a +thousand ways the passion and poetry of the kiss. +</P> + +<P> +Of all the men who had admired her and had edged away because they +feared she would bewitch them into forgetting what the world calls +"good common sense"—of all those men only one had suspected the real +reason for her physical power over men. All but Stanley Baird had +thought themselves attracted because she was so pretty or so stylish or +so clever and amusing to talk with. Baird had lived intelligently +enough to learn that feminine charm is never general, is always +specific. He knew it was Mildred Gower's lips that haunted, that +frightened ambitious men away, that sent men who knew they hadn't a +ghost of a chance with her discontentedly back to the second-choice +women who alone were available for them. Fortunately for Mildred, +Stanley Baird, too wise to flatter a woman discriminatingly, did not +tell her the secret of her fascination. If he had told her, she would +no doubt have tried to train and to use it—and so would inevitably +have lost it. +</P> + +<P> +To go on with that important conference in the sitting-room in the +handsome, roomy house of the Gowers at Hanging Rock, Frank Gower +eagerly seized upon his wife's subtly nasty remark. "I don't see why +in thunder you haven't married, Milly," said he. "You've had every +chance, these last four or five years." +</P> + +<P> +"And it'll be harder now," moaned her mother. "For it looks as though +we were going to be wretchedly poor. And poverty is so repulsive." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think," said Mildred, "that giving me the idea that I must +marry right away will make it easier for me to marry? Everyone who +knows us knows our circumstances." She looked significantly at Frank's +wife, who had been wailing through Hanging Rock the woeful plight of +her dead father-in-law's family. The young Mrs. Gower blushed and +glanced away. "And," Mildred went on, "everyone is saying that I must +marry at once—that there's nothing else for me to do." She smiled +bitterly. "When I go into the street again I shall see nothing but +flying men. And no man would come to call unless he brought a chaperon +and a witness with him." +</P> + +<P> +"How can you be so frivolous?" reproached her mother. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was used to being misunderstood by her mother, who had long +since been made hopelessly dull by the suffocating life she led and by +pain from her feet, which never left her at ease for a moment except +when she had them soaking in cold water. Mrs. Gower had been born with +ordinary feet, neither ugly nor pretty and entirely fit for the uses +for which nature intended feet. She had spoiled them by wearing shoes +to make them look smaller and slimmer than they were. In steady weather +she was plaintive; in changeable weather she varied between irritable +and violent. +</P> + +<P> +Said Mildred to her brother: "How much—JUST how much is there?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't say exactly," replied her brother, who had not yet solved to +his satisfaction the moral problem of how much of the estate he ought +to allow his mother and sister and how much he ought to claim for +himself—in such a way that the claim could not be disputed. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred looked fixedly at him. He showed his uneasiness not by +glancing away, but by the appearance of a certain hard defiance in his +eyes. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"What is the very most we can hope for?" +</P> + +<P> +A silence. Her mother broke it. "Mildred, how CAN you talk of those +things—already?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," replied Mildred. "Perhaps because it's got to be done." +</P> + +<P> +This seemed to them all—and to herself—a lame excuse for such +apparent hardness of heart. Her father had always been +SENDER-HEARTED—HAD NEVER SPOKEN OF MONEY, OR ENCOURAGED HIS FAMILY IN +SPEAKING OF IT. +</P> + +<P> +A LONG AND PAINFUL SILENCE. THEN, THE WIDOW ABRUPTLY: +</P> + +<P> +"YOU'RE SURE, Frank, there's NO insurance?" +</P> + +<P> +"Father always said that you disliked the idea," replied her son; "that +you thought insurance looked like your calculating on his death." +</P> + +<P> +Under her husband's adroit prompting Mrs. Gower had discovered such a +view of insurance in her brain. She now recalled expressing it—and +regretted. But she was silenced. She tried to take her mind of the +subject of money. But, like Mildred, she could not. The thought of +imminent poverty was nagging at them like toothache. "There'll be +enough for a year or so?" she said, timidly interrogative. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope so," said Frank. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was eying him fixedly again. Said she: "Have you found +anything at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"He had about eight thousand dollars in bank," said Frank. "But most +of it will go for the pressing debts." +</P> + +<P> +"But how did HE expect to live?" urged Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, there must have been SOMETHING," said her mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, there's his share of the unsettled and unfinished business +of the firm," admitted Frank. +</P> + +<P> +"How much will that be?" persisted Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't tell, offhand," said Frank, with virtuous reproach. "My +mind's been on—other things." +</P> + +<P> +Henry Gower's widow was not without her share of instinctive +shrewdness. Neither had she, unobservant though she was, been within +sight of her son's character for twenty-eight years without having +unconfessed, unformed misgivings concerning it. "You mustn't bother +about these things now, Frank dear," said she. "I'll get my brother to +look into it." +</P> + +<P> +"That won't be necessary," hastily said Frank. "I don't want any rival +lawyer peeping into our firm's affairs." +</P> + +<P> +"My brother Wharton is the soul of honor," said Mrs. Gower, the elder, +with dignity. "You are too young to take all the responsibility of +settling the estate. Yes, I'll send for Wharton to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"It'll look as though you didn't trust me," said Frank sourly. +</P> + +<P> +"We mustn't do anything to start the gossips in this town," said his +wife, assisting. +</P> + +<P> +"Then send for him yourself, Frank," said Mildred, "and give him charge +of the whole matter." +</P> + +<P> +Frank eyed her furiously. "How ashamed father would be!" exclaimed he. +</P> + +<P> +But this solemn invoking of the dead man's spirit was uneffectual. The +specter of poverty was too insistent, too terrible. Said the widow: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure, in the circumstances, my dear dead husband would want me to +get help from someone older and more experienced." +</P> + +<P> +And Frank, guilty of conscience and an expert in the ways of +conventional and highly moral rascality, ceased to resist. His wife, +scenting danger to their getting the share that "rightfully belongs to +the son, especially when he has been the brains of the firm for several +years," made angry and indiscreet battle for no outside interference. +The longer she talked the firmer the widow and the daughter became, not +only because she clarified suspicions that had been too hazy to take +form, but also because they disliked her intensely. The following day +Wharton Conover became unofficial administrator. He had no difficulty +in baffling Frank Gower's half-hearted and clumsy efforts to hide two +large fees due the dead man's estate. He discovered clear assets +amounting in all to sixty-three thousand dollars, most of it available +within a few months. +</P> + +<P> +"As you have the good-will of the firm and as your mother and sister +have only what can be realized in cash," said he to Frank, "no doubt +you won't insist on your third." +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to consider my wife," said Frank. "I can't do as I'd like." +</P> + +<P> +"You are going to insist on your third?" said Conover, with an accent +that made Frank quiver. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't do otherwise," said he in a dogged, shamed way. +</P> + +<P> +"Um," said Conover. "Then, on behalf of my sister and her daughter +I'll have to insist on a more detailed accounting than you have been +willing to give—and on the production of that small book bound in red +leather which disappeared from my brother-in-law's desk the afternoon +of his death." +</P> + +<P> +A wave of rage and fear surged up within Frank Gower and crashed +against the seat of his life. For days thereafter he was from time to +time seized with violent spasms of trembling; years afterward he was +attributing premature weaknesses of old age to the effects of that +moment of horror. His uncle's words came as a sudden, high shot climax +to weeks of exasperating peeping and prying and questioning, of sneer +and insinuation. Conover had been only moderately successful at the +law, had lost clients to Frank's father, had been beaten when they were +on opposite sides. He hated the father with the secret, hypocritical +hatred of the highly moral and religious man. He despised the son. It +is not often that a Christian gentleman has such an opportunity to +combine justice and revenge, to feed to bursting an ancient grudge, the +while conscious that he is but doing his duty. +</P> + +<P> +Said Frank, when he was able to speak: "You have been listening to the +lies of some treacherous clerk here." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't destroy that little book," proceeded Conover tranquilly. "We +can prove that you took it." +</P> + +<P> +Young Gower rose. "I must decline to have anything further to say to +you, sir," said he. "You will leave this office, and you will not be +admitted here again unless you come with proper papers as +administrator." +</P> + +<P> +Conover smiled with cold satisfaction and departed. There followed a +series of quarrels—between Frank and his sister, between Frank and his +mother, between Frank's wife and his mother, between Mildred and her +mother, between the mother and Conover. Mrs. Gower was suspicious of +her son; but she knew her brother for a pinchpenny, exacting the last +drop of what he regarded as his own. And she discovered that, if she +authorized him to act as administrator for her, he could—and beyond +question would—take a large share of the estate. The upshot was that +Frank paid over to his mother and sister forty-seven thousand dollars, +and his mother and her brother stopped speaking to each other. +</P> + +<P> +"I see that you have turned over all your money to mother," said Frank +to Mildred a few days after the settlement. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," said Mildred. She was in a mood of high scorn for +sordidness—a mood induced by the spectacle of the shameful manners of +Conover, Frank, and his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think that's wise?" suggested Frank. +</P> + +<P> +"I think it's decent," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I hope you'll not live to regret it," said her brother. +</P> + +<P> +Neither Mrs. Gower nor her daughter had ever had any experience in the +care of money. To both forty-seven thousand dollars seemed a +fortune—forty-seven thousand dollars in cash in the bank, ready to +issue forth and do their bidding at the mere writing of a few figures +and a signature on a piece of paper. In a sense they knew that for +many years the family's annual expenses had ranged between forty and +fifty thousand, but in the sense of actuality they knew nothing about +it—a state of affairs common enough in families where the man is in +absolute control and spends all he makes. Money always had been +forthcoming; therefore money always would be forthcoming. +</P> + +<P> +The mourning and the loss of the person who had filled and employed +their lives caused the widow and the daughter to live very quietly +during the succeeding year. They spent only half of their capital. For +reasons of selfish and far-sighted prudence which need no detailing +Frank moved away to New York within six months of his father's death +and reduced communication between himself and wife and his mother and +sister to a frigid and rapidly congealing minimum. He calculated that +by the time their capital was consumed they would have left no feeling +of claim upon him or he feeling of duty toward them. +</P> + +<P> +It was not until eighteen months after her father's death, when the +total capital was sunk to less than fifteen thousand dollars, that +Mildred awakened to the truth of their plight. A few months at most, +and they would have to give up that beautiful house which had been her +home all her life. She tried to grasp the meaning of the facts as her +intelligence presented them to her, but she could not. She had no +practical training whatever. She had been brought up as a rich man's +child, to be married to a rich man, and never to know anything of the +material details of life beyond what was necessary in managing servants +after the indifferent fashion of the usual American woman of the +comfortable classes. She had always had a maid; she could not even +dress herself properly without the maid's assistance. Life without a +maid was inconceivable; life without servants was impossible. +</P> + +<P> +She wandered through the house, through the grounds. She said to +herself again and again: "We have got to give up all this, and be +miserably poor—with not a servant, with less than the tenement people +have." But the words conveyed no meaning to her. She said to herself +again and again: "I must rouse myself. I must do something. I +must—must—must!" But she did not rouse, because there was nothing to +rouse. So far as practical life was concerned she was as devoid of +ideas as a new-born baby. +</P> + +<P> +There was but the one hope—marriage, a rich marriage. It is the habit +of men who can take care of themselves and of women who are securely +well taken care of to scorn the woman or the helpless-bred man who +marries for money or even entertains that idea. How little imagination +these scorners have! To marry for a mere living, hardly better than +one could make for oneself, assuredly does show a pitiful lack of +self-reliance, a melancholy lack of self-respect. But for men or women +all their lives used to luxury and with no ability whatever at earning +money—for such persons to marry money in order to save themselves from +the misery and shame that poverty means to them is the most natural, +the most human action conceivable. The man or the woman who says he or +she would not do it, either is a hypocrite or is talking without +thinking. You may in honesty criticize and condemn a social system that +suffers men and women to be so crudely and criminally miseducated by +being given luxury they did not earn. But to condemn the victims of +that system for acting as its logic compels is sheer folly or sheer +phariseeism. +</P> + +<P> +Would Mildred Gower have married for money? As the weeks fled, as the +bank account dwindled, she would have grasped eagerly at any rich man +who might have offered himself—no matter how repellent he might have +been. She did not want a bare living; she did not want what passes +with the mass of middle-class people for comfort. She wanted what she +had—the beautiful and spacious house, the costly and fashionable +clothing, the servants, the carriages and motors, the thousand and one +comforts, luxuries, and vanities to which she had always been used. In +the brain of a young woman of poor or only comfortably off family the +thoughts that seethed in Mildred Gower's brain would have been so many +indications of depravity. In Mildred Gower's brain they were the +natural, the inevitable, thoughts. They indicated everything as to her +training, nothing as to her character. So, when she, thinking only of +a rich marriage with no matter whom, and contrasting herself with the +fine women portrayed in the novels and plays, condemned herself as +shameless and degraded, she did herself grave injustice. +</P> + +<P> +But no rich man, whether attractive or repulsive, offered. Indeed, no +man of any kind offered. Instead, it was her mother who married. +</P> + +<P> +A widower named James Presbury, elderly, with an income of five to six +thousand a year from inherited wealth, stumbled into Hanging Rock to +live, was impressed by the style the widow Gower maintained, believed +the rumor that her husband had left her better off than was generally +thought, proposed, and was accepted. And two years and a month after +Henry Gower's death his widow became Mrs. James Presbury—and ceased to +veil from her new husband the truth as to her affairs. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had thought that, than the family quarrels incident to settling +her father's estate, human nature could no lower descend. She was now +to be disillusioned. When a young man or a young woman blunders into a +poor marriage in trying to make a rich one, he or she is usually +withheld from immediate and frank expression by the timidity of youth. +Not so the elderly man or woman. As we grow older, no matter how +timidly conventional we are by nature, we become, through selfishness +or through indifference to the opinion of others or through impatience +of petty restraint, more and more outspoken. Old Presbury discovered +how he had tricked himself four days after the wedding. He and his +bride were at the Waldorf in New York, a-honeymooning. +</P> + +<P> +The bride had never professed to be rich. She had simply continued in +her lifelong way, had simply acted rich. She well knew the gaudy +delusions her admirer was entertaining, and she saw to it that nothing +was said or done to disturb him. She inquired into his affairs, made +sure of the substantiality of the comparatively small income he +possessed, decided to accept him as her best available chance to escape +becoming a charge upon her anything but eager and generous relatives. +She awaited the explosion with serenity. She cared not a flip for +Presbury, who was a soft and silly old fool, full of antiquated +compliments and so drearily the inferior of Henry Gower, physically and +mentally, that even she could appreciate the difference, the descent. +She rather enjoyed the prospect of a combat with him, of the end of +dissimulating her contempt. She had thought out and had put in arsenal +ready for use a variety of sneers, jeers, and insults that suggested +themselves to her as she listened and simpered and responded while he +was courting. +</P> + +<P> +Had the opportunity offered earlier than the fourth day she would have +seized it, but not until that fourth morning was she in just the right +mood. She had eaten too much dinner the night before, and had followed +it after two hours in a stuffy theater with an indigestible supper. He +liked the bedroom windows open at night; she liked them closed. After +she fell into a heavy sleep, he slipped out of bed and opened the +windows wide—to teach her by the night's happy experience that she was +entirely mistaken as to the harmfulness of fresh winter air. The +result was that she awakened with a frightful cold and a splitting +headache. And as the weather was about to change she had shooting +pains like toothache through her toes the instant she thrust them into +her shoes. The elderly groom, believing he had a rich bride, was all +solicitude and infuriating attention. She waited until he had wrought +her to the proper pitch of fury. Then she said—in reply to some +remark of his: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I shall rely upon you entirely. I want you to take absolute +charge of my affairs." +</P> + +<P> +The tears sprang to his eyes. His weak old mouth, rapidly falling to +pieces, twisted and twitched with emotion. "I'll try to deserve your +confidence, darling," said he. "I've had large business experience—in +the way of investing carefully, I mean. I don't think your affairs +will suffer in my hands." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm sure they'll not trouble you," said she in a sweet, sure tone +as the pains shot through her feet and her head. "You'll hardly notice +my little mite in your property." She pretended to reflect. "Let me +see—there's seven thousand left, but of course half of that is +Millie's." +</P> + +<P> +"It must be very well invested," said he. "Those seven thousand shares +must be of the very best." +</P> + +<P> +"Shares?" said she, with a gentle little laugh. "I mean dollars." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury was about to lift a cup of cafe au lait to his lips. Instead, +he turned it over into the platter of eggs and bacon. +</P> + +<P> +"We—Mildred and I," pursued his bride, "were left with only forty-odd +thousand between us. Of course, we had to live. So, naturally, +there's very little left." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury was shaking so violently that his head and arms waggled like a +jumping-jack's. He wrapped his elegant white fingers about the arms of +his chair to steady himself. In a suffocated voice he said: "Do you +mean to say that you have only seven thousand dollars in the world?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only half that," corrected she. "Oh, dear, how my head aches! Less +than half that, for there are some debts." +</P> + +<P> +She was impatient for the explosion; the agony of her feet and head +needed outlet and relief. But he disappointed her. That was one of +the situations in which one appeals in vain to the resources of +language. He shrank and sank back in his chair, his jaw dropped, and +he vented a strange, imbecile cackling laugh. It was not an expression +of philosophic mirth, of sense of the grotesqueness of an anti-climax. +It was not an expression of any emotion whatever. It was simply a +signal from a mind temporarily dethroned. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you laughing at?" she said sharply. +</P> + +<P> +His answer was a repetition of the idiotic sound. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with you?" demanded she. "Please close your mouth." +</P> + +<P> +It was a timely piece of advice; for his upper and false teeth had +become partially dislodged and threatened to drop upon the shirt-bosom +gayly showing between the lapels of his dark-blue silk house-coat. He +slowly closed his mouth, moving his teeth back into place with his +tongue—a gesture that made her face twitch with rage and disgust. +</P> + +<P> +"Seven thousand dollars," he mumbled dazedly. +</P> + +<P> +"I said less than half that," retorted she sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"And I—thought you were—rich." +</P> + +<P> +A peculiar rolling of the eyes and twisting of the lips gave her the +idea that he was about to vent that repulsive sound again. "Don't you +laugh!" she cried. "I can't bear your laugh—even at its best." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he galvanized into fury. "This is an outrage!" he cried, +waving his useless-looking white fists. "You have swindled me—SWINDLED +me!" +</P> + +<P> +Her head stopped aching. The pains in her feet either ceased or she +forgot them. In a suspiciously calm voice she said: "What do you +mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean that you are a swindler!" he shouted, banging one fist on the +table and waving the other. +</P> + +<P> +She acted as though his meaning were just dawning upon her. "Do you +mean," said she tranquilly, "that you married me for money?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean that I thought you a substantial woman, and that I find you are +an adventuress." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you think," inquired she, "that any woman who had money would +marry YOU?" She laughed very quietly. "You ARE a fool!" +</P> + +<P> +He sat back to look at her. This mode of combat in such circumstances +puzzled him. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew that you were rich," she went on, "or you would not have dared +offer yourself to me. All my friends were amazed at my stooping to +accept you. Your father was an Irish Tammany contractor, wasn't he?—a +sort of criminal? But I simply had to marry. So I gave you my family +and position and name in exchange for your wealth—a good bargain for +you, but a poor one for me." +</P> + +<P> +These references to HIS wealth were most disconcerting, especially as +they were accompanied by remarks about his origin, of which he was so +ashamed that he had changed the spelling of his name in the effort to +clear himself of it. However, some retort was imperative. He looked at +her and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Swindler and adventuress!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't repeat that lie," said she. "You are the adventurer—despite +the fact that you are very rich." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say that again," cried he. "I never said or pretended I was +rich. I have about five thousand a year—and you'll not get a cent of +it, madam!" +</P> + +<P> +She knew his income, but no one would have suspected it from her +expression of horror. "What!" she gasped. "You dared to marry ME when +you were a—beggar! Me—the widow of Henry Gower! You impudent old +wreck! Why, you haven't enough to pay my servants. What are we to +live on, pray?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what YOU'LL live on," replied he. "<I>I</I> shall live as I +always have." +</P> + +<P> +"A beggar!" she exclaimed. "I—married to a beggar." She burst into +tears. "How men take advantage of a woman alone! If my son had been +near me! But there's surely some law to protect me. Yes, I'm sure +there is. Oh, I'll punish you for having deceived me." Her eyes dried +as she looked at him. "How dare you sit there? How dare you face me, +you miserable fraud!" +</P> + +<P> +Early in her acquaintance with him she had discovered that determining +factors in his character were sensitiveness about his origin and +sensitiveness about his social position. On this knowledge of his +weaknesses was securely based her confidence that she could act as she +pleased toward him. To ease her pains she proceeded to pour out her +private opinion of him—all the disagreeable things, all the insults +she had been storing up. +</P> + +<P> +She watched him as only a woman can watch a man. She saw that his rage +was not dangerous, that she was forcing him into a position where fear +of her revenging herself by disgracing him would overcome anger at the +collapse of his fatuous dreams of wealth. She did not despise him the +more deeply for sitting there, for not flying from the room or trying +to kill her or somehow compelling her to check that flow of insult. She +already despised him utterly; also, she attached small importance to +self-respect, having no knowledge of what that quality really is. +</P> + +<P> +When she grew tired, she became quiet. They sat there a long time in +silence. At last he ran up the white flag of abject surrender by +saying: +</P> + +<P> +"What'll we live on—that's what I'd like to know?" +</P> + +<P> +An eavesdropper upon the preceding violence of upward of an hour would +have assumed that at its end this pair must separate, never to see each +other again voluntarily. But that idea, even as a possibility, had not +entered the mind of either. They had lived a long time; they were +practical people. They knew from the outset that somehow they must +arrange to go on together. The alternative meant a mere pittance of +alimony for her; meant for him social ostracism and the small income +cut in half; meant for both scandal and confusion. +</P> + +<P> +Said she fretfully: "Oh, I suppose we'll get along, somehow. I don't +know anything about those things. I've always been looked after—kept +from contact with the sordid side of life." +</P> + +<P> +"That house you live in," he went on, "does it belong to you?" +</P> + +<P> +She gave him a contemptuous glance. "Of course," said she. "What low +people you must have been used to!" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought perhaps you had rented it for your bunco game," retorted he. +"The furniture, the horses, the motor—all those things—do they belong +to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall leave the room if you insult me," said she. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you include them in the seven thousand dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +"The money is in the bank. It has nothing to do with our house and our +property." +</P> + +<P> +He reflected, presently said: "The horses and carriages must be sold +at once—and all those servants dismissed except perhaps two. We can +live in the house." +</P> + +<P> +She grew purple with rage. "Sell MY carriages! Discharge MY servants! +I'd like to see you try!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who's to pay for keeping up that establishment?" demanded he. +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. She saw what he had in mind. +</P> + +<P> +"If you want to keep that house and live comfortably," he went on, +"you've got to cut expenses to the bone. You see that, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't live any way but the way I've been used to all my life," +wailed she. +</P> + +<P> +He eyed her disgustedly. Was there anything equal to a woman for folly? +</P> + +<P> +"We've got to make the most of what little we have," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you I don't know anything about those things," repeated she. +"You'll have to look after them. Mildred and I aren't like the women +you've been used to. We are ladies." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury's rage boiled over again at the mention of Mildred. "That +daughter of yours!" he cried. "What's to be done about her? I've got +no money to waste on her." +</P> + +<P> +"You miserable Tammany THING!" exclaimed she. "Don't you dare SPEAK of +my daughter except in the most respectful way." +</P> + +<P> +And once more she opened out upon him, wreaking upon him all her wrath +against fate, all the pent-up fury of two years—fury which had been +denied such fury's usual and natural expression in denunciations of the +dead bread-winner. The generous and ever-kind Henry Gower could not be +to blame for her wretched plight; and, of course, she herself could not +be to blame for it. So, until now there had been no scapegoat. +Presbury therefore received the whole burden. He, alarmed lest a +creature apparently so irrational, should in wild rage drive him away, +ruin him socially, perhaps induce a sympathetic court to award her a +large part of his income as alimony, said not a word in reply. He bade +his wrath wait. Later on, when the peril was over, when he had a firm +grip upon the situation—then he would take his revenge. +</P> + +<P> +They gave up the expensive suite at the Waldorf that very day and +returned to Hanging Rock. They alternated between silence and the +coarsest, crudest quarrelings, for neither had the intelligence to +quarrel wittily or the refinement to quarrel artistically. As soon as +they arrived at the Gower house, Mildred was dragged into the wrangle. +</P> + +<P> +"I married this terrible man for your sake," was the burden of her +mother's wail. "And he is a beggar—wants to sell off everything and +dismiss the servants." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a pair of paupers," cried the old man. "You are shameless +tricksters. Be careful how you goad me!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had anticipated an unhappy ending to her mother's marriage, but +she had not knowledge enough of life or of human nature to anticipate +any such horrors as now began. Every day, all day long the vulgar +fight raged. Her mother and her stepfather withdrew from each other's +presence only to think up fresh insults to fling at each other. As +soon as they were armed they hastened to give battle again. She +avoided Presbury. Her mother she could not avoid; and when her mother +was not in combat with him, she was weeping or wailing or railing to +Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +It was at Mildred's urging that her mother acquiesced in Presbury's +plans for reducing expenses within income. At first the girl, even +more ignorant than her mother of practical affairs, did not appreciate +the wisdom, not to say the necessity, of what he wished to do, but soon +she saw that he was right, that the servants must go, that the horses +and carriages and the motors must be sold. When she was convinced and +had convinced her mother, she still did not realize what the thing +really meant. Not until she no longer had a maid did she comprehend. +To a woman who has never had a maid, or who has taken on a maid as a +luxury, it will seem an exaggeration to say that Mildred felt as +helpless as a baby lying alone in a crib before it has learned to +crawl. Yet that is rather an understatement of her plight. The maid +left in the afternoon. Mildred, not without inconveniences that had in +the novelty their amusing side, contrived to dress that evening for +dinner and to get to bed; but when she awakened in the morning and was +ready to dress, the loss of Therese became a tragedy. It took the girl +nearly four hours to get herself together presentably—and then, never +had she looked so unkempt. With her hair, thick and soft, she could do +nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"What a wonderful person Therese was!" thought she. "And I always +regarded her as rather stupid." Her mother, who had not had a maid +until she was about thirty and had never become completely dependent, +fared somewhat better, though, hearing her moans, you would have +thought she was faring worse. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred's unhappiness increased from day to day, as her wardrobe fell +into confusion and disrepair. She felt that she must rise to the +situation, must teach herself, must save herself from impending +dowdiness and slovenliness. But her brain seemed to be paralyzed. She +did not know how or where to begin to learn. She often in secret gave +way to the futility of tears. +</P> + +<P> +There were now only a cook and one housemaid and a man of all work—all +three newcomers, for Presbury insisted—most wisely—that none of the +servants of the luxurious, wasteful days would be useful in the new +circumstances. He was one of those small, orderly men who have a +genius for just such situations as the one he now proceeded to grapple +with and solve. In his pleasure at managing everything about that +house, in distributing the work among the three servants, in marketing, +and, in inspecting purchases and nosing into the garbage-barrel, in +looking for dust on picture-frames and table-tops and for neglected +weeds in the garden walks—in this multitude of engrossing delights he +forgot his anger over the trick that had been played upon him. He +still fought with his wife and denounced her and met insult with +insult. But that, too, was one of his pleasures. Also, he felt that +on the whole he had done well in marrying. He had been lonely as a +bachelor, had had no one to talk with, or to quarrel with, nothing to +do. The marriage was not so expensive, as his wife had brought him a +house—and it such a one as he had always regarded as the apogee of +elegance. Living was not dear in Hanging Rock, if one understood +managing and gave time to it. And socially he was at last established. +</P> + +<P> +Soon his wife was about as contented as she had ever been in her life. +She hated and despised her husband, but quarreling with him and railing +against him gave her occupation and aim—two valuable assets toward +happiness that she had theretofore lacked. Her living—shelter, food, +clothing enough—was now secure. But the most important factor of all +in her content was the one apparently too trivial to be worthy of +record. From girlhood she could not recall a single day in which she +had not suffered from her feet. And she had been ashamed to say +anything about it—had never let anyone, even her maid, see her feet, +which were about the only unsightly part of her. None had guessed the +cause of her chronic ill-temper until Presbury, that genius for the +little, said within a week of their marriage: +</P> + +<P> +"You talk and act like a woman with chronic corns." +</P> + +<P> +He did not dream of the effect this chance thrust had upon his wife. +For the first time he had really "landed." She concealed her fright +and her shame as best she could and went on quarreling more viciously +than ever. But he presently returned to the attack. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"Your feet hurt you. I'm sure they do. Now that I think of it, you +walk that way." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I deserve my fate," said she. "When a woman marries beneath +her she must expect insult and low conversation." +</P> + +<P> +"You must cure your feet," said he. "I'll not live in the house with a +person who is made fiendish by corns. I think it's only corns. I see +no signs of bunions." +</P> + +<P> +"You brute!" cried his wife, rushing from the room. +</P> + +<P> +But when they met again, he at once resumed the subject, telling her +just how she could cure herself—and he kept on telling her, she +apparently ignoring but secretly acting on his advice. He knew what he +was about, and her feet grew better, grew well—and she was happier +than she had been since girlhood when she began ruining her feet with +tight shoes. +</P> + +<P> +Six months after the marriage, Presbury and his wife were getting on +about as comfortably as it is given to average humanity to get on in +this world of incessant struggle between uncomfortable man and his +uncomfortable environment. But Mildred had become more and more +unhappy. Her mother, sometimes angrily, again reproachfully—and that +was far harder to bear—blamed her for "my miserable marriage to this +low, quarrelsome brute." Presbury let no day pass without telling her +openly that she was a beggar living off him, that she would better +marry soon or he would take drastic steps to release himself of the +burden. When he attacked her before her mother, there was a violent +quarrel from which Mildred fled to hide in her room or in the remotest +part of the garden. When he hunted her out to insult her alone, she +sat or stood with eyes down and face ghastly pale, mute, quivering. She +did not interrupt, did not try to escape. She was like the chained and +spiritless dog that crouches and takes the shower of blows from its +cruel master. +</P> + +<P> +Where could she go? Nowhere. What could she do? Nothing. In the +days of prosperity she had regarded herself as proud and high spirited. +She now wondered at herself! What had become of the pride? What of the +spirit? She avoided looking at her image in the glass—that thin, +pallid face, those circled eyes, the drawn, sick expression about the +mouth and nose. "I'm stunned," she said to herself. "I've been stunned +ever since father's death. I've never recovered—nor has mother." And +she gave way to tears—for her father, she fancied; in fact, from shame +at her weakness and helplessness. She thought—hoped—that she would +not be thus feeble and cowardly, if she were not living at home, in the +house she loved, the house where she had spent her whole life. And +such a house! Comfort and luxury and taste; every room, every corner +of the grounds, full of the tenderest and most beautiful associations. +Also, there was her position in Hanging Rock. Everywhere else she +would be a stranger and would have either no position at all or one +worse than that of the utter outsider. There, she was of the few +looked up to by the whole community. No one knew, or even suspected, +how she was degraded by her step-father. Before the world he was +courteous and considerate toward her as toward everybody. Indeed, +Presbury's natural instincts were gentle and kindly. His hatred of +Mildred and his passion for humiliating her were the result of his +conviction that he had been tricked into the marriage and his inability +to gratify his resentment upon his wife. He could not make the mother +suffer; but he could make the daughter suffer—and he did. Besides, +she was of no use to him and would presently be an expense. +</P> + +<P> +"Your money will soon be gone," he said to her. "If you paid your just +share of the expenses it would be gone now. When it is gone, what will +you do?" +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Your mother has written to your brother about you." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred lifted her head, a gleam of her former spirit in her eyes. Then +she remembered, and bent her gaze upon the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"But he, like the cur that he is, answered through a secretary that he +wished to have nothing to do with either of you." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred guessed that Frank had made the marriage an excuse. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely some of your relatives will do something for you. I have my +hands full, supporting your mother. I don't propose to have two +strapping, worthless women hanging from my neck." +</P> + +<P> +She bent her head lower, and remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I warn you to bestir yourself," he went on. "I give you four months. +After the first of the year you can't stay here unless you pay your +share—your third." +</P> + +<P> +No answer. +</P> + +<P> +"You hear what I say, miss?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied she. +</P> + +<P> +"If you had any sense you wouldn't wait until your last cent was gone. +You'd go to New York now and get something to do." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" she asked—all she could trust herself to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"How should <I>I</I> know?" retorted he furiously. "You are a stranger to +me. You've been educated, I assume. Surely there's something you can +do. You've been out six years now, and have had no success, for you're +neither married nor engaged. You can't call it success to be flattered +and sought by people who wanted invitations to this house when it was a +social center." +</P> + +<P> +He paused for response from her. None came. +</P> + +<P> +"You admit you are a failure?" he said sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said she. +</P> + +<P> +"You must have realized it several years ago," he went on. "Instead of +allowing your mother to keep on wasting money in entertaining lavishly +here to give you a chance to marry, you should have been preparing +yourself to earn a living." A pause. "Isn't that true, miss?" +</P> + +<P> +He had a way of pronouncing the word "miss" that made it an epithet, a +sneer at her unmarried and unmarriageable state. She colored, paled, +murmured: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, better late than never. You'll do well to follow my advice and +go to New York and look about you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll—I'll think of it," stammered she. +</P> + +<P> +And she did think of it. But in all her life she had never considered +the idea of money-making. That was something for men, and for the +middle and lower classes—while Hanging Rock was regarded as most +noisomely middle class by fashionable people, it did not so regard +itself. Money-making was not for ladies. Like all her class, she was +a constant and a severe critic of the women of the lower orders who +worked for her as milliners, dressmakers, shop-attendants, cooks, +maids. But, as she now realized, it is one thing to pass upon the work +of others; it is another thing to do work oneself. She— There was +literally nothing that she could do. Any occupation, even the most +menial, was either beyond her skill or beyond her strength, or beyond +both. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she recalled that she could sing. Her prostrate spirit +suddenly leaped erect. Yes, she could sing! Her voice had been praised +by experts. Her singing had been in demand at charity entertainments +where amateurs had to compete with professionals. Then down she +dropped again. She sang well enough to know how badly she sang—the +long and toilsome and expensive training that lay between her and +operatic or concert or even music-hall stage. Her voice was fine at +times. Again—most of the time—it was unreliable. No, she could not +hope to get paying employment even as a church choir-singer. Miss +Dresser who sang in the choir of the Good Shepherd for ten dollars a +Sunday, had not nearly so good a voice as she, but it was reliable. +</P> + +<P> +"There is nothing I can do—nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +All at once, with no apparent bridge across the vast chasm, her heart +went out, not in pity but in human understanding and sisterly sympathy, +to the women of the pariah class at whom, during her stops in New York, +she had sometimes gazed in wonder and horror. "Why, we and they are +only a step apart," she said to herself in amazement. "We and they are +much nearer than my maid or the cook and they!" +</P> + +<P> +And then her heart skipped a beat and her skin grew cold and a fog +swirled over her brain. If she should be cast out—if she could find +no work and no one to support her—would she— "O my God!" she moaned. +"I must be crazy, to think such thoughts. I never could! I'd die +first—DIE!" But if anyone had pictured to her the kind of life she +was now leading—the humiliation and degradation she was meekly +enduring with no thought of flight, with an ever stronger desire to +stay on, regardless of pride and self-respect—if anyone had pictured +this to her as what she would endure, what would she have said? She +could see herself flashing scornful denial, saying that she would +rather kill herself. Yet she was living—and was not even +contemplating suicide as a way out! +</P> + +<P> +A few days after Presbury gave her warning, her mother took advantage +of his absence for his religiously observed daily constitutional to say +to her: +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you didn't think I was behind him in what he said to you about +going away?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had not thought so, but in her mother's guilty tone and +guiltier eyes she now read that her mother wished her to go. +</P> + +<P> +"It'd be awful for me to be left here alone with him," wailed her +mother insincerely. "Of course we've got no money, and beggars can't +be choosers. But it'd just about kill me to have you go." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred could not speak. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know a thing about money," Mrs. Presbury went on. "Your +father always looked after everything." She had fallen into the way of +speaking of her first husband as part of some vague, remote past, +which, indeed, he had become for her. "This man"—meaning +Presbury—"has only about five thousand a year, as you know. I suppose +that's as small as he says it is. I remember our bills for one month +used to be as much or more than that." She waved her useless, pretty +hands helplessly. "I don't see HOW we are to get on, Mildred!" +</P> + +<P> +Her mother wished her to go! Her mother had fallen under the influence +of Presbury—her mother, woman-like, or rather, ladylike, was of kin to +the helpless, flabby things that float in the sea and attach themselves +to whatever they happen to lodge against. Her mother wished her to go! +</P> + +<P> +"At the same time," Mrs. Presbury went on, "I can't live without +somebody here to stand between me and him. I'd kill him or kill +myself." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred muttered some excuse and fled from the room, to lock herself in. +</P> + +<P> +But when she came forth again to descend to dinner, she had resolved +nothing, because there was nothing to resolve. When she was a child +she leaned from the nursery window one day and saw a stable-boy +drowning a rat that was in a big, oval, wire cage with a wooden bottom. +The boy pressed the cage slowly down in the vat of water. The rat, in +the very top of the cage, watched the floor sink, watched the water +rise. And as it watched it uttered a strange, shrill, feeble sound +which she could still remember distinctly and terribly. It seemed to +her now that if she were to utter any sound at all, it would be that +one. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II +</H3> + +<P> +ON the Monday before Thanksgiving, Presbury went up to New York to look +after one of the little speculations in Wall Street at which he was so +clever. Throughout the civilized world nowadays, and especially in and +near the great capitals of finance, there is a class of men and women +of small capital and of a character in which are combined iron +self-restraint, rabbit-like timidity, and great shrewdness, who make +often a not inconsiderable income by gambling in stocks. They buy only +when the market is advancing strongly; they sell as soon as they have +gained the scantest margin of profit. They never permit themselves to +be tempted by the most absolute certainty of larger gains. They will +let weeks, months even, go by without once risking a dollar. They wait +until they simply cannot lose. Tens of thousands every year try to +join this class. All but the few soon succumb to the hourly dazzling +temptations the big gamblers dangle before the eyes of the little +gamblers to lure them within reach of the merciless shears. +</P> + +<P> +Presbury had for many years added from one to ten thousand a year to +his income by this form of gambling, success at which is in itself +sufficient to stamp a man as infinitely little of soul. On that Monday +he, venturing for the first time in six months, returned to Hanging +Rock on the three-thirty train the richer by two hundred and fifty +dollars—as large a "killing" as he had ever made in any single day, +one large enough to elevate him to the rank of prince among the +"sure-thing snides." He said nothing about his luck to his family, but +let them attribute his unprecedented good humor to the news he brought +and announced at dinner. +</P> + +<P> +"I met an old friend in the street this afternoon," said he. "He has +invited us to take Thanksgiving dinner with him. And I think it will +be a dinner worth while—the food, I mean, and the wine. Not the +guests; for there won't be any guests but us. General Siddall is a +stranger in New York." +</P> + +<P> +"There are Siddalls in New York," said his wife; "very nice, refined +people—going in the best society." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury showed his false teeth in a genial smile; for the +old-fashioned or plate kind of false teeth they were extraordinarily +good—when exactly in place. "But not my old friend Bill Siddall," +said he. "He's next door to an outlaw. I'd not have accepted his +invitation if he had been asking us to dine in public. But this is to +be at his own house—his new house—and a very grand house it is, +judging by the photos he showed me. A regular palace! He'll not be an +outlaw long, I guess. But we must wait and see how he comes out +socially before we commit ourselves." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you accept for me, too?" asked Mrs. Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," said Presbury. "And for your daughter, too." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't go," said Mildred. "I'm dining with the Fassetts." +</P> + +<P> +The family no longer had a servant in constant attendance in the +dining-room. The maid of many functions also acted as butler and as +fetch-and-carry between kitchen and butler's pantry. Before speaking, +Presbury waited until this maid had withdrawn to bring the roast and +the vegetables. Then he said: +</P> + +<P> +"You are going, too, miss." This with the full infusion of insult into +the "miss." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Bill Siddall is looking for a wife," proceeded Presbury. "And he has +Heaven knows how many millions." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think there's a chance for Milly?" cried Mrs. Presbury, who was +full of alternating hopes and fears, both wholly irrational. +</P> + +<P> +"She can have him—if she wants him," replied Presbury. "But it's only +fair to warn her that he's a stiff dose." +</P> + +<P> +"Is the money—CERTAIN?" inquired Mildred's mother with that shrewdness +whose rare occasional displays laid her open to the unjust suspicion of +feigning her habitual stupidity. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Presbury amiably. "It's nothing like yours was. He's so +rich he doesn't know what to do with his income. He owns mines +scattered all over the world. And if they all failed, he's got bundles +of railway stocks and bonds, and gilt-edged trust stocks, too. And he's +a comparatively young man—hardly fifty, I should say. He pretends to +be forty." +</P> + +<P> +"It's strange I never heard of him," said Mrs. Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"If you went to South America or South Africa or Alaska, you'd hear of +him," said Presbury. He laughed. "And I guess you'd hear some pretty +dreadful things. When I knew him twenty-five years ago he had just been +arrested for forging my father's name to a check. But he got out of +that—and it's all past and gone. Probably he hasn't committed any +worse crimes than have most of our big rich men. Bill's handicap has +been that he hadn't much education or any swell relatives. But he's a +genius at money-making." Presbury looked at Mildred with a grin. "And +he's just the husband for Mildred. She can't afford to be too +particular. Somebody's got to support her. <I>I</I> can't and won't, and +she can't support herself." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll go—won't you, Mildred?" said her mother. "He may not be so +bad." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'll go," said Mildred. Her gaze was upon the untouched food on +her plate. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course she'll go," said Presbury. "And she'll marry him if she +can. Won't you, miss?" +</P> + +<P> +He spoke in his amiably insulting way—as distinguished from the way of +savagely sneering insult he usually took with her. He expected no +reply. She surprised him. She lifted her tragic eyes and looked +fixedly at him. She said: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'll go. And I'll marry him if I can." +</P> + +<P> +"I told him he could have you," said Presbury. "I explained to him +that you were a rare specimen of the perfect lady—just what he +wanted—and that you, and all your family, would be grateful to anybody +who would undertake your support." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury flushed angrily. "You've made it perfectly useless for +her to go!" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Calm yourself, my love," said her husband. "I know Bill Siddall +thoroughly. I said what would help. I want to get rid of her as much +as you do—and that's saying a great deal." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury flamed with the wrath of those who are justly accused. +"If Mildred left, I should go, too," cried she. +</P> + +<P> +"Go where?" inquired her husband. "To the poorhouse?" +</P> + +<P> +By persistent rubbing in Presbury had succeeded in making the truth +about her poverty and dependence clear to his wife. She continued to +frown and to look unutterable contempt, but he had silenced her. He +noted this with a sort of satisfaction and went on: +</P> + +<P> +"If Bill Siddall takes her, you certainly won't go there. He wouldn't +have you. He feels strongly on the subject of mothers-in-law." +</P> + +<P> +"Has he been married before?" asked Mrs. Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"Twice," replied her husband. "His first wife died. He divorced the +second for unfaithfulness." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred saw in this painstaking recital of all the disagreeable and +repellent facts about Siddall an effort further to humiliate her by +making it apparent how desperately off she was, how she could not +refuse any offer, revolting though it might be to her pride and to her +womanly instincts. Doubtless this was in part the explanation of +Presbury's malicious candor. But an element in that candor was a +prudent preparing of the girl's mind for worse than the reality. That +he was in earnest in his profession of a desire to bring about the +match showed when he proposed that they should take rooms at a hotel in +New York, to give her a chance to dress properly for the dinner. True, +he hastened to say that the expense must be met altogether out of the +remnant of Mildred's share of her father's estate, but the idea would +not have occurred to him had he not been really planning a marriage. +</P> + +<P> +Never had Mildred looked more beautiful or more attractive than when +the three were ready to sally forth from the Manhattan Hotel on that +Thanksgiving evening. At twenty-five, a soundly healthy and vigorous +twenty-five, it is impossible for mind and nerves, however wrought +upon, to make serious inroads upon surface charms. The hope of +emancipation from her hideous slavery had been acting upon the girl +like a powerful tonic. She had gained several pounds in the three +intervening days; her face had filled out, color had come back in all +its former beauty to her lips. Perhaps there was some slight aid from +art in the extraordinary brilliancy of her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Presbury inventoried her with a succession of grunts of satisfaction. +"Yes, he'll want you," he said. "You'll strike him as just the show +piece he needs. And he's too shrewd not to be aware that his choice is +limited." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't frighten me," said Mildred, with a radiant, coquettish +smile—for practice. "Nothing could frighten me." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not trying," replied Presbury. "Nor will Siddall frighten you. A +woman who's after a bill-payer can stomach anything." +</P> + +<P> +"Or a man," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, your mother wasn't as bad as all that," said Presbury, who never +lost an opportunity. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury, seated beside her daughter in the cab, gave an +exclamation of rage. "My own daughter insulting me!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Such a thought did not enter my head," protested Mildred. "I wasn't +thinking of anyone in particular." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's not quarrel now," said Presbury, with unprecedented amiability. +"We must give Bill a spectacle of the happy family." +</P> + +<P> +The cab entered the porte-cochere of a huge palace of white stone just +off Fifth Avenue. The house was even grander than they had +anticipated. The wrought-iron fence around it had cost a small +fortune; the house itself, without reference to its contents, a large +fortune. The massive outer doors were opened by two lackeys in +cherry-colored silk and velvet livery; a butler, looking like an +English gentleman, was waiting to receive them at the top of a short +flight of marble steps between the outer and the inner entrance doors. +As Mildred ascended, she happened to note the sculpturing over the +inner entrance—a reclining nude figure of a woman, Cupids with +garlands and hymeneal torches hovering about her. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had been in many pretentious houses in and near New York, but +this far surpassed the grandest of them. Everything was brand new, +seemed to have been only that moment placed, and was of the +costliest—statuary, carpets, armor, carved seats of stone and wood, +marble staircase rising majestically, tapestries, pictures, +drawing-room furniture. The hall was vast, but the drawing-room was +vaster. Empty, one would have said that it could not possibly be +furnished. Yet it was not only full, but crowded-chairs and sofas, +hassocks and tete-a-tetes, cabinets, tables, pictures, statues, busts, +palms, flowers, a mighty fireplace in which, behind enormous and costly +andirons, crackled enormous and costly logs. There was danger in +moving about; one could not be sure of not upsetting something, and one +felt that the least damage that could be done there would be an +appallingly expensive matter. +</P> + +<P> +Before that cavernous fireplace posed General Siddall. He was a tiny +mite of a man with a thin wiry body supporting the head of a +professional barber. His black hair was glossy and most romantically +arranged. His black mustache and imperial were waxed and +brilliantined. There was no mistaking the liberal use of dye, also. +From the rather thin, very sharp face looked a pair of small, muddy, +brown-green eyes—dull, crafty, cold, cruel. But the little man was so +insignificant and so bebarbered and betailored that one could not take +him seriously. Never had there been so new, so carefully pressed, so +perfectly fitting evening clothes; never a shirt so expensively got +together, or jeweled studs, waistcoat buttons and links so high priced. +From every part of the room, from every part of the little man's +perfumed and groomed person, every individual article seemed to be +shrieking, "The best is not too good for Bill Siddall!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was agreeably surprised—she was looking with fierce +determination for agreeable surprises—when the costly little man +spoke, in a quiet, pleasant voice with an elusive, attractive foreign +accent. +</P> + +<P> +"My, but this is grand—grand, General Siddall!" said Presbury in the +voice of the noisy flatterer. "Princely! Royal!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred glanced nervously at Siddall. She feared that Presbury had +taken the wrong tone. She saw in the unpleasant eyes a glance of +gratified vanity. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"Not so bad, not so bad. I saw the house in Paris, when I was taking a +walk one day. I went to the American ambassador and asked for the best +architect in Paris. I went to him, told him about the house—and here +it is." +</P> + +<P> +"Decorations, furniture, and all!" exclaimed Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"No, just the house. I picked up the interiors in different parts of +Europe—had everything reproduced where I couldn't buy outright. I +want to enjoy my money while I'm still young. I didn't care what it +cost to get the proper surroundings. As I said to my architect and to +my staff of artists, I expected to be cheated, but I wanted the goods. +And I got the goods. I'll show you through the house after dinner. +It's on this same scale throughout. And they're putting me together a +country place—same sort of thing." He threw back his little shoulders +and protruded his little chest. "And the joke of it is that the whole +business isn't costing me a cent." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a cent less than half a dozen or a dozen millions," said Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"Not so much as that—not quite," protested the delightedly sparkling +little general. "But what I meant was that, as fast as these fellows +spend, I go down-town and make. Fact is, I'm a little better off than +I was when I started in to build." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you didn't get any of MY money," laughed Presbury. "But I +suppose pretty much everybody else in the country must have +contributed." +</P> + +<P> +General Siddall smiled. Mildred wondered whether the points of his +mustache and imperial would crack and break of, if he should touch +them. She noted that his hair was roached absurdly high above the +middle of his forehead and that he was wearing the tallest heels she +had ever seen. She calculated that, with his hair flat and his feet on +the ground, he would hardly come to her shoulder—and she was barely of +woman's medium height. She caught sight of his hands—the square, +stubby hands of a working man; the fingers permanently slightly curved +as by the handle of shovel and pick; the skin shriveled but white with +a ghastly, sickening bleached white, the nails repulsively manicured +into long white curves. "If he should touch me, I'd scream," she +thought. And then she looked at Presbury—and around her at the +evidences of enormous wealth. +</P> + +<P> +The general—she wondered where he had got that title—led her mother +in to dinner, Presbury gave her his arm. On the way he found +opportunity to mutter: +</P> + +<P> +"Lay it on thick! Flatter the fool. You can't offend him. Tell him +he's divinely handsome—a Louis Fourteen, a Napoleon. Praise +everything—napkins, tablecloth, dishes, food. Rave over the wine." +</P> + +<P> +But Mildred could not adopt this obviously excellent advice. She sat +silent and cold, while Presbury and her mother raved and drew out the +general to talk of himself—the only subject in the whole world that +seemed to him thoroughly worth while. As Mildred listened and +furtively observed, it seemed to her that this tiny fool, so obviously +pleased by these coarse and insulting flatteries, could not possibly +have had the brains to amass the vast fortune he apparently possessed. +But presently she noted that behind the personality that was pleased by +this gross fawning and bootlicking there lay—lay in wait and on +guard—another personality, one that despised these guests of his, +estimating them at their true value and using them contemptuously for +the gratification of his coarse appetites. In the glimpse she caught +of that deeper and real personality, she liked it even less than she +liked the one upon the surface. +</P> + +<P> +It was evidence of superior acumen that she saw even vaguely the real +Bill Siddall, the money-maker, beneath the General William Siddall, raw +and ignorant and vulgar—more vulgar in his refinement than the most +shocking bum at home and at ease in foul-smelling stew. Every man of +achievement hides beneath his surface—personality this second and real +man, who makes the fortune, discovers the secret of chemistry, fights +the battle, carries the election, paints the picture, commits the +frightful murder, evolves the divine sermon or poem or symphony. Thus, +when we meet a man of achievement, we invariably have a sense of +disappointment. "Why, that's not the man!" we exclaim. "There must be +some mistake." And it is, indeed, not the man. Him we are incapable of +seeing. We have only eyes for surfaces; and, not being doers of +extraordinary deeds, but mere plodders in the routines of existence, we +cannot believe that there is any more to another than there is to +ourselves. The pleasant or unpleasant surface for the conventional +relations of life is about all there is to us; therefore it is all +there is to human nature. Well, there's no help for it. In measuring +our fellow beings we can use only the measurements of our own selves; +we have no others, and if others are given to us we are as foozled as +one knowing only feet and inches who has a tape marked off in meters +and centimeters. +</P> + +<P> +It so happened that in her social excursions Mildred had never been in +any of the numerous homes of the suddenly and vastly rich of humble +origin. She was used to—and regarded as proper and elegant—the +ordinary ostentations and crudities of the rich of conventional +society. No more than you or I was she moved to ridicule or disdain by +the silliness and the tawdry vulgarity of the life of palace and +liveried lackey and empty ceremonial, by the tedious entertainments, by +the displays of costly and poisonous food. But General Siddall's +establishment presented a new phase to her—and she thought it unique +in dreadfulness and absurdity. +</P> + +<P> +The general had had a home life in his youth—in a coal-miner's cabin +near Wilkes-Barre. Ever since, he had lived in boarding-houses or +hotels. As his shrewd and rapacious mind had gathered in more and more +wealth, he had lived more and more luxuriously—but always at hotels. +He had seen little of the private life of the rich. Thus he had been +compelled to get his ideas of luxury and of ceremonial altogether from +the hotel-keepers and caterers who give the rich what the more +intelligent and informed of the rich are usually shamed by people of +taste from giving themselves at home. +</P> + +<P> +She thought the tablecloth, napkins, and gaudy gold and flowery cut +glass a little overdone, but on the whole not so bad. She had seen +such almost as grand at a few New York houses. The lace in the cloth +and in the napkins was merely a little too magnificent. It made the +table lumpy, it made the napkins unfit for use. But the way the dinner +was served! You would have said you were in a glorified palace-hotel +restaurant. You looked about for the cashier's desk; you were certain a +bill would be presented after the last course. +</P> + +<P> +The general, tinier and more grotesque than ever in the great +high-backed, richly carved armchair, surveyed the progress of the +banquet with the air of a god performing miracles of creation and +passing them in review and giving them his divine endorsement. He was +well pleased with the enthusiastic praises Presbury and his wife +lavished upon the food and drink. He would have been better pleased +had they preceded and followed every mouthful with a eulogy. He +supplemented their compliments with even more fulsome compliments, +adding details as to the origin and the cost. +</P> + +<P> +"Darcy"—this to the butler—"tell the chef that this fish is the best +yet—really exquisite." To Presbury: "I had it brought over from +France—alive, of course. We have many excellent fish, but I like a +change now and then. So I have a standing order with Prunier—he's the +big oyster- and fish-man of Paris—to send me over some things every +two weeks by special express. That way, an oyster costs about fifty +cents and a fish about five or six dollars." +</P> + +<P> +To Mrs. Presbury: "I'll have Darcy make you and Miss Presbury—excuse +me, Miss Gower—bouquets of the flowers afterward. Most of them come +from New York—and very high really first-class flowers are. I pay two +dollars apiece for my roses even at this season. And orchids—well, I +feel really extravagant when I indulge in orchids as I have this +evening. Ten dollars apiece for those. But they're worth it." +</P> + +<P> +The dinner was interminably long—upward of twenty kinds of food, no +less than five kinds of wine; enough served and spoiled to have fed and +intoxicated a dozen people at least. And upon every item of food and +drink the general had some remarks to make. He impressed it upon his +guests that this dinner was very little better than the one served to +him every night, that the increase in expense and luxury was not in +their honor, but in his own—to show them what he could do when he +wished to make a holiday. Finally the grand course was reached. Into +the dining-room, to the amazement of the guests, were rolled two great +restaurant joint wagons. Instead of being made of silver-plated nickel +or plain nickel they were of silver embossed with gold, and the large +carvers and serving-spoons and forks had gold-mounted silver handles. +When the lackeys turned back the covers there were disclosed several +truly wonderful young turkeys, fattened as if by painstaking and +skillful hand and superbly browned. +</P> + +<P> +Up to that time the rich and costly food had been sadly medium—like +the wines. But these turkeys were a genuine triumph. Even Mildred +gave them a look of interest and admiration. In a voice that made +General Siddall ecstatic Presbury cried: +</P> + +<P> +"GOD bless my soul! WHERE did you get those beauties, old man!" +</P> + +<P> +"Paris," said Siddall in a voice tremulous with pride and +self-admiration. You would have thought that he had created not merely +the turkeys, but Paris, also. "Potin sends them over to me. Potin, you +know, is the finest dealer in groceries, fruit, game, and so on in the +world. I have a standing order with him for the best of—everything +that comes in. I'd hate to tell you what my bill with Potin is every +month—he only sends it to me once a year. Really, I think I ought to +be ashamed of myself, but I reason that, if a man can afford it, he's a +fool to put anything but the best into his stomach." +</P> + +<P> +"You're right there!" mumbled Presbury. His mouth was full of turkey. +"You HAVE got a chef, General!" +</P> + +<P> +"He ought to cook well. I pay him more than most bank-presidents get. +What do you think of those joint wagons, Mrs. Presbury?" +</P> + +<P> +"They're very—interesting," replied she, a little nervous because she +suspected they were some sort of vulgar joke. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew you'd like them," said the general. "My own idea entirely. I +saw them in several restaurants abroad—only of course those they had +were just ordinary affairs, not fit to be introduced into a gentleman's +dining-room. But I took the idea and adapted it to my purposes—and +there you are!" +</P> + +<P> +"Very original, old man," said Presbury, who had been drinking too +much. "I've never seen it before, and I don't think I ever shall +again. Got the idea patented?" +</P> + +<P> +But Siddall in his soberest moment would have been slow to admit a +suspicion that any of the human race, which he regarded as on its knees +before him, was venturing to poke fun at him. Drunk as he now was, the +openest sarcasm would have been accepted as a compliment. After a +gorgeous dessert which nobody more than touched—a molded mousse of +whipped and frozen cream and strawberries—"specially sent on to me +from Florida and costing me a dollar apiece, I guess"—after this +costly wonder had disappeared fruit was served. General Siddall had +ready a long oration upon this course. He delivered it in a +disgustingly thick tone. The pineapple was an English hothouse product, +the grapes were grown by a costly process under glass in Belgium. As +for the peaches, Potin had sent those delicately blushing marvels, and +the charge for this would be "not less than a louis apiece, sir—a +louis d'or—which, as you no doubt know, is about four dollars of Uncle +Sam's money." +</P> + +<P> +The coffee—"the Queen of Holland may have it on her PRIVATE +table—MAY, I say—but I doubt if anyone else in the world gets a smell +of it except me"—the coffee and the brandy came not a moment too soon. +Presbury was becoming stupefied with indigestion; his wife was nodding +and was wearing that vague, forced, pleasant smile which stands +propriety-guard over a mind asleep; Mildred Gower felt that her nerves +would endure no more; and the general was falling into a besotted +state, spilling his wine, mumbling his words. The coffee and the brandy +revived them all somewhat. Mildred, lifting her eyes, saw by way of a +mirrored section of the enormous sideboard the English butler surveying +master and guests with slowly moving, sneering glance of ineffable +contempt. +</P> + +<P> +In the drawing-room again Mildred, requested by Siddall and ordered by +Presbury, sang a little French song and then—at the urging of +Siddall—"Annie Laurie." Siddall was wiping his eyes when she turned +around. He said to Presbury: +</P> + +<P> +"Take your wife into the conservatory to look at my orchids. I want to +say a word to your stepdaughter." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred started up nervously. She saw how drunk the general was, saw +the expression of his face that a woman has to be innocent indeed not +to understand. She was afraid to be left alone with him. Presbury came +up to her, said rapidly, in a low tone: +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right. He's got a high sense of what's due a respectable +woman of our class. He isn't as drunk as he looks and acts." +</P> + +<P> +Having said which, he took his wife by the arm and pushed her into the +adjoining conservatory. Mildred reseated herself upon the inlaid +piano-bench. The little man, his face now shiny with the sweat of +drink and emotion, drew up a chair in front of her. He sat—and he was +almost as tall sitting as standing. He said graciously: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be afraid, my dear girl. I'm not that dangerous." +</P> + +<P> +She lifted her eyes and looked at him. She tried to conceal her +aversion; she feared she was not succeeding. But she need not have +concerned herself about that. General Siddall, after the manner of very +rich men, could not conceive of anyone being less impressed with his +superiority in any way than he himself was. For years he had heard +only flatteries of himself—his own voice singing his praises, the +fawning voices of those he hired and of those hoping to get some +financial advantage. He could not have imagined a mere woman not being +overwhelmed by the prospect of his courting her. Nor would it have +entered his head that his money would be the chief, much less the only, +consideration with her. He had long since lost all point of view, and +believed that the adulation paid his wealth was evoked by his charms of +person, mind, and manner. Those who imagine this was evidence of folly +and weak-mindedness and extraordinary vanity show how little they know +human nature. The strongest head could not remain steady, the most +accurate eyes could not retain their measuring skill, in such an +environment as always completely envelops wealth and power. And the +much-talked-of difference between those born to wealth and power and +those who rise to it from obscurity resolves itself to little more than +the difference between those born mad and those who go insane. +</P> + +<P> +Looking at the little man with the disagreeable eyes, so dull yet so +shrewd, Mildred saw that within the drunkard who could scarcely sit +straight upon the richly upholstered and carved gilt chair there was +another person, coldly sober, calmly calculating. And she realized +that it was this person with whom she was about to have the most +serious conversation of her life thus far. +</P> + +<P> +The drunkard smiled with a repulsive wiping and smacking of the thin, +sensual lips. "I suppose you know why I had you brought here this +evening?" said he. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred looked and waited. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't intend to say anything to-night. In fact, I didn't expect to +find in you what I've been looking for. I thought that old fool of a +stepfather of yours was cracking up his goods beyond their merits. But +he wasn't. My dear, you suit me from the ground up. I've been looking +you over carefully. You were made for the place I want to fill." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had lowered her eyes. Her face had become deathly pale. "I +feel faint," she murmured. "It is very warm here." +</P> + +<P> +"You're not sickly?" inquired the general sharply. "You look like a +good solid woman—thin but wiry. Ever been sick? I must look into your +health. That's a point on which I must be satisfied." +</P> + +<P> +A wave of anger swept through her, restoring her strength. She was +about to speak—a rebuke to his colossal impudence that he would not +soon forget. Then she remembered, and bit her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't ask you to decide to-night," pursued he, hastening to explain +this concession by adding: "I don't intend to decide, myself. All I +say is that I am willing—if the goods are up to the sample." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred saw her stepfather and her mother watching from just within the +conservatory door. A movement of the portiere at the door into the +hall let her know that Darcy, the butler, was peeping and listening +there. She stood up, clenched her hands, struck them together, struck +them against her temples, crossed the room swiftly, flung herself down +upon a sofa, and burst into tears. Presbury and his wife entered. +Siddall was standing, looking after Mildred with a grin. He winked at +Presbury and said: +</P> + +<P> +"I guess we gave her too much of that wine. It's all old and stronger +than you'd think." +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter hardly touched her glasses," cried Mrs. Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"I know that, ma'am," replied Siddall. "I watched her. If she'd done +much drinking, I'd have been done, then and there." +</P> + +<P> +"I suspect she's upset by what you've been saying, General," said +Presbury. "Wasn't it enough to upset a girl? You don't realize how +magnificent you are—how magnificent everything is here." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry if I upset her," said the general, swelling and loftily +contrite. "I don t know why it is that people never seem to be able to +act natural with me." He hated those who did, regarding them as +sodden, unappreciative fools. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury was quieting her daughter. Presbury and Siddall lighted +cigars and went into the smoking—and billiard-room across the hall. +Said Presbury: +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't deceive you, did I, General?" +</P> + +<P> +"She's entirely satisfactory," replied Siddall. "I'm going to make +careful inquiries about her character and her health. If those things +prove to be all right I'm ready to go ahead." +</P> + +<P> +"Then the thing's settled," said Presbury. "She's all that a lady +should be. And except a cold now and then she never has anything the +matter with her. She comes of good healthy stock." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't stand a sickly, ailing woman," said Siddall. "I wouldn't marry +one, and if one I married turned out to be that kind, I'd make short +work of her. When you get right down to facts, what is a woman? Why, +a body. If she ain't pretty and well, she ain't nothing. While I'm +looking up her pedigree, so to speak, I want you to get her mother to +explain to her just what kind of a man I am." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, certainly," said Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"Have her told that I don't put up with foolishness. If she wants to +look at a man, let her look at me." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have no trouble in that way," said Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"I DID have trouble in that way," replied the general sourly. "Women +are fools—ALL women. But the principal trouble with the second Mrs. +Siddall was that she wasn't a lady born." +</P> + +<P> +"That's why I say you'll have no trouble," said Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I want her mother to talk to her plainer than a gentleman can +talk to a young lady. I want her to understand that I am marrying so +that I can have a WIFE—cheerful, ready, and healthy. I'll not put up +with foolishness of any kind." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," said Presbury. "You'll find that she'll meet all your +conditions." +</P> + +<P> +"Explain to her that, while I'm the easiest, most liberal-spending man +in the world when I'm getting what I want, I am just the opposite when +I'm not getting what I pay for. If I take her and if she acts right, +she'll have more of everything that women want than any woman in the +world. I'd take a pride in my wife. There isn't anything I wouldn't +spend in showing her off to advantage. And I'm willing to be liberal +with her mother, too." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury had been hoping for this. His eyes sparkled. "You're a +prince, General," he said. "A genuine prince. You know how to do +things right." +</P> + +<P> +"I flatter myself I do," said the general. "I've been up and down the +world, and I tell you most of the kings live cheap beside me. And when +I get a wife worth showing of, I'll do still better. I've got +wonderful creative ability. There isn't anything I can't and won't +buy." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury noted uneasily how cold and straight, how obviously repelled +and repelling the girl was as she yielded her fingers to Siddall at the +leave-taking. He and her mother covered the silence and ice with hot +and voluble sycophantry. They might have spared themselves the +exertion. To Siddall Mildred was at her most fascinating when she was +thus "the lady and the queen." The final impression she made upon him +was the most favorable of all. +</P> + +<P> +In the cab Mrs. Presbury talked out of the fullness of an overflowing +heart. "What a remarkable man the general is!" said she. "You've only +to look at him to realize that you're in the presence of a really +superior person. And what tact he has!—and how generous he is!—and +how beautifully he entertains! So much dignity—so much simplicity—so +much—" +</P> + +<P> +"Fiddlesticks!" interrupted Presbury. "Your daughter isn't a damn +fool, Mrs. Presbury." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred gave a short, dry laugh. +</P> + +<P> +Up flared her mother. "I mean every word I said!" cried she. "If I +hadn't admired and appreciated him, I'd certainly not have acted as I +did. <I>I</I> couldn't stoop to such hypocrisy." +</P> + +<P> +"Fiddlesticks!" sneered Presbury. "Bill Siddall is a horror. His +house is a horror. His dinner was a horror. These loathsome rich +people! They're ruining the world—as they always have. They're +making it impossible for anyone to get good service or good food or +good furniture or good clothing or good anything. They don't know good +things, and they pay exorbitant prices for showy trash, for crude +vulgar luxury. They corrupt taste. They make everyone round them or +near them sycophants and cheats. They substitute money for +intelligence and discrimination. They degrade every fine thing in life. +Civilization is built up by brains and hard work, and along come the +rich and rot and ruin it!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred and her mother were listening in astonishment. Said the mother: +</P> + +<P> +"I'd be ashamed to confess myself such a hypocrite." +</P> + +<P> +"And I, madam, would be ashamed to be such a hypocrite without taking a +bath of confession afterward," retorted Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"At least you might have waited until Mildred wasn't in hearing," +snapped she. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall marry him if I can," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"And blissfully happy you'll be," said Presbury. "Women, ladies—true +ladies, like you and your mother—have no sensibilities. All you ask +is luxury. If Bill Siddall were a thousand times worse than he is, his +money would buy him almost any refined, delicate lady anywhere in +Christendom." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury laughed angrily. "YOU, talking like this—you of all +men. Is there anything YOU wouldn't stoop to for money?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think I laid myself open to that charge by marrying you?" said +Presbury, made cheerful despite his savage indigestion by the +opportunity for effective insult she had given him and he had promptly +seized. "I am far too gallant to agree with you. But I'm also too +gallant to contradict a lady. By the way, you must be careful in +dealing with Siddall. Rich people like to be fawned on, but not to be +slobbered on. You went entirely too far." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury, whom indigestion had rendered stupid, could think of no +reply. So she burst into tears. "And my own daughter sitting silent +while that man insults her mother!" she sobbed. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred sat stiff and cold. +</P> + +<P> +"It'll be a week before I recover from that dinner," Presbury went on +sourly. "What a dinner! What a villainous mess! These vulgar, showy +rich! That champagne! He said it cost him six dollars a bottle, and +no doubt it did. I doubt if it ever saw France. The dealers rarely +waste genuine wine on such cattle. The wine-cellars of fine houses the +world through are the laughing-stock of connoisseurs—like their +picture-galleries and their other attempts to make money do the work of +taste. I forgot to put my pills in my bag. I'll have to hunt up an +all-night drug-store. I'd not dare go to bed without taking an +antidote for that poison." +</P> + +<P> +But Presbury had not been altogether improvident. He had hoped great +things of Bill Siddall's wine-cellar—this despite an almost unbroken +series of bitter disillusionments and disappointments in experience +with those who had the wealth to buy, if they had had the taste to +select, the fine wines he loved. So, resolving to indulge himself, he +had put into his bag his pair of gout-boots. +</P> + +<P> +This was a device of his own inventing, on which he prided himself. It +consisted of a pair of roomy doe-skin slippers reenforced with heavy +soles and provided with a set of three thin insoles to be used +according as the state of his toes made advisable. The cost of the +Presbury gout-boot had been, thanks to patient search for a cheap +cobbler, something under four dollars—this, when men paid shoe +specialists twenty, thirty, and even forty dollars a pair for +gout-boots that gave less comfort. The morning after the dinner at +which he had drunk to drown his chagrin and to give him courage and +tongue for sycophantry, he put on the boots. Without them it would have +been necessary to carry him from his room to a cab and from cab to +train. With them he was able to hobble to a street-car. He tried to +distract his mind from his sufferings by lashing away without ceasing +at his wife and his step-daughter. +</P> + +<P> +When they were once more at home, and the mother and daughter escaped +from him, the mother said: +</P> + +<P> +"I was glad to see that you put up with that wretch, and didn't answer +him back." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," said Mildred. "He's mad to be rid of me, but if I +offended him he might snatch away this chance." +</P> + +<P> +"He would," said Mrs. Presbury. "I'm sure he would. But—" she +laughed viciously—"once you're married you can revenge yourself—and +me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder," said Mildred thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" exclaimed her mother, irritated. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't make Mr. Presbury out," replied the girl. "I understand why +he's helping me to this chance, but I don't understand why he isn't +making friends with me, in the hope of getting something after I'm +married." +</P> + +<P> +Her mother saw the point, and was instantly agitated. "Perhaps he's +simply leading you on, intending to upset it all at the last minute." +She gritted her teeth. "Oh, what a wretch!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was not heeding. "I must have General Siddall looked up +carefully," she went on. "It may be that he isn't rich, or that he has +another wife somewhere, or that there's some other awful reason why +marrying him would be even worse than it seems." +</P> + +<P> +"Worse than it seems!" cried her mother. "How CAN you talk so, Milly! +The general seems to be an ideal husband—simply ideal! I wish <I>I</I> had +your chance. Any sensible woman could love him." +</P> + +<P> +A strange look came into the girl's face, and her mother could not +withstand her eyes. "Don't, mother," she said quietly. "Either you +take me for a fool or you are trying to show me that you have no +self-respect. I am not deceiving myself about what I'm doing." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury opened her lips to remonstrate, changed her mind, drew a +deep sigh. "It's frightful to be a woman," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"To be a lady, Mr. Presbury would say," suggested Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +After some discussion, they fixed upon Joseph Tilker as the best +available investigator of General Siddall. Tilker had been head clerk +for Henry Gower. He was now in for himself and had offered to look +after any legal business Mrs. Presbury might have without charging her. +He presently reported that there was not a doubt as to the wealth of +the little general. "There are all sorts of ugly stories about how he +made his money," said Tilker; "but all the great fortunes have a +scandalous history, and I doubt if Siddall's is any worse than the +others. I don't see how it well could be. Siddall has the reputation +of being a mean and cruel little tyrant. He is said to be pompous, +vain, ignorant—" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed he's not," cried Mrs. Presbury. "He's a rough diamond, but a +natural gentleman. I've met him." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he's rich enough, and that was all you asked me to find out," +said Tilker. "But I must warn you, Mrs. Presbury, not to have any +business or intimate personal relations with him." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury congratulated herself on her wisdom in having come alone +to hear Tilker's report. She did not repeat any part of it to Mildred +except what he had said about the wealth. That she enlarged upon until +Mildred's patience gave out. She interrupted with a shrewd: +</P> + +<P> +"Anything else, mamma? Anything about him personally?" +</P> + +<P> +"We've got to judge him in that way for ourselves," replied Mrs. +Presbury. "You know how wickedly they lie about anyone who has +anything." +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to read a full account of General Siddall," said Mildred +reflectively; "just to satisfy my curiosity." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury made no reply. +</P> + +<P> +Presbury had decided that it was best to make no advance, but to wait +until they heard from Siddall. He let a week, ten days, go by; then +his impatience got the better of his shrewdness. He sought admittance +to the great man at the offices of the International Metals and +Minerals Company in Cedar Street. After being subjected to varied +indignities by sundry under-strappers, he received a message from the +general through a secretary: "The general says he'll let you know when +he's ready to take up that matter. He says he hasn't got round to it +yet." Presbury apologized courteously for his intrusion and went away, +cursing under his breath. You may be sure that he made his wife and +his stepdaughter suffer for what he had been through. Two weeks more +passed—three—a month. One morning in the mail there arrived this +note—type-written upon business paper: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +JAMES PRESBURY, Esqr.: +<BR><BR> +DEAR SIR: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +General Siddall asks me to present his compliments and to say that he +will be pleased if you and your wife and the young lady will dine with +him at his house next Thursday the seventeenth at half-past seven sharp. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +ROBERT CHANDLESS, Secretary. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The only words in longhand were the two forming the name of the +secretary. Presbury laughed and tossed the note across the breakfast +table to his wife. "You see what an ignorant creature he is," said he. +"He imagines he has done the thing up in grand style. He's the sort of +man that can't be taught manners because he thinks manners, the +ordinary civilities, are for the lower orders of people. Oh, he's a +joke, is Bill Siddall—a horrible joke." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury read and passed the letter to Mildred. She simply glanced +at it and returned it to her step-father. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm just about over that last dinner," pursued Presbury. "I'll eat +little Thursday and drink less. And I'd advise you to do the same, Mrs. +Presbury." +</P> + +<P> +He always addressed her as "Mrs. Presbury" because he had discovered +that when so addressed she always winced, and, if he put a certain tone +into his voice, she quivered. +</P> + +<P> +"That dinner aged you five years," he went on. "Besides, you drank so +much that it went to your head and made you slather him with flatteries +that irritated him. He thought you were a fool, and no one is stupid +enough to like to be flattered by a fool." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury bridled, swallowed hard, said mildly: "We'll have to +spend the night in town again, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"You and your daughter may do as you like," said Presbury. "I shall +return here that night. I always catch cold in strange beds." +</P> + +<P> +"We might as well all return here," said Mildred. "I shall not wear +evening dress; that is, I'll wear a high-neck dress and a hat." +</P> + +<P> +She had just got a new hat that was peculiarly becoming to her. She +had shown Siddall herself at the best in evening attire; another sort +of costume would give him a different view of her looks, one which she +flattered herself was not less attractive. But Presbury interposed an +emphatic veto. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll wear full evening dress," said he. "Bare neck and arms for men +like Bill Siddall. They want to see what they're getting." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred flushed scarlet and her lips trembled as though she were about +to cry. In fact, her emotion was altogether shame—a shame so poignant +that even Presbury was abashed, and mumbled something apologetic. +Nevertheless she wore a low-neck dress on Thursday evening, one as +daring as the extremely daring fashions of that year permitted an +unmarried woman to wear. It seemed to her that Siddall was still more +costly and elegant-looking than before, though this may have been due +to the fact that he always created an impression that in the retrospect +of memory seemed exaggerated. It seemed impossible that anyone could +be so clean, so polished and scoured, so groomed and tailored, so +bedecked, so high-heeled and loftily coiffed. His mean little +countenance with its grotesquely waxed mustache and imperial wore an +expression of gracious benignity that assured his guests they need +anticipate no disagreeable news. +</P> + +<P> +"I owe you an apology for keeping you in suspense so long," said he. +"I'm a very busy man, with interests in all parts of the world. I keep +house—some of 'em bigger than this—open and going in six different +places. I always like to be at home wherever my business takes me." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury rolled her eyes. "Isn't that WONDERFUL!" she exclaimed. +"What an interesting life you must lead!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, so—so," replied the general. "But I get awful lonesome. I'm +naturally a domestic man. I don't care for friends. They're expensive +and dangerous. A man in my position is like a king. He can't have +friends. So, if he hasn't got a family, he hasn't got noth—anything." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing like home life," said Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +The little general smiled upon Mildred, sitting pale and silent, with +eyes downcast. "Well, I don't intend to be alone much longer, if I can +help it," said he. "And I may say that I can make a woman happy if +she's the right sort—if she has sense enough to appreciate a good +husband." This last he said sternly, with more than a hint of his past +matrimonial misfortunes in his frown and in his voice. "The trouble +with a great many women is that they're fools—flighty, ungrateful +fools. If I married a woman like that, I'd make short work of her." +</P> + +<P> +"And she'd deserve it, General," said Mildred's mother earnestly. "But +you'll have no trouble if you select a lady—a girl who's been well +brought up and has respect for herself." +</P> + +<P> +"That's my opinion, ma'am," said the general. "I'm convinced that while +a man can become a gentleman, a woman's got to be born a lady or she +never is one." +</P> + +<P> +"Very true, General," cried Mrs. Presbury. "I never thought of it +before, but it's the truest thing I ever heard." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury grinned at his plate. He stole a glance at Mildred. Their +eyes met. She flushed faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"I've had a great deal of experience of women," pursued the general. +"In my boyhood days I was a ladies' man. And of course since I've had +money they've swarmed round me like bees in a clover-patch." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, General, you're far too modest," cried Mrs. Presbury. "A man like +you wouldn't need to be afraid, if he hadn't a cent." +</P> + +<P> +"But not the kind of women I want," replied he, firmly if complacently. +"A lady needs money to keep up her position. She has to have it. On +the other hand, a man of wealth and station needs a lady to assist him +in the proper kind of life for men of his sort. So they need each +other. They've got to have each other. That's the practical, sensible +way to look at it." +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly," said Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"And I've made up my mind to marry, and marry right away. But we'll +come back to this later on. Presbury, you're neglecting that wine." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm drinking it slowly to enjoy it better," said Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +The dinner was the same unending and expensive function that had +wearied them and upset their digestions on Thanksgiving Day. There was +too much of everything, and it was all just wrong. The general was not +quite so voluble as he had been before; his gaze was fixed most of the +time on Mildred—roving from her lovely face to her smooth, slender +shoulders and back again. As he drank and ate his gesture of slightly +smacking his thin lips seemed to include an enjoyment of the girl's +charms. And a sensitive observer might have suspected that she was not +unconscious of this and was suffering some such pain as if abhorrent +and cruel lips and teeth were actually mouthing and mumbling her. She +said not a word from sitting down at table until they rose to go into +the library for coffee. +</P> + +<P> +"Do tell me about your early life, General," Mrs. Presbury said. "Only +the other day Millie was saying she wished she could read a biography +of your romantic career." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it has been rather—unusual," conceded the general with swelling +chest and gently waving dollar-and-a-half-apiece cigar. +</P> + +<P> +"I do so ADMIRE a man who carves out his own fortune," Mrs. Presbury +went on—she had not obeyed her husband's injunction as to the +champagne. "It seems so wonderful to me that a man could with his own +hands just dig a fortune out of the ground." +</P> + +<P> +"He couldn't, ma'am," said the general, with gracious tolerance. "It +wasn't till I stopped the fool digging and hunting around for gold that +I began to get ahead. I threw away the pick and shovel and opened a +hotel." (There were two or three sleeping-rooms of a kind in that +"hotel," but it was rather a saloon of the species known as "doggery.") +"Yes, it was in the hotel that I got my start. The fellows that make +the money in mining countries ain't the prospectors and diggers, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +"Really!" cried Mrs. Presbury breathlessly. "How interesting!" +</P> + +<P> +"They're fools, they are," proceeded the general. "No, the money's made +by the fellows that grub-stake the fools—give 'em supplies and send +'em out to nose around in the mountains. Then them that find anything +have to give half to the fellow that did the grub-staking. And he +looks into the claim, and if there's anything in it, why, he buys the +fool out. In mines, like everywhere else, ma'am, it ain't work, it's +brains that makes the money. No miner ever made a mining fortune—not +one. It's the brainy, foxy fellows that stay back in the camps. I +used to send out fifty and a hundred men a year. Maybe only two or +three'd turn up anything worth while. No, ma'am, I never got a dollar +ahead on my digging. All the gold I ever dug went right off for +grub—or a good time." +</P> + +<P> +"Wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Presbury. "I never heard of such a thing." +</P> + +<P> +"But we're not here to talk about mines," said the general, his eyes +upon Mildred. "I've been looking into matters—to get down to +business—and I've asked you here to let you know that I'm willing to +go ahead." +</P> + +<P> +Profound silence. Mildred suddenly drew in her breath with a sound so +sharp that the three others started and glanced hastily at her. But +she made no further sign. She sat still and cold and pale. +</P> + +<P> +The general, perfectly at ease, broke the silence. "I think Miss Gower +and I would get on faster alone." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury at once stood up; his wife hesitated, her eyes uneasily upon +her daughter. Presbury said: "Come on, Alice." She rose and preceded +him into the adjoining conservatory. The little general posed himself +before the huge open fire, one hand behind him, the other at the level +of his waistcoat, the big cigar between his first and second fingers. +"Well, my dear?" said he. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred somewhat hesitatingly lifted her eyes; but, once she had them +up, their gaze held steadily enough upon his—too steadily for his +comfort. He addressed himself to his cigar: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not quite ready to say I'm willing to go the limit," said he. "We +don't exactly know each other sufficiently well as yet, do we?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been making inquiries," he went on; "that is, I had my chief +secretary make them—and he's a very thorough man, thanks to my +training. He reports everything entirely all right. I admire dignity +and reserve in a woman, and you have been very particular. Were you +engaged to Stanley Baird?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred flushed, veiled her eyes to hide their resentful flash at this +impertinence. She debated with herself, decided that any rebuke short +of one that would anger him would be wasted upon him. "No," said she. +</P> + +<P> +"That agrees with Harding's report," said the general. "It was a mere +girlish flirtation—very dignified and proper," he hastened to add. "I +don't mean to suggest that you were at all flighty." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," said Mildred sweetly. +</P> + +<P> +"Are there any questions you would like to ask about me?" inquired he. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"As I understand it—from my talk with Presbury—you are willing to go +on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +The general smiled genially. "I think I may say without conceit that +you will like me as you know me better. I have no bad habits—I've too +much regard for my health to over-indulge or run loose. In my boyhood +days I may have put in rather a heavy sowing of wild oats"—the general +laughed; Mildred conjured up the wintriest and faintest of echoing +smiles—"but that's all past," he went on, "and there's nothing that +could rise up to interfere with our happiness. You are fond of +children?" +</P> + +<P> +A pause, then Mildred said quite evenly, "Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Excellent," said the general. "I'll expect you and your mother and +father to dinner Sunday night. Is that satisfactory?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +A longish pause. Then the general: "You seem to be a little—afraid +of me. I don't know why it is that people are always that way with +me." A halt, to give her the opportunity to say the obvious flattering +thing. Mildred said nothing, gave no sign. He went on: "It will wear +away as we know each other better. I am a simple, plain man—kind and +generous in my instincts. Of course I am dignified, and I do not like +familiarity. But I do not mean to inspire fear and awe." +</P> + +<P> +A still longer pause. "Well, everything is settled," said the general. +"We understand each other clearly?—not an engagement, nothing binding +on either side—simply a—a—an option without forfeit." And he +laughed—his laugh was a ghoulish sound, not loud but explosive and an +instant check upon demonstration of mirth from anyone else. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," said Mildred with a glance toward the door through +which Presbury and his wife had disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, we'll join the others, and I'll show you the house"—again the +laugh—"what may be your future home—one of them." +</P> + +<P> +The four were soon started upon what was for three of them a weariful +journey despite the elevator that spared them the ascents of the +stairways. The house was an exaggerated reproduction of all the +establishments of the rich who confuse expenditure with luxury and +comfort. Bill Siddall had bought "the best of everything"; that is, +the things into which the purveyors of costly furnishings have put the +most excuses for charging. Of taste, of comfort, of discrimination, +there were few traces and these obviously accidental. "I picked out the +men acknowledged to be the best in their different lines," said the +general, "and I gave them carte blanche." +</P> + +<P> +"I see that at a glance," said Presbury. "You've done the grand thing +on the grandest possible scale." +</P> + +<P> +"I've looked into the finest of the famous places on the other side," +said the general. "All I can say is, I've had no regrets." +</P> + +<P> +"I should say not," cried Mrs. Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +With an affectation of modest hesitation—to show that he was a +gentleman with a gentleman's fine appreciation of the due of maiden +modesty—Siddall paused at the outer door of his own apartments. But +at one sentence of urging from Mrs. Presbury he opened the door and +ushered them in. And soon he was showing them everything—his Carrara +marble bathroom and bathing-pool, his bed that had been used by several +French kings, his dressing-room with its appliances of gold and +platinum and precious stones, his clothing. They had to inspect a room +full of suits, huge chiffoniers crowded with shirts and ties and +underclothes. He exhibited silk dressing-robes and pajamas, pointed out +the marks of the fashionable London and Paris makers, the monograms, +the linings of ermine and sable. "I'm very particular about everything +that touches me," explained he. "It seems to me a gentleman can't be +too particular." With a meaning glance at Mildred, "And I'd feel the +same way about my wife." +</P> + +<P> +"You hear that, Mildred?" said Presbury, with a nasty little laugh. He +had been relieving the tedium of this sight-seeing tour by +observing—and from time to time aggravating—Mildred's sufferings. +</P> + +<P> +The general released his mirth-strangling goat laugh; Mrs. Presbury +echoed it with a gale of rather wild hysterics. So well pleased was +the general with the excursion and so far did he feel advanced toward +intimacy that on the way down the majestic marble stairway he ventured +to give Mildred's arm a gentle, playful squeeze. And at the parting he +kissed her hand. Presbury had changed his mind about returning to the +country. On the way to the hotel he girded at Mildred, reviewing all +that the little general had said and done, and sneering, jeering at it. +Mildred made not a single retort until they were upstairs in the hotel. +At the door to her room she said to Presbury—said it in a quiet, cold, +terrible way: +</P> + +<P> +"If you really want me to go through with this thing, you will stop +insulting him and me. If you do it again, I'll give up—and go on the +streets before I'll marry him." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury shrugged his shoulders and went on to the other room. But he +did not begin again the next day, and from that time forth avoided +reference to the general. In fact, there was an astonishing change in +his whole demeanor. He ceased to bait his wife, became polite, even +affable. If he had conducted himself thus from the outset, he would +have got far less credit, would have made far less progress toward +winning the liking of his wife, and of her daughter, than he did in a +brief two weeks of change from petty and malignant tyrant to +good-natured, interestingly talkative old gentleman. After the manner +of human nature, Mildred and her mother, in their relief, in their +pleasure through this amazing sudden and wholly unexpected geniality, +not merely forgave but forgot all they had suffered at his hands. +Mildred was not without a suspicion of the truth that this change, +inaugurated in his own good time, was fresh evidence of his contempt +for both of them—of his feeling that he could easily make reparation +with a little kindness and decency and put himself in the way of +getting any possible benefits from the rich alliance. But though she +practically knew what was going on in his mind, she could not prevent +herself from softening toward him. +</P> + +<P> +Now followed a succession of dinners, of theater- and opera-goings, of +week-ends at the general's new country palace in the fashionable region +of Long Island. All these festivities were of the same formal and +tedious character. At all the general was the central sun with the +others dim and draggled satellites, hardly more important than the +outer rim of satellite servants. He did most of the talking; he was +the sole topic of conversation; for when he was not talking about +himself he wished to be hearing about himself. If Mildred had not been +seeing more and more plainly that other and real personality of his, +her contempt for him and for herself would have grown beyond control. +But, with him or away from him, at every instant there was the sense of +that other real William Siddall—a shadowy menace full of terror. She +dreamed of it—was startled from sleep by visions of a monstrous and +mighty distortion of the little general's grotesque exterior. "I shall +marry him if I can," she said to her self. "But—can I?" And she +feared and hoped that she could not, that courage would fail her, or +would come to her rescue, whichever it was, and that she would refuse +him. Aside from the sense of her body that cannot but be with any +woman who is beautiful, she had never theretofore been especially +physical in thought. That side of life had remained vague, as she had +never indulged in or even been strongly tempted with the things that +rouse it from its virginal sleep. But now she thought only of her body, +because that it was, and that alone, that had drawn this prospective +purchaser, and his eyes never let her forget it. She fell into the +habit of looking at herself in the glass—at her face, at her +shoulders, at her whole person, not in vanity but in a kind of wonder +or aversion. And in the visions, both the waking and the sleeping, she +reached the climax of horror when the monster touched her—with clammy, +creepy fingers, with munching lips, with the sharp ends of the mustache +or imperial. +</P> + +<P> +Said Mrs. Presbury to her husband, "I'm afraid the general will be +irritated by Mildred's unresponsiveness." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't worry," replied Presbury. "He's so crazy about himself that he +imagines the whole world is in the same state." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it strange that he doesn't give her presents? Never anything but +candy and flowers." +</P> + +<P> +"And he never will," said Presbury. +</P> + +<P> +"Not until they're married, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +Presbury was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't help thinking that if Milly were to rouse herself and show +some—some liking—or at least interest, it'd be wiser." +</P> + +<P> +"She's taking the best possible course," said Presbury. "Unconsciously +to both of them, she's leading him on. He thinks that's the way a lady +should act—restrained, refined." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred's attitude was simple inertia. The most positive effort she +made was avoiding saying or doing anything to displease him—no +difficult matter, as she was silent and almost lifeless when he was +near. Without any encouragement from her he gradually got a deep +respect for her—which meant that he became convinced of her coldness +and exclusiveness, of her absolute trustworthiness. Presbury was more +profoundly right than he knew. The girl pursued the only course that +made possible the success she longed for, yet dreaded and loathed. For +at the outset Siddall had not been nearly so strongly in earnest in his +matrimonial project as he had professed and had believed himself. He +wished to marry, wished to add to his possessions the admirable +show-piece and exhibition opportunity afforded by the right sort of +wife; but in the bottom of his heart he felt that such a woman as he +dreamed of did not exist in all the foolish, fickle, and shallow female +sex. This girl—so cold, so proud, beautiful yet not eager to display +her charms or to have them praised—she was the rare bird he sought. +</P> + +<P> +In a month he asked her to marry him; that is, he said: "My dear, I +find that I am ready to go the limit—if you are." And she assented. +He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek—and was delighted to +discover that the alluring embrace made no impression upon the ice of +her "purity and ladylike dignity." Up to the very last moment of the +formal courtship he held himself ready to withdraw should she reveal to +his watchfulness the slightest sign of having any "unladylike" +tendencies or feelings. She revealed no such sign, but remained +"ladylike"; and certainly, so the general reasoned, a woman who could +thus resist him, even in the license of the formal engagement, would +resist anybody. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as the engagement was formally concluded, the general hurried +on the preparations for the wedding. He opened accounts at half a dozen +shops in New York—dressmakers, milliners, dealers in fine and +fashionable clothing of every kind—and gave them orders to execute +whatever commands Miss Gower or her mother—for HER—might give them. +When he told her of this munificence and magnificence and paused for +the outburst of gratitude, he listened in vain. Mildred colored to the +roots of her hair and was silent, was seeking the courage to refuse. +</P> + +<P> +"I know that you and your people can't afford to do the thing as things +related to me must be done," he went on to say. "So I decided to just +start in a little early at what I've got to do anyhow. Not that I +blame you for your not having money, my dear. On the contrary, that's +one of your merits with me. I wouldn't marry a woman with money. It +puts the family life on a wrong basis." +</P> + +<P> +"I had planned a quiet wedding," said Mildred. "I'd much prefer it." +</P> + +<P> +"Now you can be frank with me, my dear," said the general. "I know you +ladies—how cheated you feel if you aren't married with all the frills +and fixings. So that's the way it shall be done." +</P> + +<P> +"Really," protested Mildred, "I'm absolutely frank. I wish it to be +quite quiet—in our drawing-room, with no guests." +</P> + +<P> +Siddall smiled, genial and tolerant. "Don't argue with me, my dear. I +know what you want, and I'll see that you get it. Go ahead with these +shop-people I've put at your disposal—and go as far as you like. There +isn't anything—ANYTHING—in the way of clothes that you can't +have—that you mustn't have. Mrs. General Siddall is going to be the +best-dressed woman in the world—as she is the prettiest. I haven't +opened an account for you with Tiffany's or any of those people. I'll +look out for that part of the business, myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care for jewelry," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally not for the kind that's been within your means heretofore," +replied he; "but you'll open your eyes when you see MY jewelry for MY +wife. All in good time, my dear. You and your mother must start right +in with the shopping; and, a week or so before the wedding, I'll send +my people down to transform the house. I may be wrong, but I rather +think that the Siddall wedding will cause some talk." +</P> + +<P> +He was not wrong. Through his confidential secretary, Harding the +thorough, the newspaper press was induced to take an interest in the +incredible extravagance Siddall was perpetrating in arranging for a +fitting wedding for General William Siddall. For many days before the +ceremony there were daily columns about him and his romantic career and +his romantic wooing of the New Jersey girl of excellent family and +social position but of comparatively modest means. The shopkeepers gave +interviews on the trousseau. The decorators and caterers detailed the +splendors and the costliness of the preparations of which they had +charge. From morning until dark a crowd hung round the house at Hanging +Rock, and on the wedding day the streets leading to it were +blocked—chiefly with people come from a distance, many of them from +New York. +</P> + +<P> +At the outset all this noise was deeply distasteful to Mildred, but +after a few days she recovered her normal point of view, forgot the +kind of man she was marrying in the excitement and exultation over her +sudden splendor and fame. So strongly did the delusion presently +become, that she was looking at the little general with anything but +unfavorable eyes. He seemed to her a quaint, fascinating, benevolent +necromancer, having miraculous powers which he was exercising in her +behalf. She even reproached herself with ingratitude in not being +wildly in love with him. Would not any other girl, in her place, have +fallen over ears in love with this marvelous man? +</P> + +<P> +However, while she could not quite convince herself that she loved, she +became convinced without effort that she was happy, that she was going +to be still happier. The excitement wrought her into a state of +exaltation and swept her through the wedding ceremony and the going +away as radiant a bride as a man would care to have. +</P> + +<P> +There is much to be said against the noisy, showy wedding. Certainly +love has rarely been known to degrade himself to the point of attending +any such. But there is something to be said for that sort of married +start—for instance, where love is neither invited nor desired, an +effort must be made to cover the painful vacancy his absence always +causes. +</P> + +<P> +The little general's insistence on a "real wedding" was most happy for +him. It probably got him his bride. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III +</H3> + +<P> +THE intoxication of that wedding held on long enough and strongly +enough to soften and blunt the disillusionments of the first few days +of the honeymoon. In the prospect that period had seemed, even to +Mildred's rather unsophisticated imagination, appalling beyond her +power to endure. In the fact—thanks in large part to that +intoxication—it was certainly not unendurable. A human being, even an +innocent young girl, can usually bear up under any experience to which +a human being can be subjected. The general in pajamas—of the finest +silk and of pigeon's-egg blue with a vast gorgeous monogram on the +pocket—was more grotesque, rather than more repellent, than the +general in morning or evening attire. Also he—that is, his expert +staff of providers of luxury—had arranged for the bride a series of +the most ravishing sensations in whisking her, like the heroine of an +Arabian Night's tale, from straitened circumstances to the very +paradise of luxury. +</P> + +<P> +The general's ideas on the subject of woman were old fashioned, of the +hard-shell variety. Woman was made for luxury, and luxury was made for +woman. His woman must be the most divinely easeful of the luxurious. +At all times she must be fit and ready for any and every sybaritic idea +that might enter her husband's head—and other purpose she had none. +When she was not directly engaged in ministering to his joy she must be +busy preparing herself for his next call upon her. A woman was a +luxury, was the luxury of luxuries, must have and must use to their +uttermost all capacities for gratifying his senses and his vanity. +Alone with him, she must make him constantly feel how rich and rare and +expensive a prize he had captured. When others were about, she must be +constantly making them envy and admire him for having exclusive rights +in such wonderful preserves. All this with an inflexible devotion to +the loftiest ideals of chastity. +</P> + +<P> +But the first realizations of her husband's notions as to women were +altogether pleasant. As she entered the automobile in which they went +to the private car in the special train that took them to New York and +the steamer—as she entered that new and prodigally luxurious +automobile, she had a first, keen sense of her changed position. Then +there was the superb private car—her car, since she was his wife—and +there was the beautiful suite in the magnificent steamer. And at every +instant menials thrusting attentions upon her, addressing her as if she +were a queen, revealing in their nervous tones and anxious eyes their +eagerness to please, their fear of displeasing. And on the steamer, +from New York to Cherbourg, she was never permitted to lose sight of +the material splendors that were now hers. All the servants, all the +passengers, reminded her by their looks, their tones. At Paris, in the +hotel, in the restaurants, in the shops—especially in the shops—those +snobbish instincts that are latent in the sanest and the wisest of us +were fed and fattened and pampered until her head was quite turned. +And the general began to buy jewels for her. Such jewels—ropes of +diamonds and pearls and emeralds, rings such as she had never dreamed +existed! Those shopping excursions of theirs in the Rue de la Paix +would make such a tale as your ordinary simple citizen, ignorant of the +world's resources in luxury and therefore incredulous about them, would +read with a laugh at the extravagance of the teller. +</P> + +<P> +Before the intoxication of the wedding had worn away it was re-enforced +by the intoxication of the honeymoon—not an intoxication of love's +providing, but one exceeding potent in its influence upon our weak +human brains and hearts, one from which the strongest of us, instead of +sneering at poor Mildred, would better be praying to be delivered. +</P> + +<P> +At her marriage she had a few hundred dollars left of her +patrimony—three hundred and fifty and odd, to be more exact. She +spent a little money of her own here and there—in tips, in buying +presents for her mother, in picking up trifles for her own toilet. The +day came when she looked in her purse and found two one-franc pieces, a +fifty-franc note, and a few coppers. And suddenly she sat back and +stared, her mouth open like her almost empty gold bag, which the +general had bought her on their first day in the Rue de la Paix. About +ten dollars in all the world, and the general had forgotten to +speak—or to make any arrangement, at least any arrangement of which +she was aware—about a further supply of money. +</P> + +<P> +They had been married nearly a month. He knew that she was poor. Why +hadn't he said something or, better still, DONE something? Doubtless +he had simply forgotten. But since he had forgotten for a month, might +he not continue to forget? True, he had himself been poor at one time +in his life, very poor, and that for a long time. But it had been so +many years ago that he had probably lost all sense of the meaning of +poverty. She frowned at this evidence of his lack of the finer +sensibilities—by no means the first time that lack had been +disagreeably thrust upon her. Soon she would be without money—and she +must have money—not much, as all the serious expenses were looked +after by the general, but still a little money. How could she get it? +How could she remind him of his neglect without seeming to be +indelicate? It was a difficult problem. She worked at it more and +more continuously, and irritably, and nervously, as the days went by +and her fifty-two francs dwindled to five. +</P> + +<P> +She lay awake, planning long and elaborate conversations that would +imperceptibly lead him up to where he must see what she needed without +seeing that he had been led. She carried out these ingenious +conversations. She led him along, he docilely and unsuspectingly +following. She brought him up to where it seemed to her impossible for +any human being endowed with the ordinary faculties to fail to see what +was so plainly in view. All in vain. General William Siddall gazed +placidly—and saw nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Several days of these failures, and with her funds reduced to a +fifty-centime piece and a two-sous copper she made a frontal attack. +When they went forth for the day's shopping she left her gold bag +behind. After an hour or so she said: +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to go to the Galleries Lafayette for some little things. I +shan't ask you to sacrifice yourself. I know you hate those stuffy, +smelly big shops." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said he. "I'll use the time in a call on my bankers." +</P> + +<P> +As they were about to separate, she taking the motor and he walking, +she made a face of charming dismay and said: "How provoking! I've +left my bag at the hotel." +</P> + +<P> +Instead of the expected prompt offer of money he said, "It'll only take +you a minute or so to drive there." +</P> + +<P> +"But it's out of the way," she replied. "I'll need only a hundred +francs or so." +</P> + +<P> +Said he: "I've an account at the Bon Marche. Go there and have the +things charged. It's much the best big shop in Paris." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," was all she could trust herself to say. She concealed her +anger beneath a careless smile and drove away. How dense he was! Could +anything be more exasperating—or more disagreeable? What SHOULD she +do? The situation was intolerable; yet how could it be ended, except +by a humiliating direct request for money? She wondered how young +wives habitually dealt with this problem, when they happened to marry +husbands so negligent, not to say underbred, as to cause them the +awkwardness and the shame. There followed several days during which +the money idea was an obsession, nagging and grinning at her every +instant. The sight of money gave her a peculiar itching sensation. +When the little general paid for anything—always drawing out a great +sheaf of bank notes in doing it—she flushed hot and cold, her glance +fell guiltily and sought the money furtively. At last her desperation +gave birth to an inspiration. +</P> + +<P> +About her and the general, or, rather, about the general, revolved the +usual rich man's small army of satellites of various +degrees—secretaries, butlers, footmen, valets, other servants male and +female, some of them supposed to be devoted entirely to her service, +but all in fact looking ever to the little general. The members of +this company, regardless of differences of rank and pay, were banded +together in a sort of democratic fellowship, talking freely with one +another, on terms of perfect equality. She herself had, curiously, +gotten on excellent terms with this motley fraternity and found no +small relief from the strain of the general's formal dignity in talking +with them with a freedom and ease she had never before felt in the +society of underlings. The most conspicuous and most agreeable figure +in this company was Harding, the general's factotum. Why not lay the +case before Harding? He was notably sensible, and sympathetic—and +discreet. +</P> + +<P> +The following day she did so. Said she, blushing furiously: "Mr. +Harding, I find myself in a very embarrassing position. I wonder if +you can help me?" +</P> + +<P> +Harding, a young man and of one of the best blond types, said: "No +doubt I can—and I'll be glad to." +</P> + +<P> +"The fact is"— Her voice was trembling with nervousness. She opened +the gold bag, took out the little silver pieces and the big copper +piece, extended her pink palm with them upon it—"there's all I've got +left of the money I brought with me." +</P> + +<P> +Harding gazed at the exhibit tranquilly. He was chiefly remarkable for +his perfect self-possession. Said he: "Do you wish me to cash a check +for you?" +</P> + +<P> +The stupidity of men! Tears of vexation gathered in her eyes. When +she could speak she faltered: +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +He was looking at her now—a grave, kind glance. +</P> + +<P> +She somehow felt encouraged and heartened. She went on: "I was +hoping—that—that the gen—that my husband had said something to you +and that you perhaps had not thought to say anything to me." +</P> + +<P> +Their glances met, his movingly sympathetic and understanding, hers +piteously forlorn—the look of a lovely girl, stranded and friendless +in a far strange land. Presently he said gently: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he told me to say something to you—if you should speak to me +about this matter." His tone caused in her heart a horrible stillness +of suspense. He went on: "He said—I give you his exact words: 'If my +wife should ask you for money, tell her my ideas on the subject.'" +</P> + +<P> +A pause. She started up, crimson, her glance darting nervously this +way and that to avoid his. "Never mind. Really, it's of no +importance. Thank you—I'll get on very well—I'm sorry to have +troubled you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me, Mrs. Siddall," he interposed, "but I think you'd best let +me finish." +</P> + +<P> +She started to protest, she tried to move toward the door. Her +strength failed her, she sat down, waited, nervously clasping and +unclasping the costly, jewel-embroidered bag. +</P> + +<P> +"He has explained to me, many times," continued Harding, "that he +believes women do not understand the value of money and ought not to be +trusted with it. He proposes to provide everything for you, every +comfort and luxury—I am using his own language, Mrs. Siddall—and he +has open accounts at the principal shops in every city where you will +go—New York, Washington, Chicago, Denver, Paris, London, Rome. He says +you are at liberty to get practically anything you please at these +shops, and he will pay the bills. He thus entirely spares you the +necessity of ever spending any money. Should you see anything you wish +at some shop where he has no account, you can have it sent collect, and +I or my assistant, Mr. Drawl, will settle for it. All he asks is that +you use discretion in this freedom. He says it would be extremely +painful to him to have to withdraw it." +</P> + +<P> +Harding had pronounced this long speech in a dry monotonous voice, like +one reading mechanically from a dull book. As Mildred listened, her +thoughts began to whirl about the central idea until she fell into a +kind of stupor. When he finished she was staring vacantly at the bag +in her lap—the bag she was holding open wide. +</P> + +<P> +Harding continued: "He also instructed me to say something about his +former—his experiences. The first Mrs. Siddall he married when he was +very young and poor. As he grew rich, she became madly extravagant. +And as they had started on a basis on which she had free access to his +money he could not check her. The result, finally, was a succession of +bitter quarrels, and they were about to divorce when she died. He made +the second Mrs. Siddall an allowance, a liberal allowance. Her follies +compelled him to withdraw it. She resorted to underhanded means to get +money from him without his knowing it. He detected the fraud. After a +series of disagreeable incidents she committed the indiscretion which +caused him to divorce her. He says that these experiences have +convinced him that—" +</P> + +<P> +"The second Mrs. Siddall," interrupted Mildred, "is she still alive?" +</P> + +<P> +Harding hesitated. "Yes," he said reluctantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Is she—poor?" asked Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I should prefer not to—" +</P> + +<P> +"Did the general forbid you to tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary, he instructed me— But I'd rather not talk about it, +Mrs. Siddall." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she poor?" repeated Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What became of her?" +</P> + +<P> +A long pause. Then Harding said: "She was a poor girl when the +general married her. After the divorce she lived for a while with the +man. But he had nothing. They separated. She tried various kinds of +work—and other things. Since she lost her looks— She writes from +time to time, asking for money." +</P> + +<P> +"Which she never gets?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Which she never gets," said Harding. "Lately she was cashier or head +waitress in a cheap restaurant in St. Louis." +</P> + +<P> +After a long silence Mildred said: "I understand. I understand." She +drew a long breath. "I shall understand better as time goes on, but I +understand fairly well now." +</P> + +<P> +"I need not tell you, Mrs. Siddall," said Harding in his gentle, +tranquil way, "that the general is the kindest and most generous of +men, but he has his own methods—as who has not?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had forgotten that he was there—not a difficult matter, when +he had in its perfection the secretarial manner of complete +self-effacement. Said she reflectively, like one puzzling out a +difficult problem: +</P> + +<P> +"He buys a woman, as he buys a dog or a horse. He does not give his +dog, his horse, pocket-money. Why should he give his woman +pocket-money?" +</P> + +<P> +"Will it help matters, Mrs. Siddall, to go to the other extreme and do +him a grave injustice?" +</P> + +<P> +She did not hear. At the picture presented to her mind by her own +thoughts she gave a short satirical laugh. "How stupid of me not to +have understood from the outset," said she. "Why, I've often heard of +this very thing." +</P> + +<P> +"It is more and more the custom among men of large property, I +believe," said Harding. "Perhaps, Mrs. Siddall, you would not blame +them if you were in their position. The rich men who are +careless—they ruin everybody about them, I assure you. I've seen it +again and again." +</P> + +<P> +But the young wife was absorbed in her own thoughts. Harding, feeling +her mood, did not interrupt. After a while she said: +</P> + +<P> +"I must ask you some questions. These jewels the general has been +buying—" +</P> + +<P> +Harding made a movement of embarrassment and protest. She smiled +ironically and went on: +</P> + +<P> +"One moment, please. Every time I wish to wear any of them I have to +go to him to get them. He asks me to return them when I am undressing. +He says it is safer to keep everything in his strong box. I have been +assuming that that was the only reason. I begin to suspect— Am I +right, Mr. Harding?" +</P> + +<P> +"Really I can't say, Mrs. Siddall," said Harding. "These are not +matters to discuss with me, if you will permit me to say so." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, they are," replied she laughingly. "Aren't we all in the same +boat?—all employes of the general?" +</P> + +<P> +Harding made no reply. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was beside herself with a kind of rage that, because outlet was +necessary and because raving against the little general would be +absolutely futile, found outlet in self-mockery and reckless sarcasm. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand about the jewels, too," she went on. "They are not mine. +Nothing is mine. Everything, including myself, belongs to him. If I +give satisfaction in the position for which I've been hired for my +board and clothes, I may continue to eat the general's food and sleep +in the general's house and wear the general's jewels and dresses and +ride in the general's traps and be waited on by the general's servants. +If I don't like my place or he doesn't like my way of filling it"—she +laughed merrily, mockingly—"out I go—into the streets—after the +second Mrs. Siddall. And the general will hire a new—" She paused, +cast about for a word in vain, appealed to the secretary, "What would +you call it, Mr. Harding?" +</P> + +<P> +Harding rose, looking at her with a very soothing tranquillity. "If I +were you, Mrs. Siddall," said he, "I should get into the auto and go +for a long drive—out to the Bois—out to Versailles—a long, long +drive. I should be gone four or five hours at least, and I should look +at the thing from all sides. Especially, I'd look at it from HIS +standpoint." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred, somewhat quieter, but still mocking, said: "If I should decide +to quit, would my expenses be paid back to where I was engaged? I +fancy not." +</P> + +<P> +Harding looked grave. "If you had had money enough to pay your own +expenses about, would you have married him?" said he. "Isn't he +paying—paying liberally, Mrs. Siddall—for ALL he gets?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred, stung, drew herself up haughtily, gave him a look that +reminded him who she was and who he was. But Harding was not impressed. +</P> + +<P> +"You said a moment ago—truly—that we are all in the same boat," +observed he. "I put those questions to you because I honestly wish to +help you—because I wish you not to act foolishly, hastily." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Mr. Harding," said Mildred coldly. And with a slight nod +she went, angry and ashamed that she had so unaccountably opened up her +secret soul, bared its ugly wounds, before a man she knew so slightly, +a man in a position but one remove from menial. However, she took his +advice—not as to trying to view the matter from all sides, for she was +convinced that there was only the one side, but as to calming herself +by a long drive alone in the woods and along quiet roads. When she +returned she was under control once more. +</P> + +<P> +She found the general impatiently awaiting her. Many packages had +come—from the jewelers, from the furriers, from a shop whose specialty +was the thinnest and most delicate of hand-made underwear. The general +loved to open and inspect finery for her—loved it more than he loved +inspecting finery for himself, because feminine finery was far more +attractive than masculine. To whet his pleasure to the keenest she +must be there to admire with him, to try on, to exhibit. As she +entered the salon where the little man was fussing about among the +packages, their glances met. She saw that Harding had told him—at +least in discreet outline—of their conversation. She also saw that if +she reopened the subject she would find herself straightway whirled out +upon a stormy sea of danger that might easily overwhelm her flimsy +boat. She silently and sullenly dropped into her place; she ministered +to the general's pleasure in packages of finery. But she did not +exclaim, or admire, or respond in any way. The honeymoon was over. Her +dream of wifehood was dissipated. +</P> + +<P> +She understood now the look she so often had seen on the faces of rich +men's poor wives driving in state in Fifth Avenue. That night, as she +inspected herself in the glass while the general's maid for her brushed +her long thick hair, she saw the beginnings of that look in her own +face. "I don't know just what I am," she said to herself. "But I do +know what I am not. I am not a wife." +</P> + +<P> +She sent away the maid, and sat there in the dressing-room before the +mirror, waiting, her glance traveling about and noting the profuse and +prodigal luxury. In the corner stood a circular rack loaded with +dressing-gowns—more than a score of exquisite combinations of silk and +lace or silk and chiffon. It so happened that there was nowhere in +sight a single article of her apparel or for her toilet that was not +bought with the general's money. No, there were some hairpins that she +had paid for herself, and a comb with widely separated teeth that she +had chanced to see in a window when she was alone one day. Anything +else? Yes, a two-franc box of pins. And that was all. Everything else +belonged to the general. In the closets, in the trunks—all the +general's, part of the trousseau he had paid for. Not an undergarment; +not an outer garment; not a hat or a pair of shoes, not a wrap, not a +pair of gloves. All, the general's. +</P> + +<P> +He was in the door of the dressing-room—the small wiry figure in +rose-silk pajamas. The mustache and imperial were carefully waxed as +always, day and night. On the little feet were high-heeled slippers. On +the head was a rose-silk Neapolitan nightcap with gay tassel. The +nightcap hid the bald spot from which the lofty toupee had been +removed. A grotesque little figure, but not grotesque to her. Through +the mask of the vain, boastful little face she saw the general watching +her, as she had seen him that afternoon when she came in—the +mysterious and terrible personality that had made the vast fortune, +that had ridden ruthlessly over friend and foe, over man and woman and +child—to the goal of its desires. +</P> + +<P> +"It's late, my dear?" said the little man. "Come to bed." +</P> + +<P> +She rose to obey—she in the general's purchases of filmy nightgown +under a pale-pink silk dressing-gown. +</P> + +<P> +He smiled with that curious noiseless mumbling and smacking of the thin +lips. She sat down again. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't keep me waiting. It's chilly," he said, advancing toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall sleep in here to-night—on the couch," said she. She was +trembling with fright at her own audacity. She could see a +fifty-centime piece and a copper dancing before her eyes. She felt +horribly alone and weak, but she had no desire to retract the words +with which she had thrown down the gauntlet. +</P> + +<P> +The little general halted. The mask dropped; the man, the monster, +looked at her. "What's the matter?" said he in an ominously quiet +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Harding delivered your message to-day," said she, and her steady +voice astonished her. "So I am going back home." +</P> + +<P> +He waited, looking steadily at her. +</P> + +<P> +"After he told me and I thought about it, I decided to submit, but just +now I saw that I couldn't. I don't know what possesses me. I don't +know what I'm going to do, or how I'm going to do it. But it's all +over between us." She said this rapidly, fluently, in a decisive way, +quite foreign to her character as she had thought it. +</P> + +<P> +"You are coming to bed, where you belong," said he quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied she, pressing herself against her chair as if force were +being used to drag her from it. She cast about for something that +would make yielding impossible. "You are—repulsive to me." +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her without change of countenance. Said he: "Come to bed. +I ask you for the last time." +</P> + +<P> +There was no anger in his voice, no menace either open or covert; +simply finality—the last word of the man who had made himself feared +and secure in the mining-camps where the equation of personal courage +is straightway applied to every situation. Mildred shivered. She +longed to yield, to stammer out some excuse and obey him. But she +could not; nor was she able to rise from her chair. She saw in his +hard eyes a look of astonishment, of curiosity as to this unaccountable +defiance in one who had seemed docile, who had apparently no +alternative but obedience. He was not so astonished at her as she was +at herself. "What is to become of me?" her terror-stricken soul was +crying. "I must do as he says—I must—yet I cannot!" And she looked at +him and sat motionless. +</P> + +<P> +He turned away, moved slowly toward the door, halted at the threshold +to give her time, was gone. A fit of trembling seized her; she leaned +forward and rested her arms upon the dressing-table or she would have +fallen from the chair to the floor. Yet, even as her fear made her +sick and weak, she knew that she would not yield. +</P> + +<P> +The cold drove her to the couch, to lie under half a dozen of the +dressing-gowns and presently to fall into a sleep of exhaustion. When +she awoke after what she thought was a few minutes of unconsciousness, +the clamor of traffic in the Rue de Rivoli startled her. She started +up, glanced at the clock on the chimneypiece. It was ten minutes past +nine! When, by all the rules governing the action of the nerves, she +ought to have passed a wakeful night she had overslept more than an +hour. Indeed, she had had the first sound and prolonged sleep that had +come to her since the honeymoon began; for until then she had slept +alone all her life and the new order had almost given her chronic +insomnia. She rang for her maid and began to dress. The maid did not +come. She rang again and again; apparently the bell was broken. She +finished dressing and went out into the huge, grandly and gaudily +furnished salon. Harding was at a carved old-gold and lacquer desk, +writing. As she entered he rose and bowed. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you please call one of the servants?" said she. "I want my +coffee. I guess the bell in my room is broken. My maid doesn't +answer." +</P> + +<P> +"No, the bell is not broken," said Harding. +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him questioningly. +</P> + +<P> +"The general has issued an order that nothing is to be done in this +apartment, and nothing served, unless he personally authorizes it." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred paled, drew herself up in what seemed a gesture of haughtiness +but was an effort to muster her strength. To save herself from the +humiliation of a breakdown before him, she hastily retreated by the way +she had come. After perhaps a quarter of an hour she reappeared in the +salon; she was now dressed for the street. Harding looked up from his +writing, rose and bowed gravely. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"I am going out for a walk. I'll be back in an hour or so." +</P> + +<P> +"One moment," said Harding, halting her as she was opening the door +into the public hall. "The general has issued an order that if you go +out, you are not to be allowed to return." +</P> + +<P> +Her hand fell from the knob. With flashing eyes she cried, "But that +is impossible!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is his orders," said Harding, in his usual quiet manner. "And as +he pays the bills he will be obeyed." +</P> + +<P> +She debated. Against her will, her trembling hand sought the knob +again. Against her will, her weak arm began to draw the door open. +Harding came toward her, stood before her and looked directly into her +eyes. His eyes had dread and entreaty in them, but his voice was as +always when he said: +</P> + +<P> +"You know him, Mrs. Siddall." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"The reason he has got ALL he wanted—whatever he wanted—is that he +will go to any length. Every other human being, almost, has a limit, +beyond which they will not go—a physical fear or a moral fear or a +fear of public opinion. But the general—he has no limit." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said. And deathly pale and almost staggering she drew open +the door and went out into the public hall. +</P> + +<P> +"For God's sake, Mrs. Siddall!" cried Harding, in great agitation. +"Come in quickly. They are watching—they will tell him! Are you mad?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I must be," said she. "I am sick with fear. I can hardly keep +from dropping down here in a faint. Yet—" a strange look, a mingling +of abject terror and passionate defiance, gave her an aspect quite +insane—"I am going. Perhaps I, too, have no limit." +</P> + +<P> +And she went along the corridor, past a group of gaping and frightened +servants, down the stairway and out by the private entrance for the +grand apartments of the hotel in the Rue Raymond de l'Isle. She +crossed the Rue de Rivoli and entered the Tuileries Gardens. It was +only bracingly cool in the sunshine of that winter day. She seated +herself on a chair on the terrace to regain her ebbed strength. Hardly +had she sat down when the woman collector came and stood waiting for +the two sous for the chair. Mildred opened her bag, found two coins. +She gave the coppers to the woman. The other—all the money she +had—was the fifty-centime piece. +</P> + +<P> +"But the bag—I can get a good deal for that," she said aloud. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon—I didn't catch that." +</P> + +<P> +She came back to a sense of her surroundings. Stanley Baird was +standing a few feet away, smiling down at her. He was, if possible, +even more attractively dressed than in the days when he hovered about +her, hoping vague things of which he was ashamed and trying to get the +courage to put down his snobbishness and marry her because she so +exactly suited him. He was wearing a new kind of collar and tie, +striking yet in excellent quiet taste. Also, his face and figure had +filled out just enough—he had been too thin in the former days. But +he was now entered upon that period of the fearsome forties when, +unless a man amounts to something, he begins to look insignificant. He +did not amount to anything; he was therefore paling and waning as a +personality. +</P> + +<P> +"Was I thinking aloud?" said Mildred, as she gave him her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"You said something about 'getting a good deal.'" He inspected her with +the freedom of an old friend and with the thoroughness of a +connoisseur. Women who took pains with themselves and were satisfied +with the results liked Stanley Baird's knowing and appreciative way of +noting the best points in their toilets. "You're looking fine," +declared he. "It must be a pleasure to them up in the Rue de la Paix +to dress you. That's more than can be said for nine out of ten of the +women who go there. Yes, you're looking fine—and in grand health, +too. Why, you look younger than I ever saw you. Nothing like marriage +to freshen a girl up. Well, I suppose waiting round for a husband who +may or may not turn up does wear a woman down." +</P> + +<P> +"It almost killed me," laughed Mildred. "And you were largely +responsible." +</P> + +<P> +"I?" said Baird. "You didn't want me. I was too old for you." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I didn't want you," said Mildred. "But you spoiled me. I +couldn't endure the boys of my own age." +</P> + +<P> +Stanley was remembering that Mildred had married a man much older than +he. With some notion of a careless sort of tact in mind he said, "I +was betwixt and between—neither young enough nor old enough." +</P> + +<P> +"You've married, too, since we met. By the way, thank you again for +that charming remembrance. You always did have such good taste. But +why didn't you come to the wedding—you and your wife?" +</P> + +<P> +He laughed. "We were busy busting up," said he. "You hadn't heard? +It's been in the papers. She's gone back to her people. Oh, nothing +disgraceful on either side. Simply that we bored each other to death. +She was crazy about horses and dogs, and that set. I think the +stable's the place for horses—don't care to have 'em parading through +the house all the time, every room, every meal, sleeping and waking. +And dogs—the infernal brutes always have fleas. Fleas only tickled +her, but they bite me—raise welts and hills. There's your husband +now, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +Baird was looking up at the windows of the Continental, across the +street. Mildred's glance slowly and carelessly followed his. At one +window stood the little general, gazing abstractedly out over the +gardens. At another window Mildred saw Harding; at a third, her maid; +at a fourth, Harding's assistant, Drawl; at a fifth, three servants of +the retinue. Except the general, all were looking at her. +</P> + +<P> +"You've married a very extraordinary man," said Baird, in a correct +tone of admiration. "One of the ablest and most interesting men we've +got, <I>I</I> think." +</P> + +<P> +"So you are free again?" said Mildred, looking at him with a queer, +cold smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and no," replied Stanley. "I hope to be entirely free. It's her +move next. I'm expecting it every day. But I'm thoroughly +respectable. Won't you and the general dine with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, but I'm sailing for home to-morrow or next day." +</P> + +<P> +"That's interesting," said Baird, with enthusiasm. "So am I. What ship +do you go on?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know yet. I'm to decide this afternoon, after lunch." She +laughed. "I'm sitting here waiting for someone to ask me to lunch. +I've not had even coffee yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Lunch with me!" cried Baird. "I'll go get the general—I know him +slightly." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't say anything about the general," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +Stanley smiled apologetically. "It wouldn't do for you to go about +with me—not when my missus is looking for grounds for divorce." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" said Mildred. "So's my husband." +</P> + +<P> +"You busted up, too? Now, that's what <I>I</I> call jolly." And he cast a +puzzled glance up at the abstracted general. "I say, Mildred, this is +no place for either of us, is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd rather be where there's food," confessed she. +</P> + +<P> +"You think it's a joke, but I assure you— Oh, you WERE joking—about +YOUR bust-up?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," she assured him. "I walked out a while ago, and I +couldn't go back if I would—and I don't think I would if I could." +</P> + +<P> +"That's foolish. Better go back," advised he. He was preparing +hastily to decamp from so perilous a neighborhood. "One marriage is +about like another, once you get through the surface. I'm sure you'll +be better off than—back with your stepfather." +</P> + +<P> +"I've no intention of going to his house," she declared. "Oh, there's +your brother. I forgot." +</P> + +<P> +"So had I forgotten him. I'll not go there, either. In fact, I've not +thought where I'll go." +</P> + +<P> +"You seem to have done mighty little thinking before you took a very +serious step for a woman." He was uneasily eying the rigid, abstracted +little figure a story up across the way. +</P> + +<P> +"Those things aren't a question of thinking," said she absently. "I +never thought in my life—don't think I could if I tried. But when the +time came I—I walked out." She came back to herself, laughed. "I +don't understand why I'm telling you all this, especially as you're mad +with fright and wild to get away. Well, good-by, Stanley." +</P> + +<P> +He lifted his hat. "Good-by. We'll meet when we can do so without my +getting a scandal on you." He walked a few paces, turned, and came +back. "By the way, I'm sailing on the Deutschland. I thought you'd +like to know—so that you and I wouldn't by any chance cross on the +same boat." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," said she dryly. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" asked he, arrested, despite his anxiety to be +gone, by the sad, scornful look in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"You had such a—such a queer look." +</P> + +<P> +"Really? Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +In fact, she had thought—had hoped for the sake of her liking for +him—that he had come back to make the glaringly omitted offer of help +that should have come from any human being learning that a fellow being +was in the precarious position in which she had told him she was. Not +that she would have accepted any such offer. Still, she would have +liked to have heard the kindly words. She sat watching his handsome, +graceful figure, draped in the most artistically cut of long dark +overcoats, until he disappeared in the crowd in the Rue de Castiglione. +Then, without a glance up at the interested, not to say excited windows +of the general's splendid and spreading apartments, she strolled down +the gardens toward the Place Concorde. In Paris the beautiful, on a +bright and brisk day it is all but impossible to despair when one still +has left youth and health. Mildred was not happy—far from it. The +future, the immediate future, pressed its terrors upon her. But in +mitigation there was, perhaps born of youth and inexperience, a giddy +sense of relief. She had not realized how abhorrent the general +was—married life with the general. She had been resigning herself to +it, accepting it as the only thing possible, keeping it heavily draped +with her vanities of wealth and luxury—until she discovered that the +wealth and the luxury were in reality no more hers than they were her +maid's. And now she was free! +</P> + +<P> +That word free did not have its full meaning for her. She had never +known what real freedom was; women of the comfortable class—and men, +too, for that matter—usually are born into the petty slavery of +conventions at least, and know nothing else their whole lives +through—never know the joy of the thought and the act of a free mind +and a free heart. Still, she was released from a bondage that seemed +slavish even to her, and the release gave her a sensation akin to the +joy of freedom. A heavy hand that was crushing her very soul had been +lifted off—no, FLUNG off, and by herself. That thought, terrifying +though it was, also gave her a certain new and exalting self-respect. +After all, she was not a worm. She must have somewhere in her the +germs of something less contemptible than the essential character of so +many of the eminently respectable women she knew. She could picture +them in the situation in which she had found herself. What would they +have done? Why, what every instinct of her education impelled her to +do; what some latent love of freedom, some unsuspected courage of +self-respect had forbidden her to do, had withheld her from doing. +</P> + +<P> +Her thoughts and the gorgeous sunshine and her youth and health put her +in a steadily less cheerless mood as by a roundabout way she sought the +shop of the jeweler who sold the general the gold bag she had selected. +The proprietor himself was in the front part of the shop and received +"Madame la Generale" with all the honors of her husband's wealth. She +brought no experience and no natural trading talent to the enterprise +she was about to undertake; so she went directly to the main point. +</P> + +<P> +"This bag," said she, laying it upon the glass between them, "I bought +it here a short time ago." +</P> + +<P> +"I remember perfectly, madame. It is the handsomest, the most +artistic, we have sold this year." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to sell it back to you," said she. +</P> + +<P> +"You wish to get something else and include it as part payment, madame?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I wish to get the money for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, but that is difficult. We do not often make those arrangements. +Second-hand articles—" +</P> + +<P> +"But the bag is quite new. Anyhow, it must have some value. Of course +I'd not expect the full price." +</P> + +<P> +The jeweler smiled. "The full price? Ah, madame, we should not think +of offering it again as it is. We should—" +</P> + +<P> +"No matter," interrupted Mildred. The man's expression—the normally +pleasant and agreeable countenance turned to repulsive by craft and +lying—made her eager to be gone. "What is the most you will give me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have to consider—" +</P> + +<P> +"I've only a few minutes. Please do not irritate me." +</P> + +<P> +The man was studying her countenance with a desperate look. Why was +she, the bride of the monstrously rich American, why was she trying to +sell the bag? Did it mean the end of her resources? Or, were there +still huge orders to be got from her? His shrewdness, trained by +thirty years of dealing with all kinds of luxurious human beings, went +exploring in vain. He was alarmed by her frown. He began hesitatingly: +</P> + +<P> +"The jewels and the gold are only a small part of the value. The chief +value is the unique design, so elegant yet so simple. For the jewels +and the gold, perhaps two thousand francs—" +</P> + +<P> +"The purse was twelve thousand francs," interrupted she. +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly, madame. But—" "I am in great haste. How much will you +give me?" +</P> + +<P> +"The most would be four thousand, I fear. I shall count up more +carefully, if madame will—" +</P> + +<P> +"No, four thousand will do." +</P> + +<P> +"I will send the money to madame at her hotel. The Continental, is it +not?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I must have it at once." +</P> + +<P> +The jeweler hesitated. Mildred, flushing scarlet with shame—but he +luckily thought it anger—took up the bag and moved toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon, madame, but certainly. Do you wish some gold or all notes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Notes," answered she. "Fifty and hundred-franc notes." +</P> + +<P> +A moment later she was in the street with the notes in a small bundle +in the bosom of her wrap. She went hurriedly up the street. As she +was about to turn the corner into the boulevard she on impulse glanced +back. An automobile had just drawn up at the jeweler's door and General +Siddall—top-hat, sable-lined overcoat, waxed mustache and imperial, +high-heeled boots, gold-mounted cane—was descending. And she knew +that he had awakened to his one oversight, and was on his way to repair +it. But she did not know that the jeweler—old and wise in human +ways—would hastily vanish with the bag and that an assistant would +come forward with assurances that madame had not been in the shop and +that, if she should come in, no business would be negotiated without +the general's express consent. She all but fainted at the narrowness +of her escape and fled round into the boulevard. She entered a taxi +and told the man to drive to Foyot's restaurant on the left bank—where +the general would never think of looking for her. +</P> + +<P> +When she had breakfasted she strolled in the Luxembourg Gardens, in +even better humor with herself and with the world. There was still +that horrid-faced future, but it was not leering into her very face. It +was nearly four thousand francs away—"and if I hadn't been so stupid, +I'd have got eight thousand, I'm sure," she said. But she was rather +proud of a stupidity about money matters. And four thousand francs, +eight hundred dollars—that was quite a good sum. +</P> + +<P> +She had an instinct that the general would do something disagreeable +about the French and English ports of departure for America. But +perhaps he would not think of the Italian ports. That night she set +out for Genoa, and three days later, in a different dress and with her +hair done as she never wore it, sailed as Miss Mary Stevens for America +on a German Mediterranean boat. +</P> + +<P> +She had taken the whole of a cabin on the quieter deck below the +promenade, paying for it nearly half of what was left of the four +thousand francs. The first three days she kept to her cabin except at +the dinner-hour, when she ventured to the deck just outside and walked +up and down for exercise. Then followed four days of nasty weather +during which she did not leave her bed. As the sea calmed, she, +wretched and reckless, had a chair put for herself under her window and +sat there, veiled and swathed and turning her face away whenever a rare +wandering passenger happened to pass along. Toward noon a man paused +before her to light a cigarette. She, forgetting for the moment her +precautions, looked at him. It chanced that he looked at her at +exactly the same instant. Their glances met. He started nervously, +moved on a few steps, returned. Said she mockingly: +</P> + +<P> +"You know you needn't speak if you don't want to, Stanley." +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't a soul on board that anybody ever knew or that ever knew +anybody," said he. "So why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"And you look horribly bored." +</P> + +<P> +"Unspeakably," replied Baird. "I've spoken to no one since I left +Paris." +</P> + +<P> +"What are you doing on this ship?" inquired she. +</P> + +<P> +"To be perfectly honest," said he, "I came this way to avoid you. I +was afraid you'd take passage on my steamer just to amuse yourself with +my nervousness. And—here you are!" +</P> + +<P> +"Amusing myself with your nervousness." +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm not nervous. There's no danger. Will you let me have a chair +put beside yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"It will be a charity on your part," said she. +</P> + +<P> +When he was comfortably settled, he explained his uneasiness. "I see +I've got to tell you," said he, "for I don't want you to think me a +shouting ass. The fact is my wife wants to get a divorce from me and +to soak me for big alimony. She's a woman who'll do anything to gain +her end, and—well, for some reason she's always been jealous of you. I +didn't care to get into trouble, or to get you into trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm traveling as Mary Stevens," said Mildred. "No one knows I'm +aboard." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm sure we're quite safe. We can enjoy the rest of this voyage." +</P> + +<P> +A sea voyage not merely induces but compels a feeling of absolute +detachment from the world. To both Stanley and Mildred their +affairs—the difficulties in which they were involved on terra +firma—ceased for the time to have any reality. The universe was +nothing but a vast stretch of water under a vast stretch of sky; the +earth and the things thereof were a retrospect and a foreboding. +Without analyzing it, both he and she felt that they were free—free +from cares, from responsibilities—free to amuse themselves. And they +proceeded to enjoy themselves in the necessarily quiet and limited way +imposed by the littleness of their present world and the meagerness of +the resources. +</P> + +<P> +As neither had the kind of mind that expands in abstractions, they were +soon talking in the most intimate and personal way about +themselves—were confessing things which neither would have breathed to +anyone on land. It was the man who set the example of breaking through +the barriers of conventional restraint—perhaps of delicacy, though it +must be said that human beings are rarely so fine in their reticences +as the theory of refinement would have us believe. Said Stanley, after +the preliminaries of partial confidence and halting avowal that could +not be omitted, even at sea, by a man of "gentlemanly instinct": +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know why I shouldn't own up. I know you'll never tell +anybody. Fact is, I and my wife were never in love with each other for +a second. We married because we were in the same set and because our +incomes together gave us enough to do the thing rather well." After a +solemn pause. "I was in love with another woman—one I couldn't marry. +But I'll not go into that. As for my wife, I don't think she was in +love with anyone. She's as cold as a stone." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred smiled ironically. +</P> + +<P> +Baird saw and flushed. "At least, she was to me. I was ready to make a +sort of bluff. You see, a man feels guilty in those circumstances and +doesn't want to humiliate a woman. But she—" he laughed +unpleasantly—"she wasn't bothering about MY feelings. That's a nice, +selfish little way you ladies have." +</P> + +<P> +"She probably saw through you and hated you for playing the hypocrite +to her," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"You may be right, I never thought of that," confessed he. "She +certainly had a vicious way of hammering the other woman indirectly. +Not that she ever admitted being jealous. I guess she knew. Everybody +usually knows everything." +</P> + +<P> +"And there was a great deal of talk about you and me," said Mildred +placidly. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't say it was you," protested Stanley, reddening. +</P> + +<P> +"No matter," said Mildred. "Don't bother about that. It's all past +and gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, at any rate, my marriage was the mistake of my life. I'm +determined that she shan't trip me up and trim me for any alimony. And +as matters stand, she can't. She left me of her own accord." +</P> + +<P> +"Then," said Mildred thoughtfully, "if the wife leaves of her own +accord, she can't get alimony?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not—not a cent." +</P> + +<P> +"I supposed so," said she. "I'm not sure I'd take it if I could get +it. Still, I suppose I would." She laughed. "What's the use of being +a hypocrite with oneself? I know I would. All I could get." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you had no LEGAL excuse for leaving?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said she. "I—just bolted. I don't know what's to become of me. +I seem not to care, at present, but no doubt I shall as soon as we see +land again." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll go back to him," said Stanley. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied she, without emphasis or any accent whatever. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure you will," rejoined he. "It's your living. What else can you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I must find out. Surely there's something else for a +woman besides such a married life as mine. I can't and won't go back +to my husband. And I can't and won't go to the house at Hanging Rock. +Those two things are settled." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely. And I've got—less than three hundred and fifty dollars +in the whole world." +</P> + +<P> +Baird was silent. He was roused from his abstraction by gradual +consciousness of an ironical smile on the face of the girl, for she did +not look like a married woman. "You are laughing at me. Why?" +inquired he. +</P> + +<P> +"I was reading your thoughts." +</P> + +<P> +"You think you've frightened me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally. Isn't a confession such as I made enough to frighten a +man? It sounded as though I were getting ready to ask alms." +</P> + +<P> +"So it did," said he. "But I wasn't thinking of it in that way. You +WILL be in a frightful fix pretty soon, won't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It looks that way. But you need not be uneasy." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I want to help you. I'll do everything I can. I was trying to +think of something you could make money at. I was thinking of the +stage, but I suppose you'd balk at that. I'll admit it isn't the life +for a lady. But the same thing's true of whatever money can be made +at. If I were you, I'd go back." +</P> + +<P> +"If I were myself, I'd go back," said Mildred. "But I'm not myself." +</P> + +<P> +"You will be again, as soon as you face the situation." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said she slowly, "no, I shall never be myself again." +</P> + +<P> +"But you could have everything a woman wants. Except, of +course—perhaps— But you never struck me as being especially +sentimental." +</P> + +<P> +"Sentiment has nothing to do with it," rejoined she. "Do you think I +could get a place on the stage?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you'd have to study a while, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"But I can't afford that. If I could afford to study, I'd have my +voice trained." +</P> + +<P> +Baird's face lighted up with enthusiasm. "The very thing!" he cried. +"You've got a voice, a grand-opera voice. I've heard lots of people +say so, and it sounded that way to me. You must cultivate your voice." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred laughed. "Don't talk nonsense. Even I know that's nonsense. +The lessons alone would cost thousands of dollars. And how could I +live for the four or five years?" +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't let me finish," said Baird. "I was going to say that when +you get to New York you must go and have your voice passed on—by some +impartial person. If that person says it's worth cultivating, why, I'm +willing to back you—as a business proposition. I can afford to take +the risk. So, you see, it's all perfectly simple." +</P> + +<P> +He had spoken rapidly, with a covert suggestion of fear lest she would +rebuke him sharply for what she might regard as an impertinent offer. +She surprised him by looking at him calmly, reflectively, and saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you could afford it, couldn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I could. And it's the sort of thing that's done every day. +Of course, no one'd know that we had made this little business +arrangement. But that's easily managed. I'd be glad if you'd let me +do it, Mildred. I'd like to feel that I was of some use in the world. +And I'd like to do something for YOU." +</P> + +<P> +By way of exceedingly cautious experiment he ventured to put ever so +slight an accent of tenderness upon the "you." He observed her +furtively but nervously. He could not get a hint of what was in her +mind. She gazed out toward the rising and falling horizon line. +Presently she said: +</P> + +<P> +"I'll think about it." +</P> + +<P> +"You must let me do it, Mildred. It's the sensible thing—and you know +me well enough to know that my friendship can be counted on." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll think about it," was all she would concede. +</P> + +<P> +They discussed the singing career all that and the succeeding days—the +possibilities, the hopes, the dangers—but the hopes a great deal more +than the dangers. He became more and more interested in her and in the +project, as her beauty shone out with the tranquillizing sea and as her +old charm of cleverness at saying things that amused him reasserted +itself. She, dubious and lukewarm at first, soon was trying to curb +her own excited optimism; but long before they sighted Sandy Hook she +was merely pretending to hang back. He felt discouraged by her parting! +"If I decide to go on, I'll write you in a few days." But he need not +have felt so. She had made up her mind to accept his offer. As for +the complications involved in such curiously intimate relations with a +man of his temperament, habits, and inclinations, she saw them very +vaguely indeed—refused to permit herself to see them any less vaguely. +Time enough to deal with complications when and as they arose; why +needlessly and foolishly annoy herself and hamper herself? Said she to +herself, "I must begin to be practical." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV +</H3> + +<P> +AT the pier Mildred sent her mother a telegram, giving the train by +which she would arrive—that and nothing more. As she descended from +the parlor-car there stood Mrs. Presbury upon the platform, face +wreathed in the most joyous of welcoming smiles, not a surface trace of +the curiosity and alarm storming within. After they had kissed and +embraced with a genuine emotion which they did not try to hide, because +both suddenly became unconscious of that world whereof ordinarily they +were constantly mindful—after caresses and tears Mrs. Presbury said: +</P> + +<P> +"It's all very well to dress plain, when everyone knows you can afford +the best. But don't you think you're overdoing it a little?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred laughed somewhat nervously. "Wait till we're safe at home," +said she. +</P> + +<P> +On the way up from the station in the carriage they chattered away in +the liveliest fashion, to make the proper impression upon any observing +Hanging-Rockers. "Luckily, Presbury's gone to town to-day," said his +wife. "But really he's quite livable—hasn't gone back to his old +ways. He doesn't know it, but he's rapidly growing deaf. He imagines +that everyone is speaking more and more indistinctly, and he has lost +interest in conversation. Then, too, he has done well in Wall Street, +and that has put him in a good humor." +</P> + +<P> +"He'll not be surprised to see me—alone," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait till we're home," said her mother nervously. +</P> + +<P> +At the house Mrs. Presbury carried on a foolish, false-sounding +conversation for the benefit of the servants, and finally conducted +Mildred to her bedroom and shut doors and drew portieres and glanced +into closets before saying: "Now, what IS the matter, Millie? WHERE is +your husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Paris, I suppose," replied Mildred. "I have left him, and I shall +never go back." +</P> + +<P> +"Presbury said you would!" cried her mother. "But I didn't believe it. +I don't believe it. I brought you up to do your duty, and I know you +will." +</P> + +<P> +This was Mildred's first opportunity for frank and plain speaking; and +that is highly conducive to frank and plain thinking. She now began to +see clearly why she had quit the general. Said she: "Mamma, to be +honest and not mince words, I've left him because there's nothing in +it." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't he rich?" inquired her mother. "I've always had a kind of +present—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he's rich, all right," interrupted the girl. "But he saw to it +that I got no benefit from that." +</P> + +<P> +"But you wrote me how he was buying you everything!" +</P> + +<P> +"So I thought. In fact he was buying ME nothing." And she went on to +explain the general's system. +</P> + +<P> +Her mother listened impatiently. She would have interrupted the long +and angry recital many times had not Mildred insisted on a full hearing +of her grievances, of the outrages that had been heaped upon her. +"And," she ended, "I suppose he's got it so arranged that he could have +me arrested as a thief for taking the gold bag." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's terrible and all that," said her mother. "But I should have +thought living with me here when Presbury was carrying on so dreadfully +would have taught you something. Your case isn't an exception, any +more than mine is. That's the sort of thing we women have to put up +with from men, when we're in their power." +</P> + +<P> +"Not I," said Mildred loftily. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you," retorted her mother. "ANY woman. EVERY woman. Unless we +have money of our own, we all have trouble with the men about money, +sooner or later, in one way or another. And rich men!—why, it's +notorious that they're always more or less mean about money. A wife has +got to use tact. Why, I even had to use some tact with your father, +and he was as generous a man as ever lived. Tact—that's a woman's +whole life. You ought to have used tact. You'll go back to him and use +tact." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know him, mamma!" cried Mildred. "He's a monster. He isn't +human." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury drew a long face and said in a sad, soothing voice: "Yes, +I know, dear. Men are very, very awful, in some ways, to a nice +woman—with refined, ladylike instincts. It's a great shock to a +pure—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, gammon!" interrupted Mildred. "Don't be silly, mother. It isn't +worth while for one woman to talk that kind of thing to another. I +didn't fully know what I was doing when I married a man I didn't +love—a man who was almost repulsive to me. But I knew enough. And I +was getting along well enough, as any woman does, no matter what she +may say—yes, you needn't look shocked, for that's hypocrisy, and I +know it now— But, as I was saying, I didn't begin to HATE him until +he tried to make a slave of me. A slave!" she shuddered. "He's a +monster!" +</P> + +<P> +"A little tact, and you can get everything you want," insisted her +mother. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you, you don't know the man," cried Mildred. "By tact I suppose +you mean I could have sold things behind his back—and all that." She +laughed. "He hasn't got any back. He had it so arranged that those +cold, wicked eyes of his were always watching me. His second wife +tried 'tact.' He caught her and drove her into the streets. I'd have +had no chance to get a cent, and if I had gotten it I'd not have dared +spend it. Do you imagine I ran away from him without having THOUGHT? +If there'd been any way of staying on, any way of making things even +endurable, I'd have stayed." +</P> + +<P> +"But you've got to go back, Milly," cried her mother, in tears. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that you can't support me?" +</P> + +<P> +"And your brother Frank—" Mrs. Presbury's eyes flashed and her rather +stout cheeks quivered. "I never thought I'd tell anybody, but I'll +tell you. I never liked your brother Frank, and he never liked me. +That sounds dreadful, doesn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, mother dear," said Mildred gently. "I've learned that life isn't +at all as—as everybody pretends." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed it isn't," said her mother. "Mothers always have favorites +among their children, and very often a mother dislikes one of her +children. Of course she hides her feeling and does her duty. But all +the same she can't help the feeling that is down in her heart. I had a +presentiment before he was born that I wouldn't like him, and sure +enough, I didn't. And he didn't like me, or his father, or any of us." +</P> + +<P> +"It would never occur to me to turn to him," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you see that you've got to go back to the general. You can't get +a divorce and alimony, for it was you that left him—and for no cause. +He was within his rights." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred hesitated, confessed: "I had thought of going back to him and +acting in such a way that he'd be glad to give me a divorce and an +allowance." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you might do that," said her mother. "A great many women do. +And, after all, haven't they a right to? A lady has got to have proper +support, and is it just to ask her to live with a man she loathes?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't thought of the right or wrong of it," said Mildred. "It +looks to me as though right and wrong have very little to do with life +as it's lived. They're for hypocrites—and fools." +</P> + +<P> +"Mildred!" exclaimed her mother, deeply shocked. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was not a little shocked at her own thoughts as she inspected +them in the full light into which speech had dragged them. "Anyhow," +she went on, "I soon saw that such a plan was hopeless. He's not the +man to be trifled with. Long before I could drive him to give me a +living and let me go he would have driven me to flight or suicide." +</P> + +<P> +Her mother had now had time to reflect upon Mildred's revelations. +Aided by the impressions she herself had gotten of the little general, +she began to understand why her daughter had fled and why she would not +return. She felt that the situation was one which time alone could +solve. Said she: "Well, the best thing is for you to stay on here and +wait until he makes some move." +</P> + +<P> +"He'll have me watched—that's all he'll do," said Mildred. "When he +gets ready he'll divorce me for deserting him." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury felt that she was right. But, concealing her +despondency, she said: "All we can do is to wait and see. You must +send for your luggage." +</P> + +<P> +"I've nothing but a large bag," said Mildred. "I checked it in the +parcel-room of the New York station." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Presbury was overwhelmed. How account to Hanging Rock for the +reappearance of a baggageless and husbandless bride? But she held up +bravely. With a cheerfulness that did credit to her heart and showed +how well she loved her daughter she said: "We must do the best we can. +We'll get up some story." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mildred. "I'm going back to New York. You can tell people +here what you please—that I've gone to rejoin him or to wait for +him—any old thing." +</P> + +<P> +"At least you'll wait and talk with Presbury," pleaded her mother. "He +is VERY sensible." +</P> + +<P> +"If he has anything to suggest," said Mildred, "he can write it. I'll +send you my address." +</P> + +<P> +"Milly," cried her mother, agitated to the depths, "where ARE you +going? WHAT are you going to do? You look so strange—not at all like +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to a hotel to-night—probably to a boarding-house +to-morrow," said Mildred. "In a few days I shall begin to—" she +hesitated, decided against confidence—"begin to support myself at +something or other." +</P> + +<P> +"You must be crazy!" cried her mother. "You wouldn't do anything—and +you couldn't." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's not discuss it, mamma," said the girl tranquilly. +</P> + +<P> +The mother looked at her with eyes full of the suspicion one lady +cannot but have as to the projects of another lady in such +circumstances. +</P> + +<P> +"Mildred," she said pleadingly, "you must be careful. You'll find +yourself involved in a dreadful scandal. I know you wouldn't DO +anything WRONG no matter how you were driven. But—" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll not do anything FOOLISH, mamma," interrupted the girl. "You are +thinking about men, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Men are always ready to destroy a woman," said her mother. "You must +be careful—" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was laughing. "Oh, mamma," she cried, "do be sensible and do +give me credit for a little sense. I've got a very clear idea of what +a woman ought to do about men, and I assure you I'm not going to be +FOOLISH. And you know a woman who isn't foolish can be trusted where a +woman who's only protected by her principles would yield to the first +temptation—or hunt round for a temptation." +</P> + +<P> +"But you simply can't go to New York and live there all alone—and with +nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +"Can I stay here—for more than a few days?" +</P> + +<P> +"But maybe, after a few days—" stammered her mother. +</P> + +<P> +"You see, I've got to begin," said Mildred. "So why delay? I'd gain +nothing. I'd simply start Hanging Rock to gossiping—and start Mr. +Presbury to acting like a fiend again." +</P> + +<P> +Her mother refused to be convinced—was the firmer, perhaps, because +she saw that Mildred was unshakable in her resolve to leave +forthwith—the obviously sensible and less troublesome course. They +employed the rest of Mildred's three hours' stop in arguing—when +Mildred was not raging against the little general. Her mother was more +than willing to assist her in this denunciation, but Mildred preferred +to do it all herself. She had—perhaps by unconsciously absorbed +training from her lawyer father—an unusual degree of ability to see +both sides of a question. When she assailed her husband, she saw only +her own side; but somehow when her mother railed and raved, she began +to see another side—and the sight was not agreeable. She wished to +feel that her husband was altogether in the wrong; she did not wish to +have intruded upon her such facts as that she had sold herself to +him—quite in the customary way of ladies, but nevertheless quite +shamelessly—or that in strict justice she had done nothing for him to +entitle her to a liberal money allowance or any allowance at all. +</P> + +<P> +On the train, going back to New York, she admitted to herself that the +repulsive little general had held strictly to the terms of the +bargain—"but only a devil and one with not a single gentlemanly +instinct would insist on such a bargain." It took away much of the +shame, and all of the sting, of despising herself to feel that she was +looking still lower when she turned to despising him. +</P> + +<P> +To edge out the little general she began to think of her mother, but as +she passed in review what her mother had said and how she had said it +she saw that for all the protests and arguings her mother was more than +resigned to her departure. Mildred felt no bitterness; ever since she +could remember her mother had been a shifter of responsibility. Still, +to stare into the face of so disagreeable a fact as that one had no +place on earth to go to, no one on earth to turn to, not even one's own +mother—to stare on at that grimacing ugliness did not tend to +cheerfulness. Mildred tried to think of the future—but how could she +think of something that was nothing? She knew that she would go on, +somehow, in some direction, but by no effort of her imagination could +she picture it. She was so impressed by the necessity of considering +the future that, to rouse herself, she tried to frighten herself with +pictures of poverty and misery, of herself a derelict in the vast and +cold desert of New York—perhaps in rags, hungry, ill, but all in vain. +She did not believe it. Always she had had plenty to wear and to eat, +and comfortable surroundings. She could no more think of herself as +without those things than a living person can imagine himself dead. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a fool," she said to herself. "I'm certain to get into all sorts +of trouble. How can it be otherwise, when I've no money, no friends, +no experience, no way of making a living—no honest way—perhaps no way +of the other kind, either?" There are many women who ecstasize their +easily tickled vanities by fancying that if they were so disposed they +need only flutter an eyelid to have men by the legion striving for +their favors, each man with a bag of gold. Mildred, inexperienced as +she was, had no such delusions. Her mind happened not to be of that +chastely licentious caste which continually revolves and fantastically +exaggerates the things of the body. +</P> + +<P> +She could not understand her own indifference about the future. She +did not realize that it was wholly due to Stanley Baird's offer. She +was imagining she was regarding that offer as something she might +possibly consider, but probably would not. She did not know that her +soul had seized upon it, had enfolded it and would on no account let it +go. It is the habit of our secret selves thus to make decisions and +await their own good time for making us acquainted with them. +</P> + +<P> +With her bag on the seat beside her she set out to find a temporary +lodging. Not until several hotels had refused her admittance on the +pretext that they were "full up" did she realize that a young woman +alone is an object of suspicion in New York. When a fourth room-clerk +expressed his polite regrets she looked him straight in the eye and +said: +</P> + +<P> +"I understand. But I can't sleep in the street. You must tell me +where I can go." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there's the Ripon over in Seventh Avenue," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it respectable?" said she. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's very clean and comfortable there," said he. "They'll treat +you right." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it respectable?" said she. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, now, it doesn't LOOK queer, if that's what you mean," replied +he. "You'll do very nicely there. You can be just as quiet as you +want." +</P> + +<P> +She saw that hotel New York would not believe her respectable. So to +the Ripon she went, and was admitted without discussion. As the last +respectable clerk had said, it did not LOOK queer. But it FELT queer; +she resolved that she would go into a boarding-house the very next day. +</P> + +<P> +Here again what seemed simple proved difficult. No respectable +boarding-house would have Miss Mary Stevens. She was confident that +nothing in her dress or manner hinted mystery. Yet those sharp-eyed +landladies seemed to know at once that there was something peculiar +about her. Most of them became rude the instant they set eyes upon +her. A few—of the obviously less prosperous class—talked with her, +seemed to be listening for something which her failing to say decided +them upon all but ordering her out of the house. She, hindered by her +innocence, was slow in realizing that she could not hope for admission +to any select respectable circle, even of high-class salesladies and +clerks, unless she gave a free and clear account of herself—whence she +had come, what she was doing, how she got her money. +</P> + +<P> +Toward the end of the second day's wearisome and humiliating search she +found a house that would admit her. It was a pretentious, +well-furnished big house in Madison Avenue. The price—thirty-five +dollars a week for board, a bedroom with a folding bed in an alcove, +and a bath, was more than double what she had counted on paying, but +she discovered that decent and clean lodgings and food fit to eat were +not to be had for less. "And I simply can't live pig-fashion," said +she. "I'd be so depressed that I could do nothing. I can't live like +a wild animal, and I won't." She had some vague +notion—foreboding—that this was not the proper spirit with which to +face life. "I suppose I'm horribly foolish," reflected she, "but if I +must go down, I'll go down with my colors flying." She did not know +precisely what that phrase meant, but it sounded fine and brave and +heartened her to take the expensive lodgings. +</P> + +<P> +The landlady was a Mrs. Belloc. Mildred had not talked with her twenty +minutes before she had a feeling that this name was assumed. The +evening of her first day in the house she learned that her guess was +correct—learned it from the landlady herself. After dinner Mrs. +Belloc came into her room to cheer her up, to find out about her and to +tell her about herself. +</P> + +<P> +"Now that you've come," said she, "the house is full up—except some +little rooms at the top that I'd as lief not fill. The probabilities +are that any ladies who would take them wouldn't be refined enough to +suit those I have. There are six, not counting me, every one with a +bath and two with private parlors. And as they're all handsome, +sensible women, ladylike and steady, I think the prospects are that +they'll pay promptly and that I won't have any trouble." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred reflected upon this curious statement. It sounded innocent +enough, yet what a peculiar way to put a simple fact. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it's none of my business how people live as long as they +keep up the respectabilities," pursued Mrs. Belloc. "It don't do to +inquire into people in New York. Most of 'em come here because they +want to live as they please." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt," said Mildred a little nervously, for she suspected her +landlady of hitting at her, and wondered if she had come to +cross-examine her and, if the results were not satisfactory, to put her +into the street. +</P> + +<P> +"I know <I>I</I> came for that reason," pursued Mrs. Belloc. "I was a +school-teacher up in New England until about two years ago. Did you +ever teach school?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet," said Mildred. "And I don't think I ever shall. I don't +know enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, you do. A teacher doesn't need to know much. The wages are +so poor—at least up in New England—that they don't expect you to know +anything. It's all in the books. I left because I couldn't endure the +life. Lord! how dull those little towns are! Ever live in a little +town?" +</P> + +<P> +"All my life," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you'll never go back." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope not." +</P> + +<P> +"You won't. Why should you? A sensible woman with looks—especially +if she knows how to carry her clothes—can stay in New York as long as +she pleases, and live off the fat of the land." +</P> + +<P> +"That's good news," said Mildred. She began to like the landlady—not +for what she said, but for the free and frank and friendly way of the +saying—a human way, a comradely way, a live-and-let-live way. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't escape from New England without a struggle," continued Mrs. +Belloc, who was plainly showing that she had taken a great fancy to +"Mary Stevens." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose it was hard to save the money out of your salary," said +Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc laughed. She was about thirty-five years old, though her +eyes and her figure were younger than that. Her mouth was pleasant +enough, but had lost some of its freshness. "Save money!" cried she. +"I'd never have succeeded that way. I'd be there yet. I had never +married—had two or three chances, but all from poor sticks looking for +someone to support them. I saw myself getting old. I was looking +years older than I do now. Talk about sea air for freshening a woman +up—it isn't in it with the air of New York. Here's the town where +women stay young. If I had come here five years ago I could almost try +for the squab class." +</P> + +<P> +"Squab class?" queried Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, squabs. Don't you see them around everywhere?—the women dressed +like girls of sixteen to eighteen—and some of them are that, and +younger. They go hopping and laughing about—and they seem to please +the men and to have no end of a good time. Especially the oldish men. +Oh, yes, you know a squab on sight—tight skirt, low shoes and silk +stockings, cute pretty face, always laughing, hat set on rakishly and +hair done to match, and always a big purse or bag—with a yellow-back +or so in it—as a kind of a hint, I guess." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had seen squabs. "I've envied them—in a way," said she. +"Their parents seem to let them do about as they please." +</P> + +<P> +"Their parents don't know—or don't care. Sometimes it's one, +sometimes the other. They travel in two sets. One is where they meet +young fellows of their own class—the kind they'll probably marry, +unless they happen to draw the capital prize. The other set they +travel in—well, it's the older men they meet round the swell hotels +and so on—the yellow-back men." +</P> + +<P> +"How queer!" exclaimed Mildred, before whose eyes a new world was +opening. "But how do they—these—squabs—account for the money?" +</P> + +<P> +"How do a thousand and one women in this funny town account at home for +money and things?" retorted Mrs. Belloc. "Nothing's easier. For +instance, often these squabs do—or pretend to do—a little something +in the way of work—a little canvassing or artists' model or anything +you please. That helps them to explain at home—and also to make each +of the yellow-back men think he's the only one and that he's being +almost loved for himself alone." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc laughed. Mildred was too astonished to laugh, and too +interested—and too startled or shocked. +</P> + +<P> +"But I was telling you how <I>I</I> got down here," continued the landlady. +"Up in my town there was an old man—about seventy-five—close as the +bark on a tree, and ugly and mean." She paused to draw a long breath +and to shake her head angrily yet triumphantly at some figure her fancy +conjured up. "Oh, he WAS a pup!—and is! Well, anyhow, I decided that +I'd marry him. So I wrote home for fifty dollars. I borrowed another +fifty here and there. I had seventy-five saved up against sickness. I +went up to Boston and laid it all out in underclothes and house +things—not showy but fine and good to look at. Then one day, when the +weather was fine and I knew the old man would be out in his buggy +driving round—I dressed myself up to beat the band. I took hours to +it—scrubbing, powdering, sacheting, perfuming, fixing the hair, fixing +my finger-nails, fixing up my feet, polishing every nail and making +them look better than most hands." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was so interested that she was excited. What strange freak was +coming? +</P> + +<P> +"You never could guess," pursued Mrs. Belloc, complacently. "I took my +sunshade and went out, all got up to kill. And I walked along the road +until I saw the old man's buggy coming with him in it. Then I gave my +ankle a frightful wrench. My! How it hurt!" +</P> + +<P> +"What a pity!" said Mildred sympathetically. "What a shame!" +</P> + +<P> +"A pity? A shame?" cried Mrs. Belloc, laughing. "Why, my dear, I did +it a-purpose." +</P> + +<P> +"On purpose!" exclaimed Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. That was my game. I screamed out with pain—and the +scream was no fake, I can tell you. And I fell down by the roadside on +a nice grassy spot where no dust would get on me. Well, up comes the +old skinflint in his buggy. He climbed down and helped me get off my +slipper and stocking. I knew I had him the minute I saw his old face +looking at that foot I had fixed up so beautifully." +</P> + +<P> +"How DID you ever think of it?" exclaimed Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Go and teach school for ten years in a dull little town, my dear—and +look in the glass every day and see your youth fading away—and you'll +think of most anything. Well, to make a long story short, the old man +took me in the buggy to his house where he lived with his deaf, +half-blind old widowed daughter. I had to stay there three weeks. I +married him the fourth week. And just two months to a day from the +afternoon I sprained my ankle, he gave me fifty dollars a week—all +signed and sealed by a lawyer—to go away and leave him alone. I might +have stood out for more, but I was too anxious to get to New York. And +here I am!" She gazed about the well-furnished room, typical of that +almost luxurious house, with an air of triumphant satisfaction. Said +she: "I've no patience with a woman who says she can't get on. Where's +her brains?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was silent. Perhaps it was a feeling of what was hazily in the +younger woman's mind and a desire to answer it that led Mrs. Belloc to +say further: "I suppose there's some that would criticize my way of +getting there. But I want to know, don't all women get there by +working men? Only most of them are so stupid that they have to go on +living with the man. I think it's low to live with a man you hate." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm not criticizing anybody," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't think you were," said Mrs. Belloc. "If I hadn't seen you +weren't that kind, I'd not have been so confidential. Not that I'm +secretive with anybody. I say and do what I please. Anyone who doesn't +like my way or me can take the other side of the street. I didn't come +to New York to go in society. I came here to LIVE." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred looked at her admiringly. There were things about Mrs. Belloc +that she did not admire; other things—suspected rather than known +things—that she knew she would shrink from, but she heartily admired +and profoundly envied her utter indifference to the opinion of others, +her fine independent way of walking her own path at her own gait. +</P> + +<P> +"I took this boarding-house," Mrs. Belloc went on, "because I didn't +want to be lonesome. I don't like all—or even most of—the ladies +that live here. But they're all amusing to talk with—and don't put on +airs except with their men friends. And one or two are the real +thing—good-hearted, fond of a joke, without any meanness. I tell you, +New York is a mighty fine place if you get 'in right.' Of course, if +you don't, it's h-e-l-l." (Mrs. Belloc took off its unrefined edge by +spelling it.) "But what place isn't?" she added. +</P> + +<P> +"And your husband never bothers you?" inquired Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"And never will," replied Mrs. Belloc. "When he dies I'll come into a +little more—about a hundred and fifty a week in all. Not a fortune, +but enough with what the boarding-house brings in. I'm a pretty fair +business woman." +</P> + +<P> +"I should say so!" exclaimed Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"You said you were Miss Stevens, didn't you?" said Mrs. Belloc—and +Mildred knew that her turn had come. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied she. "But I am also a married woman." She hesitated, +reddened. "I didn't give you my married name." +</P> + +<P> +"That's your own business," said Mrs. Belloc in her easiest manner. "My +right name isn't Belloc, either. But I've dropped that other life. You +needn't feel a bit embarrassed in this house. Some of my boarders SEEM +to be married. All that have regular-appearing husbands SAY they are. +What do I care, so long as everything goes along smoothly? I don't get +excited about trifles." +</P> + +<P> +"Some day perhaps I'll tell you about myself," said Mildred. "Just at +present I—well, I seem not to be able to talk about things." +</P> + +<P> +"It's not a bad idea to keep your mouth shut, as long as your affairs +are unsettled," advised Mrs. Belloc. "I can see you've had little +experience. But you'll come out all right. Just keep cool, and don't +fret about trifles. And don't let any man make a fool of you. That's +where we women get left. We're afraid of men. We needn't be. We can +mighty easily make them afraid of us. Use the soft hand till you get +him well in your grip. Then the firm hand. Nothing coarse or cruel or +mean. But firm and self-respecting." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was tempted to take Mrs. Belloc fully into her confidence and +get the benefit of the advice of shrewdness and experience. So strong +was the temptation, she would have yielded to it had Mrs. Belloc asked +a few tactful, penetrating questions. But Mrs. Belloc refrained, and +Mildred's timidity or delicacy induced her to postpone. The next day +she wrote Stanley Baird, giving her address and her name and asking him +to call "any afternoon at four or five." She assumed that he would +come on the following day, but the letter happened to reach him within +an hour of her mailing it, and he came that very afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +When she went down to the drawing-room to receive him, she found him +standing in the middle of the room gazing about with a quizzical +expression. As soon as the greetings were over he said: +</P> + +<P> +"You must get out of here, Mildred. This won't do." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I shan't," said she. "I've looked everywhere, and this is the +only comfortable place I could find—where the rates were reasonable +and where the landlady didn't have her nose in everybody's business." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't understand," said he. "This is a bird-cage. Highly gilded, +but a bird-cage." +</P> + +<P> +She had never heard the phrase, but she understood—and instantly she +knew that he was right. She colored violently, sat down abruptly. But +in a moment she recovered herself, and with fine defiance said: +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care. Mrs. Belloc is a kind-hearted woman, and it's as easy +to be respectable here as anywhere." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure," assented he. "But you've got to consider appearances to a +certain extent. You won't be able to find the right sort of a +boarding-house—one you'd be comfortable in. You've got to have a flat +of your own." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't afford it," said Mildred. "I can't afford this, even. But I +simply will not live in a shabby, mussy way." +</P> + +<P> +"That's right!" cried Stanley. "You can't do proper work in poor +surroundings. Some women could, but not your sort. But don't worry. +I'm going to see you through. I'll find a place—right away. You want +to start in at once, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Then leave it all to me." +</P> + +<P> +"But WHAT am I to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sing, if you can. If not, then act. We'll have you on the stage +within a year or so. I'm sure of it. And I'll get my money back, with +interest." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see how I can accept it," said Mildred very feebly. +</P> + +<P> +"You've got to," said Stanley. "What alternative is there? None. So +let's bother no more about it. I'll consult with those who know, find +out what the thing costs, and arrange everything. You're as helpless +as a baby, and you know it." +</P> + +<P> +Yes, Mildred knew it. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her with an amused smile. "Come, out with it!" he cried. +"You've got something on your mind. Let's get everything straight—and +keep it that way." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred hung her head. +</P> + +<P> +"You're uneasy because I, a man, am doing this for you, a young woman? +Is that it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she confessed. +</P> + +<P> +He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and spoke in a brisk, +businesslike way. "In the first place, it's got to be done, hasn't it? +And someone has got to do it? And there is no one offering but me? Am +I right?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Then <I>I</I>'ve got to do it, and you've GOT to let me. There's logic, if +ever there was logic. A Philadelphia lawyer couldn't knock a hole in +it. You trust me, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't trust me, then," said he cheerfully. "Well, perhaps you're +right. But you trust yourself, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +She moved restlessly, but remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"You are afraid I might put you in a difficult position?" +</P> + +<P> +"Something like that," she admitted, in a low, embarrassed voice. +</P> + +<P> +"You fear that I expect some return which you do not intend to give?" +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't," said he bluntly. "So put your mind at rest. Some day +I'll tell you why I am doing this, but I want you to feel that I ask +nothing of you but my money back with interest, when you can afford to +pay." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't feel that," said she. "You're putting me in your debt—so +heavily that I'd feel I ought to pay anything you asked. But I +couldn't and wouldn't pay." +</P> + +<P> +"Unless you felt like it?" suggested he. +</P> + +<P> +"It's honest for me to warn you that I'm not likely to feel that way." +</P> + +<P> +"There is such a thing as winning a woman's love, isn't there?" said he +jestingly. It was difficult to tell when Stanley Baird was jesting and +when he was in earnest. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that what you expect?" said she gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"If I say yes?" +</P> + +<P> +She lowered her eyes and laughed in an embarrassed way. +</P> + +<P> +He was frankly amused. "You see, you feel that you're in my power. And +you are. So why not make the best of it?" A pause, then he said +abruptly and with a convincing manliness, "I think, Mildred, you can +trust me not to be a beast." +</P> + +<P> +She colored and looked at him with quick contrition. "I'm ashamed of +myself," said she. "Please forget that I said anything. I'll take +what I must, and I'll pay it back as soon as I can. And—thank you, +Stanley." The tears were in her eyes. "If I had anything worth your +taking I'd be glad to give it to you. What vain fools we women are!" +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you, though!" laughed he. "And now it's all settled—until +you're on the stage, and free, and the money's paid back—WITH +interest. I shall charge you six per cent." +</P> + +<P> +When she first knew him she had not been in the least impressed by what +now seemed to her his finest and rarest trait, for, in those days she +had been as ignorant of the realities of human nature as one who has +never adventured his boat beyond the mouth of the peaceful land-locked +harbor is ignorant of the open sea. But in the hard years she had been +learning—not only from Presbury and General Siddall, but from the cook +and the housemaid, from every creditor, every tradesman, everyone whose +attitude socially toward her had been modified by her changed +fortunes—and whose attitude had not been changed? Thus, she was now +able to appreciate—at least in some measure—Stanley Baird's delicacy +and tact. No, not delicacy and tact, for that implied effort. His +ability to put this offer in such a way that she could accept without +serious embarrassment arose from a genuine indifference to money as +money, a habit of looking upon it simply as a means to an end. He +offered her the money precisely as he would have offered her his +superior strength if it had been necessary to cross a too deep and +swift creek. She had the sense that he felt he was doing something +even less notable than he admitted, and that he talked of it as a +valuable and rather unusual service simply because it was the habit +thus to regard such matters. +</P> + +<P> +As they talked on of "the great career" her spirits went up and up. It +was evident that he now had a new and keen interest in life, that she +was doing him a greater favor than he was doing her. He had always had +money, plenty of it, more than he could use. He now had more than +ever—for, several rich relatives had died and, after the habit of the +rich, had left everything to him, the one of all the connections who +needed it least. He had a very human aversion to spending money upon +people or things he did not like. He would have fought to the last +court an attempt by his wife to get alimony. He had a reputation with +the "charity gang" of being stingy because he would not give them so +much as the price of a bazaar ticket. Also, the impecunious spongers at +his clubs spread his fame as a "tight-wad" because he refused to let +them "stick him up" for even a round of drinks. Where many a really +stingy man yielded through weakness or fear of public opinion, he stood +firm. His one notable surrender of any kind had been his marriage; +that bitter experience had cured him of the surrendering habit for all +time. Thenceforth he did absolutely and in everything as he pleased. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had heard that he was close about money. She had all but +forgotten it, because her own experience with him had made such a +charge seem ridiculous. She now assumed—so far as she thought about it +at all—that he was extremely generous. She did not realize what a +fine discriminating generosity his was, or how striking an evidence of +his belief in her as well as of his liking for her. +</P> + +<P> +As he rose to go he said: "You mustn't forget that our arrangement is +a secret between us. Neither of us can afford to have anyone know it." +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't anyone in the world who wouldn't misunderstand it," said +she, without the least feeling of embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"Just so," said he. "And I want you to live in such a way that I can +come to call. We must arrange things so that you will take your own +name—" +</P> + +<P> +"I intend to use the name Mary Stevens in my work," she interrupted. +</P> + +<P> +"But there mustn't be any concealment, any mystery to excite curiosity +and scandal—" +</P> + +<P> +This time the interruption was her expression. He turned to see what +had startled her, and saw in the doorway of the drawing-room the +grotesquely neat and stylish figure of the little general. Before +either could speak he said: +</P> + +<P> +"How d'you do, Mr. Baird? You'll pardon me if I ask you to leave me +alone with my WIFE." +</P> + +<P> +Stanley met the situation with perfect coolness. "How are you, +General?" said he. "Certainly, I was just going." He extended his +hand to Mildred, said in a correct tone of conventional friendliness, +"Then you'll let me know when you're settled?" He bowed, moved toward +the door, shook hands with the general, and passed out, giving from +start to finish a model example of a man of the world extricating +himself from an impossible situation and leaving it the better for his +having been entangled. To a man of Siddall's incessant and clumsy +self-consciousness such unaffected ease could not but be proof positive +of Mildred's innocence—unless he had overheard. And his first words +convinced her that he had not. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"So you sent for your old admirer?" +</P> + +<P> +"I ran across him accidentally," replied Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I know," said the little general. "My men picked you up at the pier +and haven't lost sight of you since. It's fortunate that I've kept +myself informed, or I might have misunderstood that chap's being here." +A queer, cloudy look came into his eyes. "I must give him a warning +for safety's sake." He waved his hand in dismissal of such an +unimportant trifle as the accidental Baird. He went on, his wicked +eyes bent coldly and dully upon her: "Do you know what kind of a house +this is?" +</P> + +<P> +"Stanley Baird urged me to leave," replied she. "But I shall stay until +I find a better—and that's not easy." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my men have reported to me on the difficulties you've had. It +was certainly fortunate for you that I had them look after you. +Otherwise I'd never have understood your landing in this sort of a +house. You are ready to come with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your secretary explained that if I left the hotel it was the end." +</P> + +<P> +"He told you that by my orders." +</P> + +<P> +"So he explained," said Mildred. She seated herself, overcome by a +sudden lassitude that was accompanied not by fear, but by indifference. +"Won't you sit down? I am willing to hear what you have to say." +</P> + +<P> +The little general, about to sit, was so astonished that he +straightened and stiffened himself. "In consenting to overlook your +conduct and take you back I have gone farther than I ever intended. I +have taken into consideration your youth and inexperience." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am not going back," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +The little general slowly seated himself. "You have less than two +hundred and fifty dollars left," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"Really? Your spies know better than I." +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen Presbury. He assures me that in no circumstances will he +and your mother take you back." +</P> + +<P> +"They will not have the chance to refuse," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"As for your brother—" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no brother," said she coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you are coming back with me." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mildred. "I should"—she cast about for an impressive +alternative—"I should stay on here, rather." +</P> + +<P> +The little general—his neat varnished leather and be-spatted shoes +just touched the floor—examined his highly polished top-hat at several +angles. Finally he said: "You need not fear that your misconduct will +be remembered against you. I shall treat you in every way as my wife. +I shall assume that your—your flight was an impulse that you regret." +</P> + +<P> +"I shan't go back," said Mildred. "Nothing you could offer would +change me." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot make any immediate concession on the—the matter that caused +you to go," pursued he, as if she had not spoken, "but if I see that +you have reliability and good sense, I'll agree to give you an +allowance later." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred eyed him curiously. "Why are you making these offers, these +concessions?" she said. "You think everyone in the world is a fool +except yourself. You're greatly deceived. I know that you don't mean +what you've been saying. I know that if you got me in your power +again, you would do something frightful. I've seen through that mask +you wear. I know the kind of man you are." +</P> + +<P> +"If you know that," said the general in his even slow way, monotonous, +almost lifeless, "you know you'd better come with me than stand out +against me." +</P> + +<P> +She did not let him see how this struck terror into her. She said: "No +matter what you might do to me, when I'm away from you, it would be +less than you'd do with me under your roof. At any rate, it'd seem +less." +</P> + +<P> +The general reflected, decided to change to another point: "You made a +bargain with me. You've broken it. I never let anyone break a bargain +with me without making them regret it. I'm giving you a chance to keep +your bargain." +</P> + +<P> +She was tempted to discuss, but she could not find the words, or the +strength. Besides, how futile to discuss with such a man. She sank +back in her chair wearily. "I shall never go back," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her, his face devoid of expression, but she had a sense of +malignance unutterable eying her from behind a screen. He said: "I +see you've misunderstood my generosity. You think I'm weak where you +are concerned because I've come to you instead of doing as I said and +making you come to me." He rose. "Well, my offer to you is closed. And +once more I say, you will come to me and ask to be taken back. I may +or may not take you back. It depends on how I'll feel at that time." +</P> + +<P> +Slowly, with his ludicrously pompous strut, he marched to the +drawing-room door. She had not felt like smiling, but if there had +been any such inclination it would have fled before the countenance +that turned upon her at the threshold. It was the lean, little face +with the funny toupee and needle-like mustache and imperial, but behind +it lay a personality like the dull, cold, yellow eyes of the devil-fish +ambushed in the hazy mass of dun-colored formlessness of collapsed body +and tentacles. He said: +</P> + +<P> +"You'd best be careful how you conduct yourself. You'll be under +constant observation. And any friends you make—they'd do well to +avoid you." +</P> + +<P> +He was gone. She sat without the power of motion, without the power of +thought. After a time—perhaps long, perhaps short, she did not +know—Mrs. Belloc came in and entered upon a voluble apology for the +maid's having shown "the little gentleman" into the drawing-room when +another was already there. "That maid's as green as spring corn," said +she. "Such a thing never happened in my house before. And it'll never +happen again. I do hope it didn't cause trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"It was my husband," said Mildred. "I had to see him some time." +</P> + +<P> +"He's certainly a very elegant little gentleman," said Mrs. Belloc. "I +rather like small men, myself." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred gazed at her vaguely and said, "Tell me—a rich man, a very +rich man—if he hates anyone, can he make trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"Money can do anything in this town," replied Mrs. Belloc. "But +usually rich men are timid and stingy. If they weren't, they'd make us +all cringe. As it is, I've heard some awful stories of how men and +women who've got some powerful person down on them have been hounded." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred turned deathly sick. "I think I'll go to my room," she said, +rising uncertainly and forcing herself toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc's curiosity could not restrain itself. "You're leaving?" +she asked. "You're going back to your husband?" +</P> + +<P> +She was startled when the girl abruptly turned on her and cried with +flashing eyes and voice strong and vibrant with passion: "Never! +Never! No matter what comes—NEVER!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The rest of the day and that night she hid in her room and made no +effort to resist the terror that preyed upon her. Just as our strength +is often the source of weakness, so our weaknesses often give birth to +strength. Her terror of the little general, given full swing, shrieked +and grimaced itself into absurdity. She was ashamed of her orgy, was +laughing at it as the sun and intoxicating air of a typical New York +morning poured in upon her. She accepted Mrs. Belloc's invitation to +take a turn through the park and up Riverside Drive in a taxicab, came +back restored to her normal state of blind confidence in the future. +About noon Stanley Baird telephoned. +</P> + +<P> +"We must not see each other again for some time," said he. "I rather +suspect that you—know—who may be having you watched." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure of it," said she. "He warned me." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let that disturb you," pursued Stanley. "A man—a singing +teacher—his name's Eugene Jennings—will call on you this afternoon at +three. Do exactly as he suggests. Let him do all the talking." +</P> + +<P> +She had intended to tell Baird frankly that she thought, indeed knew, +that it was highly dangerous for him to enter into her affairs in any +way, and to urge him to draw off. She felt that it was only fair to +act so toward one who had been unselfishly generous to her. But now +that the time for speaking had come, she found herself unable to speak. +Only by flatly refusing to have anything to do with his project could +she prevail upon him. To say less than that she had completely and +finally changed her mind would sound, and would be, insincere. And +that she could not say. She felt how noble it would be to say this, how +selfish, and weak, too, it was to cling to him, possibly to involve him +in disagreeable and even dangerous complications, but she had no +strength to do what she would have denounced another as base for not +doing. Instead of the lofty words that flow so freely from the lips of +stage and fiction heroines, instead of the words that any and every +reader of this history would doubtless have pronounced in the same +circumstances, she said: +</P> + +<P> +"You're quite sure you want to go on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" came instantly back over the wire. +</P> + +<P> +"He is a very, very relentless man," replied she. +</P> + +<P> +"Did he try to frighten you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid he succeeded." +</P> + +<P> +"You're not going back on the career!" exclaimed he excitedly. "I'll +come down there and—" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," cried she. "I was simply giving you a chance to free +yourself." She felt sure of him now. She scrambled toward the heights +of moral grandeur. "I want you to stop. I've no right to ask you to +involve yourself in my misfortunes. Stanley, you mustn't. I can't +allow it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, fudge!" laughed he. "Don't give me these scares. Don't +forget—Jennings at three. Good-by and good luck." +</P> + +<P> +And he rang off that she might have no chance on impulse to do herself +mischief with her generous thoughtfulness for him. She felt rather +mean, but not nearly so mean as she would have felt had she let the +opportunity go by with no generous word said. "And no doubt my +aversion for that little wretch," thought she, "makes me think him more +terrible than he is. After all, what can he do? Watch me—and discover +nothing, because there'll be nothing to discover." +</P> + +<P> +Jennings came exactly at three—came with the air of a man who wastes +no one's time and lets no one waste his time. He was a youngish man of +forty or thereabouts, with a long sharp nose, a large tight mouth, and +eyes that seemed to be looking restlessly about for money. That they +had not looked in vain seemed to be indicated by such facts as that he +came in a private brougham and that he was most carefully dressed, +apparently with the aid of a valet. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Stevens," he said with an abrupt bow, before Mildred had a chance +to speak, "you have come to New York to take singing lessons—to +prepare yourself for the stage. And you wish a comfortable place to +live and to work." He extended his gloved hand, shook hers frigidly, +dropped it. "We shall get on—IF you work, but only if you work. I do +not waste myself upon triflers." He drew a card from his pocket. "If +you will go to see the lady whose name and address are written on this +card, I think you will find the quarters you are looking for." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Come to me—my address is on the card, also—at half-past ten on +Saturday. We will then lay out your work." +</P> + +<P> +"If you find I have a voice worth while," Mildred ventured. +</P> + +<P> +"That, of course," said Mr. Jennings curtly. "Until half-past ten on +Saturday, good day." +</P> + +<P> +Again he gave the abrupt foreign bow and, while Mildred was still +struggling with her surprise and confusion, she saw him, through the +window, driving rapidly away. Mrs. Belloc came drifting through the +room; she had the habit of looking about whenever there were new +visitors, and in her it was not irritating because her interest was +innocent and sympathetic. Said Mildred: +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see that man, Mrs. Belloc?" +</P> + +<P> +"What an extraordinary nose he had," replied she. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I noticed that," said Mildred. "But it was the only thing I did +notice. He is a singing teacher—Mr. Jennings." +</P> + +<P> +"Eugene Jennings?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Eugene." +</P> + +<P> +"He's the best known singing teacher in New York. He gets fifteen +dollars a half-hour." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I simply can't take from him!" exclaimed Mildred, before she +thought. "That's frightful!" +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it, though?" echoed Mrs. Belloc. "I've heard his income is +fifty thousand a year, what with lessons and coaching and odds and +ends. There's a lot of them that do well, because so many fool women +with nothing to do cultivate their voices—when they can't sing a +little bit. But he tops them all. I don't see how ANY teacher can put +fifteen dollars of value into half an hour. But I suppose he does, or +he wouldn't get it. Still, his may be just another case of New York +nerve. This is the biggest bluff town in the world, I do believe. +Here, you can get away with anything, I don't care what it is, if only +you bluff hard enough." +</P> + +<P> +As there was no reason for delay and many reasons against it, Mildred +went at once to the address on the card Jennings had left. She found +Mrs. Howell Brindley installed in a plain comfortable apartment in +Fifty-ninth Street, overlooking the park and high enough to make the +noise of the traffic endurable. A Swedish maid, prepossessingly white +and clean, ushered her into the little drawing-room, which was +furnished with more simplicity and individual taste than is usual +anywhere in New York, cursed of the mania for useless and tasteless +showiness. There were no messy draperies, no fussy statuettes, vases, +gilt boxes, and the like. Mildred awaited the entrance of Mrs. Brindley +hopefully. +</P> + +<P> +She was not disappointed. Presently in came a quietly-dressed, +frank-looking woman of a young forty—a woman who had by no means lost +her physical freshness, but had gained charm of another and more +enduring kind. As she came forward with extended but not overeager +hand, she said: +</P> + +<P> +"I was expecting you, Mrs. Siddall—that is, Miss Stevens." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Jennings did not say when I was to come. If I am disturbing you—" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley hastened to assure her that her visit was quite +convenient. "I must have someone to share the expense of this +apartment with me, and I want the matter settled. Mr. Jennings has +explained about you to me, and now that I've seen you—" here she +smiled charmingly—"I am ready to say that it is for you to say." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred did not know how to begin. She looked at Mrs. Brindley with +appeal in her troubled young eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You no doubt wish to know something about me," said Mrs. Brindley. "My +husband was a composer—a friend of Mr. Jennings. He died two years +ago. I am here in New York to teach the piano. What the lessons will +bring, with my small income, will enable me to live—if I can find +someone to help out at the expenses here. As I understand it, you are +willing to pay forty dollars a week, I to run the house, pay all the +bills, and so on—all, of course, if you wish to come here." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred made a not very successful attempt to conceal her embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you would like to look at the apartment?" suggested Mrs. +Brindley. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, yes," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +The tour of the apartment—two bedrooms, dining-room, kitchen, +sitting-room, large bath-room, drawing-room—took only a few minutes, +but Mildred and Mrs. Brindley contrived to become much better +acquainted. Said Mildred, when they were in the drawing-room again: +</P> + +<P> +"It's most attractive—just what I should like. What—how much did Mr. +Jennings say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Forty dollars a week." She colored slightly and spoke with the +nervousness of one not in the habit of discussing money matters. "I do +not see how I could make it less. That is the fair share of the—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I think that is most reasonable," interrupted Mildred. "And I +wish to come." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley gave an almost childlike sigh of relief and smiled +radiantly. "Then it's settled," said she. "I've been so nervous about +it." She looked at Mildred with friendly understanding. "I think you +and I are somewhat alike about practical things. You've not had much +experience, either, have you? I judge so from the fact that Mr. +Jennings is looking after everything for you." +</P> + +<P> +"I've had no experience at all," said Mildred. "That is why I'm +hesitating. I'm wondering if I can afford to pay so much." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley laughed. "Mr. Jennings wished to fix it at sixty a week, +but I insisted that forty was enough," said she. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred colored high with embarrassment. How much did Mrs. Brindley +know?—or how little? She stammered: "Well, if Mr. Jennings says it +is all right, I'll come." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll let me know to-morrow? You can telephone Mr. Jennings." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'll let you know to-morrow. I'm almost sure I'll come. In +fact, I'm quite sure. And—I think we shall get on well together." +</P> + +<P> +"We can help each other," said Mrs. Brindley. "I don't care for +anything in the world but music." +</P> + +<P> +"I want to be that way," said Mildred. "I shall be that way." +</P> + +<P> +"It's the only sure happiness—to care for something, for some THING," +said Mrs. Brindley. "People die, or disappoint one, or become +estranged. But when one centers on some kind of work, it gives +pleasure always—more and more pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +"I am so afraid I haven't voice enough, or of the right kind," said +Mildred. "Mr. Jennings is going to try me on Saturday. Really I've no +right to settle anything until he has given his opinion." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley smiled with her eyes only, and Mildred wondered. +</P> + +<P> +"If he should say that I wouldn't do," she went on, "I'd not know which +way to turn." +</P> + +<P> +"But he'll not say that," said Mrs. Brindley. "You can sing, can't +you? You have sung?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you'll be accepted by him. And it will take him a long time to +find out whether you'll do for a professional." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I sing very badly." +</P> + +<P> +"That will not matter. You'll sing better than at least half of +Jennings's pupils." +</P> + +<P> +"Then he doesn't take only those worth while?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley looked amused. "How would he live if he did that? It's +a teacher's business to teach. Learning—that's the pupil's lookout. If +teachers taught only those who could and would learn, how would they +live?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll not know whether I'll do!" exclaimed Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have to find out for yourself," said Mrs. Brindley. "No one +can tell you. Anyone's opinion might be wrong. For example, I've +known Jennings, who is a very good judge, to be wrong—both ways." +Hesitatingly: "Why not sing for me? I'd like to hear." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you tell me what you honestly thought?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley laughingly shook her head. Mildred liked her honesty. +"Then it'd be useless to sing for you," said she. "I'm not vain about +my voice. I'd simply like to make a living by it, if I could. I'll +even confess that there are many things I care for more than for music. +Does that prove that I can never sing professionally?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," Mrs. Brindley assured her. "It'd be strange if a girl of +your age cared exclusively for music. The passion comes with the work, +with progress, success. And some of the greatest—that is, the most +famous and best paid—singers never care much about music, except as a +vanity, and never understand it. A singer means a person born with a +certain shape of mouth and throat, a certain kind of vocal chords. The +rest may be natural or acquired. It's the instrument that makes the +singer, not brains or temperament." +</P> + +<P> +"Do let me sing for you," said Mildred. "I think it will help me." +</P> + +<P> +Between them they chose a little French song—"Chanson d'Antonine"—and +Mrs. Brindley insisted on her playing her own accompaniment. "I wish +to listen," said she, "and I can't if I play." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was surprised at her own freedom from nervousness. She sang +neither better nor worse than usual—sang in the clear and pleasant +soprano which she flattered herself was not unmusical. When she +finished she said: +</P> + +<P> +"That's about as I usually sing. What do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley reflected before she replied: "I BELIEVE it's worth +trying. If I were you, I should keep on trying, no matter what anyone +said." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was instantly depressed. "You think Mr. Jennings may reject +me?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I KNOW he will not," replied Mrs. Brindley. "Not as long as you can +pay for the lessons. But I was thinking of the real thing—of whether +you could win out as a singer." +</P> + +<P> +"And you don't think I can?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary, I believe you can," replied Mrs. Brindley. "A singer +means so much besides singing. The singing is the smallest part of it. +You'll understand when you get to work. I couldn't explain now. But I +can say that you ought to go ahead." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred, who had her share of vanity, had hoped for some enthusiasm. +Mrs. Brindley's judicial tone was a severe blow. She felt a little +resentful, began to cast about for vanity-consoling reasons for Mrs. +Brindley's restraint. "She means well," she said to herself, "but +she's probably just a tiny bit jealous. She's not so young as she once +was, and she hasn't the faintest hope of ever being anything more than +a piano-teacher." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley showed that she had more than an inkling of Mildred's +frame of mind by going on to say in a gentle, candid way: "I want to +help you. So I shall be careful not to encourage you to believe too +much in what you have. That would prevent you from getting what you +need. You must remember, you are no longer a drawing-room singer, but +a candidate for the profession. That's a very different thing." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred saw that she was mistaken, that Mrs. Brindley was honest and +frank and had doubtless told her the exact truth. But her vanity +remained sore. Never before had anyone said any less of her singing +than that it was wonderful, marvelous, equal to a great deal that +passed for fine in grand opera. She had known that this was +exaggeration, but she had not known how grossly exaggerated. Thus, +this her first experience of the professional attitude was galling. +Only her unusual good sense saved her from being angry with Mrs. +Brindley. And it was that same good sense that moved her presently to +try to laugh at herself. With a brave attempt to smile gayly she said: +</P> + +<P> +"You don't realize how you've taken me down. I had no idea I was so +conceited about my singing. I can't truthfully say I like your +frankness, but there's a part of me that's grateful to you for it, and +when I get over feeling hurt, I'll be grateful through and through." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley's face lighted up beautifully. "You'll DO!" she cried. +"I'm sure you'll do. I've been waiting and watching to see how you +would take my criticism. That's the test—how they take criticism. If +they don't take it at all, they'll not go very far, no matter how +talented they are. If they take it as you've taken it, there's +hope—great hope. Now, I'm not afraid to tell you that you sang +splendidly for an amateur—that you surprised me." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't spoil it all," said Mildred. "You were right; I can't sing." +</P> + +<P> +"Not for grand opera, not for comic opera even," replied Mrs. Brindley. +"But you will sing, and sing well, in one or the other, if you work." +</P> + +<P> +"You really mean that?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"If you work intelligently and persistently," said Mrs. Brindley. +"That's a big if—as you'll discover in a year or so." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll see," said Mildred confidently. "Why, I've nothing else to do, +and no other hope." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley's smile had a certain sadness in it. She said: +</P> + +<P> +"It's the biggest if in all this world." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V +</H3> + +<P> +AT Mrs. Belloc's a telephone message from Jennings was awaiting her; he +would call at a quarter-past eight and would detain Miss Stevens only a +moment. And at eight fifteen exactly he rang the bell. This time +Mildred was prepared; she refused to be disconcerted by his abrupt +manner and by his long sharp nose that seemed to warn away, to threaten +away, even to thrust away any glance seeking to investigate the rest of +his face or his personality. She looked at him candidly, calmly, and +seeingly. Seeingly. With eyes that saw as they had never seen before. +Perhaps from the death of her father, certainly from the beginning of +Siddall's courtship, Mildred had been waking up. There is a part of +our nature—the active and aggressive part—that sleeps all our lives +long or becomes atrophied if we lead lives of ease and secure +dependence. It is the important part of us, too—the part that +determines character. The thing that completed the awakening of +Mildred was her acquaintance with Mrs. Belloc. That positive and +finely-poised lady fascinated her, influenced her powerfully—gave her +just what she needed at the particular moment. The vital moments in +life are not the crises over which shallow people linger, but are the +moments where we met and absorbed the ideas that enabled us to weather +these crises. The acquaintance with Mrs. Belloc was one of those vital +moments; for, Mrs. Belloc's personality—her look and manner, what she +said and the way she said it—was a proffer to Mildred of invaluable +lessons which her awakening character eagerly absorbed. She saw +Jennings as he was. She decided that he was of common origin, that his +vanity was colossal and aquiver throughout with sensitiveness; that he +belonged to the familiar type of New-Yorker who succeeds by bluffing. +Also, she saw or felt a certain sexlessness or indifference to sex—and +this she later understood. Men whose occupation compels them +constantly to deal with women go to one extreme or the other—either +become acutely sensitive to women as women or become utterly +indifferent, unless their highly discriminated taste is appealed +to—which cannot happen often. Jennings, teaching only women because +only women spending money they had not earned and could not earn would +tolerate his terms and his methods, had, as much through necessity as +through inclination, gone to the extreme of lack of interest in all +matters of sex. One look at him and the woman who had come with the +idea of offering herself in full or part payment for lessons drooped in +instinctive discouragement. +</P> + +<P> +Jennings hastened to explain to Mildred that she need not hesitate +about closing with Mrs. Brindley. "Your lessons are arranged for," +said he. "There has been put in the Plaza Trust Company to your credit +the sum of five thousand dollars. This gives you about a hundred +dollars a week for your board and other personal expenses. If that is +not enough, you will let me know. But I estimated that it would be +enough. I do not think it wise for young women entering upon the +preparation for a serious career to have too much money." +</P> + +<P> +"It is more than enough," murmured the girl. "I know nothing about +those things, but it seems to me—" +</P> + +<P> +"You can use as little of it as you like," interrupted Jennings, rising. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred felt as though she had been caught and exposed in a +hypocritical protest. Jennings was holding out something toward her. +She took it, and he went on: +</P> + +<P> +"That's your check-book. The bank will send you statements of your +account, and will notify you when any further sums are added. Now, I +have nothing more to do with your affairs—except, of course, the +artistic side—your development as a singer. You've not forgotten your +appointment?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mildred, like a primary school-child before a formidable +teacher. +</P> + +<P> +"Be prompt, please. I make no reduction for lessons wholly or partly +missed. The half-hour I shall assign to you belongs to you. If you do +not use it, that is your affair. At first you will probably be like +all women—careless about your appointments, coming with lessons +unprepared, telephoning excuses. But if you are serious you will soon +fall into the routine." "I shall try to be regular," murmured Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +Jennings apparently did not hear. "I'm on my way to the opera-house," +said he. "One of my old pupils is appearing in a new role, and she is +nervous. Good night." +</P> + +<P> +Once more that swift, quiet exit, followed almost instantaneously by +the sound of wheels rolling away. Never had she seen such rapidity of +motion without loss of dignity. "Yes, he's a fraud," she said to +herself, "but he's a good one." +</P> + +<P> +The idea of a career had now become less indefinite. It was still +without any attraction—not because of the toil it involved, for that +made small impression upon her who had never worked and had never seen +anyone work, but because a career meant cutting herself off from +everything she had been brought up to regard as fit and proper for a +lady. She was ashamed of this; she did not admit its existence even to +herself, and in her talks with Baird about the career she had professed +exactly the opposite view. Yet there it was—nor need she have been +ashamed of a feeling that is instilled into women of her class from +babyhood as part of their ladylike education. The career had not +become definite. She could not imagine herself out on a stage in some +sort of a costume, with a painted face, singing before an audience. +Still, the career was less indefinite than when it had no existence +beyond Stanley Baird's enthusiasm and her own whipped-up pretense of +enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +She shrank from the actual start, but at the same time was eager for +it. Inaction began to fret her nerves, and she wished to be doing +something to show her appreciation of Stanley Baird's generosity. She +telephoned Mrs. Brindley that she would come in the morning, and then +she told her landlady. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc was more than regretful; she was distressed. Said she: +"I've taken a tremendous fancy to you, and I hate to give you up. I'd +do most anything to keep you." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred explained that her work compelled her to go. +</P> + +<P> +"That's very interesting," said Mrs. Belloc. "If I were a few years +younger, and hadn't spent all my energy in teaching school and putting +through that marriage, I'd try to get on the stage, myself. I don't +want to lose sight of you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'll come to see you from time to time." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you won't," said Mrs. Belloc practically. "No more than I'd come +to see you. Our lives lie in different directions, and in New York +that means we'll never have time to meet. But we may be thrown +together again, some time. As I've got a twenty years' lease on this +house, I guess you'll have no trouble in finding me. I suppose I could +look you up through Professor Jennings?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mildred. Then impulsively, "Mrs. Belloc, there's a reason +why I'd like to change without anyone's knowing what has become of +me—I mean, anyone that might be—watching me." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand perfectly," said Mrs. Belloc with a ready sympathy that +made Mildred appreciate the advantages of the friendship of +unconventional, knock-about people. "Nothing could be easier. You've +got no luggage but that bag. I'll take it up to the Grand Central +Station and check it, and bring the check back here. You can send for +it when you please." +</P> + +<P> +"But what about me?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I was coming to that. You walk out of here, say, about half an hour +after I go in the taxi. You walk through to the corner of Lexington +Avenue and Thirty-seventh Street—there aren't any cabs to be had +there. I'll be waiting in the taxi, and we'll make a dash up the East +Side and I can drop you at some quiet place in the park and go on—and +you can walk to your new address. How does that strike you?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred expressed her admiration. The plan was carried out, as Mrs. +Belloc—a born genius at all forms of intrigue—had evolved it in +perfection on the spur of the moment. As they went up the far East +Side, Mrs. Belloc, looking back through the little rear window, saw a +taxi a few blocks behind them. "We haven't given them the slip yet," +said she, "but we will in the park." They entered the park at East +Ninetieth Street, crossed to the West Drive. Acting on Mrs. Belloc's +instructions, the motorman put on full speed—with due regard to the +occasional policeman. At a sharp turning near the Mall, when the taxi +could be seen from neither direction, he abruptly stopped. Out sprang +Mildred and disappeared behind the bushes completely screening the walk +from the drive. At once the taxi was under-way again. She, waiting +where the screen of bushes was securely thick, saw the taxi that had +followed them in the East Side flash by—in pursuit of Mrs. Belloc +alone. +</P> + +<P> +She was free—at least until some mischance uncovered her to the little +general. At Mrs. Brindley's she found a note awaiting her—a note from +Stanley Baird: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +DEAR MILDRED: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I'm of for the Far West, and probably shall not be in town again until +the early summer. The club forwards my mail and repeats telegrams as +marked. Go in and win, and don't hesitate to call on me if you need +me. No false pride, PLEASE! I'm getting out of the way because it's +obviously best for the present. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +STANLEY. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +As she finished, her sense of freedom was complete. She had not +realized how uneasy she was feeling about Stanley. She did not doubt +his generosity, did not doubt that he genuinely intended to leave her +free, and she believed that his delicacy was worthy of his generosity. +Still, she was constantly fearing lest circumstances should thrust them +both—as much against his will as hers—into a position in which she +would have to choose between seeming, not to say being, ungrateful, and +playing the hypocrite, perhaps basely, with him. The little general +eluded, Stanley voluntarily removed; she was indeed free. Now she +could work with an untroubled mind, could show Mrs. Brindley that +intelligent and persistent work—her "biggest if in all the world"—was +in fact a very simple matter. +</P> + +<P> +She had not been settled at Mrs. Brindley's many hours before she +discovered that not only was she free from all hindrances, but was to +have a positive and great help. Mrs. Brindley's talent for putting +people at their ease was no mere drawing-room trick. +</P> + +<P> +She made Mildred feel immediately at home, as she had not felt at home +since her mother introduced James Presbury into their house at Hanging +Rock. Mrs. Brindley was absolutely devoid of pretenses. When Mildred +spoke to her of this quality in her she said: +</P> + +<P> +"I owe that to my husband. I was brought up like everybody else—to be +more or less of a poser and a hypocrite. In fact, I think there was +almost nothing genuine about me. My husband taught me to be myself, to +be afraid of nobody's opinion, to show myself just as I was and to let +people seek or avoid me as they saw fit. He was that sort of man +himself." +</P> + +<P> +"He must have been a remarkable man," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"He was," replied Mrs. Brindley. "But not attractive—at least not to +me. Our marriage was a mistake. We quarreled whenever we were not at +work with the music. If he had not died, we should have been +divorced." She smiled merrily. "Then he would have hired me as his +musical secretary, and we'd have got on beautifully." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was still thinking of Mrs. Brindley's freedom from pretense. +"I've never dared be myself," confessed she. "I don't know what myself +really is like. I was thinking the other day how for one reason and +another I've been a hypocrite all my life. You see, I've always been a +dependent—have always had to please someone in order to get what I +wanted." +</P> + +<P> +"You can never be yourself until you have an independent income, +however small," said Mrs. Brindley. "I've had that joy only since my +husband died. It's as well that I didn't have it sooner. One is the +better for having served an apprenticeship at self-repression and at +pretending to virtues one has not. Only those who earn their freedom +know how to use it. If I had had it ten or fifteen years ago I'd have +been an intolerable tyrant, making everyone around me unhappy and +therefore myself. The ideal world would be one where everyone was born +free and never knew anything else. Then, no one being afraid or having +to serve, everyone would have to be considerate in order to get himself +tolerated." +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder if I really ever shall be able to earn a living?" sighed +Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"You must decide that whatever you can make shall be for you a living," +said the older woman. "I have lived on my fixed income, which is under +two thousand a year. And I am ready to do it again rather than +tolerate anything or anybody that does not suit me." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have to be extremely careful," laughed Mildred. "I shall be a +dreadful hypocrite with you." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley smiled; but underneath, Mildred saw—or perhaps +felt—that her new friend was indeed not one to be trifled with. She +said: +</P> + +<P> +"You and I will get on. We'll let each other alone. We have to be more +or less intimate, but we'll never be familiar." +</P> + +<P> +After a time she discovered that Mrs. Brindley's first name was +Cyrilla, but Mrs. Brindley and Miss Stevens they remained to each other +for a long time—until circumstances changed their accidental intimacy +into enduring friendship. Not to anticipate, in the course of that +same conversation Mildred said: +</P> + +<P> +"If there is anything about me—about my life—that you wish me to +explain, I shall be glad to do so." +</P> + +<P> +"I know all I wish to know," replied Cyrilla Brindley. "Your face and +your manner and your way of speaking tell me all the essentials." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must not think it strange when I say I wish no one to know +anything about me." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be impossible for you entirely to avoid meeting people," said +Cyrilla. "You must have some simple explanation about yourself, or you +will attract attention and defeat your object." +</P> + +<P> +"Lead people to believe that I'm an orphan—perhaps of some obscure +family—who is trying to get up in the world. That is practically the +truth." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley laughed. "Quite enough for New York," said she. "It is +not interested in facts. All the New-Yorker asks of you is, 'Can you +pay your bills and help me pay mine?'" +</P> + +<P> +Competent men are rare; but, thanks to the advantage of the male sex in +having to make the struggle for a living, they are not so rare as +competent women. Mrs. Brindley was the first competent woman Mildred +had ever known. She had spent but a few hours with her before she +began to appreciate what a bad atmosphere she had always breathed—bad +for a woman who has her way to make in the world, or indeed for any +woman not willing to be content as mere more or less shiftless, more or +less hypocritical and pretentious, dependent and parasite. Mrs. +Brindley—well bred and well educated—knew all the little matters +which Mildred had been taught to regard as the whole of a lady's +education. But Mildred saw that these trifles were but a trifling +incident in Mrs. Brindley's knowledge. She knew real things, this +woman who was a thorough-going housekeeper and who trebled her income +by giving music lessons a few hours a day to such pupils as she thought +worth the teaching. When she spoke, she always said something one of +the first things noticed by Mildred, who, being too lazy to think +except as her naturally good mind insisted on exercising itself, +usually talked simply to kill time and without any idea of getting +anywhere. But while Cyrilla—without in the least intending it—roused +her to a painful sense of her own limitations, she did not discourage +her. Mildred also began to feel that in this new atmosphere of ideas, +of work, of accomplishment, she would rapidly develop into a different +sort of person. It was extremely fortunate for her, thought she, that +she was living with such a person as Cyrilla Brindley. In the old +atmosphere, or with any taint of it, she would have been unable to +become a serious person. She would simply have dawdled along, +twaddling about "art" and seriousness and careers and sacrifice, +content with the amateur's methods and the amateur's results—and +deluding herself that she was making progress. Now—It was as +different as public school from private school—public school where the +mind is rudely stimulated, private school where it is sedulously +mollycoddled. She had come out of the hothouse into the open. +</P> + +<P> +At first she thought that Jennings was to be as great a help to her as +Cyrilla Brindley. Certainly if ever there was a man with the air of a +worker and a place with the air of a workshop, that man and that place +were Eugene Jennings and his studio in Carnegie Hall. When Mildred +entered, on that Saturday morning, at exactly half-past ten, +Jennings—in a plain if elegant house-suit—looked at her, looked at +the clock, stopped a girl in the midst of a burst of tremulous noisy +melody. +</P> + +<P> +"That will do, Miss Bristow," said he. "You have never sung it worse. +You do not improve. Another lesson like this, and we shall go back and +begin all over again." +</P> + +<P> +The girl, a fattish, "temperamental" blonde, burst into tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Kindly take that out into the hall," said Jennings coldly. "Your time +is up. We cannot waste Miss Stevens's time with your hysterics." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bristow switched from tears to fury. "You brute! You beast!" she +shrieked, and flung herself out of the room, slamming the door after +her. Jennings took a book from a pile upon a table, opened it, and set +it on a music-stand. Evidently Miss Bristow was forgotten—indeed, had +passed out of his mind at half-past ten exactly, not to enter it again +until she should appear at ten on Monday morning. He said to Mildred: +</P> + +<P> +"Now, we'll see what you can do. Begin." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a little nervous," said Mildred with a shy laugh. "If you don't +mind, I'd like to wait till I've got used to my surroundings." +</P> + +<P> +Jennings looked at her. The long sharp nose seemed to be rapping her +on the forehead like a woodpecker's beak on the bark of the tree. +"Begin," he said, pointing to the book. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred flushed angrily. "I shall not begin until I CAN begin," said +she. The time to show this man that he could not treat her brutally +was at the outset. +</P> + +<P> +Jennings opened the door into the hall. "Good day, Miss Stevens," he +said with his abrupt bow. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred looked at him; he looked at her. Her lip trembled, the hot +tears flooded and blinded her eyes. She went unsteadily to the +music-stand and tried to see the notes of the exercises. Jennings +closed the door and seated himself at the far end of the room. She +began—a ridiculous attempt. She stopped, gritted her teeth, began +again. Once more the result was absurd; but this time she was able to +keep on, not improving, but maintaining her initial off-key quavering. +She stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"You see," said she. "Shall I go on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't stop again until I tell you to, please," said he. +</P> + +<P> +She staggered and stumbled and somersaulted through two pages of +DO-RE-ME-FA-SOL-LA-SI. Then he held up his finger. +</P> + +<P> +"Enough," said he. +</P> + +<P> +Silence, an awful silence. She recalled what Mrs. Belloc had told her +about him, what Mrs. Brindley had implied. But she got no consolation. +She said timidly: +</P> + +<P> +"Really, Mr. Jennings, I can do better than that. Won't you let me try +a song?" +</P> + +<P> +"God forbid!" said he. "You can't stand. You can't breathe. You +can't open your mouth. Naturally, you can't sing." +</P> + +<P> +She dropped to a chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Take the book, and go over the same thing, sitting," said he. +</P> + +<P> +She began to remove her wraps. +</P> + +<P> +"Just as you are," he commanded. "Try to forget yourself. Try to +forget me. Try to forget what a brute I am, and what a wonderful +singer you are. Just open your mouth and throw the notes out." +</P> + +<P> +She was rosy with rage. She was reckless. She sang. At the end of +three pages he stopped her with an enthusiastic hand-clapping. "Good! +Good!" he cried. "I'll take you. I'll make a singer of you. Yes, yes, +there's something to work on." +</P> + +<P> +The door opened. A tall, thin woman with many jewels and a superb fur +wrap came gliding in. Jennings looked at the clock. The hands pointed +to eleven. Said he to Mildred: +</P> + +<P> +"Take that book with you. Practice what you've done to-day. Learn to +keep your mouth open. We'll go into that further next time." He was +holding the door open for her. As she passed out, she heard him say: +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Mrs. Roswell. We'll go at that third song first." +</P> + +<P> +The door closed. Reviewing all that had occurred, Mildred decided that +she must revise her opinion of Jennings. A money-maker he no doubt +was. And why not? Did he not have to live? But a teacher also, and a +great teacher. Had he not destroyed her vanity at one blow, demolished +it?—yet without discouraging her. And he went straight to the bottom +of things—very different from any of the teachers she used to have +when she was posing in drawing-rooms as a person with a voice equal to +the most difficult opera, if only she weren't a lady and therefore not +forced to be a professional singing person. Yes, a great teacher—and +in deadly earnest. He would permit no trifling! How she would have to +work! +</P> + +<P> +And she went to work with an energy she would not have believed she +possessed. He instructed her minutely in how to stand, in how to +breathe, in how to open her mouth and keep it open, in how to relax her +throat and leave it relaxed. He filled every second of her half-hour; +she had never before realized how much time half an hour was, how use +could be made of every one of its eighteen hundred seconds. She went +to hear other teachers give lessons, and she understood why Jennings +could get such prices, could treat his pupils as he saw fit. She +became an extravagant admirer of him as a teacher, thought him a +genius, felt confident that he would make a great singer of her. With +the second lesson she began to progress rapidly. In a few weeks she +amazed herself. At last she was really singing. Not in a great way, +but in the beginnings of a great way. Her voice had many times the +power of her drawing-room days. Her notes were full and round, and +came without an effort. Her former ideas of what constituted facial +and vocal expression now seemed ridiculous to her. She was now singing +without making those dreadful faces which she had once thought charming +and necessary. Her lower register, always her best, was almost +perfect. Her middle register—the test part of a voice—was showing +signs of strength and steadiness and evenness. And she was fast +getting a real upper register, as distinguished from the forced and +shrieky high notes that pass as an upper register with most singers, +even opera singers. After a month of this marvelous forward march, she +sang for Mrs. Brindley—sang the same song she had essayed at their +first meeting. When she finished, Mrs. Brindley said: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you've done wonders. I've been noticing your improvement as you +practiced. You certainly have a very different voice and method from +those you had a month ago," and so on through about five minutes of +critical and discriminating praise. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred listened, wondering why her dissatisfaction, her irritation, +increased as Mrs. Brindley praised on and on. Beyond question Cyrilla +was sincere, and was saying even more than Mildred had hoped she would +say. Yet— Mildred sat moodily measuring off octaves on the keyboard +of the piano. If she had been looking at her friend's face she would +have flared out in anger; for Cyrilla Brindley was taking advantage of +her abstraction to observe her with friendly sympathy and sadness. +Presently she concealed this candid expression and said: +</P> + +<P> +"You are satisfied with your progress, aren't you, Miss Stevens?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred flared up angrily. "Certainly!" replied she. "How could I +fail to be?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley did not answer—perhaps because she thought no answer was +needed or expected. But to Mildred her silence somehow seemed a denial. +</P> + +<P> +"If you can only keep what you've got—and go on," said Mrs. Brindley. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I shall, never fear," retorted Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"But I do fear," said Mrs. Brindley. "I think it's always well to fear +until success is actually won. And then there's the awful fear of not +being able to hold it." +</P> + +<P> +After a moment's silence Mildred, who could not hide away resentment +against one she liked, said: "Why aren't YOU satisfied, Mrs. Brindley?" +</P> + +<P> +"But I am satisfied," protested Cyrilla. "Only it makes me afraid to +see YOU so well satisfied. I've seen that often in people first +starting, and it's always dangerous. You see, my dear, you've got a +straight-away hundred miles to walk. Can't you see that it would be +possible for you to become too much elated by the way you walked the +first part of the first mile?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you try to discourage me?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley colored. "I do it because I want to save you from +despair a little later," said she. "But that is foolish of me. I +shall only irritate you against me. I'll not do it again. And please +don't ask my opinion. If you do, I can't help showing exactly what I +think." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you don't think I've done well?" cried Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed you have," replied Cyrilla warmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I don't understand. What DO you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you, and then I'll stop and you must not ask my opinion +again. We live too close together to be able to afford to criticize +each other. What I meant was this: You have done well the first part +of the great task that's before you. If you had done it any less well, +it would have been folly for you to go on." +</P> + +<P> +"That is, what I've done doesn't amount to anything? Mr. Jennings +doesn't agree with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Doubtless he's right," said Mrs. Brindley. "At any rate, we all agree +that you have shown that you have a voice." +</P> + +<P> +She said this so simply and heartily that Mildred could not but be +mollified. Mrs. Brindley changed the subject to the song Mildred had +sung, and Mildred stopped puzzling over the mystery of what she had +meant by her apparently enthusiastic words, which had yet diffused a +chill atmosphere of doubt. +</P> + +<P> +She was doing her scales so well that she became impatient of such +"tiresome child's play." And presently Jennings gave her songs, and +did not discourage her when she talked of roles, of getting seriously +at what, after all, she intended to do. Then there came a week of vile +weather, and Mildred caught a cold. She neglected it. Her voice left +her. Her tonsils swelled. She had a bad attack of ulcerated sore +throat. For nearly three weeks she could not take a single one of the +lessons, which were, nevertheless, paid for. Jennings rebuked her +sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"A singer has no right to be sick," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"You have a cold yourself," retorted she. +</P> + +<P> +"But I am not a singer. I've nothing that interferes with my work." +</P> + +<P> +"It's impossible not to take cold," said Mildred. "You are unreasonable +with me." +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged his shoulders. "Go get well," he said. +</P> + +<P> +The sore throat finally yielded to the treatment of Dr. Hicks, the +throat-specialist. His bill was seventy-five dollars. But while the +swelling in the tonsils subsided it did not depart. She could take +lessons again. Some days she sang as well as ever, and on those days +Jennings was charming. Other days she sang atrociously, and Jennings +treated her as if she were doing it deliberately. A third and worse +state was that of the days when she in the same half-hour alternately +sang well and badly. On those days Jennings acted like a lunatic. He +raved up and down the studio, all but swearing at her. At first she +was afraid of him—withered under his scorn, feared he would throw open +his door and order her out and forbid her ever to enter again. But +gradually she came to understand him—not enough to lose her fear of +him altogether, but enough to lose the fear of his giving up so +profitable a pupil. +</P> + +<P> +The truth was that Jennings, like every man who succeeds at anything in +this world, operated upon a system to which he rigidly adhered. He was +a man of small talent and knowledge, but of great, persistence and not +a little common sense. He had tried to be a singer, had failed because +his voice was small and unreliable. He had adopted teaching singing as +a means of getting a living. He had learned just enough about it to +enable him to teach the technical elements—what is set down in the +books. By observing other and older teachers he had got together a +teaching system that was as good—and as bad—as any, and this he +dubbed the Jennings Method and proceeded to exploit as the only one +worth while. When that method was worked out and perfected, he ceased +learning, ceased to give a thought to the professional side of his +profession, just as most professional men do. He would have resented a +suggestion or a new idea as an attack upon the Jennings Method. The +overwhelming majority of the human race—indeed, all but a small +handful—have this passion for stagnation, this ferocity against +change. It is in large part due to laziness; for a new idea means work +in learning it and in unlearning the old ideas that have been true +until the unwelcome advent of the new. In part also this resistance to +the new idea arises from a fear that the new idea, if tolerated, will +put one out of business, will set him adrift without any means of +support. The coachman hates the automobile, the hand-worker hates the +machine, the orthodox preacher hates the heretic, the politician hates +the reformer, the doctor hates the bacteriologist and the chemist, the +old woman hates the new—all these in varying proportions according to +the degree in which the iconoclast attacks laziness or livelihood. +Finally we all hate any and all new ideas because they seem to imply +that we, who have held the old ideas, have been ignorant and stupid in +so doing. A new idea is an attack upon the vanity of everyone who has +been a partisan of the old ideas and their established order. +</P> + +<P> +Jennings, thoroughly human in thus closing his mind to all ideas about +his profession, was equally human in that he had his mind and his +senses opened full width to ideas on how to make more money. If there +had been money in new ideas about teaching singing Jennings would not +have closed to them. But the money was all in studying and learning +how better to handle the women—they were all women who came to him for +instruction. His common sense warned him at the outset that the +obviously easygoing teacher would not long retain his pupils. On the +other hand, he saw that the really severe teacher would not retain his +pupils, either. +</P> + +<P> +Who were these pupils? In the first place, they were all ignorant, for +people who already know do not go to school to learn. They had the +universal delusion that a teacher can teach. The fact is that a +teacher is a well. Some wells are full, others almost dry. Some are +so arranged that water cannot be got from them, others have attachments +of various kinds, making the drawing of water more or less easy. But +not from the best well with the latest pump attachment can one get a +drink unless one does the drinking oneself. A teacher is rarely a +well. The pupil must not only draw the water, but also drink it, must +not only teach himself, but also learn what he teaches. Now we are all +of us born thirsty for knowledge, and nearly all of us are born both +capable of teaching ourselves and capable of learning what we teach, +that is, of retaining and assimilating it. There is such a thing as +artificially feeding the mind, just as there is such a thing as +artificially feeding the body; but while everyone knows that artificial +feeding of the body is a success only to a limited extent and for a +brief period, everyone believes that the artificial feeding of the mind +is not only the best method, but the only method. Nor does the +discovery that the mind is simply the brain, is simply a part of the +body, subject to the body's laws, seem materially to have lessened this +fatuous delusion. +</P> + +<P> +Some of Jennings's pupils—not more than two of the forty-odd were in +genuine earnest; that is, those two were educating themselves to be +professional singers, were determined so to be, had limited time and +means and endless capacity for work. Others of the forty—about +half-thought they were serious, though in fact the idea of a career was +more or less hazy. They were simply taking lessons and toiling +aimlessly along, not less aimlessly because they indulged in vague talk +and vaguer thought about a career. The rest—the other half of the +forty—were amusing themselves by taking singing lessons. It killed +time, it gave them a feeling of doing something, it gave them a +reputation of being serious people and not mere idlers, it gave them an +excuse for neglecting the domestic duties which they regarded as +degrading—probably because to do them well requires study and earnest, +hard work. The Jennings singing lesson, at fifteen dollars a +half-hour, was rather an expensive hypocrisy; but the women who used it +as a cloak for idleness as utter as the mere yawners and bridgers and +shoppers had rich husbands or fathers. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it appears that the Jennings School was a perfect microcosm, as +the scientists would say, of the human race—the serious very few, +toiling more or less successfully toward a definite goal; the many, +compelled to do something, and imagining themselves serious and +purposeful as they toiled along toward nothing in particular but the +next lesson—that is, the next day's appointed task; the utterly idle, +fancying themselves busy and important when in truth they were simply a +fraud and an expense. +</P> + +<P> +Jennings got very little from the deeply and genuinely serious. One of +them he taught free, taking promissory notes for the lessons. But he +held on to them because when they finally did teach themselves to sing +and arrived at fame, his would be part of the glory—and glory meant +more and more pupils of the paying kinds. His large income came from +the other two kinds of pupils, the larger part of it from the kind that +had no seriousness in them. His problem was how to keep all these +paying pupils and also keep his reputation as a teacher. In solving +that problem he evolved a method that was the true Jennings's method. +Not in all New York, filled as it is with people living and living well +upon the manipulation of the weaknesses of their fellow beings—not in +all New York was there an adroiter manipulator than Eugene Jennings. He +was harsh to brutality when he saw fit to be so—or, rather, when he +deemed it wise to be so. Yet never had he lost a paying pupil through +his harshness. These were fashionable women—most delicate, sensitive +ladies—at whom he swore. They wept, stayed on, advertised him as a +"wonderful serious teacher who won't stand any nonsense and doesn't +care a hang whether you stay or go—and he can teach absolutely anybody +to sing!" He knew how to be gentle without seeming to be so; he knew +how to flatter without uttering a single word that did not seem to be +reluctant praise or savage criticism; he knew how to make a lady with a +little voice work enough to make a showing that would spur her to keep +on and on with him; he knew how to encourage a rich woman with no more +song than a peacock until she would come to him three times a week for +many years—and how he did make her pay for what he suffered in +listening to the hideous squawkings and yelpings she inflicted upon him! +</P> + +<P> +Did Jennings think himself a fraud? No more than the next human being +who lives by fraud. Is there any trade or profession whose +practitioners, in the bottom of their hearts, do not think they are +living excusably and perhaps creditably? The Jennings theory was that +he was a great teacher; that there were only a very few serious and +worth-while seekers of the singing art; that in order to live and to +teach these few, he had to receive the others; that, anyhow, singing +was a fine art for anyone to have and taking singing lessons made the +worst voice a little less bad—or, at the least, singing was splendid +for the health. One of his favorite dicta was, "Every child should be +taught singing—for its health, if for nothing else." And perhaps he +was right! At any rate, he made his forty to fifty thousand a +year—and on days when he had a succession of the noisy, tuneless +squawkers, he felt that he more than earned every cent of it. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred did not penetrate far into the secret of the money-making +branch of the Jennings method. It was crude enough, too. But are not +all the frauds that fool the human race crude? Human beings both +cannot and will not look beneath surfaces. All Mildred learned was +that Jennings did not give up paying pupils. She had not confidence +enough in this discovery to put it to the test. She did not dare +disobey him or shirk—even when she was most disposed to do so. But +gradually she ceased from that intense application she had at first +brought to her work. She kept up the forms. She learned her lessons. +She did all that was asked. She seemed to be toiling as in the +beginning. In reality, she became by the middle of spring a mere +lesson-taker. Her interest in clothes and in going about revived. She +saw in the newspapers that General Siddall had taken a party of friends +on a yachting trip around the world, so she felt that she was no longer +being searched for, at least not vigorously. She became acquainted +with smart, rich West Side women, taking lessons at Jennings's. She +amused herself going about with them and with the "musical" men they +attracted—amateur and semi-professional singers and players upon +instruments. She drew Mrs. Brindley into their society. They had +little parties at the flat in Fifty-ninth Street—the most delightful +little parties imaginable—dinners and suppers, music, clever +conversations, flirtations of a harmless but fascinating kind. If +anyone had accused Mildred of neglecting her work, of forgetting her +career, she would have grown indignant, and if Mrs. Brindley had +overheard, she would have been indignant for her. Mildred worked as +much as ever. She was making excellent progress. She was doing all +that could be done. It takes time to develop a voice, to make an +opera-singer. Forcing is dangerous, when it is not downright useless. +</P> + +<P> +In May—toward the end of the month—Stanley Baird returned. Mildred, +who happened to be in unusually good voice that day, sang for him at +the Jennings studio, and he was enchanted. As the last note died away +he cried out to Jennings: +</P> + +<P> +"She's a wonder, isn't she?" +</P> + +<P> +Jennings nodded. "She's got a voice," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"She ought to go on next year." +</P> + +<P> +"Not quite that," said Jennings. "We want to get that upper register +right first. And it's a young voice—she's very young for her age. We +must be careful not to strain it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, what's a voice for if not to sing with?" said Stanley. +</P> + +<P> +"A fine voice is a very delicate instrument," replied the teacher. He +added coldly, "You must let me judge as to what shall be done." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, certainly," said Stanley in haste. +</P> + +<P> +"She's had several colds this winter and spring," pursued Jennings. +"Those things are dangerous until the voice has its full growth. She +should have two months' complete rest." +</P> + +<P> +Jennings was going away for a two months' vacation. He was giving this +advice to all his pupils. +</P> + +<P> +"You're right," said Baird. "Did you hear, Mildred?" +</P> + +<P> +"But I hate to stop work," objected Mildred. "I want to be doing +something. I'm very impatient of this long wait." +</P> + +<P> +And honest she was in this protest. She had no idea of the state of +her own mind. She fancied she was still as eager as ever for the +career, as intensely interested as ever in her work. She did not dream +of the real meaning of her content with her voice as it was, of her +lack of uneasiness over the appalling fact that such voice as she had +was unreliable, came and went for no apparent reason. +</P> + +<P> +"Absolute rest for two months," declared Jennings grimly. "Not a note +until I return in August." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred gave a resigned sigh. +</P> + +<P> +There is much inveighing against hypocrisy, a vice unsightly rather +than desperately wicked. And in the excitement about it its dangerous, +even deadly near kinsman, self-deception, escapes unassailed. Seven +cardinal sins; but what of the eighth?—the parent of all the others, +the one beside which the children seem almost white? +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +During the first few weeks Mildred had been careful about spending +money. Economy she did not understand; how could she, when she had +never had a lesson in it or a valuable hint about it? So economy was +impossible. The only way in which such people can keep order in their +finances is by not spending any money at all. Mildred drew nothing, +spent nothing. This, so long as she gave her whole mind to her work. +But after the first great cold, so depressing, so subtly undermining, +she began to go about, to think of, to need and to buy clothes, to +spend money in a dozen necessary ways. After all, she was simply +borrowing the money. Presently, she would be making a career, would be +earning large sums. She would pay back everything, with interest. +Stanley meant for her to use the money. Really, she ought to use it. +How would her career be helped by her going about looking a dowd and a +frump? She had always been used to the comforts of life. If she +deprived herself of them, she would surely get into a frame of mind +where her work would suffer. No, she must lead the normal life of a +woman of her class. To work all the time—why, as Jennings said, that +took away all the freshness, made one stale and unfit. A little +distraction—always, of course, with musical people, people who talked +and thought and did music—that sort of distraction was quite as much a +part of her education as the singing lessons. Mrs. Brindley, certainly +a sensible and serious woman if ever there was one—Mrs. Brindley +believed so, and it must be so. +</P> + +<P> +After that illness and before she began to go about, she had fallen +into several fits of hideous blues, had been in despair as to the +future. As soon as she saw something of people—always the valuable, +musical sort of people—her spirits improved. And when she got a few +new dresses—very simple and inexpensive, but stylish and charming—and +the hats, too, were successful—as soon as she was freshly arrayed she +was singing better and was talking hopefully of the career again. Yes, +it was really necessary that she live as she had always been used to +living. +</P> + +<P> +When Stanley came back her account was drawn up to the last cent of the +proportionate amount. In fact, it might have been a few dollars—a +hundred or so—overdrawn. She was not sure. Still, that was a small +matter. During the summer she would spend less, and by fall she would +be far ahead again—and ready to buy fall clothes. One day he said: +</P> + +<P> +"You must be needing more money." +</P> + +<P> +"No indeed," cried she. "I've been living within the hundred a +week—or nearly. I'm afraid I'm frightfully extravagant, and—" +</P> + +<P> +"Extravagant?" laughed he. "You are afraid to borrow! Why, three or +four nights of singing will pay back all you've borrowed." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I WILL make a lot of money," said she. "They all tell me so. +But it doesn't seem real to me." She hastily added: "I don't mean the +career. That seems real enough. I can hardly wait to begin at the +roles. I mean the money part. You see, I never earned any money and +never really had any money of my own." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you'll have plenty of it in two or three years," said Stanley, +confidently. "And you mustn't try to live like girls who've been +brought up to hardship. It isn't necessary, and it would only unfit +you for your work." +</P> + +<P> +"I think that's true," said she. "But I've enough—more than enough." +She gave him a nervous, shy, almost agonized look. "Please don't try +to put me under any heavier obligations than I have to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't talk nonsense about obligation," retorted he. "Let's get +away from this subject. You don't seem to realize that you're doing me +a favor, that it's a privilege to be allowed to help develop such a +marvelous voice as yours. Scores of people would jump at the chance." +</P> + +<P> +"That doesn't lessen my obligation," said she. And she thought she +meant it, though, in fact, his generous and plausible statement of the +case had immediately lessened not a little her sense of obligation. +</P> + +<P> +On the whole, however, she was not sorry she had this chance to talk of +obligation. Slowly, as they saw each other from time to time, often +alone, Stanley had begun—perhaps in spite of himself and +unconsciously—to show his feeling for her. Sometimes his hand +accidentally touched hers, and he did not draw it away as quickly as he +might. And she—it was impossible for her to make any gesture, much +less say anything, that suggested sensitiveness on her part. It would +put him in an awkward position, would humiliate him most unjustly. He +fell into the habit of holding her hand longer than was necessary at +greeting or parting, of touching her caressingly, of looking at her +with the eyes of a lover instead of a friend. She did not like these +things. For some mysterious reason—from sheer perversity, she +thought—she had taken a strong physical dislike to him. Perfectly +absurd, for there was nothing intrinsically repellent about this +handsome, clean, most attractively dressed man, of the best type of +American and New-Yorker. No, only perversity could explain such a silly +notion. She was always afraid he would try to take advantage of her +delicate position—always afraid she would have to yield something, +some trifle; yet the idea of giving anything from a sense of obligation +was galling to her. His very refraining made her more nervous, the +more shrinking. If he would only commit some overt act—seize her, kiss +her, make outrageous demands—but this refraining, these touches that +might be accidental and again might be stealthy approach— She hated +to have him shake hands with her, would have liked to draw away when +his clothing chanced to brush against hers. +</P> + +<P> +So she was glad of the talk about obligation. It set him at a +distance, immediately. He ceased to look lovingly, to indulge in the +nerve-rasping little caresses. He became carefully formal. He was +evidently eager to prove the sincerity of his protestations—too eager +perhaps, her perverse mind suggested. Still, sincere or not, he held +to all the forms of sincerity. +</P> + +<P> +Some friends of Mrs. Brindley's who were going abroad offered her their +cottage on the New Jersey coast near Seabright, and a big new +touring-car and chauffeur. She and Mildred at once gave up the plan +for a summer in the Adirondacks, the more readily as several of the men +and women they saw the most of lived within easy distance of them at +Deal Beach and Elberon. When Mildred went shopping she was lured into +buying a lot of summer things she would not have needed in the +Adirondacks—a mere matter of two hundred and fifty dollars or +thereabouts. A little additional economy in the fall would soon make +up for such a trifle, and if there is one time more than another when a +woman wishes to look well and must look well, that time is +summer—especially by the sea. +</P> + +<P> +When her monthly statement from the bank came on the first of July she +found that five thousand dollars had been deposited to her credit. She +was moved by this discovery to devote several hours—very depressed +hours they were—to her finances. She had spent a great deal more +money than she had thought; indeed, since March she had been living at +the rate of fifteen thousand a year. She tried to account for this +amazing extravagance. But she could recall no expenditure that was not +really almost, if not quite, necessary. It took a frightful lot of +money to live in New York. How DID people with small incomes manage to +get along? Whatever would have become of her if she had not had the +good luck to be able to borrow from Stanley? What would become of her +if, before she was succeeding on the stage, Stanley should die or lose +faith in her or interest in her? What would become of her! She had +been living these last few months among people who had wide-open eyes +and knew everything that was going on—and did some "going-on" +themselves, as she was now more than suspecting. There were many +women, thousands of them—among the attractive, costily dressed throngs +she saw in the carriages and autos and cabs—who would not like to have +it published how they contrived to live so luxuriously. No, they would +not like to have it published, though they cared not a fig for its +being whispered; New York too thoroughly understood how necessary +luxurious living was, and was too completely divested of the follies of +the old-fashioned, straight-laced morality, to mind little shabby +details of queer conduct in striving to keep up with the procession. +Even the married women, using their husbands—and letting their +husbands use them—did not frown on the irregularities of their sisters +less fortunately married or not able to find a permanent "leg to pull." +As for the girls—Mildred had observed strange things in the lives of +the girls she knew more or less well nowadays. In fact, all the women, +of all classes and conditions, were engaged in the same mad struggle to +get hold of money to spend upon fun and finery—a struggle matching in +recklessness and resoluteness the struggle of the men down-town for +money for the same purposes. It was curious, this double mania of the +men and the women—the mania to get money, no matter how; the instantly +succeeding mania to get rid of it, no matter how. Looking about her, +Mildred felt that she was peculiar and apart from nearly all the women +she knew. SHE got her money honorably. SHE did not degrade herself, +did not sell herself, did not wheedle or cajole or pretend in the least +degree. She had grown more liberal as her outlook on life had widened +with contact with the New York mind—no, with the mind of the whole +easy-going, luxury-mad, morality-scorning modern world. She still kept +her standard for herself high, and believed in a purity for herself +which she did not exact or expect in her friends. In this respect she +and Cyrilla Brindley were sympathetically alike. No, Mildred was +confident that in no circumstances, in NO circumstances, would she +relax her ideas of what she personally could do and could not do. Not +that she blamed, or judged at all, women who did as she would not; but +she could not, simply could not, however hard she might be driven, do +those things—though she could easily understand how other women did +them in preference to sinking down into the working class or eking out +a frowsy existence in some poor boarding-house. The temptation would +be great. Thank Heaven, it was not teasing her. She would resist it, +of course. But— +</P> + +<P> +What if Stanley Baird should lose interest? What if, after he lost +interest, she should find herself without money, worse of than she had +been when she sold herself into slavery—highly moral and +conventionally correct slavery, but still slavery—to the little +general with the peaked pink-silk nightcap hiding the absence of the +removed toupee—and with the wonderful pink-silk pajamas, gorgeously +monogramed in violet—and the tiny feet and ugly hands—and those +loathsome needle-pointed mustaches and the hideous habit of mumbling +his tongue and smacking his lips? What if, moneyless, she should not +be able to find another Stanley or a man of the class gentleman willing +to help her generously even on ANY terms? What then? +</P> + +<P> +She was looking out over the sea, her bank-book and statements and +canceled checks in her lap. Their cottage was at the very edge of the +strand; its veranda was often damp from spray after a storm. It was +not storming as she sat there, "taking stock"; under a blue sky an +almost tranquil sea was crooning softly in the sunlight, innocent and +happy and playful as a child. She, dressed in a charming negligee and +looking forward to a merry day in the auto, with lunch and dinner at +attractive, luxurious places farther down the coast—she was stricken +with a horrible sadness, with a terror that made her heart beat wildly. +</P> + +<P> +"I must be crazy!" she said, half aloud. "I've never earned a dollar +with my voice. And for two months it has been unreliable. I'm acting +like a crazy person. What WILL become of me?" +</P> + +<P> +Just then Stanley Baird came through the pretty little house, seeking +her. "There you are!" he cried. "Do go get dressed." +</P> + +<P> +Hastily she flung a scarf over the book and papers in her lap. She had +intended to speak to him about that fresh deposit of five thousand +dollars—to refuse it, to rebuke him. Now she did not dare. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" he went on. "Headache?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was the wine at dinner last night," explained she. "I ought never +to touch red wine. It disagrees with me horribly." +</P> + +<P> +"That was filthy stuff," said he. "You must take some champagne at +lunch. That'll set you right." +</P> + +<P> +She stealthily wound the scarf about the papers. When she felt that all +were secure she rose. She was looking sweet and sad and peculiarly +beautiful. There was an exquisite sheen on her skin. She had washed +her hair that morning, and it was straying fascinatingly about her brow +and ears and neck. Baird looked at her, lowered his eyes and colored. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll not be long," she said hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +She had to pass him in the rather narrow doorway. From her garments +shook a delicious perfume. He caught her in his arms. The blood had +flushed into his face in a torrent, swelling out the veins, giving him +a distorted and wild expression. +</P> + +<P> +"Mildred!" he cried. "Say that you love me a little! I'm so lonely +for you—so hungry for you!" +</P> + +<P> +She grew cold with fear and with repulsion. She neither yielded to his +embrace nor shook it off. She simply stood, her round smooth body hard +though corsetless. He kissed her on the throat, kissed the lace over +her bosom, crying out inarticulately. In the frenzy of his passion he +did not for a while realize her lack of response. As he felt it, his +arms relaxed, dropped away from her, fell at his side. He hung his +head. He was breathing so heavily that she glanced into the house +apprehensively, fearing someone else might hear. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg pardon," he muttered. "You were too much for me this morning. +It was your fault. You are maddening!" +</P> + +<P> +She moved on into the house. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a minute!" he called after her. +</P> + +<P> +She halted, hesitating. +</P> + +<P> +"Come back," he said. "I've got something to say to you." +</P> + +<P> +She turned and went back to the veranda, he retreating before her and +his eyes sinking before the cold, clear blue of hers. +</P> + +<P> +"You're going up, not to come down again," he said. "You think I've +insulted you—think I've acted outrageously." +</P> + +<P> +How glad she was that he had so misread her thoughts—had not +discovered the fear, the weakness, the sudden collapse of all her +boasted confidence in her strength of character. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll never feel the same toward me again," he went fatuously on. +"You think I'm a fraud. Well, I'll admit that I am in love with +you—have been ever since the steamer—always was crazy about that +mouth of yours—and your figure, and the sound of your voice. I'll +admit I'm an utter fool about you—respect you and trust you as I never +used to think any woman deserved to be respected and trusted. I'll +even admit that I've been hoping—all sorts of things. I knew a woman +like you wouldn't let a man help her unless she loved him." +</P> + +<P> +At this her heart beat wildly and a blush of shame poured over her face +and neck. He did not see. He had not the courage to look at her—to +face that expression of the violated goddess he felt confident her face +was wearing. In love, he reasoned and felt about her like an +inexperienced boy, all his experience going for nothing. He went on: +</P> + +<P> +"I understand we can never be anything to each other until you're on +the stage and arrived. I'd not have it otherwise, if I could. For I +want YOU, and I'd never believe I had you unless you were free." +</P> + +<P> +The color was fading from her cheeks. At this it flushed deeper than +before. She must speak. Not to speak was to lie, was to play the +hypocrite. Yet speak she dared not. At least Stanley Baird was better +than Siddall. Anyhow, who was she, that had been the wife of Siddall, +to be so finicky? +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe me?" he said miserably. "You think I'll forget +myself sometime again?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope not," she said gently. "I believe not. I trust you, Stanley." +</P> + +<P> +And she went into the house. He looked after her, in admiration of the +sweet and pure calm of this quiet rebuke. She tried to take the same +exalted view of it herself, but she could not fool herself just then +with the familiar "good woman" fake. She knew that she had struck the +flag of self-respect. She knew what she would really have done had he +been less delicate, less in love, and more "practical." And she found +a small and poor consolation in reflecting, "I wonder how many women +there are who take high ground because it costs nothing." We are prone +to suspect everybody of any weakness we find in ourselves—and perhaps +we are not so far wrong as are those who accept without question the +noisy protestations of a world of self-deceivers. +</P> + +<P> +Thenceforth she and Stanley got on better than ever—apparently. But +though she ignored it, she knew the truth—knew her new and deep +content was due to her not having challenged his assertion that she +loved him. He, believing her honest and high minded, assumed that the +failure to challenge was a good woman's way of admitting. But with the +day of reckoning—not only with him but also with her own +self-respect—put off until that vague and remote time when she should +be a successful prima donna, she gave herself up to enjoyment. That +was a summer of rarely fine weather, particularly fine along the Jersey +coast. They—always in gay parties—motored up and down the coast and +inland. Several of the "musical" men—notably Richardson of +Elberon—had plenty of money; Stanley, stopping with his cousins, the +Frasers, on the Rumson Road, brought several of his friends, all rich +and more or less free. As every moment of Mildred's day was full and +as it was impossible not to sleep and sleep well in that ocean air, +with the surf soothing the nerves as the lullaby of a nurse soothes a +baby, she was able to put everything unpleasant out of mind. She was +resting her voice, was building up her health; therefore the career was +being steadily advanced and no time was being wasted. She felt sorry +for those who had to do unpleasant or disagreeable things in making +their careers. She told herself that she did not deserve her good +fortune in being able to advance to a brilliant career not through +hardship but over the most delightful road imaginable—amusing herself, +wearing charming and satisfactory clothes, swimming and dancing, +motoring and feasting. Without realizing it, she was strongly under +the delusion that she was herself already rich—the inevitable delusion +with a woman when she moves easily and freely and luxuriously about, +never bothered for money, always in the company of rich people. The +rich are fated to demoralize those around them. The stingy rich fill +their satellites with envy and hatred. The generous rich fill them +with the feeling that the light by which they shine and the heat with +which they are warm are not reflected light and heat but their own. +</P> + +<P> +Never had she been so happy. She even did not especially mind Donald +Keith, a friend of Stanley's and of Mrs. Brindley's, who, much too +often to suit her, made one of the party. She had tried in vain to +discover what there was in Keith that inspired such intense liking in +two people so widely different as expansive and emotional Stanley Baird +and reserved and distinctly cold Cyrilla Brindley. Keith talked +little, not only seemed not to listen well, but showed plainly, even in +tete-a-tete conversations, that his thoughts had been elsewhere. He +made no pretense of being other than he was—an indifferent man who +came because it did not especially matter to him where he was. +Sometimes his silence and his indifference annoyed Mildred; +again—thanks to her profound and reckless contentment—she was able to +forget that he was along. He seemed to be and probably was about forty +years old. His head was beautifully shaped, the line of its +profile—front, top, and back—being perfect in intellectuality, +strength and symmetry. He was rather under the medium height, about +the same height as Mildred herself. He was extremely thin and loosely +built, and his clothes seemed to hang awry, giving him an air of +slovenliness which became surprising when one noted how scrupulously +neat and clean he was. His brown hair, considerably tinged with rusty +gray, grew thinly upon that beautiful head. His skin was dry and +smooth and dead white. This, taken with the classic regularity of his +features, gave him an air of lifelessness, of one burnt out by the fire +of too much living; but whether the living had been done by Keith +himself or by his immediate ancestors appearances did not disclose. +This look of passionless, motionless repose, like classic sculpture, +was sharply and startlingly belied by a pair of really wonderful +eyes—deeply and intensely blue, brilliant, all seeing, all +comprehending, eyes that seemed never to sleep, seemed the ceaselessly +industrious servants of a brain that busied itself without pause. The +contrast between the dead white calm of his face, the listlessness of +his relaxed figure, and these vivid eyes, so intensely alive, gave to +Donald Keith's personality an uncanniness that was most disagreeable to +Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what fascinates me," said Cyrilla, when they were discussing +him one day. +</P> + +<P> +"Fascinates!" exclaimed Mildred. "He's tiresome—when he isn't rude." +</P> + +<P> +"Rude?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not actively rude but, worse still, passively rude." +</P> + +<P> +"He is the only man I've ever seen with whom I could imagine myself +falling in love," said Mrs. Brindley. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred laughed in derision. "Why, he's a dead man!" cried she. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't understand," said Cyrilla. "You've never lived with a man." +She forgot completely, as did Mildred herself, so completely had Mrs. +Siddall returned to the modes and thoughts of a girl. "At home—to +live with—you want only reposeful things. That is why the Greeks, +whose instincts were unerring, had so much reposeful statuary. One +grows weary of agitating objects. They soon seem hysterical and +shallow. The same thing's true of persons. For permanent love and +friendship you want reposeful men—calm, strong, silent. The other +kind either wear you out or wear themselves out with you." +</P> + +<P> +"You forget his eyes," put in Stanley. "Did you ever see such eyes!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, those eyes of his!" cried Mildred. "You certainly can't call +them reposeful, Mrs. Brindley." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley did not seize the opportunity to convict her of +inconsistency. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"I admit the eyes. They're the eyes of the kind of man a woman wants, +or another man wants in his friend. When Keith looks at you, you feel +that you are seeing the rarest being in the world—an absolutely +reliable person. When I think of him I think of reliable, just as when +you think of the sun you think of brightness." +</P> + +<P> +"I had no idea it was so serious as this," teased Stanley. +</P> + +<P> +"Nor had I," returned Cyrilla easily, "until I began to talk about him. +Don't tell him, Mr. Baird, or he might take advantage of me." +</P> + +<P> +The idea amused Stanley. "He doesn't care a rap about women," said he. +"I hear he has let a few care about him from time to time, but he soon +ceased to be good-natured. He hates to be bored." +</P> + +<P> +As he came just then, they had to find another subject. Mildred +observed him with more interest. She had learned to have respect for +Mrs. Brindley's judgments. But she soon gave over watching him. That +profound calm, those eyes concentrating all the life of the man like a +burning glass— She had a disagreeable sense of being seen through, +even to her secretest thought, of being understood and measured and +weighed—and found wanting. It occurred to her for the first time that +part of the reason for her not liking him was the best of reasons—that +he did not like her. +</P> + +<P> +The first time she was left alone with him, after this discovery, she +happened to be in an audacious and talkative mood, and his lack of +response finally goaded her into saying: "WHY don't you like me?" She +cared nothing about it; she simply wished to hear what he would say—if +he could be roused into saying anything. He was sitting on the steps +leading from the veranda to the sea—was smoking a cigarette and gazing +out over the waves like a graven image, as if he had always been posed +there and always would be there, the embodiment of repose gazing in +ineffable indifference upon the embodiment of its opposite. He made no +answer. +</P> + +<P> +"I asked you why you do not like me," said she. "Did you hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied he. +</P> + +<P> +She waited; nothing further from him. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, give me one of your cigarettes." +</P> + +<P> +He rose, extended his case, then a light. He was never remiss in those +kinds of politeness. When she was smoking, he seated himself again and +dropped into the former attitude. She eyed him, wondering how it could +be possible that he had endured the incredible fatigues and hardships +Stanley Baird had related of him—hunting and exploring expeditions +into tropics and into frozen regions, mountain climbs, wild sea voyages +in small boats, all with no sign of being able to stand anything, yet +also with no sign of being any more disturbed than now in this seaside +laziness. Stanley had showed them a picture of him taken twenty years +and more ago when he was in college; he had looked almost the same +then—perhaps a little older. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I am waiting," persisted she. +</P> + +<P> +She thought he was about to look at her—a thing he had never done, to +her knowledge, since they had known each other. She nerved herself to +receive the shock, with a certain flutter of expectancy, of excitement +even. But instead of looking, he settled himself in a slightly +different position and fixed his gaze upon another point in the +horizon. She noted that he had splendid hands—ideal hands for a man, +with the same suggestion of intense vitality and aliveness that flashed +from his eyes. She had not noted this before. Next she saw that he +had good feet, and that his boots were his only article of apparel that +fitted him, or rather, that looked as if made for him. +</P> + +<P> +She tossed her cigarette over the rail to the sand. He startled her by +speaking, in his unemotional way. He said: +</P> + +<P> +"Now, I like you better." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand," said she. +</P> + +<P> +No answer from him. The cigarette depending listlessly from his lips +seemed—as usual—uncertain whether it would stay or fall. She watched +this uncertainty with a curious, nervous interest. She was always +thinking that cigarette would fall, but it never did. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you say you liked me less?" +</P> + +<P> +"Better," corrected he. +</P> + +<P> +"We used to have a pump in our back yard at home," laughed she. "One +toiled away at the handle, but nothing ever came. And it was a +promising-looking pump, too." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled—a slow, reluctant smile, but undeniably attractive. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"Because you threw away your cigarette." +</P> + +<P> +"You object to women smoking?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said he. His tone made her feel how absurd it was to suspect him +of such provincialism. +</P> + +<P> +"You object to MY smoking?" suggested she; laughing, "Pump! Pump!" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"Then your remark meant nothing at all?" +</P> + +<P> +He was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"You are rude," said she coldly, rising to go into the house. +</P> + +<P> +He said something, what she did not hear, in her agitation. She paused +and inquired: +</P> + +<P> +"What did you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I said, I am not rude but kind," replied he. +</P> + +<P> +"That is detestable!" cried she. "I have not liked you, but I have +been polite to you because of Stanley and Mrs. Brindley. Why should +you be insulting to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"What have I done?" inquired he, unmoved. He had risen as she rose, +but instead of facing her he was leaning against the post of the +veranda, bent upon his seaward vigil. +</P> + +<P> +"You have insinuated that your reasons for not liking me were a +reflection on me." +</P> + +<P> +"You insisted," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that they are?" demanded she furiously. She was amazed at her +wild, unaccountable rage. +</P> + +<P> +He slowly turned his head and looked at her—a glance without any +emotion whatever, simply a look that, like the beam of a powerful +searchlight, seemed to thrust through fog and darkness and to light up +everything in its path. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish me to tell you why I don't like you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" she cried hysterically. "Never mind—I don't know what I'm +saying." And she went hastily into the house. A moment later, in her +own room upstairs, she was wondering at herself. Why had she become +confused? What did he mean? What had she seen—or half seen—in the +darkness and fog within herself when he looked at her? In a passion +she cried: +</P> + +<P> +"If he would only stay away!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI +</H3> + +<P> +BUT he did not stay away. He owned and lived in a small house up on +the Rumson Road. While the house was little more than a bungalow and +had a simplicity that completely hid its rare good taste from the +average observer, its grounds were the most spacious in that +neighborhood of costly, showy houses set in grounds not much more +extensive than a city building lot. The grounds had been cleared and +drained to drive out and to keep out the obnoxious insect life, but had +been left a forest, concealing the house from the roads. Stanley Baird +was now stopping with Keith, and brought him along to the cottage by +the sea every day. +</P> + +<P> +The parties narrowed to the same four persons. Mrs. Brindley seemed +never to tire of talking to Keith—or to tire of talking about him when +the two men had left, late each night. As for Stanley, he referred +everything to Keith—the weather prospects, where they should go for +the day, what should be eaten and drunk, any point about politics or +fashion, life or literature or what not, that happened to be discussed. +And he looked upon Donald's monosyllabic reply to his inquiry as a +final judgment, ending all possibility of argument. Mildred held out +long. Then, in spite of herself, she began to yield, ceased to dislike +him, found a kind of pleasure—or, perhaps, fascinated interest—in the +nervousness his silent and indifferent presence caused her. She liked +to watch that immobile, perfect profile, neither young nor old, indeed +not suggesting age in any degree, but only experience and +knowledge—and an infinite capacity for emotion, for passion even. The +dead-white color declared it had already been lived; the brilliant, +usually averted or veiled eyes asserted present vitality, pulsing under +a calm surface. +</P> + +<P> +One day when Stanley, in the manner of one who wishes a thing settled +and settled right, said he would ask Donald Keith about it, Mildred, a +little piqued, a little amused, retorted: +</P> + +<P> +"And what will he answer? Why, simply yes or no." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all," assented Stanley. "And that's quite enough, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"But how do you know he's as wise as he pretends?" +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't pretend to be anything or to know anything. That's +precisely it." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred suddenly began to like Keith. She had never thought of this +before. Yes, it was true, he did not pretend. Not in the least, not +about anything. When you saw him, you saw at once the worst there was +to see. It was afterward that you discovered he was not slovenly, but +clean and neat, not badly but well dressed, not homely but handsome, +not sickly but soundly well, not physically weak but strong, not dull +but vividly alive, not a tiresome void but an unfathomable mystery. +</P> + +<P> +"What does he do?" she asked Mrs. Brindley. +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla's usually positive gray eyes looked vague. She smiled. "I +never asked," said she. "I've known him nearly three years, and it +never occurred to me to ask, or to wonder. Isn't that strange? Usually +about the first inquiry we make is what a man does." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll ask Stanley," said Mildred. And she did about an hour later, +when they were in the surf together, with the other two out of earshot. +Said Stanley: +</P> + +<P> +"He's a lawyer, of course. Also, he's written a novel or two and a +book of poems. I've never read them. Somehow, I never get around to +reading." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he's a lawyer? That's the way he makes his living." +</P> + +<P> +"A queer kind of lawyer. He never goes to court, and his clients are +almost all other lawyers. They go to him to get him to tell them what +to do, and what not to do. He's got a big reputation among lawyers, +Fred Norman tells me, but makes comparatively little, as he either +can't or won't charge what he ought. I told him what Norman said, and +he only smiled in that queer way he has. I said: 'You make twenty or +thirty thousand a year. You ought to make ten times that.'" +</P> + +<P> +"And what did he answer?" asked Mildred. "Nothing?" +</P> + +<P> +"He said: 'I make all I want. If I took in more, I'd be bothered +getting rid of it or investing it. I can always make all I'll +want—unless I go crazy. And what could a crazy man do with money? It +doesn't cost anything to live in a lunatic asylum.'" +</P> + +<P> +Several items of interest to add to those she had collected. He could +talk brilliantly, but he preferred silence. He could make himself +attractive to women and to men, but he preferred to be detached. He +could be a great lawyer, but he preferred the quiet of obscurity. He +could be a rich man, but he preferred to be comparatively poor. +</P> + +<P> +Said Mildred: "I suppose some woman—some disappointment in love—has +killed ambition, and everything like that." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think so," replied Baird. "The men who knew him as a boy say +he was always as he is now. He lived in the Arabian desert for two +years." +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't he stay?" laughed Mildred. "That life would exactly suit +him." +</P> + +<P> +"It did," said Stanley. "But his father died, and he had to come home +and support his mother—until she died. That's the way his whole life +has been. He drifts in the current of circumstances. He might let +himself be blown away to-morrow to the other end of the earth and stay +away years—or never come back." +</P> + +<P> +"But how would he live?" +</P> + +<P> +"On his wits. And as well or as poorly as he cared. He's the sort of +man everyone instinctively asks advice of—me, you, his valet, the +farmer who meets him at a boundary fence, the fellow who sits nest him +in a train—anyone." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred did not merely cease to dislike him; she went farther, and +rapidly. She began to like him, to circle round that tantalizing, +indolent mystery as a deer about a queer bit of brush in the +undergrowth. She liked to watch him. She was alternately afraid to +talk before him and recklessly confidential—all with no response or +sign of interest from him. If she was silent, when they were alone +together, he was silent, too. If she talked, still he was silent. What +WAS he thinking about? What did he think of her?—that especially. +</P> + +<P> +"What ARE you thinking?" she interrupted herself to say one afternoon +as they sat together on the strand under a big sunshade. She had been +talking on and on about her career—talking conceitedly, as her subject +intoxicated her—telling him what triumphs awaited her as soon as she +should be ready to debut. As he did not answer, she repeated her +question, adding: +</P> + +<P> +"I knew you weren't listening to me, or I shouldn't have had the +courage to say the foolish things I did." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I wasn't," admitted he. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"For the reason you gave." +</P> + +<P> +"That what I said was—just talk?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe I'll do those things?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've GOT to believe it," said she. "If I didn't—" She came to a full +stop. +</P> + +<P> +"If you didn't, then what?" It was the first time he had ever +flattered her with interest enough to ask her a question about herself. +</P> + +<P> +"If I didn't believe I was going to succeed—and succeed big—" she +began. After a pause, she added, "I'd not dare say it." +</P> + +<P> +"Or think it," said he. +</P> + +<P> +She colored. "What do you mean?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +He did not reply. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean, Mr. Keith?" she urged. +</P> + +<P> +"You are always asking me questions to which you already know the +answer," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"You're referring to a week or so ago, when I asked you why you +disliked me?" +</P> + +<P> +No answer. No sign of having heard. No outward sign of interest in +anything, even in the cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"Wasn't that it?" she insisted. +</P> + +<P> +"You are always asking me questions to which you already know the +answer," repeated he. +</P> + +<P> +"I am annoying you?" +</P> + +<P> +No answer. +</P> + +<P> +She laughed. "Do you want me to go away and leave you in peace with +that—law case—or whatever it is?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't like to be alone." +</P> + +<P> +"But anyone would do?—a dog?" +</P> + +<P> +No reply. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean, a dog would be better because it doesn't ask questions to +which it knows the answer." +</P> + +<P> +No reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I have a pleasant-sounding voice. As I'm saying nothing, it may +be soothing—like the sound of the waves. I've learned to take you as +you are. I rather like your pose." +</P> + +<P> +No reply. No sign that he was even tempted to rise to this bait and +protest. +</P> + +<P> +"But you don't like mine," she went on. "Yes, it is a pose. But I've +got to keep it up, and to pretend to myself that it isn't. And it +isn't altogether. I shall be a successful singer." +</P> + +<P> +"When?" said he. Actually he was listening! +</P> + +<P> +She answered: "In—about two years, I think." +</P> + +<P> +No comment. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you?" A pause. "Why ask these questions you've already answered +yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you why," replied she, her face suddenly flushed with +earnestness. "Because I want you to help me. You help everyone else. +Why not me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You never asked me," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know I wanted it until just now—as I said it. But YOU must +have known, because you are so much more experienced than I—and +understand people—what's going on in their minds, deeper than they can +see." Her tone became indignant, reproachful. "Yes, you must have +known I needed your help. And you ought to have helped me, even if you +did dislike me. You've no right to dislike anyone as young as I." +</P> + +<P> +He was looking at her now, the intensely alive blue eyes sympathetic, +penetrating, understanding. It was frightful to be so thoroughly +understood—all one's weaknesses laid bare—yet it was a relief and a +joy, too—like the cruel healing knife of the surgeon. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"I do not like kept women." +</P> + +<P> +She gasped, grew ghastly. It was a frightful insult, one for which she +was wholly unprepared. "You—believe—that?" she said slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Another of those questions," he said. And he looked calmly away, out +over the sea, as if his interest in the conversation were at an end. +</P> + +<P> +What should she say? How deny—how convince him? For convince him she +must, and then go away and never permit him to speak to her again until +he had apologized. She said quietly: "Mr. Keith, you have insulted +me." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not like kept women, either with or without a license," said he +in the same even, indifferent way. "When you ceased to be a kept woman, +I would help you, if I could. But no one can help a kept woman." +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing to do but to rise and go away. She rose and went +toward the house. At the veranda she paused. He had not moved. She +returned. He was still inspecting the horizon, the cigarette depending +from his lips—how DID he keep it alight? She said: +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Keith, I am sure you did not mean to insult me. What did you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Another of those questions," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"Honestly, I do not understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Then think. And when you have thought, you will understand." +</P> + +<P> +"But I have thought. I do not understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it would be useless to explain," said he. "That is one of those +vital things which, if one cannot understand them for oneself, one is +hopeless—is beyond helping." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean I am not in earnest about my career?" +</P> + +<P> +"Another of those questions. If you had not seen clearly what I meant, +you would have been really offended. You'd have gone away and not come +back." +</P> + +<P> +She saw that this was true. And, seeing, she wondered how she could +have been so stupid as not to have seen it at once. She had yet to +learn that overlooking the obvious is a universal human failing and +that seeing the obvious is the talent and the use of the superior of +earth—the few who dominate and determine the race. +</P> + +<P> +"You reproach me for not having helped you," he went on. "How does it +happen that you are uneasy in mind—so uneasy that you are quarreling +at me?" +</P> + +<P> +A light broke upon her. "You have been drawing me on, from the +beginning," she cried. "You have been helping me—making me see that I +needed help." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said he. "I've been waiting to see whether you would rouse from +your dream of grandeur." +</P> + +<P> +"YOU have been rousing me." +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said. "You've roused yourself. So you may be worth helping +or, rather, worth encouraging, for no one can HELP you but yourself." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him pathetically. "But what shall I do?" she asked. +"I've got no money, no experience, no sense. I'm a vain, luxury-loving +fool, cursed with a—with a—is it a conscience?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hope it's something more substantial. I hope it's common sense." +</P> + +<P> +"But I have been working—honestly I have." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't begin lying to yourself again." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be harsh with me." +</P> + +<P> +He drew in his legs, in preparation for rising—no doubt to go away. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean that," she cried testily. "You are not harsh with me. +It's the truth that's harsh—the truth I'm beginning to see—and feel. +I am afraid—afraid. I haven't the courage to face it." +</P> + +<P> +"Why whine?" said he. "There's nothing in that." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think there's any hope for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"That depends," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"On what?" +</P> + +<P> +"On what you want." +</P> + +<P> +"I want to be a singer, a great singer." +</P> + +<P> +"No, there's no hope." +</P> + +<P> +She grew cold with despair. He had a way of saying a thing that gave +it the full weight of a verdict from which there was no appeal. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, if you wanted to make a living," he went on, "and if you were +determined to learn to sing as well as you could, with the idea that +you might be able to make a living—why, then there might be hope." +</P> + +<P> +"You think I can sing?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never heard you. Can you?" +</P> + +<P> +"They say I can." +</P> + +<P> +"What do YOU say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," she confessed. "I've never been able to judge. +Sometimes I think I'm singing well, and I find out afterward that I've +sung badly. Again, it's the other way." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, obviously, what's the first thing to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"To learn to judge myself," said she. "I never thought of it +before—how important that is. Do you know Jennings—Eugene Jennings?" +</P> + +<P> +"The singing teacher? No." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he a good teacher?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because he has not taught you that you will never sing until you are +your own teacher. Because he has not taught you that singing is a +small and minor part of a career as a singer." +</P> + +<P> +"But it isn't," protested she. +</P> + +<P> +A long silence. Looking at him, she felt that he had dismissed her and +her affairs from his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it?" she said, to bring him back. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" asked he vaguely. +</P> + +<P> +"You said that a singer didn't have to be able to sing." +</P> + +<P> +"Did I?" He glanced down the shore toward the house. "It feels like +lunch-time." He rose. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you mean by what you said?" +</P> + +<P> +"When you have thought about your case a while longer, we'll talk of it +again—if you wish. But until you've thought, talking is a waste of +time." +</P> + +<P> +She rose, stood staring out to sea. He was observing her, a faint +smile about his lips. He said: +</P> + +<P> +"Why bother about a career? After all, kept woman is a thoroughly +respectable occupation—or can be made so by any preacher or justice of +the peace. It's followed by many of our best women—those who pride +themselves on their high characters—and on their pride." +</P> + +<P> +"I could not belong to a man unless I cared for him," said she. "I +tried it once. I shall never do it again." +</P> + +<P> +"That sounds fine," said he. "Let's go to lunch." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you?" +</P> + +<P> +She sank down upon the sand and burst into a wild passion of sobs and +tears. When her fight for self-control was over and she looked up to +apologize for her pitiful exhibition of weakness—and to note whether +she had made an impression upon his sympathies—she saw him just +entering the house, a quarter of a mile away. To anger succeeded a +mood of desperate forlornness. She fell upon herself with gloomy +ferocity. She could not sing. She had no brains. She was taking +money—a disgracefully large amount of money—from Stanley Baird under +false pretenses. How could she hope to sing when her voice could not +be relied upon? Was not her throat at that very moment slightly sore? +Was it not always going queer? She—sing! Absurd. Did Stanley Baird +suspect? Was he waiting for the time when she would gladly accept what +she must have from him, on his own terms? No, not on his terms, but on +the terms she herself would arrange—the only terms she could make. No, +Stanley believed in her absolutely—believed in her career. When he +discovered the truth, he would lose interest in her, would regard her +as a poor, worthless creature, would be eager to rid himself of her. +Instead of returning to the house, she went in the opposite direction, +made a circuit and buried herself in the woods beyond the Shrewsbury. +She was mad to get away from her own company; but the only company she +could fly to was more depressing than the solitude and the taunt and +sneer and lash of her own thoughts. It was late in the afternoon +before she nerved herself to go home. She hoped the others would have +gone off somewhere; but they were waiting for her, Stanley anxious and +Cyrilla Brindley irritated. Her eyes sought Keith. He was, as usual, +the indifferent spectator. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been?" cried Stanley. +</P> + +<P> +"Making up my mind," said she in the tone that forewarns of a storm. +</P> + +<P> +A brief pause. She struggled in vain against an impulse to look at +Keith. When her eyes turned in his direction he, not looking at her, +moved in his listless way toward the door. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"The auto's waiting. Come on." +</P> + +<P> +She vacillated, yielded, began to put on the wraps Stanley was +collecting for her. It was a big touring-car, and they sat two and +two, with the chauffeur alone. Keith was beside Mildred. When they +were under way, she said: +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you stop me? Perhaps I'll never have the courage again." +</P> + +<P> +"Courage for what?" asked he. +</P> + +<P> +"To take your advice, and break off." +</P> + +<P> +"MY advice?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, your advice." +</P> + +<P> +"You have to clutch at and cling to somebody, don't you? You can't +bear the idea of standing up by your own strength." +</P> + +<P> +"You think I'm trying to fasten to you?" she said, with an angry laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"I know it. You admitted it. You are not satisfied with the way +things are going. You have doubts about your career. You shrink from +your only comfortable alternative, if the career winks out. You ask me +my opinion about yourself and about careers. I give it. Now, I find +you asked only that you might have someone to lean on, to accuse of +having got you into a mess, if doing what you think you ought to do +turns out as badly as you fear." +</P> + +<P> +It was the longest speech she had heard him make. She had no +inclination to dispute his analysis of her motives. "I did not realize +it," said she, "but that is probably so. But—remember how I was +brought up." +</P> + +<P> +"There's only one thing for you to do." +</P> + +<P> +"Go back to my husband? You know—about me—don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't go back to him." +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Then—what?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on, as now," replied he. +</P> + +<P> +"You despise me, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"But you said you did." +</P> + +<P> +"Dislike and despise are not at all the same." +</P> + +<P> +"You admit that you dislike me," cried she triumphantly. He did not +answer. +</P> + +<P> +"You think me a weak, clinging creature, not able to do anything but +make pretenses." +</P> + +<P> +No answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you?" she persisted. +</P> + +<P> +"Probably I have about the same opinion of you that you have of +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"What WILL become of me?" she said. Her face lighted up with an +expression of reckless beauty. "If I could only get started I'd go to +the devil, laughing and dancing—and taking a train with me." +</P> + +<P> +"You ARE started," said he, with an amiable smile. "Keep on. But I +doubt if you'll be so well amused as you may imagine. Going to the +devil isn't as it's painted in novels by homely old maids and by men +too timid to go out of nights. A few steps farther, and your +disillusionment will begin. But there'll be no turning back. Already, +you are almost too old to make a career." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm only twenty-four. I flattered myself I looked still younger." +</P> + +<P> +"It's worse than I thought," said he. "Most of the singers, even the +second-rate ones, began at fifteen—began seriously. And you haven't +begun yet." +</P> + +<P> +"That's unjust," she protested. "I've done a little. Many great people +would think it a great deal." +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't begun yet," repeated he calmly. "You have spent a lot of +money, and have done a lot of dreaming and talking and listening to +compliments, and have taken a lot of lessons of an expensive charlatan. +But what have those things to do with a career?" +</P> + +<P> +"You've never heard me sing." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not care for singing." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" said she in a tone of relief. "Then you know nothing about all +this." +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary, I know everything about a career. And we were talking +of careers, not of singing." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that my voice is worthless because I haven't the other +elements?" +</P> + +<P> +"What else could I have meant?" said he. "You haven't the strength. +You haven't the health." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed as she straightened herself. "Do I look weak and sickly?" +cried she. +</P> + +<P> +"For the purposes of a career as a female you are strong and well," +said he. "For the purpose of a career as a singer—" He smiled and +shook his head. "A singer must have muscles like wire ropes, like a +blacksmith or a washerwoman. The other day we were climbing a hill—a +not very steep hill. You stopped five times for breath, and twice you +sat down to rest." +</P> + +<P> +She was literally hanging her head with shame. "I wasn't very well +that day," she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't deceive yourself," said he. "Don't indulge in the fatal folly +of self-excuse." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," she said humbly. "I want to hear it all." +</P> + +<P> +"Is your throat sore to-day?" pursued he. +</P> + +<P> +She colored. "It's better," she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +"A singer with sore throat!" mocked he. "You've had a slight fogginess +of the voice all summer." +</P> + +<P> +"It's this sea air," she eagerly protested. "It affects everyone." +</P> + +<P> +"No self-excuse, please," interrupted he. "Cigarettes, champagne, all +kinds of foolish food, an impaired digestion—that's the truth, and you +know it." +</P> + +<P> +"I've got splendid digestion! I can eat anything!" she cried. "Oh, +you don't know the first thing about singing. You don't know about +temperament, about art, about all the things that singing really means." +</P> + +<P> +"We were talking of careers," said he. "A career means a person who +can be relied upon to do what is demanded of him. A singer's career +means a powerful body, perfect health, a sound digestion. Without +them, the voice will not be reliable. What you need is not singing +teachers, but teachers of athletics and of hygiene. To hear you talk +about a career is like listening to a child. You think you can become +a professional singer by paying money to a teacher. There are lawyers +and doctors and business men in all lines who think that way about +their professions—that learning a little routine of technical +knowledge makes a lawyer or a doctor or a merchant or a financier." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me—WHAT ought I to learn?" +</P> + +<P> +"Learn to think—and to persist. Learn to concentrate. Learn to make +sacrifices. Learn to handle yourself as a great painter handles his +brush and colors. Then perhaps you'll make a career as a singer. If +not, it'll be a career as something or other." +</P> + +<P> +She was watching him with a wistful, puzzled expression. "Could I ever +do all that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anyone could, by working away at it every day. If you gain only one +inch a day, in a year you'll have gained three hundred and sixty-five +inches. And if you gain an inch a day for a while and hold it, you +soon begin to gain a foot a day. But there's no need to worry about +that." He was gazing at her now with an expression of animation that +showed how feverishly alive he was behind that mask of calmness. "The +day's work—that's the story of success. Do the day's work +persistently, thoroughly, intelligently. Never mind about to-morrow. +Thinking of it means dreaming or despairing—both futilities. Just the +day's work." +</P> + +<P> +"I begin to understand," she said thoughtfully. "You are right. I've +done nothing. Oh, I've been a fool—more foolish even than I thought." +</P> + +<P> +A long silence, then she said, somewhat embarrassed and in a low voice, +though there was no danger of those in front of them hearing: +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to know that there has been nothing wrong—between Stanley +and me." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish me to put that to your credit or to your discredit?" +inquired he. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you've just told me that you haven't given Stanley anything at +all for his money—that you've cheated him outright. The thing itself +is discreditable, but your tone suggests that you think I'll admire you +for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean to say that you'd think more highly of me if I were—what +most women would be in the same circumstances?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean to say that I think the whole business is discreditable to both +of you—to his intelligence, to your character." +</P> + +<P> +"You are frank," said she, trying to hide her anger. +</P> + +<P> +"I am frank," replied he, undisturbed. He looked at her. "Why should +I not be?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know that I need you, that I don't dare resent," said she. "So +isn't it—a little cowardly?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you need me? Not for money, for you know you'll not get that." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want it," cried she, agitated. "I never thought of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you've probably thought of it," replied he coolly. "But you will +not get it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's settled—I'll not get it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why do you need me? Of what use can I be to you? Only one use +in the world. To tell you the truth—the exact truth. Is not that so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said. "That is what I want from you—what I can't get from +anyone else. No one else knows the truth—not even Mrs. Brindley, +though she's intelligent. I take back what I said about your being +cowardly. Oh, you do stab my vanity so! You mustn't mind my crying +out. I can't help it—at least, not till I get used to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Cry out," said he. "It does no harm." +</P> + +<P> +"How wonderfully you understand me!" exclaimed she. "That's why I let +you say to me anything you please." +</P> + +<P> +He was smiling peculiarly—a smile that somehow made her feel +uncomfortable. She nerved herself for some still deeper stab into her +vanity. He said, his gaze upon her and ironical: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry I can't return the compliment." +</P> + +<P> +"What compliment?" asked she. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't say that you understand me. Why do you think I am doing this?" +</P> + +<P> +She colored. "Oh, no indeed, Mr. Keith," she protested, "I don't think +you are in love with me—or anything of that sort. Indeed, I do not. I +know you better than that." +</P> + +<P> +"Really?" said he, amused. "Then you are not human." +</P> + +<P> +"How can you think me so vain?" she protested. +</P> + +<P> +"Because you are so," replied he. "You are as vain—no more so, but +just as much so—as the average pretty and attractive woman brought up +as you have been. You are not obsessed by the notion that your +physical charms are all-powerful, and in that fact there is hope for +you. But you attach entirely too much importance to them. You will +find them a hindrance for a long time before they begin to be a help to +you in your career. And they will always be a temptation to you to +take the easy, stupid way of making a living—the only way open to most +women that is not positively repulsive." +</P> + +<P> +"I think it is the most repulsive," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't cant," replied he, unimpressed. "It's not so repulsive to your +sort of woman as manual labor—or as any kind of work that means no +leisure, no luxury and small pay." +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder," said Mildred. "I—I'm afraid you're right. But I WON'T +admit it. I don't dare." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the finest, truest thing I've ever heard you say," said Keith. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was pleased out of all proportion to the compliment. Said she +with frank eagerness, "Then I'm not altogether hopeless?" +</P> + +<P> +"As a character, no indeed," replied he. "But as a career— I was +about to say, you may set your mind at rest. I shall never try to +collect for my services. I am doing all this solely out of obstinacy." +</P> + +<P> +"Obstinacy?" asked the puzzled girl. +</P> + +<P> +"The impossible attracts me. That's why I've never been interested to +make a career in law or politics or those things. I care only for the +thing that can't be done. When I saw you and studied you, as I study +every new thing, I decided that you could not possibly make a career." +</P> + +<P> +"Why have you changed your mind?" she interrupted eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't," replied he. "If I had, I should have lost interest in +you. Just as soon as you show signs of making a career, I shall lose +interest in you. I have a friend, a doctor, who will take only cases +where cure is impossible. Looking at you, it occurred to me that here +was a chance to make an experiment more interesting than any of his. +And as I have no other impossible task inviting me at present, I +decided to undertake you—if you were willing." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you tell me this?" she asked. "To discourage me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Your vanity will prevent that." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why?" +</P> + +<P> +"To clear myself of all responsibility for you. You understand—I bind +myself to nothing. I am free to stop or to go on at any time." +</P> + +<P> +"And I?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"You must do exactly as I tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"But that is not fair," cried she. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" inquired he. "Without me you have no hope—none whatever." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe that," declared she. "It is not true." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Then we'll drop the business," said he tranquilly. "If +the time comes when you see that I'm your only hope, and if then I'm in +my present humor, we will go on." +</P> + +<P> +And he lapsed into silence from which she soon gave over trying to +rouse him. She thought of what he had said, studied him, but could +make nothing of it. She let four days go by, days of increasing unrest +and unhappiness. She could not account for herself. Donald Keith +seemed to have cast a spell over her—an evil spell. Her throat gave +her more and more trouble. She tried her voice, found that it had +vanished. She examined herself in the glass, and saw or fancied that +her looks were going—not so that others would note it, but in the +subtle ways that give the first alarm to a woman who has beauty worth +taking care of and thinks about it intelligently. She thought Mrs. +Brindley was beginning to doubt her, suspected a covert uneasiness in +Stanley. Her foundations, such as they were, seemed tottering and +ready to disintegrate. She saw her own past with clear vision for the +first time—saw how futile she had been, and why Keith believed there +was no hope for her. She made desperate efforts to stop thinking about +past and future, to absorb herself in present comfort and luxury and +opportunities for enjoyment. But Keith was always there—and to see +him was to lose all capacity for enjoyment. She was curt, almost rude +to him—had some vague idea of forcing him to stay away. Yet every +time she lost sight of him, she was in terror until she saw him again. +</P> + +<P> +She was alone on the small veranda facing the high-road. She happened +to glance toward the station; her gaze became fixed, her body rigid, +for, coming leisurely and pompously toward the house, was General +Siddall, in the full panoply of his wonderful tailoring and +haberdashery. She thought of flight, but instantly knew that flight +was useless; the little general was not there by accident. She waited, +her rigidity giving her a deceptive seeming of calm and even ease. He +entered the little yard, taking off his glossy hat and exposing the +rampant toupee. He smiled at her so slightly that the angle of the +needle-pointed mustaches and imperial was not changed. The cold, +expressionless, fishy eyes simply looked at her. +</P> + +<P> +"A delightful little house," said he, with a patronizing glance around. +"May I sit down?" +</P> + +<P> +She inclined her head. +</P> + +<P> +"And you are looking well, charming," he went on, and he seated himself +and carefully planted his neat boots side by side. "For the summer +there's nothing equal to the seashore. You are surprised to see me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were abroad," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"So I was—until yesterday. I came back because my men had found you. +And I'm here because I venture to hope that you have had enough of this +foolish escapade. I hope we can come to an understanding. I've lost my +taste for wandering about. I wish to settle down—to have a home and +to stay in it. By that I mean, of course, two or three—or possibly +four—houses, according to the season." Mildred sent her glance +darting about. The little general saw and began to talk more rapidly. +"I've given considerable thought to our—our misunderstanding. I feel +that I gave too much importance to your—your— I did not take your +youth and inexperience of the world and of married life sufficiently +into account. Also the first Mrs. Siddall was not a lady—nor the +second. A lady, a young lady, was a new experience to me. I am a +generous man. So I say frankly that I ought to have been more patient." +</P> + +<P> +"You said you would never see me again until I came to you," said +Mildred. As he was not looking at her, she watched his face. She now +saw a change—behind the mask. But he went on in an unchanged voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Were you aware that Mrs. Baird is about to sue her husband for a +separation—not for a divorce but for a separation—and name you?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred dropped limply back in her chair. +</P> + +<P> +"That means scandal," continued Siddall, "scandal touching my name—my +honor. I may say, I do not believe what Mrs. Baird charges. My men +have had you under observation for several weeks. Also, Mrs. Brindley +is, I learn, a woman of the highest character. But the thing looks +bad—you hiding from your husband, living under an assumed name, +receiving the visits of a former admirer." +</P> + +<P> +"You are mistaken," said Mildred. "Mrs. Baird would not bring such a +false, wicked charge." +</P> + +<P> +"You are innocent, my dear," said the general. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't realize how your conduct looks. She intends to charge that +her husband has been supporting you." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred, quivering, started up, sank weakly back again. +</P> + +<P> +"But," he went on, "you will easily prove that your money is your +inheritance from your father. I assured myself of that before I +consented to come here." +</P> + +<P> +"Consented?" said Mildred. "At whose request?" +</P> + +<P> +"That of my own generosity," replied he. "But my honor had to be +reassured. When I was satisfied that you were innocent, and simply +flighty and foolish, I came. If there had been any taint upon you, of +course I could not have taken you back. As it is, I am willing—I may +say, more than willing. Mrs. Baird can be bought off and frightened +off. When she finds you have me to protect you, she will move very +cautiously, you may be sure." +</P> + +<P> +As the little man talked, Mildred saw and felt behind the mask the +thoughts, the longings of his physical infatuation for her coiling and +uncoiling and reaching tremulously out toward her like unclean, +horrible tentacles. She was drawn as far as could be back into her +chair, and her soul was shrinking within her body. +</P> + +<P> +"I am willing to make you a proper allowance, and to give you all +proper freedom," he went on. He showed his sharp white teeth in a +gracious smile. "I realize I must concede something of my +old-fashioned ideas to the modern spirit. I never thought I would, but +I didn't appreciate how fond I was of you, my dear." He mumbled his +tongue and noiselessly smacked his thin lips. "Yes, you are worth +concessions and sacrifices." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not going back," said Mildred. "Nothing you could offer me would +make any difference." She felt suddenly calm and strong. She stood. +"Please consider this final." +</P> + +<P> +"But, my dear," said the general softly, though there was a wicked +gleam behind the mask, "you forget the scandal—" +</P> + +<P> +"I forget nothing," interrupted she. "I shall not go back." +</P> + +<P> +Before he could attempt further to detain her she opened the screen +door and entered. It closed on the spring and on the spring lock. +</P> + +<P> +Donald Keith, coming in from the sea-front veranda, was just in time to +save her from falling. She pushed him fiercely away and sank down on +the sofa just within the pretty little drawing-room. She said: +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. I didn't mean to be rude. I was only angry with myself. +I'm getting to be one of those absurd females who blubber and keel +over." +</P> + +<P> +"You're white and limp," said he. "What's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"General Siddall is out there." +</P> + +<P> +"Um—he's come back, has he?" said Keith. +</P> + +<P> +"And I am afraid of him—horribly afraid of him." +</P> + +<P> +"In some places and circumstances he would be a dangerous proposition," +said Keith. "But not here in the East—and not to you." +</P> + +<P> +"He would do ANYTHING. I don't know what he can do, but I am sure it +will be frightful—will destroy me." +</P> + +<P> +"You are going with him?" +</P> + +<P> +She laughed. "I loathe him. I thought I left him through fear and +anger. I was mistaken. It was loathing. And my fear of him—it's +loathing, too." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that?" said Keith, observing her intently. "You wish to be +rid of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"What a poor opinion you have of me," said she. "Really, I don't +deserve quite that." +</P> + +<P> +"Then come with me." +</P> + +<P> +The look of terror and shrinking returned. "Where? To see him?" +</P> + +<P> +"For the last time," said Keith. "There'll be no scene." +</P> + +<P> +It was the supreme test of her confidence in him. Without hesitation, +she rose, preceded him into the hall, and advanced firmly toward the +screen door through which the little general could be seen. He was +standing at the top step, his back to them. At the sound of the +opening door he turned. +</P> + +<P> +"This is Mr. Donald Keith," said Mildred. "He wishes to speak to you." +</P> + +<P> +The general bowed; Keith bent his head. They eyed each other with the +measuring glance. Keith said in his dry, terse way: "I asked Miss +Gower to come with me because I wish her to hear what I have to say to +you." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean my wife," said the general with a gracious smile. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean Miss Gower," returned Keith. "As you know, she is not your +wife." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred uttered a cry; but the two men continued to look each at the +other, with impassive countenances. +</P> + +<P> +"Your only wife is the woman who has been in the private insane asylum +of Doctor Rivers at Pueblo, Colorado, for the past eleven years. For +about twenty years before that she was in the Delavan private asylum +near Denver. You could not divorce her under the laws of Colorado. The +divorce you got in Nevada was fraudulent." +</P> + +<P> +"That's a lie," said the general coldly. +</P> + +<P> +Keith went on, as if he had not heard: "You will not annoy this lady +again. And you will stop bribing Stanley Baird's wife to make a fool +of herself. And you will stop buying houses in the blocks where Baird +owns real estate, and moving colored families into them." +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you that about my divorce is a lie," replied Siddall. +</P> + +<P> +"I can prove it," said Keith. "And I can prove that you knew it before +you married your second wife." +</P> + +<P> +For the first time Siddall betrayed at the surface a hint of how hard +he was hit. His skin grew bright yellow; wrinkles round his eyes and +round the base of his nose sprang into sudden prominence. +</P> + +<P> +"I see you know what I mean—that attempt to falsify the record at +Carson City," said Keith. He opened the screen door for Mildred to +pass in. He followed her, and the door closed behind them. They went +into the drawing-room. He dropped into an easy chair, crossed his +legs, leaned his head back indolently—a favorite attitude of his. +</P> + +<P> +"How long have you known?" said she. Her cheeks were flushed with +excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, a good many years," replied he. "It was one of those accidental +bits of information a man runs across in knocking about. As soon as +Baird told me about you, I had the thing looked up, quietly. I was +going up to see him to-morrow—about the negroes and Mrs. Baird's suit." +</P> + +<P> +"Does Stanley know?" inquired she. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Keith. "Not necessary. Never will be. If you like, you +can have the marriage annulled without notoriety. But that's not +necessary, either." +</P> + +<P> +After a long silence, she said: "What does this make out of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean, what would be thought of you, if it were known?" inquired +he. "Well, it probably wouldn't improve your social position." +</P> + +<P> +"I am disgraced," said she, curiously rather than emotionally. +</P> + +<P> +"Would be, if it were known," corrected he, "and if you are nothing but +a woman without money looking for a husband. If you happened to be a +singer or an actress, it would add to your reputation—make you more +talked about." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am not an actress or a singer." +</P> + +<P> +"On the other hand, I should say you didn't amount to much socially. +Except in Hanging Rock, of course—if there is still a Hanging Rock. +Don't worry about your reputation. Fussing and fretting about your +social position doesn't help toward a career." +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally, you take it coolly. But you can hardly expect me to," +cried she. +</P> + +<P> +"You are taking it coolly," said he. "Then why try to work yourself up +into a fit of hysterics? The thing is of no importance—except that +you're free now—will never be bothered by Siddall again. You ought to +thank me, and forget it. Don't be one of the little people who are +forever agitating about trifles." +</P> + +<P> +Trifles! To speak of such things as trifles! And yet— Well, what +did they actually amount to in her life? "Yes, I AM free," she said +thoughtfully. "I've got what I wanted—got it in the easiest way +possible." +</P> + +<P> +"That's better," said he approvingly. +</P> + +<P> +"And I've burnt my bridges behind me," pursued she. "There's nothing +for me now but to go ahead." +</P> + +<P> +"Which road?" inquired he carelessly. +</P> + +<P> +"The career," cried she. "There's no other for me. Of course I COULD +marry Stanley, when he's free, as he would be before very long, if I +suggested it. Yes, I could marry him." +</P> + +<P> +"Could you?" observed he. +</P> + +<P> +"Doesn't he love me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Undoubtedly." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why do you say he would not marry me?" demanded she. +</P> + +<P> +"Did I say that?" +</P> + +<P> +"You insinuated it. You suggested that there was a doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, there is no doubt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, there is," she cried angrily. "You won't let me enjoy the least +bit of a delusion. He might marry me if I were famous. But as I am +now— He's an inbred snob. He can't help it. He simply couldn't +marry a woman in my position. But you're overlooking one thing—that +<I>I</I> would not marry HIM." +</P> + +<P> +"That's unimportant, if true," said Keith. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care anything about it, my dear lady," said Keith. "Have you +got time to waste in thinking about how much I am in love with you? +What a womanly woman you are, to be sure. Your true woman, you know, +never thinks of anything but love—not how much she loves, but how much +she is loved." +</P> + +<P> +"Be careful!" she warned. "Some day you'll go too far in saying +outrageous things to me." +</P> + +<P> +"And then?" said he smilingly. +</P> + +<P> +"You care nothing for our friendship?" +</P> + +<P> +"The experiment is the only interest I have in you," replied he. +</P> + +<P> +"That is not true," said she. "You have always liked me. That's why +you looked up my hus— General Siddall and got ready for him. That's +why you saved me to-day. You are a very tender-hearted and generous +man—and you hide it as you do everything else about yourself." +</P> + +<P> +He was looking off into space from the depths of the easy chair, a +mocking smile on his classical, impassive face. +</P> + +<P> +"What puzzles me," she went on, "is why you interest yourself in as +vain and shallow and vacillating a woman as I am. You don't care for +my looks—and that's all there is to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't pause to be contradicted," said he. +</P> + +<P> +She was in a fine humor now. "You might at least have said I was up to +the female average, for I am. What have they got to offer a man but +their looks? Do you know why I despise men?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do. And it's because they put up with women as much as they +do—spend so much money on them, listen to their chatter, admire their +ridiculous clothes. Oh, I understand why. I've learned that. And I +can imagine myself putting up with anything in some one man I happened +to fancy strongly. But men are foolish about the whole sex—or all of +them that have a shadow of a claim to good looks." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the men make fools of themselves," admitted he. "But I notice +that the men manage somehow to make the careers, and hold on to the +money and the power, while the women have to wheedle and fawn and +submit in order to get what they want from the men. There's nothing to +be said for your sex. It's been hopelessly corrupted by mine. For all +the talk about the influence of woman, what impression has your sex +made upon mine? And your sex—it has been made by mine into exactly +what we wished it to be. Take my advice, get out of your sex. Abandon +it, and make a career." +</P> + +<P> +After a while she recalled with a start the events of less than an hour +ago—events that ought to have seemed wildly exciting, arousing the +deepest and strongest emotions. Yet they had made no impression upon +her. Absolutely none. She had no horror in the thought that she had +been the victim of a bigamist; she had no elation over her release into +freedom and safety. She wondered whether this arose from utter +frivolousness or from indifference to the trifles of conventional joys, +sorrows, agitations, excitements which are the whole life of most +people—that indifference which is the cause of the general opinion +that men and women who make careers are usually hardened in the process. +</P> + +<P> +As she lay awake that night—she had got a very bad habit of lying +awake hour after hour—she suddenly came to a decision. But she did +not tell Keith for several days. She did it in this way: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think I'm looking better?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"You're sleeping again," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know why? Because my mind's at rest. I've decided to accept +your offer." +</P> + +<P> +"And my terms?" said he, apparently not interested by her announcement. +</P> + +<P> +"And your terms," assented she. "You are free to stop whenever the +whim strikes you; I must do exactly as you bid. What do you wish me to +do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing at present," replied he. "I will let you know." +</P> + +<P> +She was disappointed. She had assumed that something—something new +and interesting, probably irritating, perhaps enraging, would occur at +once. His indifference, his putting off to a future time, which his +manner made seem most hazily indefinite, gave her the foolish and +collapsing sense of having broken through an open door. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VII +</H3> + +<P> +THE first of September they went up to town. Stanley left at once for +his annual shooting trip; Donald Keith disappeared, saying—as was his +habit—neither what he was about nor when he would be seen again. Mrs. +Brindley summoned her pupils and her musical friends. Mildred resumed +the lessons with Jennings. There was no doubt about it, she had +astonishingly improved during the summer. There had come—or, rather, +had come back—into her voice the birdlike quality, free, joyous, +spontaneous, that had not been there since her father's death and the +family's downfall. She was glad that her arrangement with Donald Keith +was of such a nature that she was really not bound to go on with it—if +he should ever come back and remind her of what she had said. Now that +Jennings was enthusiastic—giving just and deserved praise, as her own +ear and Mrs. Brindley assured her, she was angry at herself for having +tolerated Keith's frankness, his insolence, his insulting and +contemptuous denials of her ability. She was impatient to see him, +that she might put him down. She said to Jennings: +</P> + +<P> +"You think I can make a career?" +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't a doubt in my mind now," replied he. "You ought to be one +of the few great lyric sopranos within five years." +</P> + +<P> +"A man, this summer—a really unusual man in some ways—told me there +was no hope for me." +</P> + +<P> +"A singing teacher?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, a lawyer. A Mr. Keith—Donald Keith." +</P> + +<P> +"I've heard of him," said Jennings. "His mother was Rivi, the famous +coloratura of twenty years ago." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was astounded. "He must know something about music." +</P> + +<P> +"Probably," replied Jennings. "He lived with her in Italy, I believe, +until he was almost grown. Then she died. You sang for him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," Mildred said it hesitatingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" said Jennings, and his expression—interested, disturbed, +puzzled—made Mildred understand why she had been so reluctant to +confess. Jennings did not pursue the subject, but abruptly began the +lesson. That day and several days thereafter he put her to tests he +had never used before. She saw that he was searching for +something—for the flaw implied in the adverse verdict of the son of +Lucia Rivi. She was enormously relieved when he gave over the search +without having found the flaw. She felt that Donald Keith's verdict +had been proved false or at least faulty. Yet she was not wholly +reassured, and from time to time she suspected that Jennings had not +been, either. +</P> + +<P> +Soon the gayety of the preceding winter and spring was in full swing +again. Keith did not return, did not write, and Cyrilla Brindley +inquired and telephoned in vain. Mildred worked with enthusiasm, with +hope, presently with confidence. She hoped every day that Keith would +come; she would make him listen to her, force him to admit. She caught +a slight cold, neglected it, tried to sing it away. Her voice left her +abruptly. She went to Jennings as usual the day she found herself able +to do nothing more musical than squeak. She told him her plight. Said +he: +</P> + +<P> +"Begin! Let's hear." +</P> + +<P> +She made a few dismal attempts, stopped short, and, half laughing, half +ashamed, faced him for the lecture she knew would be forthcoming. Now, +it so happened that Jennings was in a frightful humor that day—one of +those humors in which the most prudent lose their self-control. He had +been listening to a succession of new pupils—women with money and no +voice, women who screeched and screamed and thoroughly enjoyed +themselves and angled confidently for compliments. As Jennings had an +acute musical ear, his sufferings had been frightful. He was used to +these torments, had the habit of turning the fury into which they put +him into excellent financial or disciplinary account. But on this +particular day his nerves went to pieces, and it was with Mildred that +the explosion came. When she looked at him, she was horrified to see a +face distorted and discolored by sheer rage. +</P> + +<P> +"You fool!" he shouted, storming up and down. "You fool! You can't +sing! Keith was right. You wouldn't do even for a church choir. You +can't be relied on. There's nothing behind your voice—no strength, no +endurance, no brains. No brains! Do you hear?—no brains, I say!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was terrified. She had seen him in tantrums before, but always +there had been a judicious reserving of part of the truth. Instead of +resenting, instead of flashing eye or quivering lips, Mildred sat down +and with white face and dazed eyes stared straight before her. Jennings +raved and roared himself out. As he came to his senses from this +debauch of truth-telling his first thought was how expensive it might +be. Thus, long before there was any outward sign that the storm had +passed, the ravings, the insults were shrewdly tempered with +qualifyings. If she kept on catching these colds, if she did not obey +his instructions, she might put off her debut for years—for three +years, for two years at least. And she would always be rowing with +managers and irritating the public—and so on and on. But the mischief +had been done. The girl did not rouse. +</P> + +<P> +"No use to go on to-day," he said gruffly—the pretense at last +rumblings of an expiring storm. +</P> + +<P> +"Nor any other day," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +She stood and straightened herself. Her face was beautiful rather than +lovely. Its pallor, its strong lines, the melancholy intensity of the +eyes, made her seem more the woman fully developed, less, far less, the +maturing girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" scolded Jennings. "But no more colds like that. They +impair the quality of the voice." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no voice," said the girl. "I see the truth." +</P> + +<P> +Jennings was inwardly cursing his insane temper. In about the kindliest +tone he had ever used with her, he said: "My dear Miss Stevens, you +are in no condition to judge to-day. Come back to-morrow. Do +something for that cold to-night. Clear out the throat—and come back +to-morrow. You will see." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know those tricks," said she, with a sad little smile. "You +can make a crow seem to sing. But you told me the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow," he cried pleasantly, giving her an encouraging pat on the +shoulder. He knew the folly of talking too much, the danger of +confirming her fears by pretending to make light of them. "A good +sleep, and to-morrow things will look brighter." +</P> + +<P> +He did not like her expression. It was not the one he was used to +seeing in those vain, "temperamental" pupils of his—the downcast +vanity that will be up again in a few hours. It was rather the +expression of one who has been finally and forever disillusioned. +</P> + +<P> +On her way home she stopped to send Keith a telegram: "I must see you +at once." +</P> + +<P> +There were several at the apartment for tea, among them Cullan, an +amateur violinist and critic on music whom she especially liked. For, +instead of the dreamy, romantic character his large brown eyes and +sensitive features suggested, he revealed in talk and actions a boyish +gayety—free, be it said, from boyish silliness—that was most +infectious. His was one of those souls that put us in the mood to +laugh at all seriousness, to forget all else in the supreme fact of the +reality of existence. He made her forget that day—forget until +Keith's answering telegram interrupted: "Next Monday afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +A week less a day away! She shrank and trembled at the prospect of +relying upon herself alone for six long days. Every prop had been +taken away from her. Even the dubious prop of the strange, +unsatisfactory Keith. For had he not failed her? She had said, "must" +and "at once"; and he had responded with three words of curt refusal. +</P> + +<P> +After dinner Stanley unexpectedly appeared. He hardly waited for the +necessary formalities of the greeting before he said to Mrs. Brindley: +"I want to see Mildred alone. I know you won't mind, Mrs. Brindley. +It's very important." He laughed nervously but cheerfully. "And in a +few minutes I'll call you in. I think I'll have something interesting +to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley laughed. With her cigarette in one hand and her cup of +after-dinner coffee in the other, she moved toward the door, saying +gayly to Mildred: +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be in the next room. If you scream I shall hear. So don't be +alarmed." +</P> + +<P> +Stanley closed the door, turned beaming upon Mildred. Said he: "Here's +my news. My missus has got her divorce." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred started up. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the real thing," he assured her. "Of course I knew what was +doing. But I kept mum—didn't want to say anything to you till I could +say everything. Mildred, I'm free. We can be married to-morrow, if you +will." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you know about me?" said she, confused. +</P> + +<P> +"On the way I stopped in to see Keith. He told me about that +skunk—told me you were free, too." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred slowly sat down. Her elbows rested upon the table. There was +her bare forearm, slender and round, and her long, graceful fingers lay +against her cheek. The light from above reflected charmingly from the +soft waves and curves of her hair. "You're lovely—simply lovely!" +cried Stanley. "Mildred—darling—you WILL marry me, won't you? You +can go right on with the career, if you like. In fact, I'd rather you +would, for I'm frightfully proud of your voice. And I've changed a lot +since I became sincerely interested in you. The other sort of life and +people don't amuse me any more. Mildred, say you'll marry me. I'll +make you as happy as the days are long." +</P> + +<P> +She moved slightly. Her hand dropped to the table. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess I came down on you too suddenly," said he. "You look a bit +dazed." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not dazed," replied she. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll call Mrs. Brindley in, and we'll all three talk it over." +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't," said she. "I've got to think it out for myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I know there isn't anyone else," he went on. "So, I'm sure—dead +sure, Mildred, that I can teach you to love me." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him pleadingly. "I don't have to answer right away?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not," laughed he. "But why shouldn't you? What is there +against our getting married? Nothing. And everything for it. Our +marriage will straighten out all the—the little difficulties, and you +can go ahead with the singing and not bother about money, or what +people might say, or any of those things." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I've got to think about it, Stanley," she said gently. "I want to +do the decent thing by you and by myself." +</P> + +<P> +"You're afraid I'll interfere in the career—won't want you to go on? +Mildred, I swear I'm—" +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't that," she interrupted, her color high. "The truth is—" she +faltered, came to a full stop—cried, "Oh, I can't talk about it +to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow?" he suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"I—don't know," she stammered. "Perhaps to-morrow. But it may be two +or three days." +</P> + +<P> +Stanley looked crestfallen. "That hurts, Mildred," he said. "I was SO +full of it, so anxious to be entirely happy, and I thought you'd fall +right in with it. Something to do with money? You're horribly +sensitive about money, dear. I like that in you, of course. Not many +women would have been as square, would have taken as little—and worked +hard—and thought and cared about nothing but making good— By Jove, +it's no wonder I'm stark crazy about YOU!" +</P> + +<P> +She was flushed and trembling. "Don't," she pleaded. "You're beating +me down into the dust. I—I'm—" She started up. "I can't talk +to-night. I might say things I'd be— I can't talk about it. I must—" +</P> + +<P> +She pressed her lips together and fled through the hall to her own +room, to shut and lock herself in. He stared in amazement. When he +heard the distant sound of the turning key he dropped to a chair again +and laughed. Certainly women were queer creatures—always doing what +one didn't expect. Still, in the end—well, a sensible woman knew a +good chance to marry and took it. There was no doubt a good deal of +pretense in Mildred's delicacy as to money matters—but a devilish +creditable sort of pretense. He liked the ladylike, "nice" pretenses, +of women of the right sort—liked them when they fooled him, liked them +when they only half fooled him. +</P> + +<P> +Presently he knocked on the door of the little library, opened it when +permission came in Cyrilla's voice. She was reading the evening +paper—he did not see the glasses she hastily thrust into a drawer. In +that soft light she looked a scant thirty, handsome, but for his taste +too intellectual of type to be attractive—except as a friend. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said he, as he lit a cigarette and dropped the match into the +big copper ash-bowl, "I'll bet you can't guess what I've been up to." +</P> + +<P> +"Making love to Miss Stevens," replied she. "And very foolish it is of +you. She's got a steady head in that way." +</P> + +<P> +"You're mighty right," said he heartily. "And I admire her for that +more than for anything else. I'd trust her anywhere." +</P> + +<P> +"You're paying yourself a high compliment," laughed Cyrilla. +</P> + +<P> +"How's that?" inquired he. "You're too subtle for me. I'm a bit slow." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley decided against explaining. It was not wise to risk +raising an unjust doubt in the mind of a man who fancied that a woman +who resisted him would be adamant to every other man. "Then I've got +to guess again?" said she. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been asking her to marry me," said Stanley, who could contain it +no longer. "Mrs. B. was released from me to-day by the court in +Providence." +</P> + +<P> +"But SHE'S not free," said Cyrilla, a little severely. +</P> + +<P> +Stanley looked confused, finally said: "Yes, she is. It's a queer +story. Don't say anything. I can't explain. I know I can trust you +to keep a close mouth." +</P> + +<P> +"Minding my own business is my one supreme talent," said Cyrilla. +</P> + +<P> +"She hasn't accepted me—in so many words," pursued Baird, "but I've +hopes that it'll come out all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally," commented Cyrilla dryly. +</P> + +<P> +"I know I'm not—not objectionable to her. And how I do love her!" He +settled himself at his ease. "I can't believe it's really me. I never +thought I'd marry—just for love. Did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're very self-indulgent," said Cyrilla. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean I'm marrying her because I can't get her any other way. +There's where you're wrong, Mrs. Brindley. I'm marrying her because I +don't want her any other way. That's why I know it's love. I didn't +think I was capable of it. Of course, I've been rather strong after +the ladies all my life. You know how it is with men." +</P> + +<P> +"I do," said Mrs. Brindley. +</P> + +<P> +"No, you don't either," retorted he. "You're one of those cold, +stand-me-off women who can't comprehend the nature of man." +</P> + +<P> +"As you please," said she. In her eyes there was a gleam that more +than suggested a possibility of some man—some man she might +fancy—seeing an amazingly different Cyrilla Brindley. +</P> + +<P> +"I may say I was daft about pretty women," continued Baird. "I never +read an item about a pretty woman in the papers, or saw a picture of a +pretty woman that I didn't wish I knew her—well. Can you imagine +that?" laughed he. +</P> + +<P> +"Commonplace," said Cyrilla. "All men are so. That's why the papers +always describe the woman as pretty and why the pictures are published." +</P> + +<P> +"Really? Yes, I suppose so." Baird looked chagrined. "Anyhow, here I +am, all for one woman. And why? I can't explain it to myself. She's +pretty, lovely, entrancing sometimes. She has charm, grace, sweetness. +She dresses well and carries herself with a kind of sweet haughtiness. +She looks as if she knew a lot—and nothing bad. Do you know, I can't +imagine her having been married to that beast! I've tried to imagine +it. I simply can't." +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't try if I were you," said Mrs. Brindley. +</P> + +<P> +"But I was talking about why I love her. Does this bore you?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little," laughed Cyrilla. "I'd rather hear some man talking about +MY charms. But go on. You are amusing, in a way." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll wager I am. You never thought I'd be caught? I believed I was +immune—vaccinated against it. I thought I knew all the tricks and +turns of the sex. Yet here I am!" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think caught you?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the mystery. It's simply that I can't do without her. +Everything she looks and says and does interests me more than anything +else in the world. And when I'm not with her I'm wishing I were and +wondering how she's looking or what she's saying or doing. You don't +think she'll refuse me?" This last with real anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't an idea," replied Mrs. Brindley. "She's—peculiar. In some +moods she would. In others, she couldn't. And I've never been able to +settle to my satisfaction which kind of mood was the real Mary Stevens." +</P> + +<P> +"She IS queer, isn't she?" said Stanley thoughtfully. "But I've told +her she'd be free to go on with the career. Fact is, I want her to do +it." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley's eyes twinkled. "You think it would justify you to your +set in marrying her, if she made a great hit?" +</P> + +<P> +Stanley blushed ingenuously. "I'll not deny that has something to do +with it," he admitted. "And why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not, indeed?" said she. "But, after she had made the hit, you'd +want her to quit the stage and take her place in society. Isn't that +so?" +</P> + +<P> +"You ARE a keen one," exclaimed he admiringly. "But I didn't say that +to her. And you won't, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's hardly necessary to ask that," said Mrs. Brindley. "Now, +suppose— You don't mind my talking about this?" +</P> + +<P> +"What I want," replied he. "I can't talk or think anything but her." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, suppose she shouldn't make a hit. Suppose she should +fail—should not develop reliable voice enough?" +</P> + +<P> +Stanley looked frightened. "But she can't fail," he cried with +over-energy. "There's no question about her voice." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," Mrs. Brindley hastened to say. "I was simply making +conversation with her as the subject." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I see." Stanley settled back. +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose she should prove not to be a great artist—what then?" +persisted Cyrilla, who was deeply interested in the intricate obscure +problem of what people really thought as distinguished from what they +professed and also from what they imagined they thought. +</P> + +<P> +"The fact that she's a great artist—that's part of her," said Baird. +"If she weren't a great singer, she wouldn't be she—don't you see?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Brindley with an ironic sadness which she +indulged openly because there was no danger of his understanding. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't exactly love her because she amounts to a lot—or is sure to," +pursued he, vaguely dissatisfied with himself. "It's just as she +doesn't care for me because I've got the means to take care of her +right, yet that's part of me—and she'd not be able to marry me if I +hadn't. Don't you see?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Brindley with more irony and less sadness. +"There's always SOME reason beside love." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd say there's always some reason FOR love," said Baird, and he felt +that he had said something brilliant—as is the habit of people of +sluggish mentality when they say a thing they do not themselves +understand. "You don't doubt that I love her?" he went on. "Why should +I ask her to marry me if I didn't?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose that settles it," said Cyrilla. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it does," declared he. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour he sat there, talking on, most of it a pretty dull kind of +drivel. Mrs. Brindley listened patiently, because she liked him and +because she had nothing else to do until bedtime. At last he rose with +a long sigh and said: +</P> + +<P> +"I guess I might as well be going." +</P> + +<P> +"She'll not come in to-night again," said Cyrilla slyly. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed. "You are a good one. I'll own up, I've been staying on +partly in the hope that she'd come back. But it's been a great joy to +talk to you about her. I know you love her, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'm extremely fond of her," said she. "I've not known many +women—many people without petty mean tricks. She's one." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't she, though?" exclaimed he. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean she's perfect," said Mrs. Brindley. "I don't even mean +that she's as angelic as you think her. I'd not like her, if she were. +But she's a superior kind of human." +</P> + +<P> +She was tired of him now, and got him out speedily. As she closed the +front door upon him, Mildred's door, down the hall, opened. Her head +appeared, an inquiring look upon her face. Mrs. Brindley nodded. +Mildred, her hair done close to her head, a dressing-robe over her +nightgown and her bare feet in little slippers, came down the hall. She +coiled herself up in a big chair in the library and lit a cigarette. +She looked like a handsome young boy. +</P> + +<P> +"He told you?" she said to Mrs. Brindley. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Cyrilla. +</P> + +<P> +Silence. In all their intimate acquaintance there had never been an +approach to the confidential on either side. It was Cyrilla's notion +that confidences were a mistake, and that the more closely people were +thrown together the more resolutely they ought to keep certain barriers +between them. She and Mildred got on too admirably, liked each other +too well, for there to be any trifling with their relations—and +over-intimacy inevitably led to trifling. Mildred had restrained +herself because Mrs. Brindley had compelled it by rigid example. Often +she had longed to talk things over, to ask advice; but she had never +ventured further than generalities, and Mrs. Brindley had never +proffered advice, had never accepted opportunities to give it except in +the vaguest way. She had taught Mildred a great deal, but always by +example, by doing, never by saying what ought or ought not to be done. +Thus, such development of Mildred's character as there had been was +natural and permanent. +</P> + +<P> +"He has put me in a peculiar position," said Mildred. "Or, rather, I +have let myself drift into a peculiar position. For I think you're +right in saying that oneself is always to blame. Won't you let me talk +about it to you, please? I know you hate confidences. But I've got +to—to talk. I'd like you to advise me, if you can. But even if you +don't, it'll do me good to say things aloud." +</P> + +<P> +"Often one sees more clearly," was Cyrilla's reply—noncommittal, yet +not discouraging. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm free to marry him," Mildred went on. "That is, I'm not married. +I'd rather not explain—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't," said Mrs. Brindley. "It's unnecessary." +</P> + +<P> +"You know that it's Stanley who has been lending me the money to live +on while I study. Well, from the beginning I've been afraid I'd find +myself in a difficult position." +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally," said Mrs. Brindley, as she paused. +</P> + +<P> +"But I've always expected it to come in another way—not about +marriage, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," said Mrs. Brindley. "You feared you'd be called on to +pay in the way women usually pay debts to men." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred nodded. "But this is worse than I expected—much worse." +</P> + +<P> +"I hadn't thought of that," said Cyrilla. "Yes, you're right. If he +had hinted the other thing, you could have pretended not to understand. +If he had suggested it, you could have made him feel cheap and mean." +</P> + +<P> +"I did," said Mildred. "He has been—really wonderful—better than +almost any man would have been—more considerate than I deserved. And +I took advantage of it." +</P> + +<P> +"A woman has to," said Cyrilla. "The fight between men and women is so +unequal." +</P> + +<P> +"I took advantage of him," repeated Mildred. "And he apologized, and +I—I went on taking the money. I didn't know what else to do. Isn't +that dreadful?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing to be proud of," said Cyrilla. "But a very usual transaction." +</P> + +<P> +"And then," pursued Mildred, "I discovered that I—that I'd not be able +to make a career. But still I kept on, though I've been trying to +force myself to—to show some pride and self-respect. I discovered it +only a short time ago, and it wasn't really until to-day that I was +absolutely sure." +</P> + +<P> +"You ARE sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's hardly a doubt," replied Mildred. "But never mind that now. +I've got to make a living at something, and while I'm learning whatever +it is, I've got to have money to live on. And I can get it only from +him. Now, he asks me to marry him. He wouldn't ask me if he didn't +think I was going to be a great singer. He doesn't know it, but I do." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley smiled sweetly. +</P> + +<P> +"And he thinks that I love him, also. If I accept him, it will be +under doubly false pretenses. If I refuse him I've got to stop taking +the money." +</P> + +<P> +A long silence; then Mrs. Brindley said: "Women—the good ones, +too—often feel that they've a right to treat men as men treat them. I +think almost any woman would feel justified in putting off the crisis." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean, I might tell him I'd give him my answer when I was +independent and had paid back." +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla nodded. Mildred relit her cigarette, which she had let go out. +"I had thought of that," said she. "But—I doubt if he'd tolerate it. +Also"—she laughed with the peculiar intonation that accompanies the +lifting of the veil over a deeply and carefully hidden corner of one's +secret self—"I am afraid. If I don't marry him, in a few weeks, or +months at most, he'll probably find out that I shall never be a great +singer, and then I'd not be able to marry him if I wished to." +</P> + +<P> +"He IS a temptation," said Cyrilla. "That is, his money is—and he +personally is very nice." +</P> + +<P> +"I married a man I didn't care for," pursued Mildred. "I don't want +ever to do that again. It is—even in the best circumstances—not +agreeable, not as simple as it looks to the inexperienced girls who are +always doing it." +</P> + +<P> +"Still, a woman can endure that sort of thing," said Mrs. Brindley, +"unless she happens to be in love with another man." She was observing +the unconscious Mildred narrowly, a state of inward tension and +excitement hinted in her face, but not in her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"That's just it?" said Mildred, her face carefully averted. "I—I +happen to be in love with another man." +</P> + +<P> +A spasm of pain crossed Cyrilla's face. +</P> + +<P> +"A man who cares nothing about me—and never will. He's just a +friend—so much the friend that he couldn't possibly think of me as—as +a woman, needing him and wanting him"—her eyes were on fire now, and a +soft glow had come into her cheeks—"and never daring to show it +because if I did he would fly and never let me see him again." +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla Brindley's face was tragic as she looked at the beautiful girl, +so gracefully adjusted to the big chair. She sighed covertly. "You +are lovely," she said, "and young—above all, young." +</P> + +<P> +"This man is peculiar," replied Mildred forlornly. "Anyhow, he doesn't +want ME. He knows me for the futile, weak, worthless creature I am. He +saw through my bluff, even before I saw through it myself. If it +weren't for him, I could go ahead—do the sensible thing—do as women +usually do. But—" She came to a full stop. +</P> + +<P> +"Love is a woman's sense of honor," said Cyrilla softly. "We're +merciless and unscrupulous—anything—everything—where we don't love. +But where we do love, we'll go farther for honor than the most +honorable man. That's why we're both worse and better than men—and +seem to be so contradictory and puzzling." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd do anything for him," said Mildred. She smiled drearily. "And he +wants nothing." +</P> + +<P> +She had nothing more to say. She had talked herself out about Stanley, +and her mind was now filled with thoughts that could not be spoken. As +she rose to go to bed, she looked appealingly at Cyrilla. Then, with a +sudden and shy rush she flung her arms round her and kissed her. "Thank +you—so much," she said. "You've done me a world of good. Saying it all +out loud before YOU has made me see. I know my own mind, now." +</P> + +<P> +She did not note the pathetic tenderness of Cyrilla's face as she said, +"Good night, Mildred." But she did note the use of her first name—and +her own right first name—for the first time since they had known each +other. She embraced and kissed her again. "Good night, Cyrilla," she +said gratefully. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +As she entered Jennings's studio the next day he looked at her; and +when Jennings looked, he saw—as must anyone who lives well by playing +upon human nature. He did not like her expression. She did not +habitually smile; her light-heartedness, her optimism, did not show +themselves in that inane way. But this seriousness of hers was of a +new kind, of the kind that bespeaks sobriety and saneness of soul. And +that kind of seriousness—the deep, inward gravity of a person whose +days of trifling with themselves and with the facts of life, and of +being trifled with, are over—would have impressed Jennings equally had +she come in laughing, had her every word been a jest. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I didn't come for a lesson—at least not the usual kind," said she. +</P> + +<P> +He was not one to yield without a struggle. Also he wished to feel his +way to the meaning of this new mood. He put her music on the rack. +"We'll begin where we—" +</P> + +<P> +"This half-hour of your time is mine, is it not?" said she quietly. +"Let's not waste any of it. Yesterday you told me that I could not +hope to make a career because my voice is unreliable. Why is it +unreliable?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because you have a delicate throat," replied he, yielding at once +where he instinctively knew he could not win. +</P> + +<P> +"Then why can I sing so well sometimes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because your throat is in good condition some days—in perfect +condition." +</P> + +<P> +"It's the colds then—and the slight attacks of colds?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"If I did not catch colds—if I kept perfectly well—could I rely on my +voice?" +</P> + +<P> +"But that's impossible," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're not strong enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I haven't the physical strength for a career?" +</P> + +<P> +"That—and also you are lacking in muscular development. But after +several years of lessons—" +</P> + +<P> +"If I developed my muscles—if I became strong—" +</P> + +<P> +"Most of the great singers come from the lower classes—from people who +do manual labor. They did manual labor in their youth. You girls of +the better class have to overcome that handicap." +</P> + +<P> +"But so many of the great singers are fat." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and under that fat you'll find great ropes of muscle—like a +blacksmith." +</P> + +<P> +"What Keith meant," she said. "I wonder— Why do I catch cold so +easily? Why do I almost always have a slight catch in the throat? Have +you noticed that I nearly always have to clear my throat just a little?" +</P> + +<P> +Her expression held him. He hesitated, tried to evade, gave it up. +"Until that passes, you can never hope to be a thoroughly reliable +singer," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"That is, I can't hope to make a career?" +</P> + +<P> +His silence was assent. +</P> + +<P> +"But I have the voice?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have the voice." +</P> + +<P> +"An unusual voice?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but not so unusual as might be thought. As a matter of fact, +there are thousands of fine voices. The trouble is in reliability. Only +a few are reliable." +</P> + +<P> +She nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I begin to understand what Mr. +Keith meant," she said. "I begin to see what I have to do, and +how—how impossible it is." +</P> + +<P> +"By no means," declared Jennings. "If I did not think otherwise, I'd +not be giving my time to you." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him gravely. His eyes shifted, then returned defiantly, +aggressively. She said: +</P> + +<P> +"You can't help me to what I want. So this is my last lesson—for the +present. I may come back some day—when I am ready for what you have +to give." +</P> + +<P> +"You are going to give up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no—oh, dear me, no," replied she. "I realize that you're +laughing in your sleeve as I say so, because you think I'll never get +anywhere. But you—and Mr. Keith—may be mistaken." She drew from her +muff a piece of music—the "Batti Batti," from "Don Giovanni." "If you +please," said she, "we'll spend the rest of my time in going over this. +I want to be able to sing it as well as possible." +</P> + +<P> +He looked searchingly at her. "If you wish," said he. "But I doubt if +you'll be able to sing at all." +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary, my cold's entirely gone," replied she. "I had an +exciting evening, I doctored myself before I went to bed, and three or +four times in the night. I found, this morning, that I could sing." +</P> + +<P> +And it was so. Never had she sung better. "Like a true artist!" he +declared with an enthusiasm that had a foundation of sincerity. "You +know, Miss Stevens, you came very near to having that rarest of all +gifts—a naturally placed voice. If you hadn't had singing teachers as +a girl to make you self-conscious and to teach you wrong, you'd have +been a wonder." +</P> + +<P> +"I may get it back," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"That never happens," replied he. "But I can almost do it." +</P> + +<P> +He coached her for half an hour straight ahead, sending the next pupil +into the adjoining room—an unprecedented transgression of routine. He +showed her for the first time what a teacher he could be, when he +wished. There was an astonishing difference between her first singing +of the song and her sixth and last—for they went through it carefully +five times. She thanked him and then put out her hand, saying: +</P> + +<P> +"This is a long good-by." +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow," replied he, ignoring her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"No. My money is all gone. Besides, I have no time for amateur +trifling." +</P> + +<P> +"Your lessons are paid for until the end of the month. This is only +the nineteenth." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you are so much in." Again she put out her hand. +</P> + +<P> +He took it. "You owe me an explanation." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled mockingly. "As a friend of mine says, don't ask questions +to which you already know the answer." +</P> + +<P> +And she departed, the smile still on her charming face, but the new +seriousness beneath it. As she had anticipated, she found Stanley +Baird waiting for her in the drawing-room of the apartment. Being by +habit much interested in his own emotions and not at all in the +emotions of others, he saw only the healthful radiance the sharp +October air had put into her cheeks and eyes. Certainly, to look at +Mildred Gower was to get no impression of lack of health and strength. +Her glance wavered a little at sight of him, then the expression of +firmness came back. +</P> + +<P> +"You look like that picture you gave me a long time ago," said he. "Do +you remember it?" +</P> + +<P> +She did not. +</P> + +<P> +"It has a—different expression," he went on. "I don't think I'd have +noticed it but for Keith. I happened to show it to him one day, and he +stared at it in that way he has—you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know," said Mildred. She was seeing those uncanny, brilliant, +penetrating eyes, in such startling contrast to the calm, lifeless +coloring and classic chiseling of features. +</P> + +<P> +"And after a while he said, 'So, THAT'S Miss Stevens!' And I asked him +what he meant, and he took one of your later photos and put the two +side by side. To my notion the later was a lot the more attractive, for +the face was rounder and softer and didn't have a certain kind +of—well, hardness, as if you had a will and could ride rough shod. Not +that you look so frightfully unattractive." +</P> + +<P> +"I remember the picture," interrupted Mildred. "It was taken when I +was twenty—just after an illness." +</P> + +<P> +"The face WAS thin," said Stanley. "Keith called it a 'give away.'" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to see it," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try to find it. But I'm afraid I can't. I haven't seen it since +I showed it to Keith, and when I hunted for it the other day, it didn't +turn up. I've changed valets several times in the last six months—" +</P> + +<P> +But Mildred had ceased listening. Keith had seen the picture, had +called it a "give away," had been interested in it—and the picture had +disappeared. She laughed at her own folly, yet she was glad Stanley +had given her this chance to make up a silly day-dream. She waited +until he had exhausted himself on the subject of valets, their +drunkenness, their thievish habits, their incompetence, then she said: +</P> + +<P> +"I took my last lesson from Jennings to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter? Do you want to change? You didn't say anything +about it? Isn't he good?" +</P> + +<P> +"Good enough. But I've discovered that my voice isn't reliable, and +unless one has a reliable voice there's no chance for a grand-opera +career—or for comic opera, either." +</P> + +<P> +Stanley was straightway all agitation and protest. "Who put that notion +in your head? There's nothing in it, Mildred. Jennings is crazy about +your voice, and he knows." +</P> + +<P> +"Jennings is after the money," replied Mildred. "What I'm saying is the +truth. Stanley, our beautiful dream of a career has winked out." +</P> + +<P> +His expression was most revealing. +</P> + +<P> +"And," she went on, "I'm not going to take any more of your money—and, +of course, I'll pay back what I've borrowed when I can"—she +smiled—"which may not be very soon." +</P> + +<P> +"What's all this about, anyhow?" demanded he. "I don't see any sign of +it in your face. You wouldn't take it so coolly if it were so." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand why I'm not wringing my hands and weeping," replied +she. "Every few minutes I tell myself that I ought to be. But I stay +quite calm. I suppose I'm—sort of stupefied." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you really mean that you've given up?" cried he. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no use to waste the money, Stanley. I've got the voice, and +that's what deceived us all. But there's nothing BEHIND the voice. +With a great singer the greatness is in what's behind the voice, not in +the voice itself." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe a word of it," cried he violently. "You've been +discouraged by a little cold. Everybody has colds. Why, in this +climate the colds are always getting the Metropolitan singers down." +</P> + +<P> +"But they've got strong throats, and my throat's delicate." +</P> + +<P> +"You must go to a better climate. You ought to be abroad, anyhow. That +was part of my plan—for us to go abroad—" He stopped in confusion, +reddened, went bravely on—"and you to study there and make your debut." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred shook her head. "That's all over," said she. "I've got to +change my plans entirely." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a little depressed, that's all. For a minute you almost +convinced me. What a turn you did give me! I forgot how your voice +sounded the last time I heard it. No, you'd not be so calm, if you +didn't know everything was all right." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes lit up with sly humor. "Perhaps I'm calm because I feel that +my future's secure as your wife. What more could a woman ask?" +</P> + +<P> +He forced an uncomfortable laugh. "Of course—of course," he said with +a painful effort to be easy and jocose. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew you'd marry me, even if I couldn't sing a note. I knew your +belief in my career had nothing to do with it." +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated, blurted out the truth. "Speaking seriously, that isn't +quite so," said he. "I've got my heart set on your making a great +tear—and I know you'll do it." +</P> + +<P> +"And if you knew I wouldn't, you'd not want to marry me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't say that," protested he. "How can I say how I'd feel if you +were different?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. "That's sensible, and it's candid," she said. She laid +her hand impulsively on his arm. "I DO like you, Stanley. You have +got such a lot of good qualities. Don't worry. I'm not going to +insist on your marrying me." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't have to do that, Mildred," said he. "I'm staring, raving +crazy about you, though I'm a damn fool to let you know it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is foolish," said she. "If you'd kept me worrying— Still, I +guess not. But it doesn't matter. You can protest and urge all you +please, quite safely. I'm not going to marry you. Now let's talk +business." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's talk marriage," said he. "I want this thing settled. You know +you intend to marry me, Mildred. Why not say so? Why keep me gasping +on the hook?" +</P> + +<P> +They heard the front door open, and the rustling of skirts down the +hall. Mildred called: +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Brindley! Cyrilla!" +</P> + +<P> +An instant and Cyrilla appeared in the doorway. When she and Baird had +shaken hands, Mildred said: +</P> + +<P> +"Cyrilla, I want you to tell the exact, honest truth. Is there any hope +for a woman with a delicate throat to make a grand-opera career?" +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla paled, looked pleadingly at Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him," commanded Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Very little," said Mrs. Brindley. "But—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't try to soften it," interrupted Mildred. "The truth, the plain +truth." +</P> + +<P> +"You've no right to draw me into this," cried Cyrilla indignantly, and +she started to leave the room. +</P> + +<P> +"I want him to know," said Mildred. "And he wants to know." +</P> + +<P> +"I refuse to be drawn into it," Cyrilla said, and disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +But Mildred saw that Stanley had been shaken. She proceeded to explain +to him at length what a singer's career meant—the hardships, the +drafts on health and strength, the absolute necessity of being +reliable, of singing true, of not disappointing audiences—what a +delicate throat meant—how delicate her throat was—how deficient she +was in the kind of physical strength needed—muscular power with +endurance back of it. When she finished he understood. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd always thought of it as an art," he said ruefully. "Why, it's +mostly health and muscles and things that have nothing to do with +music." He was dazed and offended by this uncovering of the mechanism +of the art—by the discovery of the coarse and painful toil, the +grossly physical basis, of what had seemed to him all idealism. He had +been full of the delusions of spontaneity and inspiration, like all +laymen, and all artists, too, except those of the higher ranks—those +who have fought their way up to the heights and, so, have learned that +one does not achieve them by being caught up to them gloriously in a +fiery cloud, but by doggedly and dirtily and sweatily toiling over +every inch of the cruel climb. +</P> + +<P> +He sat silent when she had finished. She waited, then said: +</P> + +<P> +"Now, you see. I release you, and I'll take no more money to waste." +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her with dumb misery that smote her heart. Then his +expression changed—to the shining, hungry eyes, the swollen veins, the +reddened countenance, the watering lips of desire. He seized her in +his arms, and in a voice trembling with passion, he cried: "You must +marry me, anyhow! I've GOT to have you, Mildred." +</P> + +<P> +If she had loved him, his expression, his impassioned voice would have +thrilled her. But she did not love him. It took all her liking for +him, and the memory of all she owed him—that unpaid debt!—to enable +her to push him away gently and to say without any show of the +repulsion she felt: +</P> + +<P> +"Stanley, you mustn't do that. And it's useless to talk of marriage. +You're generous, so you are taking pity on me. But believe me, I'll +get along somehow." +</P> + +<P> +"Pity? I tell you I love you," he cried, catching desperately at her +hands and holding them in a grip she could not break. "You've no right +to treat me like this." +</P> + +<P> +It was one of those veiled and stealthy reminders of obligation +habitually indulged in by delicate people seeking repayment of the +debt, but shunning the coarseness of direct demand. Mildred saw her +opportunity. Said she quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you want me to give myself to you in payment, or part +payment, for the money you've loaned me?" +</P> + +<P> +He released her hands and sprang up. He had meant just that, but he +had not had the courage, or the meanness, or both, to admit boldly his +own secret wish. She had calculated on this—had calculated well. +"Mildred!" he cried in a shocked voice. "YOU so lacking in delicacy as +to say such a thing!" +</P> + +<P> +"If you didn't mean that, Stanley, what DID you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was appealing to our friendship—our—our love for each other." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you should have waited until I was free." +</P> + +<P> +"Good God!" he cried, "don't you see that's hopeless? Mildred, be +sensible—be merciful." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall never marry a man when he could justly suspect I did it to +live off him." +</P> + +<P> +"What an idea! It's a man's place to support a woman!" +</P> + +<P> +"I was speaking only of myself. <I>I</I> can't do it. And it's absurd for +you and me to be talking about love and marriage when anyone can see +I'd be marrying you only because I was afraid to face poverty and a +struggle." +</P> + +<P> +Her manner calmed him somewhat. "Of course it's obvious that you've +got to have money," said he, "and that the only way you can get it is +by marriage. But there's something else, too, and in my opinion it's +the principal thing—we care for each other. Why not be sensible, +Mildred? Why not thank God that as long as you have to marry, you can +marry someone you care for." +</P> + +<P> +"Could you feel that I cared for you, if I married you now?" inquired +she. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not? I'm not so entirely lacking in self-esteem. I feel that I +must count for something." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred sat silently wondering at this phenomenon so astounding, yet a +commonplace of masculine egotism. She had no conception of this vanity +which causes the man, at whom the street woman smiles, to feel +flattered, though he knows full well what she is and her dire +necessity. She could not doubt that he was speaking the truth, yet she +could not believe that conceit could so befog common sense in a man +who, for all his slowness and shallowness, was more than ordinarily +shrewd. +</P> + +<P> +"Even if I thought I loved you," said she, "I couldn't be sure in these +circumstances that I wasn't after your money." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't worry about that," replied he. "I understand you better than +you understand yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's stop talking about it," said she impatiently. "I want to explain +to you the business side of this." She took her purse from the table. +"Here are the papers." She handed him a check and a note. "I made +them out at the bank this morning. The note is for what I owe you—and +draws interest at four per cent. The check is for all the money I have +left except about four hundred dollars. I've some bills I must pay, +and also I didn't dare quite strip myself. The note may not be worth +the paper it's written on, but I hope—" +</P> + +<P> +Before she could prevent him he took the two papers, and, holding them +out of her reach, tore them to bits. +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes gleamed angrily. "I see you despise me—as much as I've +invited. But, I'll make them out again and mail them to you." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a silly child," said he gruffly. "We're going to be married." +</P> + +<P> +She eyed him with amused exasperation. "It's too absurd!" she cried. +"And if I yielded, you'd be trying to get out of it." She hesitated +whether to tell him frankly just how she felt toward him. She decided +against it, not through consideration—for a woman feels no +consideration for a man she does not love, if he has irritated her—but +through being ashamed to say harsh things to one whom she owed so much. +"It's useless for you to pretend and to plead," she went on. "I shall +not yield. You'll have to wait until I'm free and independent." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll marry me then?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied she, laughing. "But I'll be able to refuse you in such a +way that you'll believe." +</P> + +<P> +"But you've got to marry, Mildred, and right away." A suspicion entered +his mind and instantly gleamed in his eyes. "Are you in love with +someone else?" +</P> + +<P> +She smiled mockingly. +</P> + +<P> +"It looks as if you were," he went on, arguing with himself aloud. "For +if you weren't you'd marry me, even though you didn't like me. A woman +in your fix simply couldn't keep herself from it. Is THAT why you're +so calm?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not marrying anybody," said she. +</P> + +<P> +"Then what are you going to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll see." +</P> + +<P> +Once more the passionate side of his nature showed—not merely +grotesque, unattractive, repellent, as in the mood of longing, but +hideous. Among men Stanley Baird passed for a man of rather arrogant +and violent temper, but that man who had seen him at his most violent +would have been amazed. The temper men show toward men bears small +resemblance either in kind or in degree to the temper of jealous +passion they show toward the woman who baffles them or arouses their +suspicions; and no man would recognize his most intimate man friend—or +himself—when in that paroxysm. Mildred had seen this mood, gleaming at +her through a mask, in General Siddall. It had made her sick with fear +and repulsion. In Stanley Baird it first astounded her, then filled +her with hate. +</P> + +<P> +"Stanley!" she gasped. +</P> + +<P> +"WHO is it?" he ground out between his teeth. And he seized her +savagely. +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't release me at once," said she calmly, "I shall call Mrs. +Brindley, and have you put out of the house. No matter if I do owe you +all that money." +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" he cried, releasing her. "You're very clever, aren't +you?—turning that against me and making me powerless." +</P> + +<P> +"But for that, would you dare presume to touch me, to question me?" +said she. +</P> + +<P> +He lowered his gaze, stood panting with the effort to subdue his fury. +</P> + +<P> +She went back to her own room. A few hours later came a letter of +apology from him. She answered it friendlily, said she would let him +know when she could see him again, and enclosed a note and a check. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VIII +</H3> + +<P> +MILDRED went to bed that night proud of her strength of character. Were +there many women—was there any other woman she knew or knew about—who +in her desperate circumstances would have done what she had done? She +could have married a man who would have given her wealth and the very +best social position. She had refused him. She could have continued +to "borrow" from him the wherewithal to keep her in luxurious comfort +while she looked about at her ease for a position that meant +independence. She had thrust the temptation from her. All this from +purely high-minded motives; for other motive there could be none. She +went to sleep, confident that on the morrow she would continue to tread +the path of self-respect with unfaltering feet. But when morning came +her throat was once more slightly off—enough to make it wise to +postpone the excursion in search of a trial for musical comedy. The +excitement or the reaction from excitement—it must be the one or the +other—had resulted in weakness showing itself, naturally, at her +weakest point—that delicate throat. When life was calm and orderly, +and her mind was at peace, the trouble would pass, and she could get a +position of some kind. Not the career she had dreamed; that was +impossible. But she had voice enough for a little part, where a living +could be made; and perhaps she would presently fathom the secret of the +cause of her delicate throat and would be able to go far—possibly as +far as she had dreamed. +</P> + +<P> +The delay of a few days was irritating. She would have preferred to +push straight on, while her courage was taut. Still, the delay had one +advantage—she could prepare the details of her plan. So, instead of +going to the office of the theatrical manager—Crossley, the most +successful producer of light, musical pieces of all kinds—she went to +call on several of the girls she knew who were more or less in touch +with matters theatrical. And she found out just how to proceed toward +accomplishing a purpose which ought not to be difficult for one with +such a voice as hers and with physical charms peculiarly fitted for +stage exhibition. +</P> + +<P> +Not until Saturday was her voice at its best again. She, naturally, +decided not to go to the theatrical office on Monday, but to wait until +she had seen and talked with Keith. One more day did not matter, and +Keith might be stimulating, might even have some useful suggestions to +offer. She received him with a manner that was a version, and a most +charming version, of his own tranquil indifference. But his first +remark threw her into a panic. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"I've only a few minutes. No, thanks, I'll not sit." +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't have bothered to come," said she coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"I always keep my engagements. Baird tells me you have given up the +arrangement you had with him. You'll probably be moving from here, as +you'll not have the money to stay on. Send me your new address, +please." He took a paper from his pocket and gave it to her. "You +will find this useful—if you are in earnest," said he. "Good-by, and +good luck. I'll hope to see you in a few weeks." +</P> + +<P> +Before she had recovered herself in the least, she was standing there +alone, the paper in her hand, her stupefied gaze upon the door through +which he had disappeared. All his movements and his speech had been of +his customary, his invariable, deliberateness; but she had the +impression of whirling and rushing haste. With a long gasping sigh she +fell to trembling all over. She sped to her room, got its door safely +closed just in time. Down she sank upon the bed, to give way to an +attack of hysterics. +</P> + +<P> +We are constantly finding ourselves putting forth the lovely flowers +and fruit of the virtues whereof the heroes and heroines of romance are +so prolific. Usually nothing occurs to disillusion us about ourselves. +But now and then fate, in unusually brutal ironic mood, forces us to +see the real reason why we did this or that virtuous, self-sacrificing +action, or blossomed forth in this or that nobility of character. +Mildred was destined now to suffer one of these savage blows of +disillusionment about self that thrust us down from the exalted moral +heights where we have been preening into humble kinship with the weak +and frail human race. She saw why she had refused Stanley, why she had +stopped "borrowing," why she had put off going to the theatrical +managers, why she had delayed moving into quarters within her +diminished and rapidly diminishing means. She had been counting on +Donald Keith. She had convinced herself that he loved her even as she +loved him. He would fling away his cold reserve, would burst into +raptures over her virtue and her courage, would ask her to marry him. +Or, if he should put off that, he would at least undertake the +responsibility of getting her started in her career. Well! He had +come; he had shown that Stanley had told him all or practically all; +and he had gone, without asking a sympathetic question or making an +encouraging remark. As indifferent as he seemed. Burnt out, cold, +heartless. She had leaned upon him; he had slipped away, leaving her to +fall painfully, and ludicrously, to the ground. She had been boasting +to herself that she was strong, that she would of her own strength +establish herself in independence. She had not dreamed that she would +be called upon to "make good." She raved against Keith, against +herself, against fate. And above the chaos and the wreck within her, +round and round, hither and yon, flapped and shied the black thought, +"What SHALL I do?" +</P> + +<P> +When she sat up and dried her eyes, she chanced to see the paper Keith +had left; with wonder at her having forgotten it and with a throb of +hope she opened and began to read his small, difficult writing: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +A career means self-denial. Not occasional, intermittent, but steady, +constant, daily, hourly—a purpose that never relaxes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +A career as a singer means not only the routine, the patient tedious +work, the cutting out of time-wasting people and time-wasting pleasures +that are necessary to any and all careers. It means in addition—for +such a person—sacrifices far beyond a character so undisciplined and +so corrupted by conventional life as is yours. The basis of a singing +career is health and strength. You must have great physical strength +to be able to sing operas. You must have perfect health. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Diet and exercise. A routine life, its routine rigidly adhered to, day +in and day out, month after month, year after year. Small and +uninteresting and monotonous food, nothing to drink, and, of course, no +cigarettes. Such is the secret of a reliable voice for you who have a +"delicate throat"—which is the silly, shallow, and misleading way of +saying a delicate digestion, for sore throat always means indigestion, +never means anything else. To sing, the instrument, the absolutely +material machine, must be in perfect order. The rest is easy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Some singers can commit indiscretions of diet and of lack of exercise. +But not you, because you lack this natural strength. Do not be +deceived and misled by their example. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Exercise. You must make your body strong, powerful. You have not the +muscles by nature. You must acquire them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +The following routine of diet and exercise made one of the great +singers, and kept her great for a quarter of a century. If you adopt +it, without variation, you can make a career. If you do not, you need +not hope for anything but failure and humiliation. Within my knowledge +sixty-eight young men and young women have started in on this system. +Not one had the character to persist to success. This may suggest why, +except two who are at the very top, all of the great singers are men +and women whom nature has made powerful of body and of digestion—so +powerful that their indiscretions only occasionally make them +unreliable. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +There Mildred stopped and flung the paper aside. She did not care even +to glance at the exercises prescribed or at the diet and the routine of +daily work. How dull and uninspired! How grossly material! Stomach! +Chewing! Exercising machines! Plodding dreary miles daily, rain or +shine! What could such things have to do with the free and glorious +career of an inspired singer? Keith was laughing at her as he hastened +away, abandoning her to her fate. +</P> + +<P> +She examined herself in the glass to make sure that the ravages of her +attack of rage and grief and despair could be effaced within a few +hours, then she wrote a note—formal yet friendly—to Stanley Baird, +informing him that she would receive him that evening. He came while +Cyrilla and Mildred were having their after, dinner coffee and +cigarettes. He was a man who took great pains with his clothes, and +got them where pains was not in vain. That evening he had arrayed +himself with unusual care, and the result was a fine, manly figure of +the well-bred New-Yorker type. Certainly Stanley had ground for his +feeling that he deserved and got liking for himself. The three sat in +the library for perhaps half an hour, then Mrs. Brindley rose to leave +the other two alone. Mildred urged her to stay—Mildred who had been +impatient of her presence when Stanley was announced. Urged her to +stay in such a tone that Cyrilla could not persist, but had to sit down +again. As the three talked on and on, Mildred continued to picture life +with Stanley—continued the vivid picturing she had begun within ten +minutes of Stanley's entering, the picturing that had caused her to +insist on Cyrilla's remaining as chaperon. A young girl can do no such +picturing as Mildred could not avoid doing. To the young girl married +life, its tete-a-tetes, its intimacies, its routine, are all a blank. +Any attempt she makes to fill in details goes far astray. But Mildred, +with Stanley there before her, could see her life as it would be. +</P> + +<P> +Toward half-past ten, Stanley said, shame-faced and pleading, "Mildred, +I should like to see you alone for just a minute before I go." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred said to Cyrilla: "No, don't move. We'll go into the +drawing-room." +</P> + +<P> +He followed her there, and when the sound of Mrs. Brindley's step in +the hall had died away, he began: "I think I understand you a little +now. I shan't insult you by returning or destroying that note or the +check. I accept your decision—unless you wish to change it." He +looked at her with eager appeal. His heart was trembling, was sick +with apprehension, with the sense of weakness, of danger and gloom +ahead. "Why shouldn't I help you, at least, Mildred?" he urged. +</P> + +<P> +Whence the courage came she knew not, but through her choking throat +she forced a positive, "No." +</P> + +<P> +"And," he went on, "I meant what I said. I love you. I'm wretched +without you. I want you to marry me, career or no career." +</P> + +<P> +Her fears were clamorous, but she forced herself to say, "I can't +change." +</P> + +<P> +"I hoped—a little—that you sent me the note to-day because you— You +didn't?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mildred. "I want us to be friends. But you must keep away." +</P> + +<P> +He bent his head. "Then I'll go 'way off somewhere. I can't bear being +here in New York and not seeing you. And when I've been away a year or +so, perhaps I'll get control of myself again." +</P> + +<P> +Going away!—to try to forget!—no doubt, to succeed in forgetting! +Then this was her last chance. +</P> + +<P> +"Must I go, Mildred? Won't you relent?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't love you—and I never can." She was deathly white and +trembling. She lifted her eyes to begin a retreat, for her courage had +quite oozed away. He was looking at her, his face distorted with a +mingling of the passion of desire and the passion of jealousy. She +shrank, caught at the back of a chair for support, felt suddenly strong +and defiant. To be this man's plaything, to submit to his moods, to +his jealousies, to his caprices—to be his to fumble and caress, his to +have the fury of his passion wreak itself upon her with no response +from her but only repulsion and loathing—and the long dreary hours and +days and years alone with him, listening to his commonplaces, often so +tedious, forced to try to amuse him and to keep him in a good humor +because he held the purse-strings— +</P> + +<P> +"Please go," she said. +</P> + +<P> +She was still very young, still had years and years of youth unspent. +Surely she could find something better than this. Surely life must +mean something more than this. At least it was worth a trial. +</P> + +<P> +He held out his hand. She gave him her reluctant and cold fingers. He +said something, what she did not hear, for the blood was roaring in her +ears as the room swam round. He was gone, and the next thing she +definitely knew she was at the threshold of Cyrilla's room. Cyrilla +gave her a tenderly sympathetic glance. She saw herself in a mirror and +knew why; her face was gray and drawn, and her eyes lay dully deep +within dark circles. +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't do it," she said. "I sent for him to marry him. But I +couldn't." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad," said Cyrilla. "Marriage without love is a last resort. And +you're a long way from last resorts." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't think I'm crazy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think you've won a great victory." +</P> + +<P> +"Victory!" And Mildred laughed dolefully. "If this is victory, I hope +I'll never know defeat." +</P> + +<P> +Why did Mildred refuse Stanley Baird and cut herself off from him, even +after her hopes of Donald Keith died through lack of food, real or +imaginary? It would be gratifying to offer this as a case of pure +courage and high principle, untainted of the motives which govern +ordinary human actions. But unluckily this is a biography, not a +romance, a history and not a eulogy. And Mildred Gower is a human +being, even as you and I, not a galvanized embodiment of superhuman +virtues such as you and I are pretending to be, perhaps even to +ourselves. The explanation of her strange aberration, which will be +doubted or secretly condemned by every woman of the sheltered classes +who loves her dependence and seeks to disguise it as something sweet +and fine and "womanly"—the explanation of her almost insane act of +renunciation of all that a lady holds most dear is simple enough, +puzzling though she found it. Ignorance, which accounts for so much of +the squalid failure in human life, accounts also for much if not all +the most splendid audacious achievement. Very often—very, very +often—the impossibilities are achieved by those who in their ignorance +advance not boldly but unconcernedly where a wiser man or woman would +shrink and retreat. Fortunate indeed is he or she who in a crisis is +by chance equipped with neither too little nor too much knowledge—who +knows enough to enable him to advance, but does not know enough to +appreciate how perilous, how foolhardy, how harsh and cruel, advance +will be. Mildred was in this instance thus fortunate—unfortunate, she +was presently to think it. She knew enough about loveless marriage to +shrink from it. She did not know enough about what poverty, +moneylessness, and friendlessness mean in the actuality to a woman bred +as she had been. She imagined she knew—and sick at heart her notion +of poverty made her. But imagination was only faintest foreshadowing +of actuality. If she had known, she would have yielded to the +temptation that was almost too strong for her. And if she had +yielded—what then? Not such a repulsive lot, as our comfortable +classes look at it. Plenty to eat and drink and to wear, servants and +equipages and fine houses and fine society, the envy of her gaping +kind—a comfortable life for the body, a comfortable death for mind and +heart, slowly and softly suffocated in luxury. Partly through +knowledge that strongly affected her character, which was on the whole +aspiring and sensitive beyond the average to the true and the +beautiful, partly through ignorance that veiled the future from her +none too valorous and hardy heart, she did not yield to the temptation. +And thus, instead of dying, she began to live, for what is life but +growth in experience, in strength and knowledge and capability? +</P> + +<P> +A baby enters the world screaming with pain. The first sensations of +living are agonizing. It is the same with the birth of souls, for a +soul is not really born until that day when it is offered choice +between life and death and chooses life. In Mildred Gower's case this +birth was an agony. She awoke the following morning with a dull +headache, a fainting heart, and a throat so sore that she felt a +painful catch whenever she tried to swallow. She used the spray; she +massaged her throat and neck vigorously. In vain; it was folly to +think of going where she might have to risk a trial of her voice that +day. The sun was brilliant and the air sharp without being humid or +too cold. She dressed, breakfasted, went out for a walk. The throat +grew worse, then better. She returned for luncheon, and afterward +began to think of packing, not that she had chosen a new place, but +because she wished to have some sort of a sense of action. But her +unhappiness drove her out again—to the park where the air was fine and +she could walk in comparative solitude. +</P> + +<P> +"What a silly fool I am!" thought she. "Why did I do this in the +worst, the hardest possible way? I should have held on to Stanley +until I had a position. No, I'm such a poor creature that I could never +have done it in that way. I'd simply have kept on bluffing, fooling +myself, putting off and putting of. I had to jump into the water with +nobody near to help me, or I'd never have begun to learn to swim. I +haven't begun yet. I may never learn to swim. I may drown. Yes, I +probably shall drown." +</P> + +<P> +She wandered aimlessly on—around the upper reservoir where the strong +breeze freshened her through and through and made her feel less forlorn +in spite of her chicken heart. She crossed the bridge at the lower end +and came down toward the East Drive. A taxicab rushed by, not so fast, +however, that she failed to recognize Donald Keith and Cyrilla +Brindley. They were talking so earnestly—Keith was talking, for a +wonder, and Mrs. Brindley listening—that they did not see her. She +went straight home. But as she was afoot, the journey took about half +an hour. Cyrilla was already there, in a negligee, looking as if she +had not been out of the little library for hours. She was writing a +letter. Mildred strolled in and seated herself. Cyrilla went on +writing. Mildred watched her impatiently. She wished to talk, to be +talked to, to be consoled and cheered, to hear about Donald Keith. +Would that letter never be finished? At last it was, and Cyrilla took +a book and settled herself to reading. There was a vague something in +her manner—a change, an attitude toward Mildred—that disturbed +Mildred. Or, was that notion of a change merely the offspring of her +own somber mood? Seeing that Mrs. Brindley would not begin, she broke +the silence herself. Said she awkwardly: +</P> + +<P> +"I've decided to move. In fact, I've got to move." +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla laid down the book and regarded her tranquilly. "Of course," +said she. "I've already begun to arrange for someone else." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred choked, and the tears welled into her eyes. She had not been +mistaken; Cyrilla had changed toward her. Now that she had no +prospects for a brilliant career, now that her money was gone, Cyrilla +had begun to—to be human. No doubt, in the course of that drive, +Cyrilla had discovered that Keith had no interest in her either. +Mildred beat down her emotion and was soon able to say in a voice as +unconcerned as Cyrilla's: +</P> + +<P> +"I'll find a place to-morrow or next day, and go at once." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be sorry to lose you," said Mrs. Brindley, "but I agree with you +that you can't get settled any too soon." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't happen to know of any cheap, good place?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"If it's cheap, I don't think it's likely to be good—in New York," +replied Cyrilla. "You'll have to put up with inconveniences—and +worse. I'd offer to help you find a place, but I think everything +self-reliant one does helps one to learn. Don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed," assented Mildred. The thing was self-evidently true; +still she began to hate Cyrilla. This cold-hearted New York! How she +would grind down her heel when she got it on the neck of New York! +Friendship, love, helpfulness—what did New York and New-Yorkers know +of these things? "Or Hanging Rock, either," reflected she. What a +cold and lonely world! +</P> + +<P> +"Have you been to see about a position?" inquired Cyrilla. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was thrown into confusion. "I can't go—for a—day or so," she +stammered. "The changeable weather has rather upset my throat. Nothing +serious, but I want to be at my best." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," said Mrs. Brindley. Her direct gaze made Mildred +uncomfortable. She went on: "You're sure it's the weather?" +</P> + +<P> +"What else could it be?" demanded Mildred with a latent resentment +whose interesting origin she did not pause to inquire into. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, salad, or sauces, or desserts, or cafe au lait in the morning, +or candy, or tea," said Cyrilla. "Or it might be cigarettes, or all +those things—and thin stockings and low shoes—mightn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +Never before had she known Cyrilla to say anything meddlesome or +cattish. Said Mildred with a faint sneer, "That sounds like Mr. +Keith's crankiness." +</P> + +<P> +"It is," replied Cyrilla. "I used to think he was a crank on the +subject of singing and stomachs, and singing and ankles. But I've been +convinced, partly by him, mostly by what I've observed." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred maintained an icy silence. +</P> + +<P> +"I see you are resenting what I said," observed Cyrilla. +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all," said Mildred. "No doubt you meant well." +</P> + +<P> +"You will please remember that you asked me a question." +</P> + +<P> +So she had. But the discovery that she was clearly in the wrong, that +she had invited the disguised lecture, only aggravated her sense of +resentment against Mrs. Brindley. She spent the rest of the afternoon +in sorting and packing her belongings—and in crying. She came upon +the paper Donald Keith had left. She read it through carefully, +thoughtfully, read it to the last direction as to exercise with the +machine, the last arrangement for a daily routine of life, the last +suggestion as to diet. +</P> + +<P> +"Fortunately all that isn't necessary," said she to herself, when she +had finished. "If it were, I could never make a career. I'm not +stupid enough to be able to lead that kind of life. Why, I'd not care +to make a career, at that price. Slavery—plain slavery." +</P> + +<P> +When she went in to dinner, she saw instantly that Cyrilla too had been +crying. Cyrilla did not look old, anything but that, indeed was not +old and would not begin to be for many a year. Still, after +thirty-five or forty a woman cannot indulge a good cry without its +leaving serious traces that will show hours afterward. At sight of the +evidences of Cyrilla's grief Mildred straightway forgot her resentment. +There must have been some other cause for Cyrilla's peculiar conduct. +No matter what, since it was not hardness of heart. +</P> + +<P> +It was a sad, even a gloomy dinner. But the two women were once more +in perfect sympathy. And afterward Mildred brought the Keith paper and +asked Cyrilla's opinion. Cyrilla read slowly and without comment. At +last she said: +</P> + +<P> +"He got this from his mother, Lucia Rivi. Have you read her life?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I've heard almost nothing about her, except that she was famous." +</P> + +<P> +"She was more than that," said Mrs. Brindley. "She was great, a great +personality. She was an almost sickly child and girl. Her first +attempts on the stage were humiliating failures. She had no health, no +endurance, nothing but a small voice of rare quality." Cyrilla held up +the paper. "This tells how she became one of the surest and most +powerful dramatic sopranos that ever lived." +</P> + +<P> +"She must have been a dull person to have been able to lead the kind of +life that's described there," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Only two kinds of persons could do it," replied Cyrilla—"a dull +person—a plodder—and a genius. Middling people—they're the kind that +fill the world, they're you and I, my dear—middling people have to +fuss with the trifles that must be sacrificed if one is to do anything +big. You call those trifles your freedom, but they're your slavery. +And by sacrificing them the Lucia Rivis buy their freedom." Cyrilla +looked at the paper with a heavy sigh. "Ah, I wish I had seen this +when I was your age. Now, it's too late." +</P> + +<P> +Said Mildred: "Would you seriously advise me to try that?" +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla came and sat beside her and put an arm around her. "Mildred," +she said, "I've never thrust advice on you. I only dare do it now +because you ask me, and because I love you. You must try it. It's +your one chance. If you do not, you will fail. You don't believe me?" +</P> + +<P> +In a tone that was admission, Mildred said: "I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"Keith has given you there the secret of a successful career. You'll +never read it in any book, or get it from any teacher, or from any +singer or manager or doctor. You must live like that, you must do +those things or you will fail even in musical comedy. You would fail +even as an actress, if you tried that, when you found out that the +singing was out of the question." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was impressed. Perhaps she would have been more impressed had +she not seen Keith and Mrs. Brindley in the taxi, Keith talking +earnestly and Mrs. Brindley listening as if to an oracle. Said she: +"Perhaps I'll adopt some of the suggestions." +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla shook her head. "It's a route to success. You must go the +whole route or not at all." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't forget that there have been other singers besides Rivi." +</P> + +<P> +"Not any that I recall who weren't naturally powerful in every way. And +how many of them break down? Mildred, please do put the silly nonsense +about nerves and temperament and inspiration and overwork and weather +and climate—put all that out of your head. Build your temple of a +career as high and graceful and delicate as you like, but build it on +the coarse, hard, solid rock, dear!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred tried to laugh lightly. "How Mr. Keith does hypnotize people!" +cried she. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Brindley's cheeks burned, and her eyes lowered in acute +embarrassment. "He has a way of being splendidly and sensibly right," +said she. "And the truth is wonderfully convincing—once one sees it." +She changed the subject, and it did not come up—or, perhaps, come OUT +again—before they went to bed. The next day Mildred began the +depressing, hopeless search for a place to live that would be clean, +comfortable, and cheap. Those three adjectives describe the ideal +lodging; but it will be noted that all these are relative. In fact, +none of the three means exactly the same thing to any two members of +the human family. Mildred's notion of clean—like her notion of +comfortable—on account of her bringing up implied a large element of +luxury. As for the word "cheap," it really meant nothing at all to +her. From one standpoint everything seemed cheap; from another, +everything seemed dear; that is, too dear for a young woman with less +than five hundred dollars in the world and no substantial prospect of +getting a single dollar more—unless by hook and crook, both of which +means she was resolved not to employ. +</P> + +<P> +Never having earned so much as a single penny, the idea of anyone's +giving her anything for what she might be able to do was disturbingly +vague and unreal. On the other hand, looking about her, she saw scores +of men and women, personally known to her to be dull of conversation, +and not well mannered or well dressed or well anything, who were making +livings without overwhelming difficulty. Why not Mildred Gower? In +this view the outlook was not discouraging. "I'll no doubt go through +some discomfort, getting myself placed. But somewhere and somehow I +shall be placed—and how I shall revenge myself on Donald Keith!" His +fascination for her had not been destroyed by his humiliating lack of +belief in her, nor by his cold-hearted desertion at just the critical +moment. But his conduct had given her the incentive of rage, of stung +vanity—or wounded pride, if you prefer. She would get him back; she +would force him to admit; she would win him, if she could—and that +ought not to be difficult when she should be successful. Having won +him, then— What then? Something superb in the way of revenge; she +would decide what, when the hour of triumph came. Meanwhile she must +search for lodgings. +</P> + +<P> +In her journeyings under the guidance of attractive advertisements and +"carefully selected" agents' lists, she found herself in front of her +first lodgings in New York—the house of Mrs. Belloc. She had often +thought of the New England school-teacher, arrived by such strange +paths at such a strange position in New York. She had started to call +on her many times, but each time had been turned aside; New York makes +it more than difficult to find time to do anything that does not have +to be done at a definite time and for a definite reason. She was worn +out with her futile trampings up and down streets, up and down stairs. +Up the stone steps she went and rang the bell. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, Mrs. Belloc was in, and would be glad to see her, if Miss Stevens +would wait in the drawing-room a few minutes. She had not seated +herself when down the stairs came the fresh, pleasantly countrified +voice of Mrs. Belloc, inviting her to ascend. As Mildred started up, +she saw at the head of the stairs the frank and cheerful face of the +lady herself. She was holding together at the neck a thin silk wrapper +whose lines strongly suggested that it was the only garment she had on. +</P> + +<P> +"Why should old friends stand on ceremony?" said Mrs. Belloc. "Come +right up. I've been taking a bath. My masseuse has just gone." Mrs. +Belloc enclosed her in a delightfully perfumed embrace, and they kissed +with enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"I AM glad to see you," said Mildred, feeling all at once a thrilling +sense of at-homeness. "I didn't realize how glad I'd be till I saw +you." +</P> + +<P> +"It'd be a pretty stiff sort that wouldn't feel at home with me," +observed Mrs. Belloc. "New York usually stiffens people up. It's had +the opposite effect on me. Though I must say, I have learned to stiffen +with people I don't like—and I'll have to admit that I like fewer and +fewer. People don't wear well, do they? What IS the matter with them? +Why can't they be natural and not make themselves into rubbishy, old +scrap-bags full of fakes and pretenses? You're looking at my hair." +</P> + +<P> +They were in Mrs. Belloc's comfortable sitting-room now, and she was +smoking a cigarette and regarding Mildred with an expression of delight +that was most flattering. Said Mildred: +</P> + +<P> +"Your hair does look well. It's thicker—isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Think so?" said Mrs. Belloc. "It ought to be, with all the time and +money I've spent on it. My, how New York does set a woman to repairing +and fixing up. Nothing artificial goes here. It mustn't be paint and +plumpers and pads, but the real teeth. Why, I've had four real teeth +set in as if they were rooted—and my hips toned down. You may +remember what heavy legs I had—piano-legs. Look at 'em now." Mrs. +Belloc drew the wrapper to her knee and exposed in a pale-blue silk +stocking a thin and comely calf. +</P> + +<P> +"You HAVE been busy!" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"That's only a little part. I started to tell you about the hair. It +was getting gray—not in a nice, pretty way, all over, but in spots and +streaks. Nothing else makes a woman look so ragged and dingy and old +as spotted, streaky gray hair. So I had the hair-woman touch it up. +She vows it won't make my face hard. That's the trouble with dyed or +touched hair, you know. But this is a new process." +</P> + +<P> +"It's certainly a success," said Mildred. And in fact it was, and +thanks to it and the other improvements Mrs. Belloc was an attractive +and even a pretty woman, years younger than when Mildred saw her. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I think I've improved," said Mrs. Belloc. "Nothing to scream +about—but worth while. That's what we're alive for—to improve—isn't +it? I've no patience with people who slide back, or don't get +on—people who get less and less as they grow older. The trouble with +them is they're vain, satisfied with themselves as they are, and lazy. +Most women are too lazy to live. They'll only fix up to catch a man." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had grown sober and thoughtful. +</P> + +<P> +"To catch a man," continued Mrs. Belloc. "And not much even for that. +I'll warrant YOU'RE getting on. Tell me about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me about yourself, first," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"WHY all this excitement about improving?" And she smiled significantly. +</P> + +<P> +"No, you'll have to guess again," said Mrs. Belloc. "Not a man. You +remember, I used to be crazy about gay life in New York—going out, and +men, theaters, and lobster-palaces—everything I didn't get in my home +town, everything the city means to the jays. Well, I've gotten over all +that. I'm improving, mind and body, just to keep myself interested in +life, to keep myself young and cheerful. I'm interested in myself, in +my house and in woman's suffrage. Not that the women are fit to vote. +They aren't, any more than the men. But what MAKES people? Why, +responsibility. That old scamp I married—he's dead. And I've got the +money, and everything's very comfortable with me. Just think, I didn't +have any luck till I was an old maid far gone. I'm not telling my age. +All my life it had rained bad luck—pitchforks, tines down. And why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, why?" said Mildred. She did not understand how it was, but Mrs. +Belloc seemed to be saying the exact things she needed to hear. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you why. Because I didn't work. Drudging along isn't work +any more than dawdling along. Work means purpose, means head. And my +luck began just as anybody's does—when I rose up and got busy. You +may say it wasn't very creditable, the way I began; but it was the best +<I>I</I> could do. I know it isn't good morals, but I'm willing to bet that +many a man has laid the foundations of a big fine career by doing +something that wasn't at all nice or right. He had to do it, to 'get +through.' If he hadn't done it, he'd never have 'got through.' Anyhow, +whether that's so or not, everyone's got to make a fight to break into +the part of the world where living's really worth living. But I needn't +tell YOU that. You're doing it." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not," replied Mildred. "I'm ashamed to say so, but I'm not. +I've been bluffing—and wasting time." +</P> + +<P> +"That's bad, that's bad," said Mrs. Belloc. "Especially, as you've got +it in you to get there. What's been the trouble? The wrong kind of +associations?" +</P> + +<P> +"Partly," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc, watching her interestedly, suddenly lighted up. "Why not +come back here to live?" said she. "Now, please don't refuse till I +explain. You remember what kind of people I had here?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred smiled. "Rather—unconventional?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's polite. Well, I've cleared 'em out. Not that I minded their +unconventionality; I liked it. It was so different from the +straight-jackets and the hypocrisy I'd been living among and hating. +But I soon found out that—well, Miss Stevens, the average human being +ought to be pretty conventional in his morals of a certain kind. If +he—or SHE—isn't, they begin to get unconventional in every way—about +paying their bills, for instance, and about drinking. I got sick and +tired of those people. So, I put 'em all out—made a sweep. And now +I've become quite as respectable as I care to be—or as is necessary. +The couples in the house are married, and they're nice people of good +families. It was Mrs. Dyckman—she's got the whole second floor front, +she and her husband and the daughter—it was Mrs. Dyckman who +interested me in the suffrage movement. You must hear her speak. And +the daughter does well at it, too—and keeps a fashionable +millinery-shop—and she's only twenty-four. Then there's Nora Blond." +</P> + +<P> +"The actress?" +</P> + +<P> +"The actress. She's the quietest, hardest-working person here. She's +got the whole first floor front. Nobody ever comes to see her, except +on Sunday afternoon. She leads the queerest life." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me about that," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know much about it," confessed Mrs. Belloc. "She's regular as +a clock—does everything on time, and at the same time. Two meals a +day—one of them a dry little breakfast she gets herself. Walks, +fencing, athletics, study." +</P> + +<P> +"What slavery!" +</P> + +<P> +"She's the happiest person I ever saw," retorted Mrs. Belloc. "Why, +she's got her work, her career. You don't look at it right, Miss +Stevens. You don't look happy. What's the matter? Isn't it because +you haven't been working right—because you've been doing these alleged +pleasant things that leave a bad taste in your mouth and weaken you? +I'll bet, if you had been working hard, you'd not be unhappy now. +Better come here to live." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you let me tell you about myself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go right ahead. May I ask questions, where I want to know more? I do +hate to get things halfway." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred freely gave her leave, then proceeded to tell her whole story, +omitting nothing that was essential to an understanding. In conclusion +she said: "I'd like to come. You see, I've very little money. When +it's gone, I'll go, unless I make some more." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you must come. That Mrs. Brindley seems to be a nice woman, a +mighty nice woman. But her house, and the people that come there—they +aren't the right sort for a girl that's making a start. I can give you +a room on the top floor—in front. The young lady next to you is a +clerk in an architect's office, and a fine girl she is." +</P> + +<P> +"How much does she pay?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Your room won't be quite as nice as hers. I put you at the top +because you can sing up there, part of the mornings and part of the +afternoons, without disturbing anybody. I don't have a general table +any more. You can take your meals in your room or at the restaurant in +the apartment-house next door. It's good and quite reasonable." +</P> + +<P> +"How much for the room?" persisted Mildred, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"Seven dollars a week, and the use of the bath." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred finally wrung from her that the right price was twelve dollars +a week, and insisted on paying that—"until my money gets low." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't worry about that," said Mrs. Belloc. +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't weaken me," cried Mildred. "You mustn't encourage me to +be a coward and to shirk. That's why I'm coming here." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," said Mrs. Belloc. "I've got the New England streak of +hardness in me, though I believe that masseuse has almost ironed it out +of my face. Do I look like a New England schoolmarm?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred could truthfully answer that there wasn't a trace of it. +</P> + +<P> +When she returned to Mrs. Brindley's—already she had ceased to think +of it as home—she announced her new plans. Mrs. Brindley said +nothing, but Mildred understood the quick tightening of the lines round +her mouth and the shifting of the eyes. She hastened to explain that +Mrs. Belloc was no longer the sort of woman or the sort of landlady she +had been a few months before. Mrs. Brindley of the older New York, +could neither understand nor believe in the people of the new and real +New York whom it molds for better or for worse so rapidly—and even +remolds again and again. But Mildred was able to satisfy her that the +house was at least not suspicious. +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't matter where you're going," said Mrs. Brindley. "It's that +you are going. I can't bear giving you up. I had hoped that our lives +would flow on and on together." She was with difficulty controlling +her emotions. "It's these separations that age one, that take one's +life. I almost wish I hadn't met you." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was moved, herself. Not so much as Mrs. Brindley because she +had the necessities of her career gripping her and claiming the +strongest feelings there were in her. Also, she was much the younger, +not merely in years but in experience. And separations have no real +poignancy in them for youth. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know you love me," said Cyrilla, "but love doesn't mean to you +what it means to me. I'm in that middle period of life where +everything has its fullest meaning. In youth we're easily consoled and +distracted because life seems so full of possibilities, and we can't +believe friendship and love are rare, and still more rarely worth +while. In old age, when the arteries harden and the blood flows slow +and cold, we become indifferent. But between thirty-five and fifty-five +how the heart can ache!" She smiled, with trembling lips. "And how it +can rejoice!" she cried bravely. "I must not forget to mention that. +Ah, my dear, you must learn to live intensely. If I had had your +chance!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ridiculous!" laughed Mildred. "You talk like an old woman. And I +never think of you as older than myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I AM an old woman," said Cyrilla. And, with a tightening at the heart +Mildred saw, deep in the depths of her eyes, the look of old age. "I've +found that I'm too old for love—for man-and-woman love—and that means +I'm an old woman." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred felt that there was only a thin barrier of reserve between her +and some sad secret of this strange, shy, loving woman's—a barrier so +thin that she could almost hear the stifled moan of a broken heart. But +the barrier remained; it would have been impossible for Cyrilla +Brindley to talk frankly about herself. +</P> + +<P> +When Mildred came out of her room the next morning, Cyrilla had gone, +leaving a note: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I can't bear good-bys. Besides, we'll see each other very soon. +Forgive me for shrinking, but really I can't. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Before night Mildred was settled in the new place and the new room, +with no sense of strangeness. She was reproaching herself for +hardness, for not caring about Cyrilla, the best and truest friend she +had ever had. But the truth lay in quite a different direction. The +house, the surroundings, where she had lived luxuriously, dreaming her +foolish and fatuous dreams, was not the place for such a struggle as +was now upon her. And for that struggle she preferred, to sensitive, +sober, refined, impractical Cyrilla Brindley, the companionship and the +sympathy, the practical sympathy, of Agnes Belloc. No one need be +ashamed or nervous before Agnes Belloc about being poor or unsuccessful +or having to resort to shabby makeshifts or having to endure coarse +contacts. Cyrilla represented refinement, appreciation of the finished +work—luxurious and sterile appreciation and enjoyment. Agnes +represented the workshop—where all the doers of all that is done live +and work. Mildred was descending from the heights where live those who +have graduated from the lot of the human race and have lost all that +superficial or casual resemblance to that race. She was going down to +live with the race, to share in its lot. She was glad Agnes Belloc was +to be there. +</P> + +<P> +Generalizing about such a haphazard conglomerate as human nature is +highly unsatisfactory, but it may be cautiously ventured that in New +England, as in old England, there is a curiously contradictory way of +dealing with conventionality. Nowhere is conventionality more in +reverence; yet when a New-Englander, man or woman, happens to elect to +break with it, nowhere is the break so utter and so defiant. If Agnes +Belloc, cut loose from the conventions that had bound her from +childhood to well into middle life, had remained at home, no doubt she +would have spent a large part of her nights in thinking out ways of +employing her days in outraging the conventionalities before her +horrified and infuriated neighbors. But of what use in New York to +cuff and spit upon deities revered by only an insignificant class—and +only officially revered by that class? Agnes had soon seen that there +was no amusement or interest whatever in an enterprise which in her New +England home would have filled her life to the brim with excitement. +Also, she saw that she was well into that time of life where the +absence of reputation in a woman endangers her comfort, makes her +liable to be left alone—not despised and denounced, but simply avoided +and ignored. So she was telling Mildred the exact truth. She had laid +down the arms she had taken up against the social system, and had come +in—and was fighting it from the safer and wiser inside. She still +insisted that a woman had the same rights as a man; but she took care +to make it clear that she claimed those rights only for others, that +she neither exercised them nor cared for them for herself. And to make +her propaganda the more effective, she was not only circumspect +herself, but was exceedingly careful to be surrounded by circumspect +people. No one could cite her case as proof that woman would expand +liberty into license. In theory there was nothing lively that she did +not look upon at least with tolerance; in practice, more and more she +disliked seeing one of her sex do anything that might cause the world +to say "woman would abuse liberty if she had it." "Sensible people," +she now said, "do as they like. But they don't give fools a chance to +titter and chatter." +</P> + +<P> +Agnes Belloc was typical—certainly of a large and growing class in +this day—of the decay of ancient temples and the decline of the +old-fashioned idealism that made men fancy they lived nobly because +they professed and believed nobly. She had no ethical standards. She +simply met each situation as it arose and dealt with it as common sense +seemed in that particular instance to dictate. For a thousand years +genius has been striving with the human race to induce it to abandon +its superstitions and hypocrisies and to defy common sense, so +adaptable, so tolerant, so conducive to long and healthy and happy +life. Grossly materialistic, but alluringly comfortable. Whether for +good or for evil or for both good and evil, the geniuses seem in a fair +way at last to prevail over the idealists, religious and political. And +Mrs. Belloc, without in the least realizing it, was a most significant +sign of the times. +</P> + +<P> +"Your throat seems to be better to-day," said she to Mildred at +breakfast. "Those simple house-remedies I tried on you last night seem +to have done some good. Nothing like heat—hot water—and no eating. +The main thing was doing without dinner last night." +</P> + +<P> +"My nerves are quieter," advanced Mildred as the likelier explanation +of the return of the soul of music to its seat. "And my mind's at +rest." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that's good," said plain Agnes Belloc. "But getting the stomach +straight and keeping it straight's the main thing. My old grandmother +could eat anything and do anything. I've seen her put in a glass of +milk or a saucer of ice-cream on top of a tomato-salad. The way she +kept well was, whenever she began to feel the least bit off, she +stopped eating. Not a bite would she touch till she felt well again." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred, moved by an impulse stronger than her inclination, produced +the Keith paper. "I wish you'd read this, and tell me what you think +of it. You've got so much common sense." +</P> + +<P> +Agnes read it through to the end, began at the beginning and read it +through again. "That sounds good to me," said she. "I want to think +it over. If you don't mind I'd like to show it to Miss Blond. She +knows a lot about those things. I suppose you're going to see Mr. +Crossley to-day?—that's the musical manager's name, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going at eleven. That isn't too early, is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I were you, I'd go as soon as I was dressed for the street. And if +you don't get to see him, wait till you do. Don't talk to +under-staffers. Always go straight for the head man. You've got +something that's worth his while. How did he get to be head man? +Because he knows a good thing the minute he sees it. The under fellows +are usually under because they are so taken up with themselves and with +impressing people how grand they are that they don't see anything else. +So, when you talk to them, you wear yourself out and waste your time." +</P> + +<P> +"There's only one thing that makes me nervous," said Mildred. "Everyone +I've ever talked with about going on the stage—everyone who has talked +candidly—has said—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know," said Mrs. Belloc, as Mildred paused to search for +smooth-sounding words in which to dress, without disguising, a +distinctly ugly idea. "I've heard that, too. I don't know whether +there's anything in it or not." She looked admiringly at Mildred, who +that morning was certainly lovely enough to tempt any man. "If there is +anything in it, why, I reckon YOU'D be up against it. That's the worst +of having men at the top in any trade and profession. A woman's got to +get her chance through some man, and if he don't choose to let her have +it, she's likely to fail." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred showed how this depressed her. +</P> + +<P> +"But don't you fret about that till you have to," advised Mrs. Belloc. +"I've a notion that, even if it's true, it may not apply to you. Where +a woman offers for a place that she can fill about as well as a hundred +other women, she's at the man's mercy; but if she knows that she's far +and away the best for the place, I don't think a man's going to stand +in his own light. Let him see that he can make money through YOU, +money he won't make if he don't get you. Then, I don't think you'll +have any trouble." +</P> + +<P> +But Mildred's depression did not decrease. "If my voice could only be +relied on!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it exasperating that I've got a +delicate throat!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's always something," said Mrs. Belloc. "One thing's about as bad +as another, and anything can be overcome." +</P> + +<P> +"No, not in my case," said Mildred. "The peculiar quality of my +voice—what makes it unusual—is due to the delicateness of my throat." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe so," said Mrs. Belloc. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, I can always sing—after a fashion," continued Mildred. +"But to be really valuable on the stage you've got to be able always to +sing at your best. So I'm afraid I'm in the class of those who'll suit, +one about as well as another." +</P> + +<P> +"You've got to get out of that class," said Mrs. Belloc. "The men in +that class, and the women, have to do any dirty work the boss sees fit +to give 'em—and not much pay, either. Let me tell you one thing, Miss +Stevens. If you can't get among the few at the top in the singing +game, you must look round for some game where you can hope to be among +the few. No matter WHAT it is. By using your brains and working hard, +there's something you can do better than pretty nearly anybody else can +or will do it. You find that." +</P> + +<P> +The words sank in, sank deep. Mildred, sense of her surroundings lost, +was gazing straight ahead with an expression that gave Mrs. Belloc hope +and even a certain amount of confidence. There was a distinct advance; +for, after she reflected upon all that Mildred had told her, little of +her former opinion of Mildred's chances for success had remained but a +hope detained not without difficulty. Mrs. Belloc knew the human race +unusually well for a woman—unusually well for a human being of +whatever sex or experience. She had discovered how rare is the +temperament, the combination of intelligence and tenacity, that makes +for success. She had learned that most people, judged by any standard, +were almost total failures, that most of the more or less successful +were so merely because the world had an enormous amount of important +work to be done, even though half-way, and had no one but those +half-competents to do it. As incompetence in a man would be tolerated +where it would not be in a woman, obviously a woman, to get on, must +have the real temperament of success. +</P> + +<P> +She now knew enough about Mildred to be able to "place" her in the +"lady" class—those brought up not only knowing how to do nothing with +a money value (except lawful or unlawful man-trapping), but also +trained to a sensitiveness and refinement and false shame about work +that made it exceedingly difficult if not impossible for them to learn +usefulness. She knew all Mildred's handicaps, both those the girl was +conscious of and those far heavier ones which she fatuously regarded as +advantages. How was Mildred ever to learn to dismiss and disregard +herself as the pretty woman of good social position, an object of +admiration and consideration? Mildred, in the bottom of her heart, was +regarding herself as already successful—successful at the highest a +woman can achieve or ought to aspire to achieve—was regarding her +career, however she might talk or might fancy she believed, as a mere +livelihood, a side issue. She would be perhaps more than a little +ashamed of her stage connections, should she make any, until she should +be at the very top—and how get to the top when one is working under +the handicap of shame? Above all, how was this indulgently and +shelteredly reared lady to become a working woman, living a routine +life, toiling away day in and day out, with no let up, permitting no +one and nothing to break her routine? "Really," thought Agnes Belloc, +"she ought to have married that Baird man—or stayed on with the nasty +general. I wonder why she didn't! That's the only thing that gives me +hope. There must be something in her—something that don't +appear—something she doesn't know about, herself. What is it? Maybe +it was only vanity and vacillation. Again, I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +The difficulty Mrs. Belloc labored under in her attempt to explore and +map Mildred Gower was a difficulty we all labor under in those same +enterprises. We cannot convince ourselves—in spite of experience +after experience—that a human character is never consistent and +homogeneous, is always conglomerate, that there are no two traits, +however naturally exclusive, which cannot coexist in the same +personality, that circumstance is the dominating factor in human action +and brings forward as dominant characteristics now one trait or set of +traits, consistent or inconsistent, and now another. The Alexander who +was Aristotle's model pupil was the same Alexander as the drunken +debaucher. Indeed, may it not be that the characters which play the +large parts in the comedy of life are naturally those that offer to the +shifting winds of circumstances the greatest variety of strongly +developed and contradictory qualities? For example, if it was +Mildred's latent courage rescued her from Siddall, was it not her +strong tendency to vacillation that saved her from a loveless and +mercenary marriage to Stanley Baird? Perhaps the deep underlying truth +is that all unusual people have in common the character that centers a +powerful aversion to stagnation; thus, now by their strong qualities, +now by their weaknesses, they are swept inevitably on and on and ever +on. Good to-day, bad to-morrow, good again the day after, weak in this +instance, strong in that, now brave and now cowardly, soft at one time, +hard at another, generous and the reverse by turns, they are consistent +only in that they are never at rest, but incessantly and inevitably go. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred reluctantly rose, moved toward the door with lingering step. "I +guess I'd better make a start," said she. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the talk," said Mrs. Belloc heartily. But the affectionate +glance she sent after the girl was dubious—even pitying. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IX +</H3> + +<P> +TWO minutes' walk through to Broadway, and she was at her destination. +There, on the other side of the way, stood the Gayety Theater, with the +offices of Mr. Clarence Crossley overlooking the intersection of the +two streets. Crossley was intrenched in the remotest of a series of +rooms, each tenanted by under-staffers of diminishing importance as you +drew way from the great man. It was next to impossible to get at +him—a cause of much sneering and dissatisfaction in theatrical +circles. Crossley, they said, was exclusive, had the swollen head, had +forgotten that only a few years before he had been a cheap little +ticket-seller grateful for a bow from any actor who had ever had his +name up. Crossley insisted that he was not a victim of folie de +grandeur, that, on the contrary, he had become less vain as he had +risen, where he could see how trivial a thing rising was and how +accidental. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"Why do I shut myself in? Because I'm what I am—a good thing, easy +fruit. You say that men a hundred times bigger than I'll ever be don't +shut themselves up. You say that Mountain, the biggest financier in +the country, sits right out where anybody can go up to him. Yes, but +who'd dare go up to him? It's generally known that he's a cannibal, +that he kills his own food and eats it warm and raw. So he can afford +to sit in the open. If I did that, all my time and all my money would +go to the cheap-skates with hard-luck tales. I don't hide because I'm +haughty, but because I'm weak and soft." +</P> + +<P> +In appearance Mr. Crossley did not suggest his name. He was a tallish, +powerful-looking person with a smooth, handsome, audacious face, with +fine, laughing, but somehow untrustworthy eyes—at least untrustworthy +for women, though women had never profited by the warning. He dressed +in excellent taste, almost conspicuously, and the gay and expensive +details of his toilet suggested a man given over to liveliness. As a +matter of fact, this liveliness was potential rather than actual. Mr. +Crossley was always intending to resume the giddy ways of the years +before he became a great man, but was always so far behind in the +important things to be done and done at once that he was forced to put +off. However, his neckties and his shirts and his flirtations, +untrustworthy eyes kept him a reputation for being one of the worst +cases in Broadway. In vain did his achievements show that he could not +possibly have time or strength for anything but work. He looked like a +rounder; he was in a business that gave endless dazzling opportunities +for the lively life; a rounder he was, therefore. +</P> + +<P> +He was about forty. At first glance, so vivid and energetic was he, he +looked like thirty-five, but at second glance one saw the lines, the +underlying melancholy signs of strain, the heavy price he had paid for +phenomenal success won by a series of the sort of risks that make the +hair fall as autumn leaves on a windy day and make such hairs as stick +turn rapidly gray. Thus, there were many who thought Crossley was +through vanity shy of the truth by five or six years when he said forty. +</P> + +<P> +In ordinary circumstances Mildred would never have got at Crossley. +This was the first business call of her life where she had come as an +unknown and unsupported suitor. Her reception would have been such at +the hands of Crossley's insolent and ill-mannered underlings that she +would have fled in shame and confusion. It is even well within the +possibilities that she would have given up all idea of a career, would +have sent for Baird, and so on. And not one of those who, timid and +inexperienced, have suffered rude rebuff at their first advance, would +have condemned her. But it so chanced—whether by good fortune or by +ill the event was to tell—that she did not have to face a single +underling. The hall door was open. She entered. It happened that +while she was coming up in the elevator a quarrel between a motorman +and a driver had heated into a fight, into a small riot. All the +underlings had rushed out on a balcony that commanded a superb view of +the battle. The connecting doors were open; Mildred advanced from room +to room, seeking someone who would take her card to Mr. Crossley. When +she at last faced a closed door she knocked. +</P> + +<P> +"Come!" cried a pleasant voice. +</P> + +<P> +And in she went, to face Crossley himself—Crossley, the "weak and +soft," caught behind his last entrenchment with no chance to escape. +Had Mildred looked the usual sort who come looking for jobs in musical +comedy, Mr. Crossley would not have risen—not because he was snobbish, +but because, being a sensitive, high-strung person, he instinctively +adopted the manner that would put the person before him at ease. He +glanced at Mildred, rose, and thrust back forthwith the slangy, offhand +personality that was perhaps the most natural—or was it merely the +most used?—of his many personalities. It was Crossley the man of the +world, the man of the artistic world, who delighted Mildred with a +courteous bow and offer of a chair, as he said: +</P> + +<P> +"You wished to see me?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you are Mr. Crossley," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I should be tempted to say I was, if I wasn't," said he, and his +manner made it a mere pleasantry to put her at ease. +</P> + +<P> +"There was no one in the outside room, so I walked on and on until your +door stopped me." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll never know how lucky you were," said he. "They tell me those +fellows out there have shocking manners." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you time to see me now? I've come to apply for a position in +musical comedy." +</P> + +<P> +"You have not been on the stage, Miss—" +</P> + +<P> +"Gower. Mildred Gower. I've decided to use my own name." +</P> + +<P> +"I know you have not been on the stage." +</P> + +<P> +"Except as an amateur—and not even that for several years. But I've +been working at my voice." +</P> + +<P> +Crossley was studying her, as she stood talking—she had refused the +chair. He was more than favorably impressed. But the deciding element +was not Mildred's excellent figure or her charm of manner or her sweet +and lovely face. It was superstition. Just at that time Crossley had +been abruptly deserted by Estelle Howard; instead of going on with the +rehearsals of "The Full Moon," in which she was to be starred, she had +rushed away to Europe with a violinist with whom she had fallen in love +at the first rehearsal. Crossley was looking about for someone to take +her place. He had been entrenched in those offices for nearly five +years; in all that time not a single soul of the desperate crowds that +dogged him had broken through his guard. Crossley was as superstitious +as was everyone else who has to do with the stage. +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of a voice?" asked he. +</P> + +<P> +"Lyric soprano." +</P> + +<P> +"You have music there. What?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Batti Batti' and a little song in English—'The Rose and the Bee.'" +</P> + +<P> +Crossley forgot his manners, turned his back squarely upon her, thrust +his hands deep into his trousers pockets, and stared out through the +window. He presently wheeled round. She would not have thought his +eyes could be so keen. Said he: "You were studying for grand opera?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you drop it and take up this?" +</P> + +<P> +"No money," replied she. "I've got to make my living at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, let's see. Come with me, please." +</P> + +<P> +They went out by a door into the hall, went back to the rear of the +building, in at an iron door, down a flight of steep iron skeleton +steps dimly lighted. Mildred had often been behind the scenes in her +amateur theatrical days; but even if she had not, she would have known +where she was. Crossley called, "Moldini! Moldini!" +</P> + +<P> +The name was caught up by other voices and repeated again and again, +more and more remotely. A moment, and a small dark man with a +superabundance of greasy dark hair appeared. "Miss Gower," said +Crossley, "this is Signor Moldini. He will play your accompaniments." +Then to the little Italian, "Piano on the stage?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +To Mildred with a smile, "Will you try?" +</P> + +<P> +She bent her head. She had no voice—not for song, not for speech, not +even for a monosyllable. +</P> + +<P> +Crossley took Moldini aside where Mildred could not hear. "Mollie," +said he, "this girl crept up on me, and I've got to give her a trial. +As you see, she's a lady, and you know what they are." +</P> + +<P> +"Punk," said Moldini. +</P> + +<P> +Crossley nodded. "She seems a nice sort, so I want to let her down +easy. I'll sit back in the house, in the dark. Run her through that +'Batti Batti' thing she's got with her. If she's plainly on the fritz, +I'll light a cigarette. If I don't light up, try the other song she +has. If I still don't light up make her go through that 'Ah, were you +here, love,' from the piece. But if I light up, it means that I'm +going to light out, and that you're to get rid of her—tell her we'll +let her know if she'll leave her address. You understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly." +</P> + +<P> +Far from being thrilled and inspired, her surroundings made her sick at +heart—the chill, the dampness, the bare walls, the dim, dreary lights, +the coarsely-painted flats— At last she was on the threshold of her +chosen profession. What a profession for such a person as she had +always been! She stood beside Moldini, seated at the piano. She gazed +at the darkness, somewhere in whose depths Crossley was hidden. After +several false starts she sang the "Batti Batti" through, sang it +atrociously—not like a poor professional, but like a pretentious +amateur, a reversion to a manner of singing she had once had, but had +long since got rid of. She paused at the end, appalled by the silence, +by the awfulness of her own performance. +</P> + +<P> +From the darkness a slight click. If she had known!—for, it was +Crossley's match-safe. +</P> + +<P> +The sound, slight yet so clear, startled her, roused her. She called +out: "Mr. Crossley, won't you please be patient enough to let me try +that again?" +</P> + +<P> +A brief hesitation, then: "Certainly." +</P> + +<P> +Once more she began. But this time there was no hesitation. From +first to last she did it as Jennings had coached her, did it with all +the beauty and energy of her really lovely voice. As she ended, +Moldini said in a quiet but intense undertone: "Bravo! Bravo! Fresh +as a bird on a bright spring morning." And from the darkness came: +"Ah—that's better, Miss Gower. That was professional work. Now for +the other." +</P> + +<P> +Thus encouraged and with her voice well warmed, she could not but make +a success of the song that was nearer to what would be expected of her +in musical comedy. Crossley called out: "Now, the sight singing, +Moldini. I don't expect you to do this well, Miss Gower. I simply wish +to get an idea of how you'd do a piece we have in rehearsal." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have no trouble with this," said Moldini, as he opened the +comedy song upon the rack with a contemptuous whirl. "It's the easy +showy stuff that suits the tired business man and his laced-in wife. Go +at it and yell." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred glanced through it. There was a subtle something in the +atmosphere now that put her at her ease. She read the words aloud, +laughing at their silly sentimentality, she and Moldini and Crossley +making jokes about it. Soon she said: "I'm ready." +</P> + +<P> +She sang it well. She asked them to let her try it again. And the +second time, with the words in her mind and the simple melody, she was +able to put expression into it and to indicate, with restraint, the +action. Crossley came down the aisle. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think, Mollie?" he said to Moldini. +</P> + +<P> +"We might test her at a few rehearsals." +</P> + +<P> +Crossley meekly accepted the salutary check on his enthusiasm. "Do you +wish to try, Miss Gower?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was silent. She knew now the sort of piece in which she was to +appear. She had seen a few of them, those cheap and vulgar farces with +their thin music, their more than dubious-looking people. What a +come-down! What a degradation! It was as bad in its way as being the +wife of General Siddall. And she was to do this, in preference to +marrying Stanley Baird. +</P> + +<P> +"You will be paid, of course, during rehearsal; that is, as long as we +are taking your time. Fifty dollars a week is about as much as we can +afford." Crossley was watching her shrewdly, was advancing these +remarks in response to the hesitation he saw so plainly. "Of course it +isn't grand opera," he went on. "In fact, it's pretty low—almost as +low as the public taste. You see, we aren't subsidized by millionaires +who want people to think they're artistic, so we have to hustle to +separate the public from its money. But if you make a hit, you can +earn enough to put you into grand opera in fine style." +</P> + +<P> +"I never heard of anyone's graduating from here into grand opera," said +Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Because our stars make so much money and make it so easily. It'll be +your own fault if you don't." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I come to just one rehearsal—to see whether I can—can do it?" +pleaded Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +Crossley, made the more eager and the more superstitious by this +unprecedented reluctance, shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"No. You must agree to stay as long as we want you," said he. "We +can't allow ourselves to be trifled with." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Mildred resignedly. "I will rehearse as long as you +want me." +</P> + +<P> +"And will stay for the run of the piece, if we want that?" said +Crossley. "You to get a hundred a week if you are put in the cast. +More, of course, if you make a hit." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean I'm to sign a contract?" cried Mildred in dismay. +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly," said Crossley. A truly amazing performance. Moldini was +not astonished, however, for he had heard the songs, and he knew +Crossley's difficulties through Estelle Howard's flight. Also, he knew +Crossley—never so "weak and soft" that he trifled with unlikely +candidates for his productions. Crossley had got up because he knew +what to do and when to do it. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred acquiesced. Before she was free to go into the street again, +she had signed a paper that bound her to rehearse for three weeks at +fifty dollars a week and to stay on at a hundred dollars a week for +forty weeks or the run of "The Full Moon," if Crossley so desired; if +he did not, she was free at the end of the rehearsals. A shrewdly +one-sided contract. But Crossley told himself he would correct it, if +she should by some remote chance be good enough for the part and should +make a hit in it. This was no mere salve to conscience, by the way. +Crossley would not be foolish enough to give a successful star just +cause for disliking and distrusting him and at the earliest opportunity +leaving him to make money for some rival manager. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc had not gone out, had been waiting in a fever of anxiety. +When Mildred came into her sitting-room with a gloomy face and dropped +to a chair as if her last hope had abandoned her, it was all Agnes +Belloc could do to restrain her tears. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be foolish, my dear. You couldn't expect anything to come of +your first attempt." +</P> + +<P> +"That isn't it," said Mildred. "I think I'll give it up—do something +else. Grand opera's bad enough. There were a lot of things about it +that I was fighting my distaste for." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," said Agnes. "And you'd better fight them hard. They're +unworthy of you." +</P> + +<P> +"But—musical comedy! It's—frightful!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's an honest way of making a living, and that's more than can be +said of—of some things. I suppose you're afraid you'll have to wear +tights—or some nonsense like that." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no. It's doing it at all. Such rotten music—and what a +loathsome mess!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc's eyes flashed. "I'm losing all patience!" she cried. "I +know you've been brought up like a fool and always surrounded by fools. +I suppose you'd rather sell yourself to some man. Do you know what's +the matter with you, at bottom? Why, you're lazy and you're a coward. +Too lazy to work. And afraid of what a lot of cheap women'll +say—women earning their board and clothes in about the lowest way such +a thing can be done. Haven't you got any self-respect?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred rose. "Mrs. Belloc," she said angrily, "I can't permit even +you to say such things to me." +</P> + +<P> +"The shoe seems to fit," retorted Mrs. Belloc. "I never yet saw a +lady, a real, silk-and-diamonds, sit-in-the-parlor lady, who had any +self-respect. If I had my way they wouldn't get a mouthful to eat till +they had earned it. That'd be a sure cure for the lady disease. I'm +ashamed of you, Miss Stevens! And you're ashamed of yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am," said Mildred, with a sudden change of mood. +</P> + +<P> +"The best thing you can do is to rest till lunch-time. Then start out +after lunch and hunt a job. I'll go with you." +</P> + +<P> +"But I've got a job," said Mildred. "That's what's the matter." +</P> + +<P> +Agnes Belloc's jaw dropped and her rather heavy eyebrows shot up toward +the low sweeping line of her auburn hair. She made such a ludicrous +face that Mildred laughed outright. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"It's quite time. Fifty a week, for three weeks of rehearsal. No +doubt <I>I</I> can go on if I like. Nothing could be easier." +</P> + +<P> +"Crossley?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He was very nice—heard me sing three pieces—and it was all +settled. I'm to begin to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +The color rose in Agnes Belloc's face until she looked apoplectic. She +abruptly retreated to her bedroom. After a few minutes she came back, +her normal complexion restored. "I couldn't trust myself to speak," +said she. "That was the worst case of ingratitude I ever met up with. +You, getting a place at fifty dollars a week—and on your first +trial—and you come in looking as if you'd lost your money and your +reputation. What kind of a girl are you, anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," said Mildred. "I wish I did." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm sorry you got it so easy. Now you'll have a false notion +from the start. It's always better to have a hard time getting things. +Then you appreciate them, and have learned how to hold on." +</P> + +<P> +"No trouble about holding on to this," said Mildred carelessly. +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't talk that way, child," pleaded Agnes, almost tearful. +"It's frightful to me, who've had experience, to hear you invite a +fall-down." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred disdainfully fluttered the typewritten copy of the musical +comedy. "This is child's play," said she. "The lines are beneath +contempt. As for the songs, you never heard such slop." +</P> + +<P> +"The stars in those pieces get four and five hundred, and more, a +week," said Mrs. Belloc. "Believe me, those managers don't pay out any +such sums for child's play. You look out. You're going at this wrong." +</P> + +<P> +"I shan't care if I do fail," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean that?" demanded Mrs. Belloc. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't," said Mildred. "Oh, I don't know what I mean." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you're just talking," said Mrs. Belloc after a reflective +silence. "I guess a girl who goes and gets a good job, first crack out +of the box, must have a streak of shrewdness." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope so," said Mildred doubtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you'll work hard, all right. After you went out this morning, +I took that paper down to Miss Blond. She's crazy about it. She wants +to make a copy of it. I told her I'd ask you." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," said Mildred. "She says she'll return it the same day." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell her she can keep it as long as she likes." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc eyed her gravely, started to speak, checked herself. +Instead, she said, "No, I shan't do that. I'll have it back in your +room by this evening. You might change your mind, and want to use it." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Mildred, pointedly uninterested and ignoring Mrs. +Belloc's delicate but distinct emphasis upon "might." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc kept a suspicious eye upon her—an eye that was not easily +deceived. The more she thought about Mildred's state of depression and +disdain the more tolerant she became. That mood was the natural and +necessary result of the girl's bringing up and mode of life. The +important thing—and the wonderful thing—was her being able to +overcome it. After a week of rehearsal she said: "I'm making the best +of it. But I don't like it, and never shall." +</P> + +<P> +"I should hope not," replied Mrs. Belloc. "You're going to the top. +I'd hate to see you contented at the bottom. Aren't you learning a +good deal that'll be useful later on?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's why I'm reconciled to it," said she. "The stage director, Mr. +Ransdell, is teaching me everything—even how to sing. He knows his +business." +</P> + +<P> +Ransdell not only knew, but also took endless pains with her. He was a +tall, thin, dark man, strikingly handsome in the distinguished way. So +distinguished looking was he that to meet him was to wonder why he had +not made a great name for himself. An extraordinary mind he certainly +had, and an insight into the reasons for things that is given only to +genius. He had failed as a composer, failed as a playwright, failed as +a singer, failed as an actor. He had been forced to take up the +profession of putting on dramatic and musical plays, a profession that +required vast knowledge and high talents and paid for them in niggardly +fashion both in money and in fame. Crossley owed to him more than to +any other single element the series of successes that had made him +rich; yet the ten thousand a year Crossley paid him was regarded as +evidence of Crossley's lavish generosity and was so. It would have +been difficult to say why a man so splendidly endowed by nature and so +tireless in improving himself was thus unsuccessful. Probably he +lacked judgment; indeed, that lack must have been the cause. He could +judge for Crossley; but not for himself, not when he had the feeling of +ultimate responsibility. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred had anticipated the most repulsive associations—men and women +of low origin and of vulgar tastes and of vulgarly loose lives. She +found herself surrounded by simple, pleasant people, undoubtedly +erratic for the most part in all their habits, but without viciousness. +And they were hard workers, all. Ransdell—for Crossley—tolerated no +nonsense. His people could live as they pleased, away from the +theater, but there they must be prompt and fit. The discipline was as +severe as that of a monastery. She saw many signs that all sorts of +things of the sort with which she wished to have no contact were going +on about her; but as she held slightly—but not at all +haughtily—aloof, she would have had to go out of her way to see enough +to scandalize her. She soon suspected that she was being treated with +extraordinary consideration. This was by Crossley's orders. But the +carrying out of their spirit as well as their letter was due to +Ransdell. Before the end of that first week she knew that there was +the personal element behind his admiration for her voice and her talent +for acting, behind his concentrating most of his attention upon her +part. He looked his love boldly whenever they were alone; he was +always trying to touch her—never in a way that she could have +resented, or felt like resenting. He was not unattractive to her, and +she was eager to learn all he had to teach, and saw no harm in helping +herself by letting him love. +</P> + +<P> +Toward the middle of the second week, when they were alone in her +dressing-room, he—with the ingenious lack of abruptness of the +experienced man at the game—took her hand, and before she was ready, +kissed her. He did not accompany these advances with an outburst of +passionate words or with any fiery lighting up of the eyes, but calmly, +smilingly, as if it were what she was expecting him to do, what he had +a right to do. +</P> + +<P> +She did not know quite how to meet this novel attack. She drew her hand +away, went on talking about the part—the changes he had suggested in +her entrance, as she sang her best solo. He discussed this with her +until they rose to leave the theater. He looked smilingly down on her, +and said with the flattering air of the satisfied connoisseur: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you are charming, Mildred. I can make a great artist and a great +success out of you. We need each other." +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly need you," said she gratefully. "How much you've done for +me." +</P> + +<P> +"Only the beginning," replied he. "Ah, I have such plans for you—such +plans. Crossley doesn't realize how far you can be made to go—with +the right training. Without it—" He shook his head laughingly. "But +you shall have it, my dear." And he laid his hands lightly and +caressingly upon her shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +The gesture was apparently a friendly familiarity. To resent it, even +to draw away, would put her in the attitude of the woman absurdly +exercised about the desirability and sacredness of her own charms. +</P> + +<P> +Still smiling, in that friendly, assured way, he went on: "You've been +very cold and reserved with me, my dear. Very unappreciative." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred, red and trembling, hung her head in confusion. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been at the business ten years," he went on, "and you're the +first woman I've been more than casually interested in. The pretty +ones were bores. The homely ones—I can't interest myself in a homely +woman, no matter how much talent she has. A woman must first of all +satisfy the eye. And you—" He seated himself and drew her toward +him. She, cold all over and confused in mind and almost stupefied, +resisted with all her strength; but her strength seemed to be oozing +away. She said: +</P> + +<P> +"You must not do this. You must not do this. I'm horribly +disappointed in you." +</P> + +<P> +He drew her to his lap and held her there without any apparent tax upon +his strength. He kissed her, laughingly pushing away the arms with +which she tried to shield her face. Suddenly she found strength to +wrench herself free and stood at a distance from him. She was panting a +little, was pale, was looking at him with cold anger. +</P> + +<P> +"You will please leave this room," said she. +</P> + +<P> +He lit a cigarette, crossed his legs comfortably, and looked at her +with laughing eyes. "Don't do that," he said genially. "Surely my +lessons in acting haven't been in vain. That's too obviously a pose." +</P> + +<P> +She went to the mirror, arranged her hat, and moved toward the door. He +rose and barred the way. +</P> + +<P> +"You are as sensible as you are sweet and lovely," said he. "Why +should you insist on our being bad friends?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't stand aside, I'll call out to the watchman." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd never have thought you were dishonest. In fact, I don't believe +it yet. You don't look like one of those ladies who wish to take +everything and give nothing." His tone and manner were most +attractive. Besides, she could not forget all he had done for her—and +all he could do for her. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Ransdell, if I've done anything to cause you to misunderstand, it +was unconscious. And I'm sorry. But I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Be honest," interrupted he. "Haven't I made it plain that I was +fascinated by you?" +</P> + +<P> +She could not deny it. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't I been showing you that I was willing to do everything I could +for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were concerned only about the success of the piece." +</P> + +<P> +"The piece be jiggered," said he. "You don't imagine YOU are necessary +to its success, do you? You, a raw, untrained girl. Don't your good +sense tell you I could find a dozen who would do, let us say, ALMOST as +well?" +</P> + +<P> +"I understand that," murmured she. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you do, but I doubt it," rejoined he. "Vanity's a fast growing +weed. However, I rather expected that you would remain sane and +reasonably humble until you'd had a real success. But it seems not. +Now tell me, why should I give my time and my talent to training +you—to putting you in the way of quick and big success?" +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you count on giving me in return? Your thanks?" +</P> + +<P> +She colored, hung her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Wasn't I doing for you something worth while? And what had you to give +in return?" He laughed with gentle mockery. "Really, you should have +been grateful that I was willing to do so much for so little, for what +I wanted ought—if you are a sensible woman—to seem to you a trifle in +comparison with what I was doing for you. It was my part, not yours, +to think the complimentary things about you. How shallow and vain you +women are! Can't you see that the value of your charms is not in them, +but in the imagination of some man?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't answer you," said she. "You've put it all wrong. You +oughtn't to ask payment for a favor beyond price." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I oughtn't to HAVE to ask," corrected he, in the same pleasantly +ironic way. "You ought to have been more than glad to give freely. +But, curiously, while we've been talking, I've changed my mind about +those precious jewels of yours. We'll say they're pearls, and that my +taste has suddenly changed to diamonds." He bowed mockingly. "So, +dear lady, keep your pearls." +</P> + +<P> +And he stood aside, opening the door for her. She hesitated, dazed +that she was leaving, with the feeling of the conquered, a field on +which, by all the precedents, she ought to have been victor. She +passed a troubled night, debated whether to relate her queer experience +to Mrs. Belloc, decided for silence. It drafted into service all her +reserve of courage to walk into the theater the next day and to appear +on the stage among the assembled company with her usual air. Ransdell +greeted her with his customary friendly courtesy and gave her his +attention, as always. By the time they had got through the first act, +in which her part was one of four of about equal importance, she had +recovered herself and was in the way to forget the strange stage +director's strange attack and even stranger retreat. But the situation +changed with the second act, in which she was on the stage all the time +and had the whole burden. The act as originally written had been less +generous to her; but Ransdell had taken one thing after another away +from the others and had given it to her. She made her first entrance +precisely as he had trained her to make it and began. A few seconds, +and he stopped her. +</P> + +<P> +"Please try again, Miss Gower," said he. "I'm afraid that won't do." +</P> + +<P> +She tried again; again he stopped her. She tried a third time. His +manner was all courtesy and consideration, not the shade of a change. +But she began to feel a latent hostility. Instinctively she knew that +he would no longer help her, that he would leave her to her own +resources, and judge her by how she acquitted herself. She made a +blunder of her third trial. +</P> + +<P> +"Really, Miss Gower, that will never do," said he mildly. "Let me show +you how you did it." +</P> + +<P> +He gave an imitation of her—a slight caricature. A titter ran through +the chorus. He sternly rebuked them and requested her to try again. +Her fourth attempt was her worst. He shook his head in gentle +remonstrance. "Not quite right yet," said he regretfully. "But we'll +go on." +</P> + +<P> +Not far, however. He stopped her again. Again the courteous, kindly +criticism. And so on, through the entire act. By the end of it, +Mildred's nerves were unstrung. She saw the whole game, and realized +how helpless she was. Before the end of that rehearsal, Mildred had +slipped back from promising professional into clumsy amateur, tolerable +only because of the beautiful freshness of her voice—and it was a +question whether voice alone would save her. Yet no one but Mildred +herself suspected that Ransdell had done it, had revenged himself, had +served notice on her that since she felt strong enough to stand alone +she was to have every opportunity to do so. He had said nothing +disagreeable; on the contrary, he had been most courteous, most +forbearing. +</P> + +<P> +In the third act she was worse than in the second. At the end of the +rehearsal the others, theretofore flattering and encouraging, turned +away to talk among themselves and avoided her. Ransdell, about to +leave, said: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't look so down-hearted, Miss Gower. You'll be all right +to-morrow. An off day's nothing." +</P> + +<P> +He said it loudly enough for the others to hear. Mildred's face grew +red with white streaks across it, like the prints of a lash. The +subtlest feature of his malevolence had been that, whereas on other +days he had taken her aside to criticize her, on this day he had spoken +out—gently, deprecatingly, but frankly—before the whole company. +Never had Mildred Gower been so sad and so blue as she was that day and +that night. She came to the rehearsal the following day with a sore +throat. She sang, but her voice cracked on the high notes. It was a +painful exhibition. Her fellow principals, who had been rather glad of +her set-back the day before, were full of pity and sympathy. They did +not express it; they were too kind for that. But their looks, their +drawing away from her—Mildred could have borne sneers and jeers +better. And Ransdell was SO forbearing, SO gentle. +</P> + +<P> +Her voice got better, got worse. Her acting remained mediocre to bad. +At the fifth rehearsal after the break with the stage-director, Mildred +saw Crossley seated far back in the dusk of the empty theater. It was +his first appearance at rehearsals since the middle of the first week. +As soon as he had satisfied himself that all was going well, he had +given his attention to other matters where things were not going well. +Mildred knew why he was there—and she acted and sang atrociously. +Ransdell aggravated her nervousness by ostentatiously trying to help +her, by making seemingly adroit attempts to cover her +mistakes—attempts apparently thwarted and exposed only because she was +hopelessly bad. +</P> + +<P> +In the pause between the second and third acts Ransdell went down and +sat with Crossley, and they engaged in earnest conversation. The +while, the members of the company wandered restlessly about the stage, +making feeble attempts to lift the gloom with affected cheerfulness. +Ransdell returned to the stage, went up to Mildred, who was sitting +idly turning the leaves of a part-book. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Gower," said he, and never had his voice been so friendly as in +these regretful accents, "don't try to go on to-day. You're evidently +not yourself. Go home and rest for a few days. We'll get along with +your understudy, Miss Esmond. When Mr. Crossley wants to put you in +again, he'll send for you. You mustn't be discouraged. I know how +beginners take these things to heart. Don't fret about it. You can't +fail to succeed." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred rose and, how she never knew, crossed the stage. She stumbled +into the flats, fumbled her way to the passageway, to her +dressing-room. She felt that she must escape from that theater +quickly, or she would give way to some sort of wild attack of nerves. +She fairly ran through the streets to Mrs. Belloc's, shut herself in +her room. But instead of the relief of a storm of tears, there came a +black, hideous depression. Hour after hour she sat, almost without +motion. The afternoon waned; the early darkness came. Still she did +not move—could not move. At eight o'clock Mrs. Belloc knocked. +Mildred did not answer. Her door opened—she had forgotten to lock it. +In came Mrs. Belloc. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't that you, sitting by the window?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"I recognized the outline of your hat. Besides, who else could it be +but you? I've saved some dinner for you. I thought you were still +out." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" said Agnes? "Ill? bad news?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've lost my position," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +A pause. Then Mrs. Belloc felt her way across the room until she was +touching the girl. "Tell me about it, dear," said she. +</P> + +<P> +In a monotonous, lifeless way Mildred told the story. It was some time +after she finished when Agnes said: +</P> + +<P> +"That's bad—bad, but it might be worse. You must go to see the +manager, Crossley." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him what you told me." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred's silence was dissent. +</P> + +<P> +"It can't do any harm," urged Agnes. +</P> + +<P> +"It can't do any good," replied Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"That isn't the way to look at it." +</P> + +<P> +A long pause. Then Mildred said: "If I got a place somewhere else, +I'd meet the same thing in another form." +</P> + +<P> +"You've got to risk that." +</P> + +<P> +"Besides, I'd never have had a chance of succeeding if Mr. Ransdell +hadn't taught me and stood behind me." +</P> + +<P> +It was many minutes before Agnes Belloc said in a hesitating, +restrained voice: "They say that success—any kind of success—has its +price, and that one has to be ready to pay that price or fail." +</P> + +<P> +Again the profound silence. Into it gradually penetrated the soft, +insistent sound of the distant roar of New York—a cruel, clamorous, +devouring sound like a demand for that price of success. Said Agnes +timidly: +</P> + +<P> +"Why not go to see Mr. Ransdell." +</P> + +<P> +"He wouldn't make it up," said Mildred. "And I—I couldn't. I tried +to marry Stanley Baird for money—and I couldn't. It would be the same +way now—only more so." +</P> + +<P> +"But you've got to do something." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and I will." Mildred had risen abruptly, was standing at the +window. Agnes Belloc could feel her soul rearing defiantly at the city +into which she was gazing. "I will!" she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"It sounds as if you'd been pushed to where you'd turn and make a +fight," said Agnes. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope so," said Mildred. "It's high time." +</P> + +<P> +She thought out several more or less ingenious indirect routes into Mr. +Crossley's stronghold, for use in case frontal attack failed. But she +did not need them. Still, the hours she spent in planning them were by +no means wasted. No time is wasted that is spent in desperate, +concentrated thinking about any of the practical problems of life. And +Mildred Gower, as much as any other woman of her training—or lack of +training—was deficient in ability to use her mind purposefully. Most +of us let our minds act like a sheep in a pasture—go wandering hither +and yon, nibbling at whatever happens to offer. Only the superior few +deliberately select a pasture, select a line of procedure in that +pasture and keep to it, concentrating upon what is useful to us, and +that alone. So it was excellent experience for Mildred to sit down and +think connectedly and with wholly absorbed mind upon the phase of her +career most important at the moment. When she had worked out all the +plans that had promise in them she went tranquilly to sleep, a stronger +and a more determined person, for she had said with the energy that +counts: "I shall see him, somehow. If none of these schemes works, +I'll work out others. He's got to see me." +</P> + +<P> +But it was no occult "bearing down" that led him to order her admitted +the instant her card came. He liked her; he wished to see her again; +he felt that it was the decent thing, and somehow not difficult gently +but clearly to convey to her the truth. On her side she, who had +looked forward to the interview with some nervousness, was at her ease +the moment she faced him alone in that inner office. He had +extraordinary personal charm—more than Ransdell, though Ransdell had +the charm invariably found in a handsome human being with the +many-sided intellect that gives lightness of mind. Crossley was not +intellectual, not in the least. One had only to glance at him to see +that he was one of those men who reserve all their intelligence for the +practical sides of the practical thing that forms the basis of their +material career. He knew something of many things, had a wonderful +assortment of talents—could sing, could play piano or violin, could +compose, could act, could do mystifying card tricks, could order +women's clothes as discriminatingly as he could order his own—all +these things a little, but nothing much except making a success of +musical comedy and comic opera. He had an ambition, carefully +restrained in a closet of his mind, where it could not issue forth and +interfere with his business. This ambition was to be a giver of grand +opera on a superb scale. He regarded himself as a mere +money-maker—was not ashamed of this, but neither was he proud of it. +His ambition then represented a dream of a rise to something more than +business man, to friend and encourager and wet nurse to art. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred Gower had happened to set his imagination to working. The +discovery that she was one of those whose personalities rouse high +expectations only to mock them had been a severe blow to his confidence +in his own judgment. Though he pretended to believe, and had the habit +of saying that he was "weak and soft," was always being misled by his +good nature, he really believed himself an unerring judge of human +beings, and, as his success evidenced, he was not far wrong. Thus, +though convinced that Mildred was a "false alarm," his secret vanity +would not let him release his original idea. He had the tenacity that +is an important element in all successes; and tenacity become a fixed +habit has even been known to ruin in the end the very careers it has +made. +</P> + +<P> +Said Mildred, in a manner which was astonishingly unemotional and +businesslike: "I've not come to tattle and to whine, Mr. Crossley. +I've hesitated about coming at all, partly because I've an instinct +it's useless, partly because what I have to say isn't easy." +</P> + +<P> +Crossley's expression hardened. The old story!—excuses, excuses, +self-excuse—somebody else to blame. +</P> + +<P> +"If it hadn't been for Mr. Ransdell—the trouble he took with me, the +coaching he gave me—I'd have been a ridiculous failure at the very +first rehearsal. But—it is to Mr. Ransdell that my failure is due." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Miss Gower," said Crossley, polite but cold, "I regret hearing +you say that. The fact is very different. Not until you had done +so—so unacceptably at several rehearsals that news of it reached me by +another way—not until I myself went to Mr. Ransdell about you did he +admit that there could be a possibility of a doubt of your succeeding. +I had to go to rehearsal myself and directly order him to restore Miss +Esmond and lay you off." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was not unprepared. She received this tranquilly. "Mr. +Ransdell is a very clever man," said she with perfect good humor. "I've +no hope of convincing you, but I must tell my side." +</P> + +<P> +And clearly and simply, with no concealments through fear of disturbing +his high ideal of her ladylike delicacy, she told him the story. He +listened, seated well back in his tilted desk-chair, his gaze upon the +ceiling. When she finished he held his pose a moment, then got up and +paced the length of the office several times, his hands in his pockets. +He paused, looked keenly at her, a good-humored smile in those eyes of +his so fascinating to women because of their frank wavering of an +inconstancy it would indeed be a triumph to seize and hold. Said he: +</P> + +<P> +"And your bad throat? Did Ransdell give you a germ?" +</P> + +<P> +She colored. He had gone straight at the weak point. +</P> + +<P> +"If you'd been able to sing," he went on, "nobody could have done you +up." +</P> + +<P> +She could not gather herself together for speech. +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't you know your voice wasn't reliable when you came to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she admitted. +</P> + +<P> +"And wasn't that the REAL reason you had given up grand opera?" pursued +he mercilessly. +</P> + +<P> +"The reason was what I told you—lack of money," replied she. "I did +not go into the reason why I lacked money. Why should I when, even on +my worst days, I could get through all my part in a musical +comedy—except songs that could be cut down or cut out? If I could +have made good at acting, would you have given me up on account of my +voice?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not if you had been good enough," he admitted. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I did not get my engagement on false pretenses?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. You are right. Still, your fall-down as a singer is the +important fact. Don't lose sight of it." +</P> + +<P> +"I shan't," said she tersely. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes were frankly laughing. "As to Ransdell—what a clever trick! +He's a remarkable man. If he weren't so shrewd in those little ways, +he might have been a great man. Same old story—just a little too +smart, and so always doing the little thing and missing the big thing. +Yes, he went gunning for you—and got you." He dropped into his chair. +He thought a moment, laughed aloud, went on: "No doubt he has worked +that same trick many a time. I've suspected it once or twice, but this +time he fooled me. He got you, Miss Gower, and I can do nothing. You +must see that I can't look after details. And I can't give up as +invaluable a man as Ransdell. If I put you back, he'd put you +out—would make the piece fail rather than let you succeed." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred was gazing somberly at the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"It's hard lines—devilish hard lines," he went on sympathetically. +"But what can I do?" +</P> + +<P> +"What can I do?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Do as all people do who succeed—meet the conditions." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not prepared to go as far as that, at least not yet," said she +with bitter sarcasm. "Perhaps when I'm actually starving and in rags—" +</P> + +<P> +"A very distressing future," interrupted Crossley. "But—I didn't make +the world. Don't berate me. Be sensible—and be honest, Miss Gower, +and tell me—how could I possibly protect you and continue to give +successful shows? If you can suggest any feasible way, I'll take it." +</P> + +<P> +"No, there isn't any way," replied she, rising to go. +</P> + +<P> +He rose to escort her to the hall door. "Personally, the Ransdell sort +of thing is—distasteful to me. Perhaps if I were not so busy I might +be forced by my own giddy misconduct to take less high ground. I've +observed that the best that can be said for human nature at its best is +that it is as well behaved as its real temptations permit. He was +making you, you know. You've admitted it." +</P> + +<P> +"There's no doubt about that," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Mind you, I'm not excusing him. I'm simply explaining him. If your +voice had been all right—if you could have stood to any degree the +test he put you to, the test of standing alone—you'd have defeated +him. He wouldn't have dared go on. He's too shrewd to think a real +talent can be beaten." +</P> + +<P> +The strong lines, the latent character, in Mildred's face were so +strongly in evidence that looking at her then no one would have thought +of her beauty or even of her sex, but only of the force that resists +all and overcomes all. "Yes—the voice," said she. "The voice." +</P> + +<P> +"If it's ever reliable, come to see me. Until then—" He put out his +hand. When she gave him hers, he held it in a way that gave her no +impulse to draw back. "You know the conditions of success now. You +must prepare to meet them. If you put yourself at the mercy of the +Ransdells—or any other of the petty intriguers that beset every avenue +of success—you must take the consequences, you must conciliate them as +best you can. If you don't wish to be at their mercy, you must do your +part." +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. He released her hand, opened the hall door. He said: +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive my little lecture. But I like you, and I can't help having +hope of you." He smiled charmingly, his keen, inconstant eyes dimming. +"Perhaps I hope because you're young and extremely lovely and I am +pitifully susceptible. You see, you'd better go. Every man's a +Ransdell at heart where pretty women are concerned." +</P> + +<P> +She did not leave the building. She went to the elevator and asked the +boy where she could find Signor Moldini. His office was the big room +on the third floor where voice candidates were usually tried out, three +days in the week. At the moment he was engaged. Mildred, seated in +the tiny anteroom, heard through the glass door a girl singing, or +trying to sing. It was a distressing performance, and Mildred wondered +that Moldini could be so tolerant as to hear her through. He came to +the door with her, thanked her profusely, told her he would let her +know whenever there was an opening "suited to your talents." As he +observed Mildred, he was still sighing and shaking his head over the +departed candidate. +</P> + +<P> +"Ugly and ignorant!" he groaned. "Poor creature! Poor, poor creature. +She makes three dollars a week—in a factory owned by a great +philanthropist. Three dollars a week. And she has no way to make a +cent more. Miss Gower, they talk about the sad, naughty girls who sell +themselves in the street to piece out their wages. But think, dear +young lady, how infinitely better of they are than the ugly ones who +can't piece out their wages." +</P> + +<P> +There he looked directly at her for the first time. Before she could +grasp the tragic sadness of his idea, he, with the mobility of candid +and highly sensitized natures, shifted from melancholy to gay, for in +looking at her he had caught only the charm of dress, of face, of +arrangement of hair. "What a pleasure!" he exclaimed, bursting into +smiles and seizing and kissing her gloved hands. "Voice like a bird, +face like an angel—only not TOO good, no, not TOO good. But it is so +rare—to look as one sings, to sing as one looks." +</P> + +<P> +For once, compliment, sincere compliment from one whose opinion was +worth while, gave Mildred pain. She burst out with her news: "Signor +Moldini, I've lost my place in the company. My voice has gone back on +me." +</P> + +<P> +Usually Moldini abounded in the consideration of fine natures that have +suffered deeply from lack of consideration. But he was so astounded +that he could only stare stupidly at her, smoothing his long greasy +hair with his thin brown hand. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all my fault; I don't take care of myself," she went on. "I +don't take care of my health. At least, I hope that's it." +</P> + +<P> +"Hope!" he said, suddenly angry. +</P> + +<P> +"Hope so, because if it isn't that, then I've no chance for a career," +explained she. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her feet, pointed an uncannily long forefinger at them. +"The crossings and sidewalks are slush—and you, a singer, without +overshoes! Lunacy! Lunacy!" +</P> + +<P> +"I've never worn overshoes?" said Mildred apologetically. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't tell me! I wish not to hear. It makes me—like madness here." +He struck his low sloping brow with his palm. "What vanity! That the +feet may look well to the passing stranger, no overshoes! Rheumatism, +sore throat, colds, pneumonia. Is it not disgusting. If you were a +man I should swear in all the languages I know—which are five, +including Hungarian, and when one swears in Hungarian it is 'going +some,' as you say in America. Yes, it is going quite some." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall wear overshoes," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"And indigestion—you have that?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little, I guess." +</P> + +<P> +"Much—much, I tell you!" cried Moldini, shaking the long finger at +her. "You Americans! You eat too fast and you eat too much. That is +why you are always sick, and consulting the doctors who give the +medicines that make worse, not better. Yes, you Americans are like +children. You know nothing. Sing? Americans cannot sing until they +learn that a stomach isn't a waste-basket, to toss everything into. You +have been to that throat specialist, Hicks?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, yes," said Mildred brightening. "He said there was nothing +organically wrong." +</P> + +<P> +"He is an ass, and a criminal. He ruins throats. He likes to cut, and +he likes to spray. He sprays those poisons that relieve colds and +paralyze the throat and cords. Americans sing? It is to laugh! They +have too many doctors; they take too many pills. Do you know what your +national emblem should be? A dollar-sign—yes. But that for all +nations. No, a pill—a pill, I tell you. You take pills?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now and then," said Mildred, laughing. "I admit I have several kinds +always on hand." +</P> + +<P> +"You see!" cried he triumphantly. "No, it is not mere art that America +needs, but more sense about eating—and to keep away from the doctors. +People full of pills, they cannot make poems and pictures, and write +operas and sing them. Throw away those pills, dear young lady, I +implore you." +</P> + +<P> +"Signor Moldini, I've come to ask you to help me." +</P> + +<P> +Instantly the Italian cleared his face of its half-humorous, +half-querulous expression. In its place came a grave and courteous +eagerness to serve her that was a pleasure, even if it was not +altogether sincere. And Mildred could not believe it sincere. Why +should he care what became of her, or be willing to put himself out for +her? +</P> + +<P> +"You told me one day that you had at one time taught singing," +continued she. +</P> + +<P> +"Until I was starved out?" replied he. "I told people the truth. If +they could not sing I said so. If they sang badly I told them why, and +it was always the upset stomach, the foolish food, and people will not +take care about food. They will eat what they please, and they say +eating is good for them, and that anyone who opposes them is a crank. +So most of my pupils left, except those I taught for nothing—and they +did not heed me, and came to nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"You showed me in ten minutes one day how to cure my worst fault. I've +sung better, more naturally ever since." +</P> + +<P> +"You could sing like the birds. You do—almost. You could be taught to +sing as freely and sweetly and naturally as a flower gives perfume. +That is YOUR divine gift, young lady song as pure and fresh as a bird's +song raining down through the leaves from the tree-top." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no money. I've got to get it, and I shall get it," continued +Mildred. "I want you to teach me—at any hour that you are free. And +I want to know how much you will charge, so that I shall know how much +to get." +</P> + +<P> +"Two dollars a lesson. Or, if you take six lessons a week, ten +dollars. Those were my terms. I could not take less." +</P> + +<P> +"It is too little," said Mildred. "The poorest kinds of teachers get +five dollars an hour—and teach nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Two dollars, ten dollars a week," replied he. "It is the most I ever +could get. I will not take more from you." +</P> + +<P> +"It is too little," said she. "But I'll not insist—for obvious +reasons. Now, if you'll give me your home address, I'll go. When I +get the money, I'll write to you." +</P> + +<P> +"But wait!" cried he, as she rose to depart. "Why so hurried? Let us +see. Take of the wrap. Step behind the screen and loosen your corset. +Perhaps even you could take it off?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not without undressing," said Mildred. "But I can do that if it's +necessary." She laughed queerly. "From this time on I'll do ANYTHING +that's necessary." +</P> + +<P> +"No,—never mind. The dress of woman—of your kind of women. It is +not serious." He laughed grimly. "As for the other kind, their dress +is the only serious thing about them. It is a mistake to think that +women who dress badly are serious. My experience has been that they +are the most foolish of all. Fashionable dress—it is part of a +woman's tools. It shows that she is good at her business. The women +who try to dress like men, they are good neither at men's business nor +at women's." +</P> + +<P> +This, while Mildred was behind the screen, loosening her +corset—though, in fact, she wore it so loose at all times that she +inconvenienced herself simply to show her willingness to do as she was +told. When she came out, Moldini put her through a rigid physical +examination—made her breathe while he held one hand on her stomach, +the other on her back, listened at her heart, opened wide her throat +and peered down, thrust his long strong fingers deep into the muscles +of her arms, her throat, her chest, until she had difficulty in not +crying out with pain. +</P> + +<P> +"The foundation is there," was his verdict. "You have a good body, +good muscles, but flabby—a lady's muscles, not an opera singer's. And +you are stiff—not so stiff as when you first came here, but stiff for +a professional. Ah, we must go at this scientifically, thoroughly." +</P> + +<P> +"You will teach me to breathe—and how to produce my voice naturally?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will teach you nothing," replied he. "I will tell you what to do, +and you will teach yourself. You must get strong—strong in the supple +way—and then you will sing as God intended. The way to sing, dear +young lady, is to sing. Not to breathe artificially, and make faces, +and fuss with your throat, but simply to drop your mouth and throat +open and let it out!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred produced from her hand-bag the Keith paper. "What do YOU think +of that?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +Presently he looked up from his reading. "This part I have seen +before," said he. "It is Lucia Rivi's. Her cousin, Lotta Drusini, +showed it to me—she was a great singer also." +</P> + +<P> +"You approve of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you will follow that for two years, faithfully, you will be +securely great, and then you will follow it all your singing life—and +it will be long. But remember, dear young lady, I said IF you follow +it, and I said faithfully. I do not believe you can." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Because that means self-denial, colossal self-denial. You love things +to eat—yes?" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"We all do," said Moldini. "And we hate routine, and we like foolish, +aimless little pleasures of all kinds." +</P> + +<P> +"And it will be two years before I can try grand opera—can make my +living?" said Mildred slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not say that. I said, before you would be great. No, you can +sing, I think, in—wait." +</P> + +<P> +Moldini flung rapidly through an enormous mass of music on a large +table. "Ah, here!" he cried, and he showed her a manuscript of scales. +"Those two papers. It does not look much? Well, I have made it up, +myself. And when you can sing those two papers perfectly, you will be +a greater singer than any that ever lived." He laughed delightedly. +"Yes, it is all there—in two pages. But do not weep, dear lady, +because you will never sing them perfectly. You will do very well if— +Always that if, remember! Now, let us see. Take this, sit in the +chair, and begin. Don't bother about me. I expect nothing. Just do +the best you can." +</P> + +<P> +Desperation, when it falls short of despair, is the best word for +achievement. Mildred's voice, especially at the outset, was far from +perfect condition. Her high notes, which had never been developed +properly, were almost bad. But she acquitted herself admirably from +the standpoint of showing what her possibilities were. And Moldini, +unkempt, almost unclean, but as natural and simple and human a soul as +ever paid the penalties of poverty and obscurity and friendlessness for +being natural and simple and human, exactly suited her peculiar +temperament. She knew that he liked her, that he believed in her; she +knew that he was as sympathetic toward her as her own self, that there +was no meanness anywhere in him. So she sang like a bird—a bird that +was not too well in soul or in body, but still a bird out in the +sunshine, with the airs of spring cheering his breast and its foliage +gladdening his eyes. He kept her at it for nearly an hour. She saw +that he was pleased, that he had thought out some plan and was bursting +to tell her, but had forbidden himself to speak of it. He said: +</P> + +<P> +"You say you have no money?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, but I shall get it." +</P> + +<P> +"You may have to pay high for it—yes?" +</P> + +<P> +She colored, but did not flinch. "At worst, it will be—unpleasant, +but that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait one—two days—until you hear from me. I may—I do not say will, +but may—get it. Yes, I who have nothing." He laughed gayly. "And +we—you and I—we will divide the spoils." Gravely. "Do not +misunderstand. That was my little joke. If I get the money for you it +will be quite honorable and businesslike. So—wait, dear young lady." +</P> + +<P> +As she was going, she could not resist saying: +</P> + +<P> +"You are SURE I can sing?—IF, of course—always the if." +</P> + +<P> +"It is not to be doubted." +</P> + +<P> +"How well, do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean how many dollars a night well? You mean as well as this +great singer or that? I do not know. And you are not to compare +yourself with anyone but yourself. You will sing as well as Mildred +Gower at her best." +</P> + +<P> +For some reason her blood went tingling through her veins. If she had +dared she would have kissed him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +X +</H3> + +<P> +THAT same afternoon Donald Keith, arrived at the top of Mrs. Belloc's +steps, met Mildred coming out. Seeing their greeting, one would have +thought they had seen each other but a few minutes before or were +casual acquaintances. Said she: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going for a walk." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's take the taxi," said he. +</P> + +<P> +There it stood invitingly at the curb. She felt tired. She disliked +walking. She wished to sit beside him and be whirled away—out of the +noisy part of the city, up where the air was clean and where there were +no crowds. But she had begun the regimen of Lucia Rivi. She hesitated. +What matter if she began now or put off beginning until after this one +last drive? +</P> + +<P> +"No, we will walk," said she. +</P> + +<P> +"But the streets are in frightful condition." +</P> + +<P> +She thrust out a foot covered with a new and shiny storm-rubber. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's drive to the park then. We'll walk there." +</P> + +<P> +"No. If I get into the taxi, I'll not get out. Send it away." +</P> + +<P> +When they were moving afoot up Madison Avenue, he said: "What's the +matter? This isn't like you." +</P> + +<P> +"I've come to my senses," replied she. "It may be too late, but I'm +going to see." +</P> + +<P> +"When I called on Mrs. Brindley the other day," said he, "she had your +note, saying that you were going into musical comedy with Crossley." +</P> + +<P> +"That's over," said she. "I lost my voice, and I lost my job." +</P> + +<P> +"So I heard," said he. "I know Crossley. I dropped in to see him this +morning, and he told me about a foolish, fashionable girl who made a +bluff at going on the stage—he said she had a good voice and was a +swell looker, but proved to be a regular 'four-flusher.' I recognized +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," said she dryly. +</P> + +<P> +"So, I came to see you." +</P> + +<P> +She inquired about Mrs. Brindley and then about Stanley Baird. Finding +that he was in Italy, she inquired: "Do you happen to know his +address?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll get it and send it to you. He has taken a house at Monte Carlo +for the winter." +</P> + +<P> +"And you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall stay here—I think." +</P> + +<P> +"You may join him?" +</P> + +<P> +"It depends"—he looked at her—"upon you." +</P> + +<P> +He could put a wonderful amount of meaning into a slight inflection. +She struggled—not in vain—to keep from changing expression. +</P> + +<P> +"You realize now that the career is quite hopeless?" said he. +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not like the stage life?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"And the stage life does not like you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Your voice lacks both strength and stability?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And you have found the one way by which you could get on—and you +don't like it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Crossley told you?" said she, the color flaring. +</P> + +<P> +"Your name was not mentioned. You may not believe it, but Crossley is +a gentleman." +</P> + +<P> +She walked on in silence. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not expect your failure to come so soon—or in quite that way," +he went on. "I got Mrs. Brindley to exact a promise from you that +you'd let her know about yourself. I called on Mrs. Belloc one day +when you were out, and gave her my confidence and got hers—and assured +myself that you were in good hands. Crossley's tale gave me—a shock. +I came at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you didn't abandon me to my fate, as I thought?" +</P> + +<P> +He smiled in his strange way. "I?—when I loved you? Hardly." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you did interest yourself in me because you cared—precisely as I +said," laughed she. +</P> + +<P> +"And I should have given you up if you had succeeded—precisely as I +said," replied he. +</P> + +<P> +"You wished me to fail?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wished you to fail. I did everything I could to help you to +succeed. I even left you absolutely alone, set you in the right +way—the only way in which anyone can win success." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you made me throw away the crutches and try to walk." +</P> + +<P> +"It was hard to do that. Those strains are very wearing at my time of +life." +</P> + +<P> +"You never were any younger, and you'll never be any older," laughed +she. "That's your charm—one of them." +</P> + +<P> +"Mildred, do you still care?" +</P> + +<P> +"How did you know?" inquired she mockingly. +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't try to conceal it. I'd not have ventured to say and do the +things I said and did if I hadn't felt that we cared for each other. +But, so long as you were leading that fatuous life and dreaming those +foolish dreams, I knew we could never be happy." +</P> + +<P> +"That is true—oh, SO true," replied she. +</P> + +<P> +"But now—you have tried, and that has made a woman of you. And you +have failed, and that has made you ready to be a wife—to be happy in +the quiet, private ways." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I can make enough for us both—as much as we will need or want—as +much as you please, if you aren't too extravagant. And I can do it +easily. It's making little sums—a small income—that's hard in this +ridiculous world. Let's marry, go to California or Europe for several +months, then come back here and live like human beings." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent. Block after block they walked along, as if neither had +anything especial in mind, anything worth the trouble of speech. +Finally he said: +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't answer—yet," said she. "Not to-day—not till I've thought." +</P> + +<P> +She glanced quickly at him. Over his impassive face, so beautifully +regular and, to her, so fascinating, there passed a quick dark shadow, +and she knew that he was suffering. He laughed quietly, his old +careless, indifferent laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, you can answer," said he. "You have answered." +</P> + +<P> +She drew in her breath sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"You have refused." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say that, Donald?" she pleaded. +</P> + +<P> +"To hesitate over a proposal is to refuse," said he with gentle +raillery. "A man is a fool who does not understand and sheer off when +a woman asks for time." +</P> + +<P> +"You know that I love you," she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"I also know that you love something else more. But it's finished. +Let's talk about something else." +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you let me tell you why I hesitate?" begged she. +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't matter." +</P> + +<P> +"But it does. Yes, I do refuse, Donald. I'll never marry you until I +am independent. You said a while ago that what I've been through had +made a woman of me. Not yet. I'm only beginning. I'm still +weak—still a coward. Donald, I must and will be free." +</P> + +<P> +He looked full at her, with a strange smile in his brilliant eyes. Said +he, with obvious intent to change the subject: "Mrs. Brindley's very +unhappy that you haven't been to see her." +</P> + +<P> +"When you asked me to marry you, the only reason I almost accepted was +because I want someone to support me. I love you—yes. But it is as +one loves before one has given oneself and has lived the same life with +another. In the ordinary sense, it's love that I feel. But—do you +understand me, dearest?—in another sense, it's only the hope of love, +the belief that love will come." +</P> + +<P> +He stopped short and looked at her, his eyes alive with the stimulus of +a new and startling idea. +</P> + +<P> +"If you and I had been everything to each other, and you were saying +'Let us go on living the one life' and I were hesitating, then you'd be +right. And I couldn't hesitate, Donald. If you were mine, nothing +could make me give you up, but when it's only the hope of having you, +then pride and self-respect have a chance to be heard." +</P> + +<P> +He was ready to move on. "There's something in that," said he, lapsed +into his usual seeming of impassiveness. "But not much." +</P> + +<P> +"I never before knew you to fail to understand." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand perfectly. You care, but you don't care enough to suit +me. I haven't waited all these years before giving a woman my love, to +be content with a love seated quietly and demurely between pride and +self-respect." +</P> + +<P> +"You wouldn't marry me until I had failed," said she shrewdly. "Now +you attack me for refusing to marry you until I've succeeded." +</P> + +<P> +A slight shrug. "Proposal withdrawn," said he. "Now let's talk about +your career, your plans." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm beginning to understand myself a little," said she. "I suppose +you think that sort of personal talk is very silly and vain—and +trivial." +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary," replied he, "it isn't absolutely necessary to +understand oneself. One is swept on in the same general direction, +anyhow. But understanding helps one to go faster and steadier." +</P> + +<P> +"It began, away back, when I was a girl—this idea of a career. I +envied men and despised women, the sort of women I knew and met with. I +didn't realize why, then. But it was because a man had a chance to be +somebody in himself and to do something, while a woman was just a—a +more or less ornamental belonging of some man's—what you want me to +become now." +</P> + +<P> +"As far as possible from my idea." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you want me to belong to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"As I belong to you." +</P> + +<P> +"That sounds well, but it isn't what could happen. The fact is, Donald, +that I want to belong to you—want to be owned by you and to lose +myself in you. And it's that I'm fighting." +</P> + +<P> +She felt the look he was bending upon her, and glowed and colored under +it, but did not dare to turn her eyes to meet it. Said he: "Why fight +it? Why not be happy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, but that's just it," cried she. "I shouldn't be happy. And I +should make you miserable. The idea of a career—the idea that's +rooted deep in me and can't ever be got out, Donald; it would torment +me. You couldn't kill it, no matter how much you loved me. I'd yield +for the time. Then, I'd go back—or, if I didn't, I'd be wretched and +make you wish you'd never seen me." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," said he. "I don't believe it, but I understand." +</P> + +<P> +"You think I'm deceiving myself, because you saw me wasting my life, +playing the idler and the fool, pretending I was working toward a +career when I was really making myself fit for nothing but to be +Stanley Baird's mistress." +</P> + +<P> +"And you're still deceiving yourself. You won't see the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"No matter," said she. "I must go on and make a career—some kind of a +career." +</P> + +<P> +"At what?" +</P> + +<P> +"At grand opera." +</P> + +<P> +"How'll you get the money?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of Stanley, if necessary. That's why I asked his address. I shan't +ask for much. He'll not refuse." +</P> + +<P> +"A few minutes ago you were talking of self-respect." +</P> + +<P> +"As something I hoped to get. It comes with independence. I'll pay +any price to get it." +</P> + +<P> +"Any price?" said he, and never before had she seen his self-control in +danger. +</P> + +<P> +"I shan't ask Stanley until my other plans have failed." +</P> + +<P> +"What other plans?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to ask Mrs. Belloc for the money. She could afford to +give—to lend—the little I'd want. I'm going to ask her in such a way +that it will be as hard as possible for her to refuse. That isn't +ladylike, but—I've dropped out of the lady class." +</P> + +<P> +"And if she refuses?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll go one after another to several very rich men I know, and +ask them as a business proposition." +</P> + +<P> +"Go in person," advised he with an undisguised sneer. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll raise no false hopes in them," she said. "If they choose to +delude themselves, I'll not go out of my way to undeceive them—until I +have to." +</P> + +<P> +"So THIS is Mildred Gower?" +</P> + +<P> +"You made that remark before." +</P> + +<P> +"Really?" +</P> + +<P> +"When Stanley showed you a certain photograph of me." +</P> + +<P> +"I remember. This is the same woman." +</P> + +<P> +"It's me," laughed she. "The real me. You'd not care to be married to +her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said he. Then, after a brief silence: "Yet, curiously, it was +that woman with whom I fell in love. No, not exactly in love, for I've +been thinking about what you said as to the difference between love in +posse and love in esse, to put it scientifically—between love as a +prospect and love as a reality." +</P> + +<P> +"And I was right," said she. "It explains why marriages go to pieces +and affairs come to grief. Those lovers mistook love's promise to come +for fulfillment. Love doesn't die. It simply fails to come—doesn't +redeem its promise." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the way it might be with us," said he. "That's the way it would +be with us," rejoined she. +</P> + +<P> +He did not answer. When they spoke again it was of indifferent +matters. An hour and a half after they started, they were at Mrs. +Belloc's again. She asked him to have tea in the restaurant next door. +He declined. He went up the steps with her, said: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I wish you luck. Moldini is the best teacher in America." +</P> + +<P> +"How did you know Moldini was to teach me?" exclaimed she. +</P> + +<P> +He smiled, put out his hand in farewell. "Crossley told me. Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +"He told Crossley! I wonder why." She was so interested in this new +phase that she did not see his outstretched hand, or the look of bitter +irony that came into his eyes at this proof of the subordinate place +love and he had in her thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm nervous and anxious," she said apologetically. "Moldini told me he +had some scheme about getting the money. If he only could! But no +such luck for me," she added sadly. +</P> + +<P> +Keith hesitated, debated with himself, said: "You needn't worry. +Moldini got it—from Crossley. Fifty dollars a week for a year." +</P> + +<P> +"You got Crossley to do it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. He had done it before I saw him. He had just promised Moldini +and was cursing himself as 'weak and soft.' But that means nothing. +You may be sure he did it because Moldini convinced him it was a good +speculation." +</P> + +<P> +She was radiant. She had not vanity enough where he was concerned to +believe that he deeply cared, that her joy would give him pain because +it meant forgetfulness of him. Nor was she much impressed by the +expression of his eyes. And even as she hurt him, she made him love +her the more; for he appreciated how rare was the woman who, in such +circumstances, does not feed her vanity with pity for the poor man +suffering so horribly because he is not to get her precious self. +</P> + +<P> +It flashed upon her why he had not offered to help her. "There isn't +anybody like you," said she, with no explanation of her apparent +irrelevancy. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let Moldini see that you know," said he, with characteristic +fine thoughtfulness for others in the midst of his own unhappiness. "It +would deprive him of a great pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +He was about to go. Suddenly her eyes filled and, opening the outer +door, she drew him in. "Donald," she said, "I love you. Take me in +your arms and make me behave." +</P> + +<P> +He looked past her; his arms hung at his sides. Said he: "And +to-night I'd get a note by messenger saying that you had taken it all +back. No, the girl in the photograph—that was you. She wasn't made +to be MY wife. Or I to be her husband. I love you because you are +what you are. I should not love you if you were the ordinary woman, +the sort who marries and merges. But I'm old enough to spare +myself—and you—the consequences of what it would mean if we were +anything but strangers to each other." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you must keep away—altogether. If you didn't, I'd be neither +the one thing nor the other, but just a poor failure." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll not fail," said he. "I know it. It's written in your face." +He looked at her. She was not looking at him, but with eyes gazing +straight ahead was revealing that latent, inexplicable power which, +when it appeared at the surface, so strongly dominated and subordinated +her beauty and her sex. He shut his teeth together hard and glanced +away. +</P> + +<P> +"You will not fail," he repeated bitterly. "And that's the worst of +it." +</P> + +<P> +Without another word, without a handshake, he went. And she knew that, +except by chance, he would never see her again—or she him. +</P> + +<P> +Moldini, disheveled and hysterical with delight and suspense, was in +the drawing-room—had been there half an hour. At first she could +hardly force her mind to listen; but as he talked on and on, he +captured her attention and held it. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The next day she began with Moldini, and put the Lucia Rivi system into +force in all its more than conventual rigors. And for about a month +she worked like a devouring flame. Never had there been such energy, +such enthusiasm. Mrs. Belloc was alarmed for her health, but the Rivi +system took care of that; and presently Mrs. Belloc was moved to say, +"Well, I've often heard that hard work never harmed anyone, but I never +believed it. Now I know the truth." +</P> + +<P> +Then Mildred went to Hanging Rock to spend Saturday to Monday with her +mother. Presbury, reduced now by various infirmities—by absolute +deafness, by dimness of sight, by difficulty in walking—to where +eating was his sole remaining pleasure, or, indeed, distraction, spent +all his time in concocting dishes for himself. Mildred could not +resist—and who can when seated at table with the dish before one's +eyes and under one's nose. The Rivi regimen was suspended for the +visit. Mildred, back in New York and at work again, found that she was +apparently none the worse for her holiday, was in fact better. So she +drifted into the way of suspending the regimen for an evening now and +then—when she dined with Mrs. Brindley, or when Agnes Belloc had +something particularly good. All went well for a time. Then—a cold. +She neglected it, feeling sure it could not stay with one so soundly +healthy through and through. But it did stay; it grew worse. She +decided that she ought to take medicine for it. True, starvation was +the cure prescribed by the regimen, but Mildred could not bring herself +to two or three days of discomfort. Also, many people told her that +such a cure was foolish and even dangerous. The cold got better, got +worse, got better. But her throat became queer, and at last her voice +left her. She was ashamed to go to Moldini in such a condition. She +dropped in upon Hicks, the throat specialist. He "fixed her up" +beautifully with a few sprayings. A week—and her voice left her +again, and Hicks could not bring it back. As she left his office, it +was raining—an icy, dreary drizzle. She splashed her way home, in +about the lowest spirits she had ever known. She locked her door and +seated herself at the window and stared out, while the storm raged +within her. After an hour or two she wrote and sent Moldini a note: "I +have been making a fool of myself. I'll not come again until I am all +right. Be patient with me. I don't think this will occur again." She +first wrote "happen." She scratched it out and put "occur" in its +place. Not that Moldini would have noted the slip; simply that she +would not permit herself the satisfaction of the false and +self-excusing "happen." It had not been a "happen." It had been a +deliberate folly, a lapse to the Mildred she had buried the day she +sent Donald Keith away. When the note was on its way, she threw out +all her medicines, and broke the new spraying apparatus Hicks had +instructed her to buy. +</P> + +<P> +She went back to the Rivi regime. A week passed, and she was little +better. Two weeks, and she began to mend. But it was six weeks before +the last traces of her folly disappeared. Moldini said not a word, +gave no sign. Once more her life went on in uneventful, unbroken +routine—diet, exercise, singing—singing, exercise, diet—no +distractions except an occasional visit to the opera with Moldini, and +she was hating opera now. All her enthusiasm was gone. She simply +worked doggedly, drudged, slaved. +</P> + +<P> +When the days began to grow warm, Mrs. Belloc said: "I suppose you'll +soon be off to the country? Are you going to visit Mrs. Brindley?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mildred. +</P> + +<P> +"Then come with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, but I can't do it." +</P> + +<P> +"But you've got to rest somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"Rest?" said Mildred. "Why should I rest?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Belloc started to protest, then abruptly changed. "Come to think +of it, why should you? You're in perfect health, and it'll be time +enough to rest when you 'get there.'" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm tired through and through," said Mildred, "but it isn't the kind +of tired that could be rested except by throwing up this frightful +nightmare of a career." +</P> + +<P> +"And you can't do that." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't," said Mildred, her lips compressed and her eyes narrowed. +</P> + +<P> +She and Moldini—and fat, funny little Mrs. Moldini—went to the +mountains. And she worked on. She would listen to none of the +suggestions about the dangers of keeping too steadily at it, about +working oneself into a state of staleness, about the imperative demands +of the artistic temperament for rest, change, variety. "It may be so," +she said to Mrs. Brindley. "But I've gone mad. I can no more drop this +routine than—than you could take it up and keep to it for a week." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll admit I couldn't," said Cyrilla. "And Mildred, you're making a +mistake." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll have to suffer for it. I must do what seems best to me." +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm sure you're wrong. I never knew anyone to act as you're +acting. Everyone rests and freshens up." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred lost patience, almost lost her temper. "You're trying to tempt +me to ruin myself," she said. "Please stop it. You say you never knew +anyone to do as I'm doing. Very well. But how many girls have you +known who have succeeded?" +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla hesitatingly confessed that she had known none. +</P> + +<P> +"Yet you've known scores who've tried." +</P> + +<P> +"But they didn't fail because they didn't work enough. Many of them +worked too much." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred laughed. "How do you know why they failed?" said she. "You +haven't thought about it as I have. You haven't LIVED it. Cyrilla, I +served my apprenticeship at listening to nonsense about careers. I want +to have nothing to do with inspiration, and artistic temperament, and +spontaneous genius, and all the rest of the lies. Moldini and I know +what we are about. So I'm living as those who have succeeded lived and +not as those who have failed." +</P> + +<P> +Cyrilla was silenced, but not convinced. The amazing improvement in +Mildred's health, the splendid slim strength and suppleness of her +body, the new and stable glories of her voice—all these she knew +about, but they did not convince her. She believed in work, in hard +work, but to her work meant the music itself. She felt that the Rivi +system and the dirty, obscure little Moldini between them were +destroying Mildred by destroying all "temperament" in her. +</P> + +<P> +It was the old, old criticism of talent upon genius. Genius has always +won in its own time and generation all the world except talent. To +talent contemporaneous genius, genius seen at its patient, plodding +toil, seems coarse and obvious and lacking altogether in inspiration. +Talent cannot comprehend that creation is necessarily in travail and in +all manner of unloveliness. +</P> + +<P> +Mildred toiled on like a slave under the lash, and Moldini and the Rivi +system were her twin relentless drivers. She learned to rule herself +with an iron hand. She discovered the full measure of her own +deficiencies, and she determined to make herself a competent lyric +soprano, perhaps something of a dramatic soprano. She dismissed from +her mind all the "high" thoughts, all the dreams wherewith the little +people, even the little people who achieve a certain success, beguile +the tedium of their journey along the hard road. She was not working +to "interpret the thought of the great master" or to "advance the +singing art yet higher" or even to win fame and applause. She had one +object—to earn her living on the grand opera stage, and to earn it as +a prima donna because that meant the best living. She frankly told +Cyrilla that this was her object, when Cyrilla forced her one day to +talk about her aims. Cyrilla looked pained, broke a melancholy silence +to say: +</P> + +<P> +"I know you don't mean that. You are too intelligent. You sing too +well." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I mean just that," said Mildred. "A living." +</P> + +<P> +"At any rate, don't say it. You give such a false impression." +</P> + +<P> +"To whom? Not to Crossley, and not to Moldini, and why should I care +what any others think? They are not paying my expenses. And +regardless of what they think now, they'll be at my feet if I succeed, +and they'll put me under theirs if I don't." +</P> + +<P> +"How hard you have grown," cried Cyrilla. +</P> + +<P> +"How sensible, you mean. I've merely stopped being a self-deceiver and +a sentimentalist." +</P> + +<P> +"Believe me, my dear, you are sacrificing your character to your +ambition." +</P> + +<P> +"I never had any real character until ambition came," replied Mildred. +"The soft, vacillating, sweet and weak thing I used to have wasn't +character." +</P> + +<P> +"But, dear, you can't think it superior character to center one's whole +life about a sordid ambition." +</P> + +<P> +"Sordid?" +</P> + +<P> +"Merely to make a living." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred laughed merrily and mockingly. "You call that sordid? Then +for heaven's sake what is high? You had left you money enough to live +on, if you have to. No one left me an income. So, I'm fighting for +independence—and that means for self-respect. Is self-respect sordid, +Cyrilla!" +</P> + +<P> +And then Cyrilla understood—in part, not altogether. She lived in the +ordinary environment of flap-doodle and sweet hypocrisy and +sentimentality; and none such can more than vaguely glimpse the +realities. +</P> + +<P> +Toward the end of the summer Moldini said: +</P> + +<P> +"It's over. You have won." +</P> + +<P> +Mildred looked at him in puzzled surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"You have learned it all. You will succeed. The rest is detail." +</P> + +<P> +"But I've learned nothing as yet," protested she. +</P> + +<P> +"You have learned to teach yourself," replied the Italian. "You at +last can hear yourself sing, and you know when you sing right and when +you sing wrong, and you know how to sing right. The rest is easy. Ah, +my dear Miss Gower, you will work NOW!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred did not understand. She was even daunted by that "You will +work NOW!" She had been thinking that to work harder was impossible. +What did he expect of her? Something she feared she could not realize. +But soon she understood—when he gave her songs, then began to teach +her a role, the part of Madame Butterfly herself. "I can help you only +a little there," he said. "You will have to go to my friend Ferreri +for roles. But we can make a beginning." +</P> + +<P> +She had indeed won. She had passed from the stage where a career is +all drudgery—the stage through which only the strong can pass without +giving up and accepting failure or small success. She had passed to +the stage where there is added pleasure to the drudgery, for, the +drudgery never ceases. And what was the pleasure? Why, more +work—always work—bringing into use not merely the routine parts of +the mind, but also the imaginative and creative faculties. She had +learned her trade—not well enough, for no superior man or woman ever +feels that he or she knows the trade well enough—but well enough to +begin to use it. +</P> + +<P> +Said Moldini: "When the great one, who has achieved and arrived, is +asked for advice by the sweet, enthusiastic young beginner, what is the +answer? Always the same: 'My dear child, don't! Go back home, and +marry and have babies.' You know why now?" +</P> + +<P> +And Mildred, looking back over the dreary drudgery that had been, and +looking forward to the drudgery yet to come, dreary enough for all the +prospects of a few flowers and a little sun—Mildred said: "Indeed I +do, maestro." +</P> + +<P> +"They think it means what you Americans call morals—as if that were +all of morality! But it doesn't mean morals; not at all. Sex and the +game of sex is all through life everywhere—in the home no less than in +the theater. In town and country, indoors and out, sunlight, +moonlight, and rain—always it goes on. And the temptations and the +struggles are no more and no less on the stage than off. No, there is +too much talk about 'morals.' The reason the great one says 'don't' is +the work." He shook his head sadly. "They do not realize, those eager +young beginners. They read the story-books and the lives of the great +successes and they hear the foolish chatter of common-place +people—those imbecile 'cultured' people who know nothing! And they +think a career is a triumphal march. What think you, Miss Gower—eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I had known I'd not have had the courage, or the vanity, to begin," +said she. "And if I could realize what's before me, I probably +shouldn't have the courage to go on." +</P> + +<P> +"But why not? Haven't you also learned that it's just the day's work, +doing every day the best you can?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I shall go on," rejoined she. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said he, looking at her with awed admiration. "It is in your +face. I saw it there, the day you came—after you sang the 'Batti +Batti' the first time and failed." +</P> + +<P> +"There was nothing to me then." +</P> + +<P> +"The seed," replied he. "And I saw it was an acorn, not the seed of +one of those weak plants that spring up overnight and wither at noon. +Yes, you will win." He laughed gayly, rolled his eyes and kissed his +fingers. "And then you can afford to take a little holiday, and fall in +love. Love! Ah, it is a joyous pastime—for a holiday. Only for a +holiday, mind you. I shall be there and I shall seize you and take you +back to your art." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +In the following winter and summer Crossley disclosed why he had been +sufficiently interested in grand opera to begin to back undeveloped +voices. Crossley was one of those men who are never so practical as +when they profess to be, and fancy themselves, impractical. He became a +grand-opera manager and organized for a season that would surpass in +interest any New York had known. Thus it came about that on a March +night Mildred made her debut. +</P> + +<P> +The opera was "Faust." As the three principal men singers were all +expensive—the tenor alone, twelve hundred a night—Crossley put in a +comparatively modestly salaried Marguerite. She was seized with a cold +at the last moment, and Crossley ventured to substitute Mildred Gower. +The Rivi system was still in force. She was ready—indeed, she was +always ready, as Rivi herself had been. And within ten minutes of her +coming forth from the wings, Mildred Gower had leaped from obscurity +into fame. It happens so, often in the story books, the newly +gloriously arrived one having been wholly unprepared, achieving by +sheer force of genius. It occurs so, occasionally, in life—never when +there is lack of preparation, never by force of unassisted genius, +never by accident. Mildred succeeded because she had got ready to +succeed. How could she have failed? +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps you read the stories in the newspapers—how she had discovered +herself possessed of a marvelous voice, how she had decided to use it +in public, how she had coached for a part, had appeared, had become one +of the world's few hundred great singers all in a single act of an +opera. You read nothing about what she went through in developing a +hopelessly uncertain and far from strong voice into one which, while +not nearly so good as thousands of voices that are tried and cast +aside, yet sufficed, with her will and her concentration back of it, to +carry her to fame—and wealth. +</P> + +<P> +That birdlike voice! So sweet and spontaneous, so true, so like the +bird that "sings of summer in full throated ease!" No wonder the +audience welcomed it with cheers on cheers. Greater voices they had +heard, but none more natural—and that was Moldini. +</P> + +<P> +He came to her dressing-room at the intermission. He stretched out his +arms, but emotion overcame him, and he dropped to a chair and sobbed +and cried and laughed. She came and put her arms round him and kissed +him. She was almost calm. The GREAT fear had seized her—Can I keep +what I have won? +</P> + +<P> +"I am a fool," cried Moldini. "I will agitate you." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be afraid of that," said she. "I am nervous, yes, horribly +nervous. But you have taught me so that I could sing, no matter what +was happening." It was true. And her body was like iron to the touch. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her, and though he knew her and had seen her train herself +and had helped in it, he marveled. "You are happy?" he said eagerly. +"Surely—yes, you MUST be happy." +</P> + +<P> +"More than that," answered she. "You'll have to find another word than +happiness—something bigger and stronger and deeper." +</P> + +<P> +"Now you can have your holiday," laughed he. "But"—with mock +sternness—"in moderation! He must be an incident only. With those +who win the high places, sex is an incident—a charming, necessary +incident, but only an incident. He must not spoil your career. If you +allowed that you would be like a mother who deserts her children for a +lover. He must not touch your career!" +</P> + +<P> +Mildred, giving the last touches to her costume before the glass, +glanced merrily at Moldini by way of it. "If he did touch it," said +she, "how long do you think he would last with me?" +</P> + +<P> +Moldini paused half-way in his nod of approval, was stricken with +silence and sadness. It would have been natural and proper for a man +thus to put sex beneath the career. It was necessary for anyone who +developed the strong character that compels success and holds it. But— +The Italian could not get away from tradition; woman was made for the +pleasure of one man, not for herself and the world. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't like that, maestro?" said she, still observing him in the +glass. +</P> + +<P> +"No man would," said he, with returning cheerfulness. "It hurts man's +vanity. And no woman would, either; you rebuke their laziness and +their dependence!" +</P> + +<P> +She laughed and rushed away to fresh triumphs. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Price She Paid, by David Graham Phillips + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRICE SHE PAID *** + +***** This file should be named 457-h.htm or 457-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/457/ + +Produced by Charles Keller. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Price She Paid + +Author: David Graham Phillips + +Posting Date: September 27, 2008 [EBook #457] +Release Date: March, 1996 +[This file last updated: January 31, 2011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRICE SHE PAID *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + +THE PRICE SHE PAID + + +by + +David Graham Phillips + + + +I + +HENRY GOWER was dead at sixty-one--the end of a lifelong fraud which +never had been suspected, and never would be. With the world, with his +acquaintances and neighbors, with his wife and son and daughter, he +passed as a generous, warm-hearted, good-natured man, ready at all +times to do anything to help anybody, incapable of envy or hatred or +meanness. In fact, not once in all his days had he ever thought or +done a single thing except for his own comfort. Like all intensely +selfish people who are wise, he was cheerful and amiable, because that +was the way to be healthy and happy and to have those around one +agreeable and in the mood to do what one wished them to do. He told +people, not the truth, not the unpleasant thing that might help them, +but what they wished to hear. His family lived in luxurious comfort +only because he himself was fond of luxurious comfort. His wife and his +daughter dressed fashionably and went about and entertained in the +fashionable, expensive way only because that was the sort of life that +gratified his vanity. He lived to get what he wanted; he got it every +day and every hour of a life into which no rain ever fell; he died, +honored, respected, beloved, and lamented. + +The clever trick he had played upon his fellow beings came very near to +discovery a few days after his death. His widow and her son and +daughter-in-law and daughter were in the living-room of the charming +house at Hanging Rock, near New York, alternating between sorrowings +over the dead man and plannings for the future. Said the widow: + +"If Henry had only thought what would become of us if he were taken +away!" + +"If he had saved even a small part of what he made every year from the +time he was twenty-six--for he always made a big income," said his son, +Frank. + +"But he was so generous, so soft-hearted!" exclaimed the widow. "He +could deny us nothing." + +"He couldn't bear seeing us with the slightest wish ungratified," said +Frank. + +"He was the best father that ever lived!" cried the daughter, Mildred. + +And Mrs. Gower the elder and Mrs. Gower the younger wept; and Mildred +turned away to hide the emotion distorting her face; and Frank stared +gloomily at the carpet and sighed. The hideous secret of the life of +duplicity was safe, safe forever. + +In fact, Henry Gower had often thought of the fate of his family if he +should die. In the first year of his married life, at a time when +passion for a beautiful bride was almost sweeping him into generous +thought, he had listened for upward of an hour to the eloquence of a +life insurance agent. Then the agent, misled by Gower's effusively +generous and unselfish expressions, had taken a false tack. He had +descanted upon the supreme satisfaction that would be felt by a dying +man as he reflected how his young widow would be left in affluence. He +made a vivid picture; Gower saw--saw his bride happier after his death +than she had been during his life, and attracting a swarm of admirers +by her beauty, well set off in becoming black, and by her independent +income. The generous impulse then and there shriveled to its weak and +shallow roots. With tears in his kind, clear eyes he thanked the agent +and said: + +"You have convinced me. You need say no more. I'll send for you in a +few days." + +The agent never got into his presence again. Gower lived up to his +income, secure in the knowledge that his ability as a lawyer made him +certain of plenty of money as long as he should live. But it would +show an utter lack of comprehension of his peculiar species of +character to imagine that he let himself into the secret of his own +icy-heartedness by ceasing to think of the problem of his wife and two +children without him to take care of them. On the contrary, he thought +of it every day, and planned what he would do about it--to-morrow. And +for his delay he had excellent convincing excuses. Did he not take +care of his naturally robust health? Would he not certainly outlive +his wife, who was always doctoring more or less? Frank would be able to +take care of himself; anyhow, it was not well to bring a boy up to +expectations, because every man should be self-supporting and +self-reliant. As for Mildred, why, with her beauty and her cleverness +she could not but make a brilliant marriage. Really, there was for him +no problem of an orphaned family's future; there was no reason why he +should deny himself any comfort or luxury, or his vanity any of the +titillations that come from social display. + +That one of his calculations which was the most vital and seemed the +surest proved to be worthless. It is not the weaklings who die, after +infancy and youth, but the strong, healthy men and women. The +weaklings have to look out for themselves, receive ample warning in the +disastrous obvious effects of the slightest imprudence. The robust, +even the wariest of them, even the Henry Gowers, overestimate and +overtax their strength. Gower's downfall was champagne. He could not +resist a bottle of it for dinner every night. As so often happens, the +collapse of the kidneys came without any warning that a man of powerful +constitution would deem worthy of notice. By the time the doctor began +to suspect the gravity of his trouble he was too far gone. + +Frank, candidly greedy and selfish--"Such a contrast to his father!" +everyone said--was married to the prettiest girl in Hanging Rock and +had a satisfactory law practice in New York. His income was about +fifteen thousand a year. But his wife had tastes as extravagant as his +own; and Hanging Rock is one of those suburbs of New York where gather +well-to-do middle-class people to live luxuriously and to delude each +other and themselves with the notion that they are fashionable, rich +New Yorkers who prefer to live in the country "like the English." Thus, +Henry Gower's widow and daughter could count on little help from +Frank--and they knew it. + +"You and Milly will have to move to some less expensive place than +Hanging Rock," said Frank--it was the living-room conference a few days +after the funeral. + +Mildred flushed and her eyes flashed. She opened her lips to +speak--closed them again with the angry retort unuttered. After all, +Frank was her mother's and her sole dependence. They could hope for +little from him, but nothing must be said that would give him and his +mean, selfish wife a chance to break with them and refuse to do +anything whatever. + +"And Mildred must get married," said Natalie. In Hanging Rock most of +the girls and many of the boys had given names taken from Burke's +Peerage, the Almanac de Gotha, and fashionable novels. + +Again Mildred flushed; but her eyes did not flash, neither did she open +her lips to speak. The little remark of her sister-in-law, apparently +so harmless and sensible, was in fact a poisoned arrow. For Mildred +was twenty-three, had been "out" five years, and was not even in the +way to become engaged. She and everyone had assumed from her lovely +babyhood that she would marry splendidly, would marry wealth and social +position. How could it be otherwise? Had she not beauty? Had she not +family and position? Had she not style and cleverness? Yet--five +years out and not a "serious" proposal. An impudent poor fellow with +no prospects had asked her. An impudent rich man from fashionable New +York had hung after her--and had presently abandoned whatever dark +projects he may have been concealing and had married in his own set, +"as they always do, the miserable snobs," raved Mrs. Gower, who had +been building high upon those lavish outpourings of candy, flowers, and +automobile rides. Mildred, however, had accepted the defection more +philosophically. She had had enough vanity to like the attentions of +the rich and fashionable New Yorker, enough good sense to suspect, +perhaps not definitely, what those attentions meant, but certainly what +they did not mean. Also, in the back of her head had been an intention +to refuse Stanley Baird, if by chance he should ask her. Was there any +substance to this intention, sprung from her disliking the conceited, +self-assured snob as much as she liked his wealth and station? Perhaps +not. Who can say? At any rate, may we not claim credit for our good +intentions--so long as, even through lack of opportunity, we have not +stultified them? + +With every natural advantage apparently, Mildred's failure to catch a +husband seemed to be somehow her own fault. Other girls, less endowed +than she, were marrying, were marrying fairly well. Why, then, was +Mildred lagging in the market? + +There may have been other reasons, reasons of accident--for, in the +higher class matrimonial market, few are called and fewer chosen. There +was one reason not accidental; Hanging Rock was no place for a girl so +superior as was Mildred Gower to find a fitting husband. As has been +hinted, Hanging Rock was one of those upper-middle-class colonies where +splurge and social ambition dominate the community life. In such +colonies the young men are of two classes--those beneath such a girl as +Mildred, and those who had the looks, the manners, the intelligence, +and the prospects to justify them in looking higher socially--in +looking among the very rich and really fashionable. In the Hanging +Rock sort of community, having all the snobbishness of Fifth Avenue, +Back Bay, and Rittenhouse Square, with the added torment of the +snobbishness being perpetually ungratified--in such communities, +beneath a surface reeking culture and idealistic folderol, there is a +coarse and brutal materialism, a passion for money, for luxury, for +display, that equals aristocratic societies at their worst. No one can +live for a winter, much less grow up, in such a place without becoming +saturated with sycophantry. Thus, only by some impossible combination +of chances could there have been at Hanging Rock a young man who would +have appreciated Mildred and have had the courage of his appreciation. +This combination did not happen. In Mildred's generation and set there +were only the two classes of men noted above. The men of the one of +them which could not have attracted her accepted their fate of mating +with second-choice females to whom they were themselves second choice. +The men of the other class rarely appeared at Hanging Rock functions, +hung about the rich people in New York, Newport, and on Long Island, +and would as soon have thought of taking a Hanging Rock society girl to +wife as of exchanging hundred-dollar bills for twenty-five-cent pieces. +Having attractions acceptable in the best markets, they took them +there. Hanging Rock denounced them as snobs, for Hanging Rock was +virtuously eloquent on the subject of snobbishness--we human creatures +being never so effective as when assailing in others the vice or +weakness we know from lifelong, intimate, internal association with it. +But secretly the successfully ambitious spurners of that suburban +society were approved, were envied. And Hanging Rock was most gracious +to them whenever it got the chance. + +In her five years of social life Mildred had gone only with the various +classes of fashionable people, had therefore known only the men who are +full of the poison of snobbishness. She had been born and bred in an +environment as impregnated with that poison as the air of a +kitchen-garden with onions. She knew nothing else. The secret +intention to refuse Stanley Baird, should he propose, was therefore the +more astonishing--and the more significant. From time to time in any +given environment you will find some isolated person, some personality, +with a trait wholly foreign and out of place there. Now it is a soft +voice and courteous manners in a slum; again it is a longing for a life +of freedom and equality in a member of a royal family that has known +nothing but sordid slavery for centuries. Or, in the petty +conventionality of a prosperous middle- or upper-class community you +come upon one who dreams--perhaps vaguely but still longingly--of an +existence where love and ideas shall elevate and glorify life. In +spite of her training, in spite of the teaching and example of all +about her from the moment of her opening her eyes upon the world, +Mildred Gower at twenty-three still retained something of these dream +flowers sown in the soil of her naturally good mind by some book or +play or perhaps by some casually read and soon forgotten article in +magazine or newspaper. We have the habit of thinking only weeds +produce seeds that penetrate and prosper everywhere and anywhere. The +truth is that fine plants of all kinds, vegetable, fruit, and flower of +rarest color and perfume, have this same hardiness and fecundity. Pull +away at the weeds in your garden for a while, and see if this is not +so. Though you may plant nothing, you will be amazed at the results if +you but clear a little space of its weeds--which you have been planting +and cultivating. + +Mildred--woman fashion--regarded it as a reproach upon her that she had +not yet succeeded in making the marriage everyone, including herself, +predicted for her and expected of her. On the contrary, it was the +most savage indictment possible of the marriageable and marrying men +who had met her--of their stupidity, of their short-sighted and +mean-souled calculation, of their lack of courage--the courage to take +what they, as men of flesh and blood wanted, instead of what their +snobbishness ordered. And if Stanley Baird, the nearest to a +flesh-and-blood man of any who had known her, had not been so +profoundly afraid of his fashionable mother and of his sister, the +Countess of Waring-- But he was profoundly afraid of them; so, it is +idle to speculate about him. + +What did men see when they looked at Mildred Gower? Usually, when men +look at a woman, they have a hazy, either pleasant or unpleasant, sense +of something feminine. That, and nothing more. Afterward, through +some whim or some thrust from chance they may see in her, or fancy they +see in her, the thing feminine that their souls--it is always +"soul"--most yearns after. But just at first glance, so colorless or +conventionally colored is the usual human being, the average +woman--indeed every woman but she who is exceptional--creates upon man +the mere impression of pleasant or unpleasant petticoats. In the +exceptional woman something obtrudes. She has astonishing hair, or +extraordinary eyes, or a mouth that seems to draw a man like a magnet; +or it is the allure of a peculiar smile or of a figure whose +sinuosities as she moves seem to cause a corresponding wave-disturbance +in masculine nerves. Further, the possession of one of these signal +charms usually causes all her charms to have more than ordinary +potency. The sight of the man is so bewitched by the one potent charm +that he sees the whole woman under a spell. + +Mildred Gower, of the medium height and of a slender and well-formed +figure, had a face of the kind that is called lovely; and her smile, +sweet, dreamy, revealing white and even teeth, gave her loveliness +delicate animation. She had an abundance of hair, neither light nor +dark; she had a fine clear skin. Her eyes, gray and rather serious and +well set under long straight brows, gave her a look of honesty and +intelligence. But the charm that won men, her charm of charms, was her +mouth--mobile, slightly pouted, not too narrow, of a wonderful, vividly +healthy and vital red. She had beauty, she had intelligence. But it +was impossible for a man to think of either, once his glance had been +caught by those expressive, inviting lips of hers, so young, so fresh, +with their ever-changing, ever-fascinating line expressing in a +thousand ways the passion and poetry of the kiss. + +Of all the men who had admired her and had edged away because they +feared she would bewitch them into forgetting what the world calls +"good common sense"--of all those men only one had suspected the real +reason for her physical power over men. All but Stanley Baird had +thought themselves attracted because she was so pretty or so stylish or +so clever and amusing to talk with. Baird had lived intelligently +enough to learn that feminine charm is never general, is always +specific. He knew it was Mildred Gower's lips that haunted, that +frightened ambitious men away, that sent men who knew they hadn't a +ghost of a chance with her discontentedly back to the second-choice +women who alone were available for them. Fortunately for Mildred, +Stanley Baird, too wise to flatter a woman discriminatingly, did not +tell her the secret of her fascination. If he had told her, she would +no doubt have tried to train and to use it--and so would inevitably +have lost it. + +To go on with that important conference in the sitting-room in the +handsome, roomy house of the Gowers at Hanging Rock, Frank Gower +eagerly seized upon his wife's subtly nasty remark. "I don't see why +in thunder you haven't married, Milly," said he. "You've had every +chance, these last four or five years." + +"And it'll be harder now," moaned her mother. "For it looks as though +we were going to be wretchedly poor. And poverty is so repulsive." + +"Do you think," said Mildred, "that giving me the idea that I must +marry right away will make it easier for me to marry? Everyone who +knows us knows our circumstances." She looked significantly at Frank's +wife, who had been wailing through Hanging Rock the woeful plight of +her dead father-in-law's family. The young Mrs. Gower blushed and +glanced away. "And," Mildred went on, "everyone is saying that I must +marry at once--that there's nothing else for me to do." She smiled +bitterly. "When I go into the street again I shall see nothing but +flying men. And no man would come to call unless he brought a chaperon +and a witness with him." + +"How can you be so frivolous?" reproached her mother. + +Mildred was used to being misunderstood by her mother, who had long +since been made hopelessly dull by the suffocating life she led and by +pain from her feet, which never left her at ease for a moment except +when she had them soaking in cold water. Mrs. Gower had been born with +ordinary feet, neither ugly nor pretty and entirely fit for the uses +for which nature intended feet. She had spoiled them by wearing shoes +to make them look smaller and slimmer than they were. In steady weather +she was plaintive; in changeable weather she varied between irritable +and violent. + +Said Mildred to her brother: "How much--JUST how much is there?" + +"I can't say exactly," replied her brother, who had not yet solved to +his satisfaction the moral problem of how much of the estate he ought +to allow his mother and sister and how much he ought to claim for +himself--in such a way that the claim could not be disputed. + +Mildred looked fixedly at him. He showed his uneasiness not by +glancing away, but by the appearance of a certain hard defiance in his +eyes. Said she: + +"What is the very most we can hope for?" + +A silence. Her mother broke it. "Mildred, how CAN you talk of those +things--already?" + +"I don't know," replied Mildred. "Perhaps because it's got to be done." + +This seemed to them all--and to herself--a lame excuse for such +apparent hardness of heart. Her father had always been +SENDER-HEARTED--HAD NEVER SPOKEN OF MONEY, OR ENCOURAGED HIS FAMILY IN +SPEAKING OF IT. + +A LONG AND PAINFUL SILENCE. THEN, THE WIDOW ABRUPTLY: + +"YOU'RE SURE, Frank, there's NO insurance?" + +"Father always said that you disliked the idea," replied her son; "that +you thought insurance looked like your calculating on his death." + +Under her husband's adroit prompting Mrs. Gower had discovered such a +view of insurance in her brain. She now recalled expressing it--and +regretted. But she was silenced. She tried to take her mind of the +subject of money. But, like Mildred, she could not. The thought of +imminent poverty was nagging at them like toothache. "There'll be +enough for a year or so?" she said, timidly interrogative. + +"I hope so," said Frank. + +Mildred was eying him fixedly again. Said she: "Have you found +anything at all?" + +"He had about eight thousand dollars in bank," said Frank. "But most +of it will go for the pressing debts." + +"But how did HE expect to live?" urged Mildred. + +"Yes, there must have been SOMETHING," said her mother. + +"Of course, there's his share of the unsettled and unfinished business +of the firm," admitted Frank. + +"How much will that be?" persisted Mildred. + +"I can't tell, offhand," said Frank, with virtuous reproach. "My +mind's been on--other things." + +Henry Gower's widow was not without her share of instinctive +shrewdness. Neither had she, unobservant though she was, been within +sight of her son's character for twenty-eight years without having +unconfessed, unformed misgivings concerning it. "You mustn't bother +about these things now, Frank dear," said she. "I'll get my brother to +look into it." + +"That won't be necessary," hastily said Frank. "I don't want any rival +lawyer peeping into our firm's affairs." + +"My brother Wharton is the soul of honor," said Mrs. Gower, the elder, +with dignity. "You are too young to take all the responsibility of +settling the estate. Yes, I'll send for Wharton to-morrow." + +"It'll look as though you didn't trust me," said Frank sourly. + +"We mustn't do anything to start the gossips in this town," said his +wife, assisting. + +"Then send for him yourself, Frank," said Mildred, "and give him charge +of the whole matter." + +Frank eyed her furiously. "How ashamed father would be!" exclaimed he. + +But this solemn invoking of the dead man's spirit was uneffectual. The +specter of poverty was too insistent, too terrible. Said the widow: + +"I'm sure, in the circumstances, my dear dead husband would want me to +get help from someone older and more experienced." + +And Frank, guilty of conscience and an expert in the ways of +conventional and highly moral rascality, ceased to resist. His wife, +scenting danger to their getting the share that "rightfully belongs to +the son, especially when he has been the brains of the firm for several +years," made angry and indiscreet battle for no outside interference. +The longer she talked the firmer the widow and the daughter became, not +only because she clarified suspicions that had been too hazy to take +form, but also because they disliked her intensely. The following day +Wharton Conover became unofficial administrator. He had no difficulty +in baffling Frank Gower's half-hearted and clumsy efforts to hide two +large fees due the dead man's estate. He discovered clear assets +amounting in all to sixty-three thousand dollars, most of it available +within a few months. + +"As you have the good-will of the firm and as your mother and sister +have only what can be realized in cash," said he to Frank, "no doubt +you won't insist on your third." + +"I've got to consider my wife," said Frank. "I can't do as I'd like." + +"You are going to insist on your third?" said Conover, with an accent +that made Frank quiver. + +"I can't do otherwise," said he in a dogged, shamed way. + +"Um," said Conover. "Then, on behalf of my sister and her daughter +I'll have to insist on a more detailed accounting than you have been +willing to give--and on the production of that small book bound in red +leather which disappeared from my brother-in-law's desk the afternoon +of his death." + +A wave of rage and fear surged up within Frank Gower and crashed +against the seat of his life. For days thereafter he was from time to +time seized with violent spasms of trembling; years afterward he was +attributing premature weaknesses of old age to the effects of that +moment of horror. His uncle's words came as a sudden, high shot climax +to weeks of exasperating peeping and prying and questioning, of sneer +and insinuation. Conover had been only moderately successful at the +law, had lost clients to Frank's father, had been beaten when they were +on opposite sides. He hated the father with the secret, hypocritical +hatred of the highly moral and religious man. He despised the son. It +is not often that a Christian gentleman has such an opportunity to +combine justice and revenge, to feed to bursting an ancient grudge, the +while conscious that he is but doing his duty. + +Said Frank, when he was able to speak: "You have been listening to the +lies of some treacherous clerk here." + +"Don't destroy that little book," proceeded Conover tranquilly. "We +can prove that you took it." + +Young Gower rose. "I must decline to have anything further to say to +you, sir," said he. "You will leave this office, and you will not be +admitted here again unless you come with proper papers as +administrator." + +Conover smiled with cold satisfaction and departed. There followed a +series of quarrels--between Frank and his sister, between Frank and his +mother, between Frank's wife and his mother, between Mildred and her +mother, between the mother and Conover. Mrs. Gower was suspicious of +her son; but she knew her brother for a pinchpenny, exacting the last +drop of what he regarded as his own. And she discovered that, if she +authorized him to act as administrator for her, he could--and beyond +question would--take a large share of the estate. The upshot was that +Frank paid over to his mother and sister forty-seven thousand dollars, +and his mother and her brother stopped speaking to each other. + +"I see that you have turned over all your money to mother," said Frank +to Mildred a few days after the settlement. + +"Of course," said Mildred. She was in a mood of high scorn for +sordidness--a mood induced by the spectacle of the shameful manners of +Conover, Frank, and his wife. + +"Do you think that's wise?" suggested Frank. + +"I think it's decent," said Mildred. + +"Well, I hope you'll not live to regret it," said her brother. + +Neither Mrs. Gower nor her daughter had ever had any experience in the +care of money. To both forty-seven thousand dollars seemed a +fortune--forty-seven thousand dollars in cash in the bank, ready to +issue forth and do their bidding at the mere writing of a few figures +and a signature on a piece of paper. In a sense they knew that for +many years the family's annual expenses had ranged between forty and +fifty thousand, but in the sense of actuality they knew nothing about +it--a state of affairs common enough in families where the man is in +absolute control and spends all he makes. Money always had been +forthcoming; therefore money always would be forthcoming. + +The mourning and the loss of the person who had filled and employed +their lives caused the widow and the daughter to live very quietly +during the succeeding year. They spent only half of their capital. For +reasons of selfish and far-sighted prudence which need no detailing +Frank moved away to New York within six months of his father's death +and reduced communication between himself and wife and his mother and +sister to a frigid and rapidly congealing minimum. He calculated that +by the time their capital was consumed they would have left no feeling +of claim upon him or he feeling of duty toward them. + +It was not until eighteen months after her father's death, when the +total capital was sunk to less than fifteen thousand dollars, that +Mildred awakened to the truth of their plight. A few months at most, +and they would have to give up that beautiful house which had been her +home all her life. She tried to grasp the meaning of the facts as her +intelligence presented them to her, but she could not. She had no +practical training whatever. She had been brought up as a rich man's +child, to be married to a rich man, and never to know anything of the +material details of life beyond what was necessary in managing servants +after the indifferent fashion of the usual American woman of the +comfortable classes. She had always had a maid; she could not even +dress herself properly without the maid's assistance. Life without a +maid was inconceivable; life without servants was impossible. + +She wandered through the house, through the grounds. She said to +herself again and again: "We have got to give up all this, and be +miserably poor--with not a servant, with less than the tenement people +have." But the words conveyed no meaning to her. She said to herself +again and again: "I must rouse myself. I must do something. I +must--must--must!" But she did not rouse, because there was nothing to +rouse. So far as practical life was concerned she was as devoid of +ideas as a new-born baby. + +There was but the one hope--marriage, a rich marriage. It is the habit +of men who can take care of themselves and of women who are securely +well taken care of to scorn the woman or the helpless-bred man who +marries for money or even entertains that idea. How little imagination +these scorners have! To marry for a mere living, hardly better than +one could make for oneself, assuredly does show a pitiful lack of +self-reliance, a melancholy lack of self-respect. But for men or women +all their lives used to luxury and with no ability whatever at earning +money--for such persons to marry money in order to save themselves from +the misery and shame that poverty means to them is the most natural, +the most human action conceivable. The man or the woman who says he or +she would not do it, either is a hypocrite or is talking without +thinking. You may in honesty criticize and condemn a social system that +suffers men and women to be so crudely and criminally miseducated by +being given luxury they did not earn. But to condemn the victims of +that system for acting as its logic compels is sheer folly or sheer +phariseeism. + +Would Mildred Gower have married for money? As the weeks fled, as the +bank account dwindled, she would have grasped eagerly at any rich man +who might have offered himself--no matter how repellent he might have +been. She did not want a bare living; she did not want what passes +with the mass of middle-class people for comfort. She wanted what she +had--the beautiful and spacious house, the costly and fashionable +clothing, the servants, the carriages and motors, the thousand and one +comforts, luxuries, and vanities to which she had always been used. In +the brain of a young woman of poor or only comfortably off family the +thoughts that seethed in Mildred Gower's brain would have been so many +indications of depravity. In Mildred Gower's brain they were the +natural, the inevitable, thoughts. They indicated everything as to her +training, nothing as to her character. So, when she, thinking only of +a rich marriage with no matter whom, and contrasting herself with the +fine women portrayed in the novels and plays, condemned herself as +shameless and degraded, she did herself grave injustice. + +But no rich man, whether attractive or repulsive, offered. Indeed, no +man of any kind offered. Instead, it was her mother who married. + +A widower named James Presbury, elderly, with an income of five to six +thousand a year from inherited wealth, stumbled into Hanging Rock to +live, was impressed by the style the widow Gower maintained, believed +the rumor that her husband had left her better off than was generally +thought, proposed, and was accepted. And two years and a month after +Henry Gower's death his widow became Mrs. James Presbury--and ceased to +veil from her new husband the truth as to her affairs. + +Mildred had thought that, than the family quarrels incident to settling +her father's estate, human nature could no lower descend. She was now +to be disillusioned. When a young man or a young woman blunders into a +poor marriage in trying to make a rich one, he or she is usually +withheld from immediate and frank expression by the timidity of youth. +Not so the elderly man or woman. As we grow older, no matter how +timidly conventional we are by nature, we become, through selfishness +or through indifference to the opinion of others or through impatience +of petty restraint, more and more outspoken. Old Presbury discovered +how he had tricked himself four days after the wedding. He and his +bride were at the Waldorf in New York, a-honeymooning. + +The bride had never professed to be rich. She had simply continued in +her lifelong way, had simply acted rich. She well knew the gaudy +delusions her admirer was entertaining, and she saw to it that nothing +was said or done to disturb him. She inquired into his affairs, made +sure of the substantiality of the comparatively small income he +possessed, decided to accept him as her best available chance to escape +becoming a charge upon her anything but eager and generous relatives. +She awaited the explosion with serenity. She cared not a flip for +Presbury, who was a soft and silly old fool, full of antiquated +compliments and so drearily the inferior of Henry Gower, physically and +mentally, that even she could appreciate the difference, the descent. +She rather enjoyed the prospect of a combat with him, of the end of +dissimulating her contempt. She had thought out and had put in arsenal +ready for use a variety of sneers, jeers, and insults that suggested +themselves to her as she listened and simpered and responded while he +was courting. + +Had the opportunity offered earlier than the fourth day she would have +seized it, but not until that fourth morning was she in just the right +mood. She had eaten too much dinner the night before, and had followed +it after two hours in a stuffy theater with an indigestible supper. He +liked the bedroom windows open at night; she liked them closed. After +she fell into a heavy sleep, he slipped out of bed and opened the +windows wide--to teach her by the night's happy experience that she was +entirely mistaken as to the harmfulness of fresh winter air. The +result was that she awakened with a frightful cold and a splitting +headache. And as the weather was about to change she had shooting +pains like toothache through her toes the instant she thrust them into +her shoes. The elderly groom, believing he had a rich bride, was all +solicitude and infuriating attention. She waited until he had wrought +her to the proper pitch of fury. Then she said--in reply to some +remark of his: + +"Yes, I shall rely upon you entirely. I want you to take absolute +charge of my affairs." + +The tears sprang to his eyes. His weak old mouth, rapidly falling to +pieces, twisted and twitched with emotion. "I'll try to deserve your +confidence, darling," said he. "I've had large business experience--in +the way of investing carefully, I mean. I don't think your affairs +will suffer in my hands." + +"Oh, I'm sure they'll not trouble you," said she in a sweet, sure tone +as the pains shot through her feet and her head. "You'll hardly notice +my little mite in your property." She pretended to reflect. "Let me +see--there's seven thousand left, but of course half of that is +Millie's." + +"It must be very well invested," said he. "Those seven thousand shares +must be of the very best." + +"Shares?" said she, with a gentle little laugh. "I mean dollars." + +Presbury was about to lift a cup of cafe au lait to his lips. Instead, +he turned it over into the platter of eggs and bacon. + +"We--Mildred and I," pursued his bride, "were left with only forty-odd +thousand between us. Of course, we had to live. So, naturally, +there's very little left." + +Presbury was shaking so violently that his head and arms waggled like a +jumping-jack's. He wrapped his elegant white fingers about the arms of +his chair to steady himself. In a suffocated voice he said: "Do you +mean to say that you have only seven thousand dollars in the world?" + +"Only half that," corrected she. "Oh, dear, how my head aches! Less +than half that, for there are some debts." + +She was impatient for the explosion; the agony of her feet and head +needed outlet and relief. But he disappointed her. That was one of +the situations in which one appeals in vain to the resources of +language. He shrank and sank back in his chair, his jaw dropped, and +he vented a strange, imbecile cackling laugh. It was not an expression +of philosophic mirth, of sense of the grotesqueness of an anti-climax. +It was not an expression of any emotion whatever. It was simply a +signal from a mind temporarily dethroned. + +"What are you laughing at?" she said sharply. + +His answer was a repetition of the idiotic sound. + +"What's the matter with you?" demanded she. "Please close your mouth." + +It was a timely piece of advice; for his upper and false teeth had +become partially dislodged and threatened to drop upon the shirt-bosom +gayly showing between the lapels of his dark-blue silk house-coat. He +slowly closed his mouth, moving his teeth back into place with his +tongue--a gesture that made her face twitch with rage and disgust. + +"Seven thousand dollars," he mumbled dazedly. + +"I said less than half that," retorted she sharply. + +"And I--thought you were--rich." + +A peculiar rolling of the eyes and twisting of the lips gave her the +idea that he was about to vent that repulsive sound again. "Don't you +laugh!" she cried. "I can't bear your laugh--even at its best." + +Suddenly he galvanized into fury. "This is an outrage!" he cried, +waving his useless-looking white fists. "You have swindled me--SWINDLED +me!" + +Her head stopped aching. The pains in her feet either ceased or she +forgot them. In a suspiciously calm voice she said: "What do you +mean?" + +"I mean that you are a swindler!" he shouted, banging one fist on the +table and waving the other. + +She acted as though his meaning were just dawning upon her. "Do you +mean," said she tranquilly, "that you married me for money?" + +"I mean that I thought you a substantial woman, and that I find you are +an adventuress." + +"Did you think," inquired she, "that any woman who had money would +marry YOU?" She laughed very quietly. "You ARE a fool!" + +He sat back to look at her. This mode of combat in such circumstances +puzzled him. + +"I knew that you were rich," she went on, "or you would not have dared +offer yourself to me. All my friends were amazed at my stooping to +accept you. Your father was an Irish Tammany contractor, wasn't he?--a +sort of criminal? But I simply had to marry. So I gave you my family +and position and name in exchange for your wealth--a good bargain for +you, but a poor one for me." + +These references to HIS wealth were most disconcerting, especially as +they were accompanied by remarks about his origin, of which he was so +ashamed that he had changed the spelling of his name in the effort to +clear himself of it. However, some retort was imperative. He looked at +her and said: + +"Swindler and adventuress!" + +"Don't repeat that lie," said she. "You are the adventurer--despite +the fact that you are very rich." + +"Don't say that again," cried he. "I never said or pretended I was +rich. I have about five thousand a year--and you'll not get a cent of +it, madam!" + +She knew his income, but no one would have suspected it from her +expression of horror. "What!" she gasped. "You dared to marry ME when +you were a--beggar! Me--the widow of Henry Gower! You impudent old +wreck! Why, you haven't enough to pay my servants. What are we to +live on, pray?" + +"I don't know what YOU'LL live on," replied he. "_I_ shall live as I +always have." + +"A beggar!" she exclaimed. "I--married to a beggar." She burst into +tears. "How men take advantage of a woman alone! If my son had been +near me! But there's surely some law to protect me. Yes, I'm sure +there is. Oh, I'll punish you for having deceived me." Her eyes dried +as she looked at him. "How dare you sit there? How dare you face me, +you miserable fraud!" + +Early in her acquaintance with him she had discovered that determining +factors in his character were sensitiveness about his origin and +sensitiveness about his social position. On this knowledge of his +weaknesses was securely based her confidence that she could act as she +pleased toward him. To ease her pains she proceeded to pour out her +private opinion of him--all the disagreeable things, all the insults +she had been storing up. + +She watched him as only a woman can watch a man. She saw that his rage +was not dangerous, that she was forcing him into a position where fear +of her revenging herself by disgracing him would overcome anger at the +collapse of his fatuous dreams of wealth. She did not despise him the +more deeply for sitting there, for not flying from the room or trying +to kill her or somehow compelling her to check that flow of insult. She +already despised him utterly; also, she attached small importance to +self-respect, having no knowledge of what that quality really is. + +When she grew tired, she became quiet. They sat there a long time in +silence. At last he ran up the white flag of abject surrender by +saying: + +"What'll we live on--that's what I'd like to know?" + +An eavesdropper upon the preceding violence of upward of an hour would +have assumed that at its end this pair must separate, never to see each +other again voluntarily. But that idea, even as a possibility, had not +entered the mind of either. They had lived a long time; they were +practical people. They knew from the outset that somehow they must +arrange to go on together. The alternative meant a mere pittance of +alimony for her; meant for him social ostracism and the small income +cut in half; meant for both scandal and confusion. + +Said she fretfully: "Oh, I suppose we'll get along, somehow. I don't +know anything about those things. I've always been looked after--kept +from contact with the sordid side of life." + +"That house you live in," he went on, "does it belong to you?" + +She gave him a contemptuous glance. "Of course," said she. "What low +people you must have been used to!" + +"I thought perhaps you had rented it for your bunco game," retorted he. +"The furniture, the horses, the motor--all those things--do they belong +to you?" + +"I shall leave the room if you insult me," said she. + +"Did you include them in the seven thousand dollars?" + +"The money is in the bank. It has nothing to do with our house and our +property." + +He reflected, presently said: "The horses and carriages must be sold +at once--and all those servants dismissed except perhaps two. We can +live in the house." + +She grew purple with rage. "Sell MY carriages! Discharge MY servants! +I'd like to see you try!" + +"Who's to pay for keeping up that establishment?" demanded he. + +She was silent. She saw what he had in mind. + +"If you want to keep that house and live comfortably," he went on, +"you've got to cut expenses to the bone. You see that, don't you?" + +"I can't live any way but the way I've been used to all my life," +wailed she. + +He eyed her disgustedly. Was there anything equal to a woman for folly? + +"We've got to make the most of what little we have," said he. + +"I tell you I don't know anything about those things," repeated she. +"You'll have to look after them. Mildred and I aren't like the women +you've been used to. We are ladies." + +Presbury's rage boiled over again at the mention of Mildred. "That +daughter of yours!" he cried. "What's to be done about her? I've got +no money to waste on her." + +"You miserable Tammany THING!" exclaimed she. "Don't you dare SPEAK of +my daughter except in the most respectful way." + +And once more she opened out upon him, wreaking upon him all her wrath +against fate, all the pent-up fury of two years--fury which had been +denied such fury's usual and natural expression in denunciations of the +dead bread-winner. The generous and ever-kind Henry Gower could not be +to blame for her wretched plight; and, of course, she herself could not +be to blame for it. So, until now there had been no scapegoat. +Presbury therefore received the whole burden. He, alarmed lest a +creature apparently so irrational, should in wild rage drive him away, +ruin him socially, perhaps induce a sympathetic court to award her a +large part of his income as alimony, said not a word in reply. He bade +his wrath wait. Later on, when the peril was over, when he had a firm +grip upon the situation--then he would take his revenge. + +They gave up the expensive suite at the Waldorf that very day and +returned to Hanging Rock. They alternated between silence and the +coarsest, crudest quarrelings, for neither had the intelligence to +quarrel wittily or the refinement to quarrel artistically. As soon as +they arrived at the Gower house, Mildred was dragged into the wrangle. + +"I married this terrible man for your sake," was the burden of her +mother's wail. "And he is a beggar--wants to sell off everything and +dismiss the servants." + +"You are a pair of paupers," cried the old man. "You are shameless +tricksters. Be careful how you goad me!" + +Mildred had anticipated an unhappy ending to her mother's marriage, but +she had not knowledge enough of life or of human nature to anticipate +any such horrors as now began. Every day, all day long the vulgar +fight raged. Her mother and her stepfather withdrew from each other's +presence only to think up fresh insults to fling at each other. As +soon as they were armed they hastened to give battle again. She +avoided Presbury. Her mother she could not avoid; and when her mother +was not in combat with him, she was weeping or wailing or railing to +Mildred. + +It was at Mildred's urging that her mother acquiesced in Presbury's +plans for reducing expenses within income. At first the girl, even +more ignorant than her mother of practical affairs, did not appreciate +the wisdom, not to say the necessity, of what he wished to do, but soon +she saw that he was right, that the servants must go, that the horses +and carriages and the motors must be sold. When she was convinced and +had convinced her mother, she still did not realize what the thing +really meant. Not until she no longer had a maid did she comprehend. +To a woman who has never had a maid, or who has taken on a maid as a +luxury, it will seem an exaggeration to say that Mildred felt as +helpless as a baby lying alone in a crib before it has learned to +crawl. Yet that is rather an understatement of her plight. The maid +left in the afternoon. Mildred, not without inconveniences that had in +the novelty their amusing side, contrived to dress that evening for +dinner and to get to bed; but when she awakened in the morning and was +ready to dress, the loss of Therese became a tragedy. It took the girl +nearly four hours to get herself together presentably--and then, never +had she looked so unkempt. With her hair, thick and soft, she could do +nothing. + +"What a wonderful person Therese was!" thought she. "And I always +regarded her as rather stupid." Her mother, who had not had a maid +until she was about thirty and had never become completely dependent, +fared somewhat better, though, hearing her moans, you would have +thought she was faring worse. + +Mildred's unhappiness increased from day to day, as her wardrobe fell +into confusion and disrepair. She felt that she must rise to the +situation, must teach herself, must save herself from impending +dowdiness and slovenliness. But her brain seemed to be paralyzed. She +did not know how or where to begin to learn. She often in secret gave +way to the futility of tears. + +There were now only a cook and one housemaid and a man of all work--all +three newcomers, for Presbury insisted--most wisely--that none of the +servants of the luxurious, wasteful days would be useful in the new +circumstances. He was one of those small, orderly men who have a +genius for just such situations as the one he now proceeded to grapple +with and solve. In his pleasure at managing everything about that +house, in distributing the work among the three servants, in marketing, +and, in inspecting purchases and nosing into the garbage-barrel, in +looking for dust on picture-frames and table-tops and for neglected +weeds in the garden walks--in this multitude of engrossing delights he +forgot his anger over the trick that had been played upon him. He +still fought with his wife and denounced her and met insult with +insult. But that, too, was one of his pleasures. Also, he felt that +on the whole he had done well in marrying. He had been lonely as a +bachelor, had had no one to talk with, or to quarrel with, nothing to +do. The marriage was not so expensive, as his wife had brought him a +house--and it such a one as he had always regarded as the apogee of +elegance. Living was not dear in Hanging Rock, if one understood +managing and gave time to it. And socially he was at last established. + +Soon his wife was about as contented as she had ever been in her life. +She hated and despised her husband, but quarreling with him and railing +against him gave her occupation and aim--two valuable assets toward +happiness that she had theretofore lacked. Her living--shelter, food, +clothing enough--was now secure. But the most important factor of all +in her content was the one apparently too trivial to be worthy of +record. From girlhood she could not recall a single day in which she +had not suffered from her feet. And she had been ashamed to say +anything about it--had never let anyone, even her maid, see her feet, +which were about the only unsightly part of her. None had guessed the +cause of her chronic ill-temper until Presbury, that genius for the +little, said within a week of their marriage: + +"You talk and act like a woman with chronic corns." + +He did not dream of the effect this chance thrust had upon his wife. +For the first time he had really "landed." She concealed her fright +and her shame as best she could and went on quarreling more viciously +than ever. But he presently returned to the attack. Said he: + +"Your feet hurt you. I'm sure they do. Now that I think of it, you +walk that way." + +"I suppose I deserve my fate," said she. "When a woman marries beneath +her she must expect insult and low conversation." + +"You must cure your feet," said he. "I'll not live in the house with a +person who is made fiendish by corns. I think it's only corns. I see +no signs of bunions." + +"You brute!" cried his wife, rushing from the room. + +But when they met again, he at once resumed the subject, telling her +just how she could cure herself--and he kept on telling her, she +apparently ignoring but secretly acting on his advice. He knew what he +was about, and her feet grew better, grew well--and she was happier +than she had been since girlhood when she began ruining her feet with +tight shoes. + +Six months after the marriage, Presbury and his wife were getting on +about as comfortably as it is given to average humanity to get on in +this world of incessant struggle between uncomfortable man and his +uncomfortable environment. But Mildred had become more and more +unhappy. Her mother, sometimes angrily, again reproachfully--and that +was far harder to bear--blamed her for "my miserable marriage to this +low, quarrelsome brute." Presbury let no day pass without telling her +openly that she was a beggar living off him, that she would better +marry soon or he would take drastic steps to release himself of the +burden. When he attacked her before her mother, there was a violent +quarrel from which Mildred fled to hide in her room or in the remotest +part of the garden. When he hunted her out to insult her alone, she +sat or stood with eyes down and face ghastly pale, mute, quivering. She +did not interrupt, did not try to escape. She was like the chained and +spiritless dog that crouches and takes the shower of blows from its +cruel master. + +Where could she go? Nowhere. What could she do? Nothing. In the +days of prosperity she had regarded herself as proud and high spirited. +She now wondered at herself! What had become of the pride? What of the +spirit? She avoided looking at her image in the glass--that thin, +pallid face, those circled eyes, the drawn, sick expression about the +mouth and nose. "I'm stunned," she said to herself. "I've been stunned +ever since father's death. I've never recovered--nor has mother." And +she gave way to tears--for her father, she fancied; in fact, from shame +at her weakness and helplessness. She thought--hoped--that she would +not be thus feeble and cowardly, if she were not living at home, in the +house she loved, the house where she had spent her whole life. And +such a house! Comfort and luxury and taste; every room, every corner +of the grounds, full of the tenderest and most beautiful associations. +Also, there was her position in Hanging Rock. Everywhere else she +would be a stranger and would have either no position at all or one +worse than that of the utter outsider. There, she was of the few +looked up to by the whole community. No one knew, or even suspected, +how she was degraded by her step-father. Before the world he was +courteous and considerate toward her as toward everybody. Indeed, +Presbury's natural instincts were gentle and kindly. His hatred of +Mildred and his passion for humiliating her were the result of his +conviction that he had been tricked into the marriage and his inability +to gratify his resentment upon his wife. He could not make the mother +suffer; but he could make the daughter suffer--and he did. Besides, +she was of no use to him and would presently be an expense. + +"Your money will soon be gone," he said to her. "If you paid your just +share of the expenses it would be gone now. When it is gone, what will +you do?" + +She was silent. + +"Your mother has written to your brother about you." + +Mildred lifted her head, a gleam of her former spirit in her eyes. Then +she remembered, and bent her gaze upon the ground. + +"But he, like the cur that he is, answered through a secretary that he +wished to have nothing to do with either of you." + +Mildred guessed that Frank had made the marriage an excuse. + +"Surely some of your relatives will do something for you. I have my +hands full, supporting your mother. I don't propose to have two +strapping, worthless women hanging from my neck." + +She bent her head lower, and remained silent. + +"I warn you to bestir yourself," he went on. "I give you four months. +After the first of the year you can't stay here unless you pay your +share--your third." + +No answer. + +"You hear what I say, miss?" he demanded. + +"Yes," replied she. + +"If you had any sense you wouldn't wait until your last cent was gone. +You'd go to New York now and get something to do." + +"What?" she asked--all she could trust herself to speak. + +"How should _I_ know?" retorted he furiously. "You are a stranger to +me. You've been educated, I assume. Surely there's something you can +do. You've been out six years now, and have had no success, for you're +neither married nor engaged. You can't call it success to be flattered +and sought by people who wanted invitations to this house when it was a +social center." + +He paused for response from her. None came. + +"You admit you are a failure?" he said sharply. + +"Yes," said she. + +"You must have realized it several years ago," he went on. "Instead of +allowing your mother to keep on wasting money in entertaining lavishly +here to give you a chance to marry, you should have been preparing +yourself to earn a living." A pause. "Isn't that true, miss?" + +He had a way of pronouncing the word "miss" that made it an epithet, a +sneer at her unmarried and unmarriageable state. She colored, paled, +murmured: + +"Yes." + +"Then, better late than never. You'll do well to follow my advice and +go to New York and look about you." + +"I'll--I'll think of it," stammered she. + +And she did think of it. But in all her life she had never considered +the idea of money-making. That was something for men, and for the +middle and lower classes--while Hanging Rock was regarded as most +noisomely middle class by fashionable people, it did not so regard +itself. Money-making was not for ladies. Like all her class, she was +a constant and a severe critic of the women of the lower orders who +worked for her as milliners, dressmakers, shop-attendants, cooks, +maids. But, as she now realized, it is one thing to pass upon the work +of others; it is another thing to do work oneself. She-- There was +literally nothing that she could do. Any occupation, even the most +menial, was either beyond her skill or beyond her strength, or beyond +both. + +Suddenly she recalled that she could sing. Her prostrate spirit +suddenly leaped erect. Yes, she could sing! Her voice had been praised +by experts. Her singing had been in demand at charity entertainments +where amateurs had to compete with professionals. Then down she +dropped again. She sang well enough to know how badly she sang--the +long and toilsome and expensive training that lay between her and +operatic or concert or even music-hall stage. Her voice was fine at +times. Again--most of the time--it was unreliable. No, she could not +hope to get paying employment even as a church choir-singer. Miss +Dresser who sang in the choir of the Good Shepherd for ten dollars a +Sunday, had not nearly so good a voice as she, but it was reliable. + +"There is nothing I can do--nothing!" + +All at once, with no apparent bridge across the vast chasm, her heart +went out, not in pity but in human understanding and sisterly sympathy, +to the women of the pariah class at whom, during her stops in New York, +she had sometimes gazed in wonder and horror. "Why, we and they are +only a step apart," she said to herself in amazement. "We and they are +much nearer than my maid or the cook and they!" + +And then her heart skipped a beat and her skin grew cold and a fog +swirled over her brain. If she should be cast out--if she could find +no work and no one to support her--would she-- "O my God!" she moaned. +"I must be crazy, to think such thoughts. I never could! I'd die +first--DIE!" But if anyone had pictured to her the kind of life she +was now leading--the humiliation and degradation she was meekly +enduring with no thought of flight, with an ever stronger desire to +stay on, regardless of pride and self-respect--if anyone had pictured +this to her as what she would endure, what would she have said? She +could see herself flashing scornful denial, saying that she would +rather kill herself. Yet she was living--and was not even +contemplating suicide as a way out! + +A few days after Presbury gave her warning, her mother took advantage +of his absence for his religiously observed daily constitutional to say +to her: + +"I hope you didn't think I was behind him in what he said to you about +going away?" + +Mildred had not thought so, but in her mother's guilty tone and +guiltier eyes she now read that her mother wished her to go. + +"It'd be awful for me to be left here alone with him," wailed her +mother insincerely. "Of course we've got no money, and beggars can't +be choosers. But it'd just about kill me to have you go." + +Mildred could not speak. + +"I don't know a thing about money," Mrs. Presbury went on. "Your +father always looked after everything." She had fallen into the way of +speaking of her first husband as part of some vague, remote past, +which, indeed, he had become for her. "This man"--meaning +Presbury--"has only about five thousand a year, as you know. I suppose +that's as small as he says it is. I remember our bills for one month +used to be as much or more than that." She waved her useless, pretty +hands helplessly. "I don't see HOW we are to get on, Mildred!" + +Her mother wished her to go! Her mother had fallen under the influence +of Presbury--her mother, woman-like, or rather, ladylike, was of kin to +the helpless, flabby things that float in the sea and attach themselves +to whatever they happen to lodge against. Her mother wished her to go! + +"At the same time," Mrs. Presbury went on, "I can't live without +somebody here to stand between me and him. I'd kill him or kill +myself." + +Mildred muttered some excuse and fled from the room, to lock herself in. + +But when she came forth again to descend to dinner, she had resolved +nothing, because there was nothing to resolve. When she was a child +she leaned from the nursery window one day and saw a stable-boy +drowning a rat that was in a big, oval, wire cage with a wooden bottom. +The boy pressed the cage slowly down in the vat of water. The rat, in +the very top of the cage, watched the floor sink, watched the water +rise. And as it watched it uttered a strange, shrill, feeble sound +which she could still remember distinctly and terribly. It seemed to +her now that if she were to utter any sound at all, it would be that +one. + + + +II + +ON the Monday before Thanksgiving, Presbury went up to New York to look +after one of the little speculations in Wall Street at which he was so +clever. Throughout the civilized world nowadays, and especially in and +near the great capitals of finance, there is a class of men and women +of small capital and of a character in which are combined iron +self-restraint, rabbit-like timidity, and great shrewdness, who make +often a not inconsiderable income by gambling in stocks. They buy only +when the market is advancing strongly; they sell as soon as they have +gained the scantest margin of profit. They never permit themselves to +be tempted by the most absolute certainty of larger gains. They will +let weeks, months even, go by without once risking a dollar. They wait +until they simply cannot lose. Tens of thousands every year try to +join this class. All but the few soon succumb to the hourly dazzling +temptations the big gamblers dangle before the eyes of the little +gamblers to lure them within reach of the merciless shears. + +Presbury had for many years added from one to ten thousand a year to +his income by this form of gambling, success at which is in itself +sufficient to stamp a man as infinitely little of soul. On that Monday +he, venturing for the first time in six months, returned to Hanging +Rock on the three-thirty train the richer by two hundred and fifty +dollars--as large a "killing" as he had ever made in any single day, +one large enough to elevate him to the rank of prince among the +"sure-thing snides." He said nothing about his luck to his family, but +let them attribute his unprecedented good humor to the news he brought +and announced at dinner. + +"I met an old friend in the street this afternoon," said he. "He has +invited us to take Thanksgiving dinner with him. And I think it will +be a dinner worth while--the food, I mean, and the wine. Not the +guests; for there won't be any guests but us. General Siddall is a +stranger in New York." + +"There are Siddalls in New York," said his wife; "very nice, refined +people--going in the best society." + +Presbury showed his false teeth in a genial smile; for the +old-fashioned or plate kind of false teeth they were extraordinarily +good--when exactly in place. "But not my old friend Bill Siddall," +said he. "He's next door to an outlaw. I'd not have accepted his +invitation if he had been asking us to dine in public. But this is to +be at his own house--his new house--and a very grand house it is, +judging by the photos he showed me. A regular palace! He'll not be an +outlaw long, I guess. But we must wait and see how he comes out +socially before we commit ourselves." + +"Did you accept for me, too?" asked Mrs. Presbury. + +"Certainly," said Presbury. "And for your daughter, too." + +"I can't go," said Mildred. "I'm dining with the Fassetts." + +The family no longer had a servant in constant attendance in the +dining-room. The maid of many functions also acted as butler and as +fetch-and-carry between kitchen and butler's pantry. Before speaking, +Presbury waited until this maid had withdrawn to bring the roast and +the vegetables. Then he said: + +"You are going, too, miss." This with the full infusion of insult into +the "miss." + +Mildred was silent. + +"Bill Siddall is looking for a wife," proceeded Presbury. "And he has +Heaven knows how many millions." + +"Do you think there's a chance for Milly?" cried Mrs. Presbury, who was +full of alternating hopes and fears, both wholly irrational. + +"She can have him--if she wants him," replied Presbury. "But it's only +fair to warn her that he's a stiff dose." + +"Is the money--CERTAIN?" inquired Mildred's mother with that shrewdness +whose rare occasional displays laid her open to the unjust suspicion of +feigning her habitual stupidity. + +"Yes," said Presbury amiably. "It's nothing like yours was. He's so +rich he doesn't know what to do with his income. He owns mines +scattered all over the world. And if they all failed, he's got bundles +of railway stocks and bonds, and gilt-edged trust stocks, too. And he's +a comparatively young man--hardly fifty, I should say. He pretends to +be forty." + +"It's strange I never heard of him," said Mrs. Presbury. + +"If you went to South America or South Africa or Alaska, you'd hear of +him," said Presbury. He laughed. "And I guess you'd hear some pretty +dreadful things. When I knew him twenty-five years ago he had just been +arrested for forging my father's name to a check. But he got out of +that--and it's all past and gone. Probably he hasn't committed any +worse crimes than have most of our big rich men. Bill's handicap has +been that he hadn't much education or any swell relatives. But he's a +genius at money-making." Presbury looked at Mildred with a grin. "And +he's just the husband for Mildred. She can't afford to be too +particular. Somebody's got to support her. _I_ can't and won't, and +she can't support herself." + +"You'll go--won't you, Mildred?" said her mother. "He may not be so +bad." + +"Yes, I'll go," said Mildred. Her gaze was upon the untouched food on +her plate. + +"Of course she'll go," said Presbury. "And she'll marry him if she +can. Won't you, miss?" + +He spoke in his amiably insulting way--as distinguished from the way of +savagely sneering insult he usually took with her. He expected no +reply. She surprised him. She lifted her tragic eyes and looked +fixedly at him. She said: + +"Yes, I'll go. And I'll marry him if I can." + +"I told him he could have you," said Presbury. "I explained to him +that you were a rare specimen of the perfect lady--just what he +wanted--and that you, and all your family, would be grateful to anybody +who would undertake your support." + +Mrs. Presbury flushed angrily. "You've made it perfectly useless for +her to go!" she cried. + +"Calm yourself, my love," said her husband. "I know Bill Siddall +thoroughly. I said what would help. I want to get rid of her as much +as you do--and that's saying a great deal." + +Mrs. Presbury flamed with the wrath of those who are justly accused. +"If Mildred left, I should go, too," cried she. + +"Go where?" inquired her husband. "To the poorhouse?" + +By persistent rubbing in Presbury had succeeded in making the truth +about her poverty and dependence clear to his wife. She continued to +frown and to look unutterable contempt, but he had silenced her. He +noted this with a sort of satisfaction and went on: + +"If Bill Siddall takes her, you certainly won't go there. He wouldn't +have you. He feels strongly on the subject of mothers-in-law." + +"Has he been married before?" asked Mrs. Presbury. + +"Twice," replied her husband. "His first wife died. He divorced the +second for unfaithfulness." + +Mildred saw in this painstaking recital of all the disagreeable and +repellent facts about Siddall an effort further to humiliate her by +making it apparent how desperately off she was, how she could not +refuse any offer, revolting though it might be to her pride and to her +womanly instincts. Doubtless this was in part the explanation of +Presbury's malicious candor. But an element in that candor was a +prudent preparing of the girl's mind for worse than the reality. That +he was in earnest in his profession of a desire to bring about the +match showed when he proposed that they should take rooms at a hotel in +New York, to give her a chance to dress properly for the dinner. True, +he hastened to say that the expense must be met altogether out of the +remnant of Mildred's share of her father's estate, but the idea would +not have occurred to him had he not been really planning a marriage. + +Never had Mildred looked more beautiful or more attractive than when +the three were ready to sally forth from the Manhattan Hotel on that +Thanksgiving evening. At twenty-five, a soundly healthy and vigorous +twenty-five, it is impossible for mind and nerves, however wrought +upon, to make serious inroads upon surface charms. The hope of +emancipation from her hideous slavery had been acting upon the girl +like a powerful tonic. She had gained several pounds in the three +intervening days; her face had filled out, color had come back in all +its former beauty to her lips. Perhaps there was some slight aid from +art in the extraordinary brilliancy of her eyes. + +Presbury inventoried her with a succession of grunts of satisfaction. +"Yes, he'll want you," he said. "You'll strike him as just the show +piece he needs. And he's too shrewd not to be aware that his choice is +limited." + +"You can't frighten me," said Mildred, with a radiant, coquettish +smile--for practice. "Nothing could frighten me." + +"I'm not trying," replied Presbury. "Nor will Siddall frighten you. A +woman who's after a bill-payer can stomach anything." + +"Or a man," said Mildred. + +"Oh, your mother wasn't as bad as all that," said Presbury, who never +lost an opportunity. + +Mrs. Presbury, seated beside her daughter in the cab, gave an +exclamation of rage. "My own daughter insulting me!" she said. + +"Such a thought did not enter my head," protested Mildred. "I wasn't +thinking of anyone in particular." + +"Let's not quarrel now," said Presbury, with unprecedented amiability. +"We must give Bill a spectacle of the happy family." + +The cab entered the porte-cochere of a huge palace of white stone just +off Fifth Avenue. The house was even grander than they had +anticipated. The wrought-iron fence around it had cost a small +fortune; the house itself, without reference to its contents, a large +fortune. The massive outer doors were opened by two lackeys in +cherry-colored silk and velvet livery; a butler, looking like an +English gentleman, was waiting to receive them at the top of a short +flight of marble steps between the outer and the inner entrance doors. +As Mildred ascended, she happened to note the sculpturing over the +inner entrance--a reclining nude figure of a woman, Cupids with +garlands and hymeneal torches hovering about her. + +Mildred had been in many pretentious houses in and near New York, but +this far surpassed the grandest of them. Everything was brand new, +seemed to have been only that moment placed, and was of the +costliest--statuary, carpets, armor, carved seats of stone and wood, +marble staircase rising majestically, tapestries, pictures, +drawing-room furniture. The hall was vast, but the drawing-room was +vaster. Empty, one would have said that it could not possibly be +furnished. Yet it was not only full, but crowded-chairs and sofas, +hassocks and tete-a-tetes, cabinets, tables, pictures, statues, busts, +palms, flowers, a mighty fireplace in which, behind enormous and costly +andirons, crackled enormous and costly logs. There was danger in +moving about; one could not be sure of not upsetting something, and one +felt that the least damage that could be done there would be an +appallingly expensive matter. + +Before that cavernous fireplace posed General Siddall. He was a tiny +mite of a man with a thin wiry body supporting the head of a +professional barber. His black hair was glossy and most romantically +arranged. His black mustache and imperial were waxed and +brilliantined. There was no mistaking the liberal use of dye, also. +From the rather thin, very sharp face looked a pair of small, muddy, +brown-green eyes--dull, crafty, cold, cruel. But the little man was so +insignificant and so bebarbered and betailored that one could not take +him seriously. Never had there been so new, so carefully pressed, so +perfectly fitting evening clothes; never a shirt so expensively got +together, or jeweled studs, waistcoat buttons and links so high priced. +From every part of the room, from every part of the little man's +perfumed and groomed person, every individual article seemed to be +shrieking, "The best is not too good for Bill Siddall!" + +Mildred was agreeably surprised--she was looking with fierce +determination for agreeable surprises--when the costly little man +spoke, in a quiet, pleasant voice with an elusive, attractive foreign +accent. + +"My, but this is grand--grand, General Siddall!" said Presbury in the +voice of the noisy flatterer. "Princely! Royal!" + +Mildred glanced nervously at Siddall. She feared that Presbury had +taken the wrong tone. She saw in the unpleasant eyes a glance of +gratified vanity. Said he: + +"Not so bad, not so bad. I saw the house in Paris, when I was taking a +walk one day. I went to the American ambassador and asked for the best +architect in Paris. I went to him, told him about the house--and here +it is." + +"Decorations, furniture, and all!" exclaimed Presbury. + +"No, just the house. I picked up the interiors in different parts of +Europe--had everything reproduced where I couldn't buy outright. I +want to enjoy my money while I'm still young. I didn't care what it +cost to get the proper surroundings. As I said to my architect and to +my staff of artists, I expected to be cheated, but I wanted the goods. +And I got the goods. I'll show you through the house after dinner. +It's on this same scale throughout. And they're putting me together a +country place--same sort of thing." He threw back his little shoulders +and protruded his little chest. "And the joke of it is that the whole +business isn't costing me a cent." + +"Not a cent less than half a dozen or a dozen millions," said Presbury. + +"Not so much as that--not quite," protested the delightedly sparkling +little general. "But what I meant was that, as fast as these fellows +spend, I go down-town and make. Fact is, I'm a little better off than +I was when I started in to build." + +"Well, you didn't get any of MY money," laughed Presbury. "But I +suppose pretty much everybody else in the country must have +contributed." + +General Siddall smiled. Mildred wondered whether the points of his +mustache and imperial would crack and break of, if he should touch +them. She noted that his hair was roached absurdly high above the +middle of his forehead and that he was wearing the tallest heels she +had ever seen. She calculated that, with his hair flat and his feet on +the ground, he would hardly come to her shoulder--and she was barely of +woman's medium height. She caught sight of his hands--the square, +stubby hands of a working man; the fingers permanently slightly curved +as by the handle of shovel and pick; the skin shriveled but white with +a ghastly, sickening bleached white, the nails repulsively manicured +into long white curves. "If he should touch me, I'd scream," she +thought. And then she looked at Presbury--and around her at the +evidences of enormous wealth. + +The general--she wondered where he had got that title--led her mother +in to dinner, Presbury gave her his arm. On the way he found +opportunity to mutter: + +"Lay it on thick! Flatter the fool. You can't offend him. Tell him +he's divinely handsome--a Louis Fourteen, a Napoleon. Praise +everything--napkins, tablecloth, dishes, food. Rave over the wine." + +But Mildred could not adopt this obviously excellent advice. She sat +silent and cold, while Presbury and her mother raved and drew out the +general to talk of himself--the only subject in the whole world that +seemed to him thoroughly worth while. As Mildred listened and +furtively observed, it seemed to her that this tiny fool, so obviously +pleased by these coarse and insulting flatteries, could not possibly +have had the brains to amass the vast fortune he apparently possessed. +But presently she noted that behind the personality that was pleased by +this gross fawning and bootlicking there lay--lay in wait and on +guard--another personality, one that despised these guests of his, +estimating them at their true value and using them contemptuously for +the gratification of his coarse appetites. In the glimpse she caught +of that deeper and real personality, she liked it even less than she +liked the one upon the surface. + +It was evidence of superior acumen that she saw even vaguely the real +Bill Siddall, the money-maker, beneath the General William Siddall, raw +and ignorant and vulgar--more vulgar in his refinement than the most +shocking bum at home and at ease in foul-smelling stew. Every man of +achievement hides beneath his surface--personality this second and real +man, who makes the fortune, discovers the secret of chemistry, fights +the battle, carries the election, paints the picture, commits the +frightful murder, evolves the divine sermon or poem or symphony. Thus, +when we meet a man of achievement, we invariably have a sense of +disappointment. "Why, that's not the man!" we exclaim. "There must be +some mistake." And it is, indeed, not the man. Him we are incapable of +seeing. We have only eyes for surfaces; and, not being doers of +extraordinary deeds, but mere plodders in the routines of existence, we +cannot believe that there is any more to another than there is to +ourselves. The pleasant or unpleasant surface for the conventional +relations of life is about all there is to us; therefore it is all +there is to human nature. Well, there's no help for it. In measuring +our fellow beings we can use only the measurements of our own selves; +we have no others, and if others are given to us we are as foozled as +one knowing only feet and inches who has a tape marked off in meters +and centimeters. + +It so happened that in her social excursions Mildred had never been in +any of the numerous homes of the suddenly and vastly rich of humble +origin. She was used to--and regarded as proper and elegant--the +ordinary ostentations and crudities of the rich of conventional +society. No more than you or I was she moved to ridicule or disdain by +the silliness and the tawdry vulgarity of the life of palace and +liveried lackey and empty ceremonial, by the tedious entertainments, by +the displays of costly and poisonous food. But General Siddall's +establishment presented a new phase to her--and she thought it unique +in dreadfulness and absurdity. + +The general had had a home life in his youth--in a coal-miner's cabin +near Wilkes-Barre. Ever since, he had lived in boarding-houses or +hotels. As his shrewd and rapacious mind had gathered in more and more +wealth, he had lived more and more luxuriously--but always at hotels. +He had seen little of the private life of the rich. Thus he had been +compelled to get his ideas of luxury and of ceremonial altogether from +the hotel-keepers and caterers who give the rich what the more +intelligent and informed of the rich are usually shamed by people of +taste from giving themselves at home. + +She thought the tablecloth, napkins, and gaudy gold and flowery cut +glass a little overdone, but on the whole not so bad. She had seen +such almost as grand at a few New York houses. The lace in the cloth +and in the napkins was merely a little too magnificent. It made the +table lumpy, it made the napkins unfit for use. But the way the dinner +was served! You would have said you were in a glorified palace-hotel +restaurant. You looked about for the cashier's desk; you were certain a +bill would be presented after the last course. + +The general, tinier and more grotesque than ever in the great +high-backed, richly carved armchair, surveyed the progress of the +banquet with the air of a god performing miracles of creation and +passing them in review and giving them his divine endorsement. He was +well pleased with the enthusiastic praises Presbury and his wife +lavished upon the food and drink. He would have been better pleased +had they preceded and followed every mouthful with a eulogy. He +supplemented their compliments with even more fulsome compliments, +adding details as to the origin and the cost. + +"Darcy"--this to the butler--"tell the chef that this fish is the best +yet--really exquisite." To Presbury: "I had it brought over from +France--alive, of course. We have many excellent fish, but I like a +change now and then. So I have a standing order with Prunier--he's the +big oyster- and fish-man of Paris--to send me over some things every +two weeks by special express. That way, an oyster costs about fifty +cents and a fish about five or six dollars." + +To Mrs. Presbury: "I'll have Darcy make you and Miss Presbury--excuse +me, Miss Gower--bouquets of the flowers afterward. Most of them come +from New York--and very high really first-class flowers are. I pay two +dollars apiece for my roses even at this season. And orchids--well, I +feel really extravagant when I indulge in orchids as I have this +evening. Ten dollars apiece for those. But they're worth it." + +The dinner was interminably long--upward of twenty kinds of food, no +less than five kinds of wine; enough served and spoiled to have fed and +intoxicated a dozen people at least. And upon every item of food and +drink the general had some remarks to make. He impressed it upon his +guests that this dinner was very little better than the one served to +him every night, that the increase in expense and luxury was not in +their honor, but in his own--to show them what he could do when he +wished to make a holiday. Finally the grand course was reached. Into +the dining-room, to the amazement of the guests, were rolled two great +restaurant joint wagons. Instead of being made of silver-plated nickel +or plain nickel they were of silver embossed with gold, and the large +carvers and serving-spoons and forks had gold-mounted silver handles. +When the lackeys turned back the covers there were disclosed several +truly wonderful young turkeys, fattened as if by painstaking and +skillful hand and superbly browned. + +Up to that time the rich and costly food had been sadly medium--like +the wines. But these turkeys were a genuine triumph. Even Mildred +gave them a look of interest and admiration. In a voice that made +General Siddall ecstatic Presbury cried: + +"GOD bless my soul! WHERE did you get those beauties, old man!" + +"Paris," said Siddall in a voice tremulous with pride and +self-admiration. You would have thought that he had created not merely +the turkeys, but Paris, also. "Potin sends them over to me. Potin, you +know, is the finest dealer in groceries, fruit, game, and so on in the +world. I have a standing order with him for the best of--everything +that comes in. I'd hate to tell you what my bill with Potin is every +month--he only sends it to me once a year. Really, I think I ought to +be ashamed of myself, but I reason that, if a man can afford it, he's a +fool to put anything but the best into his stomach." + +"You're right there!" mumbled Presbury. His mouth was full of turkey. +"You HAVE got a chef, General!" + +"He ought to cook well. I pay him more than most bank-presidents get. +What do you think of those joint wagons, Mrs. Presbury?" + +"They're very--interesting," replied she, a little nervous because she +suspected they were some sort of vulgar joke. + +"I knew you'd like them," said the general. "My own idea entirely. I +saw them in several restaurants abroad--only of course those they had +were just ordinary affairs, not fit to be introduced into a gentleman's +dining-room. But I took the idea and adapted it to my purposes--and +there you are!" + +"Very original, old man," said Presbury, who had been drinking too +much. "I've never seen it before, and I don't think I ever shall +again. Got the idea patented?" + +But Siddall in his soberest moment would have been slow to admit a +suspicion that any of the human race, which he regarded as on its knees +before him, was venturing to poke fun at him. Drunk as he now was, the +openest sarcasm would have been accepted as a compliment. After a +gorgeous dessert which nobody more than touched--a molded mousse of +whipped and frozen cream and strawberries--"specially sent on to me +from Florida and costing me a dollar apiece, I guess"--after this +costly wonder had disappeared fruit was served. General Siddall had +ready a long oration upon this course. He delivered it in a +disgustingly thick tone. The pineapple was an English hothouse product, +the grapes were grown by a costly process under glass in Belgium. As +for the peaches, Potin had sent those delicately blushing marvels, and +the charge for this would be "not less than a louis apiece, sir--a +louis d'or--which, as you no doubt know, is about four dollars of Uncle +Sam's money." + +The coffee--"the Queen of Holland may have it on her PRIVATE +table--MAY, I say--but I doubt if anyone else in the world gets a smell +of it except me"--the coffee and the brandy came not a moment too soon. +Presbury was becoming stupefied with indigestion; his wife was nodding +and was wearing that vague, forced, pleasant smile which stands +propriety-guard over a mind asleep; Mildred Gower felt that her nerves +would endure no more; and the general was falling into a besotted +state, spilling his wine, mumbling his words. The coffee and the brandy +revived them all somewhat. Mildred, lifting her eyes, saw by way of a +mirrored section of the enormous sideboard the English butler surveying +master and guests with slowly moving, sneering glance of ineffable +contempt. + +In the drawing-room again Mildred, requested by Siddall and ordered by +Presbury, sang a little French song and then--at the urging of +Siddall--"Annie Laurie." Siddall was wiping his eyes when she turned +around. He said to Presbury: + +"Take your wife into the conservatory to look at my orchids. I want to +say a word to your stepdaughter." + +Mildred started up nervously. She saw how drunk the general was, saw +the expression of his face that a woman has to be innocent indeed not +to understand. She was afraid to be left alone with him. Presbury came +up to her, said rapidly, in a low tone: + +"It's all right. He's got a high sense of what's due a respectable +woman of our class. He isn't as drunk as he looks and acts." + +Having said which, he took his wife by the arm and pushed her into the +adjoining conservatory. Mildred reseated herself upon the inlaid +piano-bench. The little man, his face now shiny with the sweat of +drink and emotion, drew up a chair in front of her. He sat--and he was +almost as tall sitting as standing. He said graciously: + +"Don't be afraid, my dear girl. I'm not that dangerous." + +She lifted her eyes and looked at him. She tried to conceal her +aversion; she feared she was not succeeding. But she need not have +concerned herself about that. General Siddall, after the manner of very +rich men, could not conceive of anyone being less impressed with his +superiority in any way than he himself was. For years he had heard +only flatteries of himself--his own voice singing his praises, the +fawning voices of those he hired and of those hoping to get some +financial advantage. He could not have imagined a mere woman not being +overwhelmed by the prospect of his courting her. Nor would it have +entered his head that his money would be the chief, much less the only, +consideration with her. He had long since lost all point of view, and +believed that the adulation paid his wealth was evoked by his charms of +person, mind, and manner. Those who imagine this was evidence of folly +and weak-mindedness and extraordinary vanity show how little they know +human nature. The strongest head could not remain steady, the most +accurate eyes could not retain their measuring skill, in such an +environment as always completely envelops wealth and power. And the +much-talked-of difference between those born to wealth and power and +those who rise to it from obscurity resolves itself to little more than +the difference between those born mad and those who go insane. + +Looking at the little man with the disagreeable eyes, so dull yet so +shrewd, Mildred saw that within the drunkard who could scarcely sit +straight upon the richly upholstered and carved gilt chair there was +another person, coldly sober, calmly calculating. And she realized +that it was this person with whom she was about to have the most +serious conversation of her life thus far. + +The drunkard smiled with a repulsive wiping and smacking of the thin, +sensual lips. "I suppose you know why I had you brought here this +evening?" said he. + +Mildred looked and waited. + +"I didn't intend to say anything to-night. In fact, I didn't expect to +find in you what I've been looking for. I thought that old fool of a +stepfather of yours was cracking up his goods beyond their merits. But +he wasn't. My dear, you suit me from the ground up. I've been looking +you over carefully. You were made for the place I want to fill." + +Mildred had lowered her eyes. Her face had become deathly pale. "I +feel faint," she murmured. "It is very warm here." + +"You're not sickly?" inquired the general sharply. "You look like a +good solid woman--thin but wiry. Ever been sick? I must look into your +health. That's a point on which I must be satisfied." + +A wave of anger swept through her, restoring her strength. She was +about to speak--a rebuke to his colossal impudence that he would not +soon forget. Then she remembered, and bit her lips. + +"I don't ask you to decide to-night," pursued he, hastening to explain +this concession by adding: "I don't intend to decide, myself. All I +say is that I am willing--if the goods are up to the sample." + +Mildred saw her stepfather and her mother watching from just within the +conservatory door. A movement of the portiere at the door into the +hall let her know that Darcy, the butler, was peeping and listening +there. She stood up, clenched her hands, struck them together, struck +them against her temples, crossed the room swiftly, flung herself down +upon a sofa, and burst into tears. Presbury and his wife entered. +Siddall was standing, looking after Mildred with a grin. He winked at +Presbury and said: + +"I guess we gave her too much of that wine. It's all old and stronger +than you'd think." + +"My daughter hardly touched her glasses," cried Mrs. Presbury. + +"I know that, ma'am," replied Siddall. "I watched her. If she'd done +much drinking, I'd have been done, then and there." + +"I suspect she's upset by what you've been saying, General," said +Presbury. "Wasn't it enough to upset a girl? You don't realize how +magnificent you are--how magnificent everything is here." + +"I'm sorry if I upset her," said the general, swelling and loftily +contrite. "I don t know why it is that people never seem to be able to +act natural with me." He hated those who did, regarding them as +sodden, unappreciative fools. + +Mrs. Presbury was quieting her daughter. Presbury and Siddall lighted +cigars and went into the smoking--and billiard-room across the hall. +Said Presbury: + +"I didn't deceive you, did I, General?" + +"She's entirely satisfactory," replied Siddall. "I'm going to make +careful inquiries about her character and her health. If those things +prove to be all right I'm ready to go ahead." + +"Then the thing's settled," said Presbury. "She's all that a lady +should be. And except a cold now and then she never has anything the +matter with her. She comes of good healthy stock." + +"I can't stand a sickly, ailing woman," said Siddall. "I wouldn't marry +one, and if one I married turned out to be that kind, I'd make short +work of her. When you get right down to facts, what is a woman? Why, +a body. If she ain't pretty and well, she ain't nothing. While I'm +looking up her pedigree, so to speak, I want you to get her mother to +explain to her just what kind of a man I am." + +"Certainly, certainly," said Presbury. + +"Have her told that I don't put up with foolishness. If she wants to +look at a man, let her look at me." + +"You'll have no trouble in that way," said Presbury. + +"I DID have trouble in that way," replied the general sourly. "Women +are fools--ALL women. But the principal trouble with the second Mrs. +Siddall was that she wasn't a lady born." + +"That's why I say you'll have no trouble," said Presbury. + +"Well, I want her mother to talk to her plainer than a gentleman can +talk to a young lady. I want her to understand that I am marrying so +that I can have a WIFE--cheerful, ready, and healthy. I'll not put up +with foolishness of any kind." + +"I understand," said Presbury. "You'll find that she'll meet all your +conditions." + +"Explain to her that, while I'm the easiest, most liberal-spending man +in the world when I'm getting what I want, I am just the opposite when +I'm not getting what I pay for. If I take her and if she acts right, +she'll have more of everything that women want than any woman in the +world. I'd take a pride in my wife. There isn't anything I wouldn't +spend in showing her off to advantage. And I'm willing to be liberal +with her mother, too." + +Presbury had been hoping for this. His eyes sparkled. "You're a +prince, General," he said. "A genuine prince. You know how to do +things right." + +"I flatter myself I do," said the general. "I've been up and down the +world, and I tell you most of the kings live cheap beside me. And when +I get a wife worth showing of, I'll do still better. I've got +wonderful creative ability. There isn't anything I can't and won't +buy." + +Presbury noted uneasily how cold and straight, how obviously repelled +and repelling the girl was as she yielded her fingers to Siddall at the +leave-taking. He and her mother covered the silence and ice with hot +and voluble sycophantry. They might have spared themselves the +exertion. To Siddall Mildred was at her most fascinating when she was +thus "the lady and the queen." The final impression she made upon him +was the most favorable of all. + +In the cab Mrs. Presbury talked out of the fullness of an overflowing +heart. "What a remarkable man the general is!" said she. "You've only +to look at him to realize that you're in the presence of a really +superior person. And what tact he has!--and how generous he is!--and +how beautifully he entertains! So much dignity--so much simplicity--so +much--" + +"Fiddlesticks!" interrupted Presbury. "Your daughter isn't a damn +fool, Mrs. Presbury." + +Mildred gave a short, dry laugh. + +Up flared her mother. "I mean every word I said!" cried she. "If I +hadn't admired and appreciated him, I'd certainly not have acted as I +did. _I_ couldn't stoop to such hypocrisy." + +"Fiddlesticks!" sneered Presbury. "Bill Siddall is a horror. His +house is a horror. His dinner was a horror. These loathsome rich +people! They're ruining the world--as they always have. They're +making it impossible for anyone to get good service or good food or +good furniture or good clothing or good anything. They don't know good +things, and they pay exorbitant prices for showy trash, for crude +vulgar luxury. They corrupt taste. They make everyone round them or +near them sycophants and cheats. They substitute money for +intelligence and discrimination. They degrade every fine thing in life. +Civilization is built up by brains and hard work, and along come the +rich and rot and ruin it!" + +Mildred and her mother were listening in astonishment. Said the mother: + +"I'd be ashamed to confess myself such a hypocrite." + +"And I, madam, would be ashamed to be such a hypocrite without taking a +bath of confession afterward," retorted Presbury. + +"At least you might have waited until Mildred wasn't in hearing," +snapped she. + +"I shall marry him if I can," said Mildred. + +"And blissfully happy you'll be," said Presbury. "Women, ladies--true +ladies, like you and your mother--have no sensibilities. All you ask +is luxury. If Bill Siddall were a thousand times worse than he is, his +money would buy him almost any refined, delicate lady anywhere in +Christendom." + +Mrs. Presbury laughed angrily. "YOU, talking like this--you of all +men. Is there anything YOU wouldn't stoop to for money?" + +"Do you think I laid myself open to that charge by marrying you?" said +Presbury, made cheerful despite his savage indigestion by the +opportunity for effective insult she had given him and he had promptly +seized. "I am far too gallant to agree with you. But I'm also too +gallant to contradict a lady. By the way, you must be careful in +dealing with Siddall. Rich people like to be fawned on, but not to be +slobbered on. You went entirely too far." + +Mrs. Presbury, whom indigestion had rendered stupid, could think of no +reply. So she burst into tears. "And my own daughter sitting silent +while that man insults her mother!" she sobbed. + +Mildred sat stiff and cold. + +"It'll be a week before I recover from that dinner," Presbury went on +sourly. "What a dinner! What a villainous mess! These vulgar, showy +rich! That champagne! He said it cost him six dollars a bottle, and +no doubt it did. I doubt if it ever saw France. The dealers rarely +waste genuine wine on such cattle. The wine-cellars of fine houses the +world through are the laughing-stock of connoisseurs--like their +picture-galleries and their other attempts to make money do the work of +taste. I forgot to put my pills in my bag. I'll have to hunt up an +all-night drug-store. I'd not dare go to bed without taking an +antidote for that poison." + +But Presbury had not been altogether improvident. He had hoped great +things of Bill Siddall's wine-cellar--this despite an almost unbroken +series of bitter disillusionments and disappointments in experience +with those who had the wealth to buy, if they had had the taste to +select, the fine wines he loved. So, resolving to indulge himself, he +had put into his bag his pair of gout-boots. + +This was a device of his own inventing, on which he prided himself. It +consisted of a pair of roomy doe-skin slippers reenforced with heavy +soles and provided with a set of three thin insoles to be used +according as the state of his toes made advisable. The cost of the +Presbury gout-boot had been, thanks to patient search for a cheap +cobbler, something under four dollars--this, when men paid shoe +specialists twenty, thirty, and even forty dollars a pair for +gout-boots that gave less comfort. The morning after the dinner at +which he had drunk to drown his chagrin and to give him courage and +tongue for sycophantry, he put on the boots. Without them it would have +been necessary to carry him from his room to a cab and from cab to +train. With them he was able to hobble to a street-car. He tried to +distract his mind from his sufferings by lashing away without ceasing +at his wife and his step-daughter. + +When they were once more at home, and the mother and daughter escaped +from him, the mother said: + +"I was glad to see that you put up with that wretch, and didn't answer +him back." + +"Of course," said Mildred. "He's mad to be rid of me, but if I +offended him he might snatch away this chance." + +"He would," said Mrs. Presbury. "I'm sure he would. But--" she +laughed viciously--"once you're married you can revenge yourself--and +me!" + +"I wonder," said Mildred thoughtfully. + +"Why not?" exclaimed her mother, irritated. + +"I can't make Mr. Presbury out," replied the girl. "I understand why +he's helping me to this chance, but I don't understand why he isn't +making friends with me, in the hope of getting something after I'm +married." + +Her mother saw the point, and was instantly agitated. "Perhaps he's +simply leading you on, intending to upset it all at the last minute." +She gritted her teeth. "Oh, what a wretch!" + +Mildred was not heeding. "I must have General Siddall looked up +carefully," she went on. "It may be that he isn't rich, or that he has +another wife somewhere, or that there's some other awful reason why +marrying him would be even worse than it seems." + +"Worse than it seems!" cried her mother. "How CAN you talk so, Milly! +The general seems to be an ideal husband--simply ideal! I wish _I_ had +your chance. Any sensible woman could love him." + +A strange look came into the girl's face, and her mother could not +withstand her eyes. "Don't, mother," she said quietly. "Either you +take me for a fool or you are trying to show me that you have no +self-respect. I am not deceiving myself about what I'm doing." + +Mrs. Presbury opened her lips to remonstrate, changed her mind, drew a +deep sigh. "It's frightful to be a woman," she said. + +"To be a lady, Mr. Presbury would say," suggested Mildred. + +After some discussion, they fixed upon Joseph Tilker as the best +available investigator of General Siddall. Tilker had been head clerk +for Henry Gower. He was now in for himself and had offered to look +after any legal business Mrs. Presbury might have without charging her. +He presently reported that there was not a doubt as to the wealth of +the little general. "There are all sorts of ugly stories about how he +made his money," said Tilker; "but all the great fortunes have a +scandalous history, and I doubt if Siddall's is any worse than the +others. I don't see how it well could be. Siddall has the reputation +of being a mean and cruel little tyrant. He is said to be pompous, +vain, ignorant--" + +"Indeed he's not," cried Mrs. Presbury. "He's a rough diamond, but a +natural gentleman. I've met him." + +"Well, he's rich enough, and that was all you asked me to find out," +said Tilker. "But I must warn you, Mrs. Presbury, not to have any +business or intimate personal relations with him." + +Mrs. Presbury congratulated herself on her wisdom in having come alone +to hear Tilker's report. She did not repeat any part of it to Mildred +except what he had said about the wealth. That she enlarged upon until +Mildred's patience gave out. She interrupted with a shrewd: + +"Anything else, mamma? Anything about him personally?" + +"We've got to judge him in that way for ourselves," replied Mrs. +Presbury. "You know how wickedly they lie about anyone who has +anything." + +"I should like to read a full account of General Siddall," said Mildred +reflectively; "just to satisfy my curiosity." + +Mrs. Presbury made no reply. + +Presbury had decided that it was best to make no advance, but to wait +until they heard from Siddall. He let a week, ten days, go by; then +his impatience got the better of his shrewdness. He sought admittance +to the great man at the offices of the International Metals and +Minerals Company in Cedar Street. After being subjected to varied +indignities by sundry under-strappers, he received a message from the +general through a secretary: "The general says he'll let you know when +he's ready to take up that matter. He says he hasn't got round to it +yet." Presbury apologized courteously for his intrusion and went away, +cursing under his breath. You may be sure that he made his wife and +his stepdaughter suffer for what he had been through. Two weeks more +passed--three--a month. One morning in the mail there arrived this +note--type-written upon business paper: + + +JAMES PRESBURY, Esqr.: + +DEAR SIR: + +General Siddall asks me to present his compliments and to say that he +will be pleased if you and your wife and the young lady will dine with +him at his house next Thursday the seventeenth at half-past seven sharp. + +ROBERT CHANDLESS, Secretary. + + +The only words in longhand were the two forming the name of the +secretary. Presbury laughed and tossed the note across the breakfast +table to his wife. "You see what an ignorant creature he is," said he. +"He imagines he has done the thing up in grand style. He's the sort of +man that can't be taught manners because he thinks manners, the +ordinary civilities, are for the lower orders of people. Oh, he's a +joke, is Bill Siddall--a horrible joke." + +Mrs. Presbury read and passed the letter to Mildred. She simply glanced +at it and returned it to her step-father. + +"I'm just about over that last dinner," pursued Presbury. "I'll eat +little Thursday and drink less. And I'd advise you to do the same, Mrs. +Presbury." + +He always addressed her as "Mrs. Presbury" because he had discovered +that when so addressed she always winced, and, if he put a certain tone +into his voice, she quivered. + +"That dinner aged you five years," he went on. "Besides, you drank so +much that it went to your head and made you slather him with flatteries +that irritated him. He thought you were a fool, and no one is stupid +enough to like to be flattered by a fool." + +Mrs. Presbury bridled, swallowed hard, said mildly: "We'll have to +spend the night in town again, I suppose." + +"You and your daughter may do as you like," said Presbury. "I shall +return here that night. I always catch cold in strange beds." + +"We might as well all return here," said Mildred. "I shall not wear +evening dress; that is, I'll wear a high-neck dress and a hat." + +She had just got a new hat that was peculiarly becoming to her. She +had shown Siddall herself at the best in evening attire; another sort +of costume would give him a different view of her looks, one which she +flattered herself was not less attractive. But Presbury interposed an +emphatic veto. + +"You'll wear full evening dress," said he. "Bare neck and arms for men +like Bill Siddall. They want to see what they're getting." + +Mildred flushed scarlet and her lips trembled as though she were about +to cry. In fact, her emotion was altogether shame--a shame so poignant +that even Presbury was abashed, and mumbled something apologetic. +Nevertheless she wore a low-neck dress on Thursday evening, one as +daring as the extremely daring fashions of that year permitted an +unmarried woman to wear. It seemed to her that Siddall was still more +costly and elegant-looking than before, though this may have been due +to the fact that he always created an impression that in the retrospect +of memory seemed exaggerated. It seemed impossible that anyone could +be so clean, so polished and scoured, so groomed and tailored, so +bedecked, so high-heeled and loftily coiffed. His mean little +countenance with its grotesquely waxed mustache and imperial wore an +expression of gracious benignity that assured his guests they need +anticipate no disagreeable news. + +"I owe you an apology for keeping you in suspense so long," said he. +"I'm a very busy man, with interests in all parts of the world. I keep +house--some of 'em bigger than this--open and going in six different +places. I always like to be at home wherever my business takes me." + +Mrs. Presbury rolled her eyes. "Isn't that WONDERFUL!" she exclaimed. +"What an interesting life you must lead!" + +"Oh, so--so," replied the general. "But I get awful lonesome. I'm +naturally a domestic man. I don't care for friends. They're expensive +and dangerous. A man in my position is like a king. He can't have +friends. So, if he hasn't got a family, he hasn't got noth--anything." + +"Nothing like home life," said Presbury. + +"Yes, indeed," cried Mrs. Presbury. + +The little general smiled upon Mildred, sitting pale and silent, with +eyes downcast. "Well, I don't intend to be alone much longer, if I can +help it," said he. "And I may say that I can make a woman happy if +she's the right sort--if she has sense enough to appreciate a good +husband." This last he said sternly, with more than a hint of his past +matrimonial misfortunes in his frown and in his voice. "The trouble +with a great many women is that they're fools--flighty, ungrateful +fools. If I married a woman like that, I'd make short work of her." + +"And she'd deserve it, General," said Mildred's mother earnestly. "But +you'll have no trouble if you select a lady--a girl who's been well +brought up and has respect for herself." + +"That's my opinion, ma'am," said the general. "I'm convinced that while +a man can become a gentleman, a woman's got to be born a lady or she +never is one." + +"Very true, General," cried Mrs. Presbury. "I never thought of it +before, but it's the truest thing I ever heard." + +Presbury grinned at his plate. He stole a glance at Mildred. Their +eyes met. She flushed faintly. + +"I've had a great deal of experience of women," pursued the general. +"In my boyhood days I was a ladies' man. And of course since I've had +money they've swarmed round me like bees in a clover-patch." + +"Oh, General, you're far too modest," cried Mrs. Presbury. "A man like +you wouldn't need to be afraid, if he hadn't a cent." + +"But not the kind of women I want," replied he, firmly if complacently. +"A lady needs money to keep up her position. She has to have it. On +the other hand, a man of wealth and station needs a lady to assist him +in the proper kind of life for men of his sort. So they need each +other. They've got to have each other. That's the practical, sensible +way to look at it." + +"Exactly," said Presbury. + +"And I've made up my mind to marry, and marry right away. But we'll +come back to this later on. Presbury, you're neglecting that wine." + +"I'm drinking it slowly to enjoy it better," said Presbury. + +The dinner was the same unending and expensive function that had +wearied them and upset their digestions on Thanksgiving Day. There was +too much of everything, and it was all just wrong. The general was not +quite so voluble as he had been before; his gaze was fixed most of the +time on Mildred--roving from her lovely face to her smooth, slender +shoulders and back again. As he drank and ate his gesture of slightly +smacking his thin lips seemed to include an enjoyment of the girl's +charms. And a sensitive observer might have suspected that she was not +unconscious of this and was suffering some such pain as if abhorrent +and cruel lips and teeth were actually mouthing and mumbling her. She +said not a word from sitting down at table until they rose to go into +the library for coffee. + +"Do tell me about your early life, General," Mrs. Presbury said. "Only +the other day Millie was saying she wished she could read a biography +of your romantic career." + +"Yes, it has been rather--unusual," conceded the general with swelling +chest and gently waving dollar-and-a-half-apiece cigar. + +"I do so ADMIRE a man who carves out his own fortune," Mrs. Presbury +went on--she had not obeyed her husband's injunction as to the +champagne. "It seems so wonderful to me that a man could with his own +hands just dig a fortune out of the ground." + +"He couldn't, ma'am," said the general, with gracious tolerance. "It +wasn't till I stopped the fool digging and hunting around for gold that +I began to get ahead. I threw away the pick and shovel and opened a +hotel." (There were two or three sleeping-rooms of a kind in that +"hotel," but it was rather a saloon of the species known as "doggery.") +"Yes, it was in the hotel that I got my start. The fellows that make +the money in mining countries ain't the prospectors and diggers, ma'am." + +"Really!" cried Mrs. Presbury breathlessly. "How interesting!" + +"They're fools, they are," proceeded the general. "No, the money's made +by the fellows that grub-stake the fools--give 'em supplies and send +'em out to nose around in the mountains. Then them that find anything +have to give half to the fellow that did the grub-staking. And he +looks into the claim, and if there's anything in it, why, he buys the +fool out. In mines, like everywhere else, ma'am, it ain't work, it's +brains that makes the money. No miner ever made a mining fortune--not +one. It's the brainy, foxy fellows that stay back in the camps. I +used to send out fifty and a hundred men a year. Maybe only two or +three'd turn up anything worth while. No, ma'am, I never got a dollar +ahead on my digging. All the gold I ever dug went right off for +grub--or a good time." + +"Wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Presbury. "I never heard of such a thing." + +"But we're not here to talk about mines," said the general, his eyes +upon Mildred. "I've been looking into matters--to get down to +business--and I've asked you here to let you know that I'm willing to +go ahead." + +Profound silence. Mildred suddenly drew in her breath with a sound so +sharp that the three others started and glanced hastily at her. But +she made no further sign. She sat still and cold and pale. + +The general, perfectly at ease, broke the silence. "I think Miss Gower +and I would get on faster alone." + +Presbury at once stood up; his wife hesitated, her eyes uneasily upon +her daughter. Presbury said: "Come on, Alice." She rose and preceded +him into the adjoining conservatory. The little general posed himself +before the huge open fire, one hand behind him, the other at the level +of his waistcoat, the big cigar between his first and second fingers. +"Well, my dear?" said he. + +Mildred somewhat hesitatingly lifted her eyes; but, once she had them +up, their gaze held steadily enough upon his--too steadily for his +comfort. He addressed himself to his cigar: + +"I'm not quite ready to say I'm willing to go the limit," said he. "We +don't exactly know each other sufficiently well as yet, do we?" + +"No," said Mildred. + +"I've been making inquiries," he went on; "that is, I had my chief +secretary make them--and he's a very thorough man, thanks to my +training. He reports everything entirely all right. I admire dignity +and reserve in a woman, and you have been very particular. Were you +engaged to Stanley Baird?" + +Mildred flushed, veiled her eyes to hide their resentful flash at this +impertinence. She debated with herself, decided that any rebuke short +of one that would anger him would be wasted upon him. "No," said she. + +"That agrees with Harding's report," said the general. "It was a mere +girlish flirtation--very dignified and proper," he hastened to add. "I +don't mean to suggest that you were at all flighty." + +"Thank you," said Mildred sweetly. + +"Are there any questions you would like to ask about me?" inquired he. + +"No," said Mildred. + +"As I understand it--from my talk with Presbury--you are willing to go +on?" + +"Yes," said Mildred. + +The general smiled genially. "I think I may say without conceit that +you will like me as you know me better. I have no bad habits--I've too +much regard for my health to over-indulge or run loose. In my boyhood +days I may have put in rather a heavy sowing of wild oats"--the general +laughed; Mildred conjured up the wintriest and faintest of echoing +smiles--"but that's all past," he went on, "and there's nothing that +could rise up to interfere with our happiness. You are fond of +children?" + +A pause, then Mildred said quite evenly, "Yes." + +"Excellent," said the general. "I'll expect you and your mother and +father to dinner Sunday night. Is that satisfactory?" + +"Yes," said Mildred. + +A longish pause. Then the general: "You seem to be a little--afraid +of me. I don't know why it is that people are always that way with +me." A halt, to give her the opportunity to say the obvious flattering +thing. Mildred said nothing, gave no sign. He went on: "It will wear +away as we know each other better. I am a simple, plain man--kind and +generous in my instincts. Of course I am dignified, and I do not like +familiarity. But I do not mean to inspire fear and awe." + +A still longer pause. "Well, everything is settled," said the general. +"We understand each other clearly?--not an engagement, nothing binding +on either side--simply a--a--an option without forfeit." And he +laughed--his laugh was a ghoulish sound, not loud but explosive and an +instant check upon demonstration of mirth from anyone else. + +"I understand," said Mildred with a glance toward the door through +which Presbury and his wife had disappeared. + +"Now, we'll join the others, and I'll show you the house"--again the +laugh--"what may be your future home--one of them." + +The four were soon started upon what was for three of them a weariful +journey despite the elevator that spared them the ascents of the +stairways. The house was an exaggerated reproduction of all the +establishments of the rich who confuse expenditure with luxury and +comfort. Bill Siddall had bought "the best of everything"; that is, +the things into which the purveyors of costly furnishings have put the +most excuses for charging. Of taste, of comfort, of discrimination, +there were few traces and these obviously accidental. "I picked out the +men acknowledged to be the best in their different lines," said the +general, "and I gave them carte blanche." + +"I see that at a glance," said Presbury. "You've done the grand thing +on the grandest possible scale." + +"I've looked into the finest of the famous places on the other side," +said the general. "All I can say is, I've had no regrets." + +"I should say not," cried Mrs. Presbury. + +With an affectation of modest hesitation--to show that he was a +gentleman with a gentleman's fine appreciation of the due of maiden +modesty--Siddall paused at the outer door of his own apartments. But +at one sentence of urging from Mrs. Presbury he opened the door and +ushered them in. And soon he was showing them everything--his Carrara +marble bathroom and bathing-pool, his bed that had been used by several +French kings, his dressing-room with its appliances of gold and +platinum and precious stones, his clothing. They had to inspect a room +full of suits, huge chiffoniers crowded with shirts and ties and +underclothes. He exhibited silk dressing-robes and pajamas, pointed out +the marks of the fashionable London and Paris makers, the monograms, +the linings of ermine and sable. "I'm very particular about everything +that touches me," explained he. "It seems to me a gentleman can't be +too particular." With a meaning glance at Mildred, "And I'd feel the +same way about my wife." + +"You hear that, Mildred?" said Presbury, with a nasty little laugh. He +had been relieving the tedium of this sight-seeing tour by +observing--and from time to time aggravating--Mildred's sufferings. + +The general released his mirth-strangling goat laugh; Mrs. Presbury +echoed it with a gale of rather wild hysterics. So well pleased was +the general with the excursion and so far did he feel advanced toward +intimacy that on the way down the majestic marble stairway he ventured +to give Mildred's arm a gentle, playful squeeze. And at the parting he +kissed her hand. Presbury had changed his mind about returning to the +country. On the way to the hotel he girded at Mildred, reviewing all +that the little general had said and done, and sneering, jeering at it. +Mildred made not a single retort until they were upstairs in the hotel. +At the door to her room she said to Presbury--said it in a quiet, cold, +terrible way: + +"If you really want me to go through with this thing, you will stop +insulting him and me. If you do it again, I'll give up--and go on the +streets before I'll marry him." + +Presbury shrugged his shoulders and went on to the other room. But he +did not begin again the next day, and from that time forth avoided +reference to the general. In fact, there was an astonishing change in +his whole demeanor. He ceased to bait his wife, became polite, even +affable. If he had conducted himself thus from the outset, he would +have got far less credit, would have made far less progress toward +winning the liking of his wife, and of her daughter, than he did in a +brief two weeks of change from petty and malignant tyrant to +good-natured, interestingly talkative old gentleman. After the manner +of human nature, Mildred and her mother, in their relief, in their +pleasure through this amazing sudden and wholly unexpected geniality, +not merely forgave but forgot all they had suffered at his hands. +Mildred was not without a suspicion of the truth that this change, +inaugurated in his own good time, was fresh evidence of his contempt +for both of them--of his feeling that he could easily make reparation +with a little kindness and decency and put himself in the way of +getting any possible benefits from the rich alliance. But though she +practically knew what was going on in his mind, she could not prevent +herself from softening toward him. + +Now followed a succession of dinners, of theater- and opera-goings, of +week-ends at the general's new country palace in the fashionable region +of Long Island. All these festivities were of the same formal and +tedious character. At all the general was the central sun with the +others dim and draggled satellites, hardly more important than the +outer rim of satellite servants. He did most of the talking; he was +the sole topic of conversation; for when he was not talking about +himself he wished to be hearing about himself. If Mildred had not been +seeing more and more plainly that other and real personality of his, +her contempt for him and for herself would have grown beyond control. +But, with him or away from him, at every instant there was the sense of +that other real William Siddall--a shadowy menace full of terror. She +dreamed of it--was startled from sleep by visions of a monstrous and +mighty distortion of the little general's grotesque exterior. "I shall +marry him if I can," she said to her self. "But--can I?" And she +feared and hoped that she could not, that courage would fail her, or +would come to her rescue, whichever it was, and that she would refuse +him. Aside from the sense of her body that cannot but be with any +woman who is beautiful, she had never theretofore been especially +physical in thought. That side of life had remained vague, as she had +never indulged in or even been strongly tempted with the things that +rouse it from its virginal sleep. But now she thought only of her body, +because that it was, and that alone, that had drawn this prospective +purchaser, and his eyes never let her forget it. She fell into the +habit of looking at herself in the glass--at her face, at her +shoulders, at her whole person, not in vanity but in a kind of wonder +or aversion. And in the visions, both the waking and the sleeping, she +reached the climax of horror when the monster touched her--with clammy, +creepy fingers, with munching lips, with the sharp ends of the mustache +or imperial. + +Said Mrs. Presbury to her husband, "I'm afraid the general will be +irritated by Mildred's unresponsiveness." + +"Don't worry," replied Presbury. "He's so crazy about himself that he +imagines the whole world is in the same state." + +"Isn't it strange that he doesn't give her presents? Never anything but +candy and flowers." + +"And he never will," said Presbury. + +"Not until they're married, I suppose." + +Presbury was silent. + +"I can't help thinking that if Milly were to rouse herself and show +some--some liking--or at least interest, it'd be wiser." + +"She's taking the best possible course," said Presbury. "Unconsciously +to both of them, she's leading him on. He thinks that's the way a lady +should act--restrained, refined." + +Mildred's attitude was simple inertia. The most positive effort she +made was avoiding saying or doing anything to displease him--no +difficult matter, as she was silent and almost lifeless when he was +near. Without any encouragement from her he gradually got a deep +respect for her--which meant that he became convinced of her coldness +and exclusiveness, of her absolute trustworthiness. Presbury was more +profoundly right than he knew. The girl pursued the only course that +made possible the success she longed for, yet dreaded and loathed. For +at the outset Siddall had not been nearly so strongly in earnest in his +matrimonial project as he had professed and had believed himself. He +wished to marry, wished to add to his possessions the admirable +show-piece and exhibition opportunity afforded by the right sort of +wife; but in the bottom of his heart he felt that such a woman as he +dreamed of did not exist in all the foolish, fickle, and shallow female +sex. This girl--so cold, so proud, beautiful yet not eager to display +her charms or to have them praised--she was the rare bird he sought. + +In a month he asked her to marry him; that is, he said: "My dear, I +find that I am ready to go the limit--if you are." And she assented. +He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek--and was delighted to +discover that the alluring embrace made no impression upon the ice of +her "purity and ladylike dignity." Up to the very last moment of the +formal courtship he held himself ready to withdraw should she reveal to +his watchfulness the slightest sign of having any "unladylike" +tendencies or feelings. She revealed no such sign, but remained +"ladylike"; and certainly, so the general reasoned, a woman who could +thus resist him, even in the license of the formal engagement, would +resist anybody. + +As soon as the engagement was formally concluded, the general hurried +on the preparations for the wedding. He opened accounts at half a dozen +shops in New York--dressmakers, milliners, dealers in fine and +fashionable clothing of every kind--and gave them orders to execute +whatever commands Miss Gower or her mother--for HER--might give them. +When he told her of this munificence and magnificence and paused for +the outburst of gratitude, he listened in vain. Mildred colored to the +roots of her hair and was silent, was seeking the courage to refuse. + +"I know that you and your people can't afford to do the thing as things +related to me must be done," he went on to say. "So I decided to just +start in a little early at what I've got to do anyhow. Not that I +blame you for your not having money, my dear. On the contrary, that's +one of your merits with me. I wouldn't marry a woman with money. It +puts the family life on a wrong basis." + +"I had planned a quiet wedding," said Mildred. "I'd much prefer it." + +"Now you can be frank with me, my dear," said the general. "I know you +ladies--how cheated you feel if you aren't married with all the frills +and fixings. So that's the way it shall be done." + +"Really," protested Mildred, "I'm absolutely frank. I wish it to be +quite quiet--in our drawing-room, with no guests." + +Siddall smiled, genial and tolerant. "Don't argue with me, my dear. I +know what you want, and I'll see that you get it. Go ahead with these +shop-people I've put at your disposal--and go as far as you like. There +isn't anything--ANYTHING--in the way of clothes that you can't +have--that you mustn't have. Mrs. General Siddall is going to be the +best-dressed woman in the world--as she is the prettiest. I haven't +opened an account for you with Tiffany's or any of those people. I'll +look out for that part of the business, myself." + +"I don't care for jewelry," said Mildred. + +"Naturally not for the kind that's been within your means heretofore," +replied he; "but you'll open your eyes when you see MY jewelry for MY +wife. All in good time, my dear. You and your mother must start right +in with the shopping; and, a week or so before the wedding, I'll send +my people down to transform the house. I may be wrong, but I rather +think that the Siddall wedding will cause some talk." + +He was not wrong. Through his confidential secretary, Harding the +thorough, the newspaper press was induced to take an interest in the +incredible extravagance Siddall was perpetrating in arranging for a +fitting wedding for General William Siddall. For many days before the +ceremony there were daily columns about him and his romantic career and +his romantic wooing of the New Jersey girl of excellent family and +social position but of comparatively modest means. The shopkeepers gave +interviews on the trousseau. The decorators and caterers detailed the +splendors and the costliness of the preparations of which they had +charge. From morning until dark a crowd hung round the house at Hanging +Rock, and on the wedding day the streets leading to it were +blocked--chiefly with people come from a distance, many of them from +New York. + +At the outset all this noise was deeply distasteful to Mildred, but +after a few days she recovered her normal point of view, forgot the +kind of man she was marrying in the excitement and exultation over her +sudden splendor and fame. So strongly did the delusion presently +become, that she was looking at the little general with anything but +unfavorable eyes. He seemed to her a quaint, fascinating, benevolent +necromancer, having miraculous powers which he was exercising in her +behalf. She even reproached herself with ingratitude in not being +wildly in love with him. Would not any other girl, in her place, have +fallen over ears in love with this marvelous man? + +However, while she could not quite convince herself that she loved, she +became convinced without effort that she was happy, that she was going +to be still happier. The excitement wrought her into a state of +exaltation and swept her through the wedding ceremony and the going +away as radiant a bride as a man would care to have. + +There is much to be said against the noisy, showy wedding. Certainly +love has rarely been known to degrade himself to the point of attending +any such. But there is something to be said for that sort of married +start--for instance, where love is neither invited nor desired, an +effort must be made to cover the painful vacancy his absence always +causes. + +The little general's insistence on a "real wedding" was most happy for +him. It probably got him his bride. + + + +III + +THE intoxication of that wedding held on long enough and strongly +enough to soften and blunt the disillusionments of the first few days +of the honeymoon. In the prospect that period had seemed, even to +Mildred's rather unsophisticated imagination, appalling beyond her +power to endure. In the fact--thanks in large part to that +intoxication--it was certainly not unendurable. A human being, even an +innocent young girl, can usually bear up under any experience to which +a human being can be subjected. The general in pajamas--of the finest +silk and of pigeon's-egg blue with a vast gorgeous monogram on the +pocket--was more grotesque, rather than more repellent, than the +general in morning or evening attire. Also he--that is, his expert +staff of providers of luxury--had arranged for the bride a series of +the most ravishing sensations in whisking her, like the heroine of an +Arabian Night's tale, from straitened circumstances to the very +paradise of luxury. + +The general's ideas on the subject of woman were old fashioned, of the +hard-shell variety. Woman was made for luxury, and luxury was made for +woman. His woman must be the most divinely easeful of the luxurious. +At all times she must be fit and ready for any and every sybaritic idea +that might enter her husband's head--and other purpose she had none. +When she was not directly engaged in ministering to his joy she must be +busy preparing herself for his next call upon her. A woman was a +luxury, was the luxury of luxuries, must have and must use to their +uttermost all capacities for gratifying his senses and his vanity. +Alone with him, she must make him constantly feel how rich and rare and +expensive a prize he had captured. When others were about, she must be +constantly making them envy and admire him for having exclusive rights +in such wonderful preserves. All this with an inflexible devotion to +the loftiest ideals of chastity. + +But the first realizations of her husband's notions as to women were +altogether pleasant. As she entered the automobile in which they went +to the private car in the special train that took them to New York and +the steamer--as she entered that new and prodigally luxurious +automobile, she had a first, keen sense of her changed position. Then +there was the superb private car--her car, since she was his wife--and +there was the beautiful suite in the magnificent steamer. And at every +instant menials thrusting attentions upon her, addressing her as if she +were a queen, revealing in their nervous tones and anxious eyes their +eagerness to please, their fear of displeasing. And on the steamer, +from New York to Cherbourg, she was never permitted to lose sight of +the material splendors that were now hers. All the servants, all the +passengers, reminded her by their looks, their tones. At Paris, in the +hotel, in the restaurants, in the shops--especially in the shops--those +snobbish instincts that are latent in the sanest and the wisest of us +were fed and fattened and pampered until her head was quite turned. +And the general began to buy jewels for her. Such jewels--ropes of +diamonds and pearls and emeralds, rings such as she had never dreamed +existed! Those shopping excursions of theirs in the Rue de la Paix +would make such a tale as your ordinary simple citizen, ignorant of the +world's resources in luxury and therefore incredulous about them, would +read with a laugh at the extravagance of the teller. + +Before the intoxication of the wedding had worn away it was re-enforced +by the intoxication of the honeymoon--not an intoxication of love's +providing, but one exceeding potent in its influence upon our weak +human brains and hearts, one from which the strongest of us, instead of +sneering at poor Mildred, would better be praying to be delivered. + +At her marriage she had a few hundred dollars left of her +patrimony--three hundred and fifty and odd, to be more exact. She +spent a little money of her own here and there--in tips, in buying +presents for her mother, in picking up trifles for her own toilet. The +day came when she looked in her purse and found two one-franc pieces, a +fifty-franc note, and a few coppers. And suddenly she sat back and +stared, her mouth open like her almost empty gold bag, which the +general had bought her on their first day in the Rue de la Paix. About +ten dollars in all the world, and the general had forgotten to +speak--or to make any arrangement, at least any arrangement of which +she was aware--about a further supply of money. + +They had been married nearly a month. He knew that she was poor. Why +hadn't he said something or, better still, DONE something? Doubtless +he had simply forgotten. But since he had forgotten for a month, might +he not continue to forget? True, he had himself been poor at one time +in his life, very poor, and that for a long time. But it had been so +many years ago that he had probably lost all sense of the meaning of +poverty. She frowned at this evidence of his lack of the finer +sensibilities--by no means the first time that lack had been +disagreeably thrust upon her. Soon she would be without money--and she +must have money--not much, as all the serious expenses were looked +after by the general, but still a little money. How could she get it? +How could she remind him of his neglect without seeming to be +indelicate? It was a difficult problem. She worked at it more and +more continuously, and irritably, and nervously, as the days went by +and her fifty-two francs dwindled to five. + +She lay awake, planning long and elaborate conversations that would +imperceptibly lead him up to where he must see what she needed without +seeing that he had been led. She carried out these ingenious +conversations. She led him along, he docilely and unsuspectingly +following. She brought him up to where it seemed to her impossible for +any human being endowed with the ordinary faculties to fail to see what +was so plainly in view. All in vain. General William Siddall gazed +placidly--and saw nothing. + +Several days of these failures, and with her funds reduced to a +fifty-centime piece and a two-sous copper she made a frontal attack. +When they went forth for the day's shopping she left her gold bag +behind. After an hour or so she said: + +"I've got to go to the Galleries Lafayette for some little things. I +shan't ask you to sacrifice yourself. I know you hate those stuffy, +smelly big shops." + +"Very well," said he. "I'll use the time in a call on my bankers." + +As they were about to separate, she taking the motor and he walking, +she made a face of charming dismay and said: "How provoking! I've +left my bag at the hotel." + +Instead of the expected prompt offer of money he said, "It'll only take +you a minute or so to drive there." + +"But it's out of the way," she replied. "I'll need only a hundred +francs or so." + +Said he: "I've an account at the Bon Marche. Go there and have the +things charged. It's much the best big shop in Paris." + +"Very well," was all she could trust herself to say. She concealed her +anger beneath a careless smile and drove away. How dense he was! Could +anything be more exasperating--or more disagreeable? What SHOULD she +do? The situation was intolerable; yet how could it be ended, except +by a humiliating direct request for money? She wondered how young +wives habitually dealt with this problem, when they happened to marry +husbands so negligent, not to say underbred, as to cause them the +awkwardness and the shame. There followed several days during which +the money idea was an obsession, nagging and grinning at her every +instant. The sight of money gave her a peculiar itching sensation. +When the little general paid for anything--always drawing out a great +sheaf of bank notes in doing it--she flushed hot and cold, her glance +fell guiltily and sought the money furtively. At last her desperation +gave birth to an inspiration. + +About her and the general, or, rather, about the general, revolved the +usual rich man's small army of satellites of various +degrees--secretaries, butlers, footmen, valets, other servants male and +female, some of them supposed to be devoted entirely to her service, +but all in fact looking ever to the little general. The members of +this company, regardless of differences of rank and pay, were banded +together in a sort of democratic fellowship, talking freely with one +another, on terms of perfect equality. She herself had, curiously, +gotten on excellent terms with this motley fraternity and found no +small relief from the strain of the general's formal dignity in talking +with them with a freedom and ease she had never before felt in the +society of underlings. The most conspicuous and most agreeable figure +in this company was Harding, the general's factotum. Why not lay the +case before Harding? He was notably sensible, and sympathetic--and +discreet. + +The following day she did so. Said she, blushing furiously: "Mr. +Harding, I find myself in a very embarrassing position. I wonder if +you can help me?" + +Harding, a young man and of one of the best blond types, said: "No +doubt I can--and I'll be glad to." + +"The fact is"-- Her voice was trembling with nervousness. She opened +the gold bag, took out the little silver pieces and the big copper +piece, extended her pink palm with them upon it--"there's all I've got +left of the money I brought with me." + +Harding gazed at the exhibit tranquilly. He was chiefly remarkable for +his perfect self-possession. Said he: "Do you wish me to cash a check +for you?" + +The stupidity of men! Tears of vexation gathered in her eyes. When +she could speak she faltered: + +"No." + +He was looking at her now--a grave, kind glance. + +She somehow felt encouraged and heartened. She went on: "I was +hoping--that--that the gen--that my husband had said something to you +and that you perhaps had not thought to say anything to me." + +Their glances met, his movingly sympathetic and understanding, hers +piteously forlorn--the look of a lovely girl, stranded and friendless +in a far strange land. Presently he said gently: + +"Yes, he told me to say something to you--if you should speak to me +about this matter." His tone caused in her heart a horrible stillness +of suspense. He went on: "He said--I give you his exact words: 'If my +wife should ask you for money, tell her my ideas on the subject.'" + +A pause. She started up, crimson, her glance darting nervously this +way and that to avoid his. "Never mind. Really, it's of no +importance. Thank you--I'll get on very well--I'm sorry to have +troubled you--" + +"Pardon me, Mrs. Siddall," he interposed, "but I think you'd best let +me finish." + +She started to protest, she tried to move toward the door. Her +strength failed her, she sat down, waited, nervously clasping and +unclasping the costly, jewel-embroidered bag. + +"He has explained to me, many times," continued Harding, "that he +believes women do not understand the value of money and ought not to be +trusted with it. He proposes to provide everything for you, every +comfort and luxury--I am using his own language, Mrs. Siddall--and he +has open accounts at the principal shops in every city where you will +go--New York, Washington, Chicago, Denver, Paris, London, Rome. He says +you are at liberty to get practically anything you please at these +shops, and he will pay the bills. He thus entirely spares you the +necessity of ever spending any money. Should you see anything you wish +at some shop where he has no account, you can have it sent collect, and +I or my assistant, Mr. Drawl, will settle for it. All he asks is that +you use discretion in this freedom. He says it would be extremely +painful to him to have to withdraw it." + +Harding had pronounced this long speech in a dry monotonous voice, like +one reading mechanically from a dull book. As Mildred listened, her +thoughts began to whirl about the central idea until she fell into a +kind of stupor. When he finished she was staring vacantly at the bag +in her lap--the bag she was holding open wide. + +Harding continued: "He also instructed me to say something about his +former--his experiences. The first Mrs. Siddall he married when he was +very young and poor. As he grew rich, she became madly extravagant. +And as they had started on a basis on which she had free access to his +money he could not check her. The result, finally, was a succession of +bitter quarrels, and they were about to divorce when she died. He made +the second Mrs. Siddall an allowance, a liberal allowance. Her follies +compelled him to withdraw it. She resorted to underhanded means to get +money from him without his knowing it. He detected the fraud. After a +series of disagreeable incidents she committed the indiscretion which +caused him to divorce her. He says that these experiences have +convinced him that--" + +"The second Mrs. Siddall," interrupted Mildred, "is she still alive?" + +Harding hesitated. "Yes," he said reluctantly. + +"Is she--poor?" asked Mildred. + +"I should prefer not to--" + +"Did the general forbid you to tell me?" + +"On the contrary, he instructed me-- But I'd rather not talk about it, +Mrs. Siddall." + +"Is she poor?" repeated Mildred. + +"Yes." + +"What became of her?" + +A long pause. Then Harding said: "She was a poor girl when the +general married her. After the divorce she lived for a while with the +man. But he had nothing. They separated. She tried various kinds of +work--and other things. Since she lost her looks-- She writes from +time to time, asking for money." + +"Which she never gets?" said Mildred. + +"Which she never gets," said Harding. "Lately she was cashier or head +waitress in a cheap restaurant in St. Louis." + +After a long silence Mildred said: "I understand. I understand." She +drew a long breath. "I shall understand better as time goes on, but I +understand fairly well now." + +"I need not tell you, Mrs. Siddall," said Harding in his gentle, +tranquil way, "that the general is the kindest and most generous of +men, but he has his own methods--as who has not?" + +Mildred had forgotten that he was there--not a difficult matter, when +he had in its perfection the secretarial manner of complete +self-effacement. Said she reflectively, like one puzzling out a +difficult problem: + +"He buys a woman, as he buys a dog or a horse. He does not give his +dog, his horse, pocket-money. Why should he give his woman +pocket-money?" + +"Will it help matters, Mrs. Siddall, to go to the other extreme and do +him a grave injustice?" + +She did not hear. At the picture presented to her mind by her own +thoughts she gave a short satirical laugh. "How stupid of me not to +have understood from the outset," said she. "Why, I've often heard of +this very thing." + +"It is more and more the custom among men of large property, I +believe," said Harding. "Perhaps, Mrs. Siddall, you would not blame +them if you were in their position. The rich men who are +careless--they ruin everybody about them, I assure you. I've seen it +again and again." + +But the young wife was absorbed in her own thoughts. Harding, feeling +her mood, did not interrupt. After a while she said: + +"I must ask you some questions. These jewels the general has been +buying--" + +Harding made a movement of embarrassment and protest. She smiled +ironically and went on: + +"One moment, please. Every time I wish to wear any of them I have to +go to him to get them. He asks me to return them when I am undressing. +He says it is safer to keep everything in his strong box. I have been +assuming that that was the only reason. I begin to suspect-- Am I +right, Mr. Harding?" + +"Really I can't say, Mrs. Siddall," said Harding. "These are not +matters to discuss with me, if you will permit me to say so." + +"Oh, yes, they are," replied she laughingly. "Aren't we all in the same +boat?--all employes of the general?" + +Harding made no reply. + +Mildred was beside herself with a kind of rage that, because outlet was +necessary and because raving against the little general would be +absolutely futile, found outlet in self-mockery and reckless sarcasm. + +"I understand about the jewels, too," she went on. "They are not mine. +Nothing is mine. Everything, including myself, belongs to him. If I +give satisfaction in the position for which I've been hired for my +board and clothes, I may continue to eat the general's food and sleep +in the general's house and wear the general's jewels and dresses and +ride in the general's traps and be waited on by the general's servants. +If I don't like my place or he doesn't like my way of filling it"--she +laughed merrily, mockingly--"out I go--into the streets--after the +second Mrs. Siddall. And the general will hire a new--" She paused, +cast about for a word in vain, appealed to the secretary, "What would +you call it, Mr. Harding?" + +Harding rose, looking at her with a very soothing tranquillity. "If I +were you, Mrs. Siddall," said he, "I should get into the auto and go +for a long drive--out to the Bois--out to Versailles--a long, long +drive. I should be gone four or five hours at least, and I should look +at the thing from all sides. Especially, I'd look at it from HIS +standpoint." + +Mildred, somewhat quieter, but still mocking, said: "If I should decide +to quit, would my expenses be paid back to where I was engaged? I +fancy not." + +Harding looked grave. "If you had had money enough to pay your own +expenses about, would you have married him?" said he. "Isn't he +paying--paying liberally, Mrs. Siddall--for ALL he gets?" + +Mildred, stung, drew herself up haughtily, gave him a look that +reminded him who she was and who he was. But Harding was not impressed. + +"You said a moment ago--truly--that we are all in the same boat," +observed he. "I put those questions to you because I honestly wish to +help you--because I wish you not to act foolishly, hastily." + +"Thank you, Mr. Harding," said Mildred coldly. And with a slight nod +she went, angry and ashamed that she had so unaccountably opened up her +secret soul, bared its ugly wounds, before a man she knew so slightly, +a man in a position but one remove from menial. However, she took his +advice--not as to trying to view the matter from all sides, for she was +convinced that there was only the one side, but as to calming herself +by a long drive alone in the woods and along quiet roads. When she +returned she was under control once more. + +She found the general impatiently awaiting her. Many packages had +come--from the jewelers, from the furriers, from a shop whose specialty +was the thinnest and most delicate of hand-made underwear. The general +loved to open and inspect finery for her--loved it more than he loved +inspecting finery for himself, because feminine finery was far more +attractive than masculine. To whet his pleasure to the keenest she +must be there to admire with him, to try on, to exhibit. As she +entered the salon where the little man was fussing about among the +packages, their glances met. She saw that Harding had told him--at +least in discreet outline--of their conversation. She also saw that if +she reopened the subject she would find herself straightway whirled out +upon a stormy sea of danger that might easily overwhelm her flimsy +boat. She silently and sullenly dropped into her place; she ministered +to the general's pleasure in packages of finery. But she did not +exclaim, or admire, or respond in any way. The honeymoon was over. Her +dream of wifehood was dissipated. + +She understood now the look she so often had seen on the faces of rich +men's poor wives driving in state in Fifth Avenue. That night, as she +inspected herself in the glass while the general's maid for her brushed +her long thick hair, she saw the beginnings of that look in her own +face. "I don't know just what I am," she said to herself. "But I do +know what I am not. I am not a wife." + +She sent away the maid, and sat there in the dressing-room before the +mirror, waiting, her glance traveling about and noting the profuse and +prodigal luxury. In the corner stood a circular rack loaded with +dressing-gowns--more than a score of exquisite combinations of silk and +lace or silk and chiffon. It so happened that there was nowhere in +sight a single article of her apparel or for her toilet that was not +bought with the general's money. No, there were some hairpins that she +had paid for herself, and a comb with widely separated teeth that she +had chanced to see in a window when she was alone one day. Anything +else? Yes, a two-franc box of pins. And that was all. Everything else +belonged to the general. In the closets, in the trunks--all the +general's, part of the trousseau he had paid for. Not an undergarment; +not an outer garment; not a hat or a pair of shoes, not a wrap, not a +pair of gloves. All, the general's. + +He was in the door of the dressing-room--the small wiry figure in +rose-silk pajamas. The mustache and imperial were carefully waxed as +always, day and night. On the little feet were high-heeled slippers. On +the head was a rose-silk Neapolitan nightcap with gay tassel. The +nightcap hid the bald spot from which the lofty toupee had been +removed. A grotesque little figure, but not grotesque to her. Through +the mask of the vain, boastful little face she saw the general watching +her, as she had seen him that afternoon when she came in--the +mysterious and terrible personality that had made the vast fortune, +that had ridden ruthlessly over friend and foe, over man and woman and +child--to the goal of its desires. + +"It's late, my dear?" said the little man. "Come to bed." + +She rose to obey--she in the general's purchases of filmy nightgown +under a pale-pink silk dressing-gown. + +He smiled with that curious noiseless mumbling and smacking of the thin +lips. She sat down again. + +"Don't keep me waiting. It's chilly," he said, advancing toward her. + +"I shall sleep in here to-night--on the couch," said she. She was +trembling with fright at her own audacity. She could see a +fifty-centime piece and a copper dancing before her eyes. She felt +horribly alone and weak, but she had no desire to retract the words +with which she had thrown down the gauntlet. + +The little general halted. The mask dropped; the man, the monster, +looked at her. "What's the matter?" said he in an ominously quiet +voice. + +"Mr. Harding delivered your message to-day," said she, and her steady +voice astonished her. "So I am going back home." + +He waited, looking steadily at her. + +"After he told me and I thought about it, I decided to submit, but just +now I saw that I couldn't. I don't know what possesses me. I don't +know what I'm going to do, or how I'm going to do it. But it's all +over between us." She said this rapidly, fluently, in a decisive way, +quite foreign to her character as she had thought it. + +"You are coming to bed, where you belong," said he quietly. + +"No," replied she, pressing herself against her chair as if force were +being used to drag her from it. She cast about for something that +would make yielding impossible. "You are--repulsive to me." + +He looked at her without change of countenance. Said he: "Come to bed. +I ask you for the last time." + +There was no anger in his voice, no menace either open or covert; +simply finality--the last word of the man who had made himself feared +and secure in the mining-camps where the equation of personal courage +is straightway applied to every situation. Mildred shivered. She +longed to yield, to stammer out some excuse and obey him. But she +could not; nor was she able to rise from her chair. She saw in his +hard eyes a look of astonishment, of curiosity as to this unaccountable +defiance in one who had seemed docile, who had apparently no +alternative but obedience. He was not so astonished at her as she was +at herself. "What is to become of me?" her terror-stricken soul was +crying. "I must do as he says--I must--yet I cannot!" And she looked at +him and sat motionless. + +He turned away, moved slowly toward the door, halted at the threshold +to give her time, was gone. A fit of trembling seized her; she leaned +forward and rested her arms upon the dressing-table or she would have +fallen from the chair to the floor. Yet, even as her fear made her +sick and weak, she knew that she would not yield. + +The cold drove her to the couch, to lie under half a dozen of the +dressing-gowns and presently to fall into a sleep of exhaustion. When +she awoke after what she thought was a few minutes of unconsciousness, +the clamor of traffic in the Rue de Rivoli startled her. She started +up, glanced at the clock on the chimneypiece. It was ten minutes past +nine! When, by all the rules governing the action of the nerves, she +ought to have passed a wakeful night she had overslept more than an +hour. Indeed, she had had the first sound and prolonged sleep that had +come to her since the honeymoon began; for until then she had slept +alone all her life and the new order had almost given her chronic +insomnia. She rang for her maid and began to dress. The maid did not +come. She rang again and again; apparently the bell was broken. She +finished dressing and went out into the huge, grandly and gaudily +furnished salon. Harding was at a carved old-gold and lacquer desk, +writing. As she entered he rose and bowed. + +"Won't you please call one of the servants?" said she. "I want my +coffee. I guess the bell in my room is broken. My maid doesn't +answer." + +"No, the bell is not broken," said Harding. + +She looked at him questioningly. + +"The general has issued an order that nothing is to be done in this +apartment, and nothing served, unless he personally authorizes it." + +Mildred paled, drew herself up in what seemed a gesture of haughtiness +but was an effort to muster her strength. To save herself from the +humiliation of a breakdown before him, she hastily retreated by the way +she had come. After perhaps a quarter of an hour she reappeared in the +salon; she was now dressed for the street. Harding looked up from his +writing, rose and bowed gravely. Said she: + +"I am going out for a walk. I'll be back in an hour or so." + +"One moment," said Harding, halting her as she was opening the door +into the public hall. "The general has issued an order that if you go +out, you are not to be allowed to return." + +Her hand fell from the knob. With flashing eyes she cried, "But that +is impossible!" + +"It is his orders," said Harding, in his usual quiet manner. "And as +he pays the bills he will be obeyed." + +She debated. Against her will, her trembling hand sought the knob +again. Against her will, her weak arm began to draw the door open. +Harding came toward her, stood before her and looked directly into her +eyes. His eyes had dread and entreaty in them, but his voice was as +always when he said: + +"You know him, Mrs. Siddall." + +"Yes," she said. + +"The reason he has got ALL he wanted--whatever he wanted--is that he +will go to any length. Every other human being, almost, has a limit, +beyond which they will not go--a physical fear or a moral fear or a +fear of public opinion. But the general--he has no limit." + +"Yes," she said. And deathly pale and almost staggering she drew open +the door and went out into the public hall. + +"For God's sake, Mrs. Siddall!" cried Harding, in great agitation. +"Come in quickly. They are watching--they will tell him! Are you mad?" + +"I think I must be," said she. "I am sick with fear. I can hardly keep +from dropping down here in a faint. Yet--" a strange look, a mingling +of abject terror and passionate defiance, gave her an aspect quite +insane--"I am going. Perhaps I, too, have no limit." + +And she went along the corridor, past a group of gaping and frightened +servants, down the stairway and out by the private entrance for the +grand apartments of the hotel in the Rue Raymond de l'Isle. She +crossed the Rue de Rivoli and entered the Tuileries Gardens. It was +only bracingly cool in the sunshine of that winter day. She seated +herself on a chair on the terrace to regain her ebbed strength. Hardly +had she sat down when the woman collector came and stood waiting for +the two sous for the chair. Mildred opened her bag, found two coins. +She gave the coppers to the woman. The other--all the money she +had--was the fifty-centime piece. + +"But the bag--I can get a good deal for that," she said aloud. + +"I beg your pardon--I didn't catch that." + +She came back to a sense of her surroundings. Stanley Baird was +standing a few feet away, smiling down at her. He was, if possible, +even more attractively dressed than in the days when he hovered about +her, hoping vague things of which he was ashamed and trying to get the +courage to put down his snobbishness and marry her because she so +exactly suited him. He was wearing a new kind of collar and tie, +striking yet in excellent quiet taste. Also, his face and figure had +filled out just enough--he had been too thin in the former days. But +he was now entered upon that period of the fearsome forties when, +unless a man amounts to something, he begins to look insignificant. He +did not amount to anything; he was therefore paling and waning as a +personality. + +"Was I thinking aloud?" said Mildred, as she gave him her hand. + +"You said something about 'getting a good deal.'" He inspected her with +the freedom of an old friend and with the thoroughness of a +connoisseur. Women who took pains with themselves and were satisfied +with the results liked Stanley Baird's knowing and appreciative way of +noting the best points in their toilets. "You're looking fine," +declared he. "It must be a pleasure to them up in the Rue de la Paix +to dress you. That's more than can be said for nine out of ten of the +women who go there. Yes, you're looking fine--and in grand health, +too. Why, you look younger than I ever saw you. Nothing like marriage +to freshen a girl up. Well, I suppose waiting round for a husband who +may or may not turn up does wear a woman down." + +"It almost killed me," laughed Mildred. "And you were largely +responsible." + +"I?" said Baird. "You didn't want me. I was too old for you." + +"No, I didn't want you," said Mildred. "But you spoiled me. I +couldn't endure the boys of my own age." + +Stanley was remembering that Mildred had married a man much older than +he. With some notion of a careless sort of tact in mind he said, "I +was betwixt and between--neither young enough nor old enough." + +"You've married, too, since we met. By the way, thank you again for +that charming remembrance. You always did have such good taste. But +why didn't you come to the wedding--you and your wife?" + +He laughed. "We were busy busting up," said he. "You hadn't heard? +It's been in the papers. She's gone back to her people. Oh, nothing +disgraceful on either side. Simply that we bored each other to death. +She was crazy about horses and dogs, and that set. I think the +stable's the place for horses--don't care to have 'em parading through +the house all the time, every room, every meal, sleeping and waking. +And dogs--the infernal brutes always have fleas. Fleas only tickled +her, but they bite me--raise welts and hills. There's your husband +now, isn't it?" + +Baird was looking up at the windows of the Continental, across the +street. Mildred's glance slowly and carelessly followed his. At one +window stood the little general, gazing abstractedly out over the +gardens. At another window Mildred saw Harding; at a third, her maid; +at a fourth, Harding's assistant, Drawl; at a fifth, three servants of +the retinue. Except the general, all were looking at her. + +"You've married a very extraordinary man," said Baird, in a correct +tone of admiration. "One of the ablest and most interesting men we've +got, _I_ think." + +"So you are free again?" said Mildred, looking at him with a queer, +cold smile. + +"Yes, and no," replied Stanley. "I hope to be entirely free. It's her +move next. I'm expecting it every day. But I'm thoroughly +respectable. Won't you and the general dine with me?" + +"Thanks, but I'm sailing for home to-morrow or next day." + +"That's interesting," said Baird, with enthusiasm. "So am I. What ship +do you go on?" + +"I don't know yet. I'm to decide this afternoon, after lunch." She +laughed. "I'm sitting here waiting for someone to ask me to lunch. +I've not had even coffee yet." + +"Lunch with me!" cried Baird. "I'll go get the general--I know him +slightly." + +"I didn't say anything about the general," said Mildred. + +Stanley smiled apologetically. "It wouldn't do for you to go about +with me--not when my missus is looking for grounds for divorce." + +"Why not?" said Mildred. "So's my husband." + +"You busted up, too? Now, that's what _I_ call jolly." And he cast a +puzzled glance up at the abstracted general. "I say, Mildred, this is +no place for either of us, is it?" + +"I'd rather be where there's food," confessed she. + +"You think it's a joke, but I assure you-- Oh, you WERE joking--about +YOUR bust-up?" + +"No, indeed," she assured him. "I walked out a while ago, and I +couldn't go back if I would--and I don't think I would if I could." + +"That's foolish. Better go back," advised he. He was preparing +hastily to decamp from so perilous a neighborhood. "One marriage is +about like another, once you get through the surface. I'm sure you'll +be better off than--back with your stepfather." + +"I've no intention of going to his house," she declared. "Oh, there's +your brother. I forgot." + +"So had I forgotten him. I'll not go there, either. In fact, I've not +thought where I'll go." + +"You seem to have done mighty little thinking before you took a very +serious step for a woman." He was uneasily eying the rigid, abstracted +little figure a story up across the way. + +"Those things aren't a question of thinking," said she absently. "I +never thought in my life--don't think I could if I tried. But when the +time came I--I walked out." She came back to herself, laughed. "I +don't understand why I'm telling you all this, especially as you're mad +with fright and wild to get away. Well, good-by, Stanley." + +He lifted his hat. "Good-by. We'll meet when we can do so without my +getting a scandal on you." He walked a few paces, turned, and came +back. "By the way, I'm sailing on the Deutschland. I thought you'd +like to know--so that you and I wouldn't by any chance cross on the +same boat." + +"Thanks," said she dryly. + +"What's the matter?" asked he, arrested, despite his anxiety to be +gone, by the sad, scornful look in her eyes. + +"Nothing. Why?" + +"You had such a--such a queer look." + +"Really? Good-by." + +In fact, she had thought--had hoped for the sake of her liking for +him--that he had come back to make the glaringly omitted offer of help +that should have come from any human being learning that a fellow being +was in the precarious position in which she had told him she was. Not +that she would have accepted any such offer. Still, she would have +liked to have heard the kindly words. She sat watching his handsome, +graceful figure, draped in the most artistically cut of long dark +overcoats, until he disappeared in the crowd in the Rue de Castiglione. +Then, without a glance up at the interested, not to say excited windows +of the general's splendid and spreading apartments, she strolled down +the gardens toward the Place Concorde. In Paris the beautiful, on a +bright and brisk day it is all but impossible to despair when one still +has left youth and health. Mildred was not happy--far from it. The +future, the immediate future, pressed its terrors upon her. But in +mitigation there was, perhaps born of youth and inexperience, a giddy +sense of relief. She had not realized how abhorrent the general +was--married life with the general. She had been resigning herself to +it, accepting it as the only thing possible, keeping it heavily draped +with her vanities of wealth and luxury--until she discovered that the +wealth and the luxury were in reality no more hers than they were her +maid's. And now she was free! + +That word free did not have its full meaning for her. She had never +known what real freedom was; women of the comfortable class--and men, +too, for that matter--usually are born into the petty slavery of +conventions at least, and know nothing else their whole lives +through--never know the joy of the thought and the act of a free mind +and a free heart. Still, she was released from a bondage that seemed +slavish even to her, and the release gave her a sensation akin to the +joy of freedom. A heavy hand that was crushing her very soul had been +lifted off--no, FLUNG off, and by herself. That thought, terrifying +though it was, also gave her a certain new and exalting self-respect. +After all, she was not a worm. She must have somewhere in her the +germs of something less contemptible than the essential character of so +many of the eminently respectable women she knew. She could picture +them in the situation in which she had found herself. What would they +have done? Why, what every instinct of her education impelled her to +do; what some latent love of freedom, some unsuspected courage of +self-respect had forbidden her to do, had withheld her from doing. + +Her thoughts and the gorgeous sunshine and her youth and health put her +in a steadily less cheerless mood as by a roundabout way she sought the +shop of the jeweler who sold the general the gold bag she had selected. +The proprietor himself was in the front part of the shop and received +"Madame la Generale" with all the honors of her husband's wealth. She +brought no experience and no natural trading talent to the enterprise +she was about to undertake; so she went directly to the main point. + +"This bag," said she, laying it upon the glass between them, "I bought +it here a short time ago." + +"I remember perfectly, madame. It is the handsomest, the most +artistic, we have sold this year." + +"I wish to sell it back to you," said she. + +"You wish to get something else and include it as part payment, madame?" + +"No, I wish to get the money for it." + +"Ah, but that is difficult. We do not often make those arrangements. +Second-hand articles--" + +"But the bag is quite new. Anyhow, it must have some value. Of course +I'd not expect the full price." + +The jeweler smiled. "The full price? Ah, madame, we should not think +of offering it again as it is. We should--" + +"No matter," interrupted Mildred. The man's expression--the normally +pleasant and agreeable countenance turned to repulsive by craft and +lying--made her eager to be gone. "What is the most you will give me?" + +"I shall have to consider--" + +"I've only a few minutes. Please do not irritate me." + +The man was studying her countenance with a desperate look. Why was +she, the bride of the monstrously rich American, why was she trying to +sell the bag? Did it mean the end of her resources? Or, were there +still huge orders to be got from her? His shrewdness, trained by +thirty years of dealing with all kinds of luxurious human beings, went +exploring in vain. He was alarmed by her frown. He began hesitatingly: + +"The jewels and the gold are only a small part of the value. The chief +value is the unique design, so elegant yet so simple. For the jewels +and the gold, perhaps two thousand francs--" + +"The purse was twelve thousand francs," interrupted she. + +"Perfectly, madame. But--" "I am in great haste. How much will you +give me?" + +"The most would be four thousand, I fear. I shall count up more +carefully, if madame will--" + +"No, four thousand will do." + +"I will send the money to madame at her hotel. The Continental, is it +not?" + +"No, I must have it at once." + +The jeweler hesitated. Mildred, flushing scarlet with shame--but he +luckily thought it anger--took up the bag and moved toward the door. + +"Pardon, madame, but certainly. Do you wish some gold or all notes?" + +"Notes," answered she. "Fifty and hundred-franc notes." + +A moment later she was in the street with the notes in a small bundle +in the bosom of her wrap. She went hurriedly up the street. As she +was about to turn the corner into the boulevard she on impulse glanced +back. An automobile had just drawn up at the jeweler's door and General +Siddall--top-hat, sable-lined overcoat, waxed mustache and imperial, +high-heeled boots, gold-mounted cane--was descending. And she knew +that he had awakened to his one oversight, and was on his way to repair +it. But she did not know that the jeweler--old and wise in human +ways--would hastily vanish with the bag and that an assistant would +come forward with assurances that madame had not been in the shop and +that, if she should come in, no business would be negotiated without +the general's express consent. She all but fainted at the narrowness +of her escape and fled round into the boulevard. She entered a taxi +and told the man to drive to Foyot's restaurant on the left bank--where +the general would never think of looking for her. + +When she had breakfasted she strolled in the Luxembourg Gardens, in +even better humor with herself and with the world. There was still +that horrid-faced future, but it was not leering into her very face. It +was nearly four thousand francs away--"and if I hadn't been so stupid, +I'd have got eight thousand, I'm sure," she said. But she was rather +proud of a stupidity about money matters. And four thousand francs, +eight hundred dollars--that was quite a good sum. + +She had an instinct that the general would do something disagreeable +about the French and English ports of departure for America. But +perhaps he would not think of the Italian ports. That night she set +out for Genoa, and three days later, in a different dress and with her +hair done as she never wore it, sailed as Miss Mary Stevens for America +on a German Mediterranean boat. + +She had taken the whole of a cabin on the quieter deck below the +promenade, paying for it nearly half of what was left of the four +thousand francs. The first three days she kept to her cabin except at +the dinner-hour, when she ventured to the deck just outside and walked +up and down for exercise. Then followed four days of nasty weather +during which she did not leave her bed. As the sea calmed, she, +wretched and reckless, had a chair put for herself under her window and +sat there, veiled and swathed and turning her face away whenever a rare +wandering passenger happened to pass along. Toward noon a man paused +before her to light a cigarette. She, forgetting for the moment her +precautions, looked at him. It chanced that he looked at her at +exactly the same instant. Their glances met. He started nervously, +moved on a few steps, returned. Said she mockingly: + +"You know you needn't speak if you don't want to, Stanley." + +"There isn't a soul on board that anybody ever knew or that ever knew +anybody," said he. "So why not?" + +"And you look horribly bored." + +"Unspeakably," replied Baird. "I've spoken to no one since I left +Paris." + +"What are you doing on this ship?" inquired she. + +"To be perfectly honest," said he, "I came this way to avoid you. I +was afraid you'd take passage on my steamer just to amuse yourself with +my nervousness. And--here you are!" + +"Amusing myself with your nervousness." + +"But I'm not nervous. There's no danger. Will you let me have a chair +put beside yours?" + +"It will be a charity on your part," said she. + +When he was comfortably settled, he explained his uneasiness. "I see +I've got to tell you," said he, "for I don't want you to think me a +shouting ass. The fact is my wife wants to get a divorce from me and +to soak me for big alimony. She's a woman who'll do anything to gain +her end, and--well, for some reason she's always been jealous of you. I +didn't care to get into trouble, or to get you into trouble." + +"I'm traveling as Mary Stevens," said Mildred. "No one knows I'm +aboard." + +"Oh, I'm sure we're quite safe. We can enjoy the rest of this voyage." + +A sea voyage not merely induces but compels a feeling of absolute +detachment from the world. To both Stanley and Mildred their +affairs--the difficulties in which they were involved on terra +firma--ceased for the time to have any reality. The universe was +nothing but a vast stretch of water under a vast stretch of sky; the +earth and the things thereof were a retrospect and a foreboding. +Without analyzing it, both he and she felt that they were free--free +from cares, from responsibilities--free to amuse themselves. And they +proceeded to enjoy themselves in the necessarily quiet and limited way +imposed by the littleness of their present world and the meagerness of +the resources. + +As neither had the kind of mind that expands in abstractions, they were +soon talking in the most intimate and personal way about +themselves--were confessing things which neither would have breathed to +anyone on land. It was the man who set the example of breaking through +the barriers of conventional restraint--perhaps of delicacy, though it +must be said that human beings are rarely so fine in their reticences +as the theory of refinement would have us believe. Said Stanley, after +the preliminaries of partial confidence and halting avowal that could +not be omitted, even at sea, by a man of "gentlemanly instinct": + +"I don't know why I shouldn't own up. I know you'll never tell +anybody. Fact is, I and my wife were never in love with each other for +a second. We married because we were in the same set and because our +incomes together gave us enough to do the thing rather well." After a +solemn pause. "I was in love with another woman--one I couldn't marry. +But I'll not go into that. As for my wife, I don't think she was in +love with anyone. She's as cold as a stone." + +Mildred smiled ironically. + +Baird saw and flushed. "At least, she was to me. I was ready to make a +sort of bluff. You see, a man feels guilty in those circumstances and +doesn't want to humiliate a woman. But she--" he laughed +unpleasantly--"she wasn't bothering about MY feelings. That's a nice, +selfish little way you ladies have." + +"She probably saw through you and hated you for playing the hypocrite +to her," said Mildred. + +"You may be right, I never thought of that," confessed he. "She +certainly had a vicious way of hammering the other woman indirectly. +Not that she ever admitted being jealous. I guess she knew. Everybody +usually knows everything." + +"And there was a great deal of talk about you and me," said Mildred +placidly. + +"I didn't say it was you," protested Stanley, reddening. + +"No matter," said Mildred. "Don't bother about that. It's all past +and gone." + +"Well, at any rate, my marriage was the mistake of my life. I'm +determined that she shan't trip me up and trim me for any alimony. And +as matters stand, she can't. She left me of her own accord." + +"Then," said Mildred thoughtfully, "if the wife leaves of her own +accord, she can't get alimony?" + +"Certainly not--not a cent." + +"I supposed so," said she. "I'm not sure I'd take it if I could get +it. Still, I suppose I would." She laughed. "What's the use of being +a hypocrite with oneself? I know I would. All I could get." + +"Then you had no LEGAL excuse for leaving?" + +"No," said she. "I--just bolted. I don't know what's to become of me. +I seem not to care, at present, but no doubt I shall as soon as we see +land again." + +"You'll go back to him," said Stanley. + +"No," replied she, without emphasis or any accent whatever. + +"Sure you will," rejoined he. "It's your living. What else can you do?" + +"That's what I must find out. Surely there's something else for a +woman besides such a married life as mine. I can't and won't go back +to my husband. And I can't and won't go to the house at Hanging Rock. +Those two things are settled." + +"You mean that?" + +"Absolutely. And I've got--less than three hundred and fifty dollars +in the whole world." + +Baird was silent. He was roused from his abstraction by gradual +consciousness of an ironical smile on the face of the girl, for she did +not look like a married woman. "You are laughing at me. Why?" +inquired he. + +"I was reading your thoughts." + +"You think you've frightened me?" + +"Naturally. Isn't a confession such as I made enough to frighten a +man? It sounded as though I were getting ready to ask alms." + +"So it did," said he. "But I wasn't thinking of it in that way. You +WILL be in a frightful fix pretty soon, won't you?" + +"It looks that way. But you need not be uneasy." + +"Oh, I want to help you. I'll do everything I can. I was trying to +think of something you could make money at. I was thinking of the +stage, but I suppose you'd balk at that. I'll admit it isn't the life +for a lady. But the same thing's true of whatever money can be made +at. If I were you, I'd go back." + +"If I were myself, I'd go back," said Mildred. "But I'm not myself." + +"You will be again, as soon as you face the situation." + +"No," said she slowly, "no, I shall never be myself again." + +"But you could have everything a woman wants. Except, of +course--perhaps-- But you never struck me as being especially +sentimental." + +"Sentiment has nothing to do with it," rejoined she. "Do you think I +could get a place on the stage?" + +"Oh, you'd have to study a while, I suppose." + +"But I can't afford that. If I could afford to study, I'd have my +voice trained." + +Baird's face lighted up with enthusiasm. "The very thing!" he cried. +"You've got a voice, a grand-opera voice. I've heard lots of people +say so, and it sounded that way to me. You must cultivate your voice." + +Mildred laughed. "Don't talk nonsense. Even I know that's nonsense. +The lessons alone would cost thousands of dollars. And how could I +live for the four or five years?" + +"You didn't let me finish," said Baird. "I was going to say that when +you get to New York you must go and have your voice passed on--by some +impartial person. If that person says it's worth cultivating, why, I'm +willing to back you--as a business proposition. I can afford to take +the risk. So, you see, it's all perfectly simple." + +He had spoken rapidly, with a covert suggestion of fear lest she would +rebuke him sharply for what she might regard as an impertinent offer. +She surprised him by looking at him calmly, reflectively, and saying: + +"Yes, you could afford it, couldn't you?" + +"I'm sure I could. And it's the sort of thing that's done every day. +Of course, no one'd know that we had made this little business +arrangement. But that's easily managed. I'd be glad if you'd let me +do it, Mildred. I'd like to feel that I was of some use in the world. +And I'd like to do something for YOU." + +By way of exceedingly cautious experiment he ventured to put ever so +slight an accent of tenderness upon the "you." He observed her +furtively but nervously. He could not get a hint of what was in her +mind. She gazed out toward the rising and falling horizon line. +Presently she said: + +"I'll think about it." + +"You must let me do it, Mildred. It's the sensible thing--and you know +me well enough to know that my friendship can be counted on." + +"I'll think about it," was all she would concede. + +They discussed the singing career all that and the succeeding days--the +possibilities, the hopes, the dangers--but the hopes a great deal more +than the dangers. He became more and more interested in her and in the +project, as her beauty shone out with the tranquillizing sea and as her +old charm of cleverness at saying things that amused him reasserted +itself. She, dubious and lukewarm at first, soon was trying to curb +her own excited optimism; but long before they sighted Sandy Hook she +was merely pretending to hang back. He felt discouraged by her parting! +"If I decide to go on, I'll write you in a few days." But he need not +have felt so. She had made up her mind to accept his offer. As for +the complications involved in such curiously intimate relations with a +man of his temperament, habits, and inclinations, she saw them very +vaguely indeed--refused to permit herself to see them any less vaguely. +Time enough to deal with complications when and as they arose; why +needlessly and foolishly annoy herself and hamper herself? Said she to +herself, "I must begin to be practical." + + + +IV + +AT the pier Mildred sent her mother a telegram, giving the train by +which she would arrive--that and nothing more. As she descended from +the parlor-car there stood Mrs. Presbury upon the platform, face +wreathed in the most joyous of welcoming smiles, not a surface trace of +the curiosity and alarm storming within. After they had kissed and +embraced with a genuine emotion which they did not try to hide, because +both suddenly became unconscious of that world whereof ordinarily they +were constantly mindful--after caresses and tears Mrs. Presbury said: + +"It's all very well to dress plain, when everyone knows you can afford +the best. But don't you think you're overdoing it a little?" + +Mildred laughed somewhat nervously. "Wait till we're safe at home," +said she. + +On the way up from the station in the carriage they chattered away in +the liveliest fashion, to make the proper impression upon any observing +Hanging-Rockers. "Luckily, Presbury's gone to town to-day," said his +wife. "But really he's quite livable--hasn't gone back to his old +ways. He doesn't know it, but he's rapidly growing deaf. He imagines +that everyone is speaking more and more indistinctly, and he has lost +interest in conversation. Then, too, he has done well in Wall Street, +and that has put him in a good humor." + +"He'll not be surprised to see me--alone," said Mildred. + +"Wait till we're home," said her mother nervously. + +At the house Mrs. Presbury carried on a foolish, false-sounding +conversation for the benefit of the servants, and finally conducted +Mildred to her bedroom and shut doors and drew portieres and glanced +into closets before saying: "Now, what IS the matter, Millie? WHERE is +your husband?" + +"In Paris, I suppose," replied Mildred. "I have left him, and I shall +never go back." + +"Presbury said you would!" cried her mother. "But I didn't believe it. +I don't believe it. I brought you up to do your duty, and I know you +will." + +This was Mildred's first opportunity for frank and plain speaking; and +that is highly conducive to frank and plain thinking. She now began to +see clearly why she had quit the general. Said she: "Mamma, to be +honest and not mince words, I've left him because there's nothing in +it." + +"Isn't he rich?" inquired her mother. "I've always had a kind of +present--" + +"Oh, he's rich, all right," interrupted the girl. "But he saw to it +that I got no benefit from that." + +"But you wrote me how he was buying you everything!" + +"So I thought. In fact he was buying ME nothing." And she went on to +explain the general's system. + +Her mother listened impatiently. She would have interrupted the long +and angry recital many times had not Mildred insisted on a full hearing +of her grievances, of the outrages that had been heaped upon her. +"And," she ended, "I suppose he's got it so arranged that he could have +me arrested as a thief for taking the gold bag." + +"Yes, it's terrible and all that," said her mother. "But I should have +thought living with me here when Presbury was carrying on so dreadfully +would have taught you something. Your case isn't an exception, any +more than mine is. That's the sort of thing we women have to put up +with from men, when we're in their power." + +"Not I," said Mildred loftily. + +"Yes, you," retorted her mother. "ANY woman. EVERY woman. Unless we +have money of our own, we all have trouble with the men about money, +sooner or later, in one way or another. And rich men!--why, it's +notorious that they're always more or less mean about money. A wife has +got to use tact. Why, I even had to use some tact with your father, +and he was as generous a man as ever lived. Tact--that's a woman's +whole life. You ought to have used tact. You'll go back to him and use +tact." + +"You don't know him, mamma!" cried Mildred. "He's a monster. He isn't +human." + +Mrs. Presbury drew a long face and said in a sad, soothing voice: "Yes, +I know, dear. Men are very, very awful, in some ways, to a nice +woman--with refined, ladylike instincts. It's a great shock to a +pure--" + +"Oh, gammon!" interrupted Mildred. "Don't be silly, mother. It isn't +worth while for one woman to talk that kind of thing to another. I +didn't fully know what I was doing when I married a man I didn't +love--a man who was almost repulsive to me. But I knew enough. And I +was getting along well enough, as any woman does, no matter what she +may say--yes, you needn't look shocked, for that's hypocrisy, and I +know it now-- But, as I was saying, I didn't begin to HATE him until +he tried to make a slave of me. A slave!" she shuddered. "He's a +monster!" + +"A little tact, and you can get everything you want," insisted her +mother. + +"I tell you, you don't know the man," cried Mildred. "By tact I suppose +you mean I could have sold things behind his back--and all that." She +laughed. "He hasn't got any back. He had it so arranged that those +cold, wicked eyes of his were always watching me. His second wife +tried 'tact.' He caught her and drove her into the streets. I'd have +had no chance to get a cent, and if I had gotten it I'd not have dared +spend it. Do you imagine I ran away from him without having THOUGHT? +If there'd been any way of staying on, any way of making things even +endurable, I'd have stayed." + +"But you've got to go back, Milly," cried her mother, in tears. + +"You mean that you can't support me?" + +"And your brother Frank--" Mrs. Presbury's eyes flashed and her rather +stout cheeks quivered. "I never thought I'd tell anybody, but I'll +tell you. I never liked your brother Frank, and he never liked me. +That sounds dreadful, doesn't it?" + +"No, mother dear," said Mildred gently. "I've learned that life isn't +at all as--as everybody pretends." + +"Indeed it isn't," said her mother. "Mothers always have favorites +among their children, and very often a mother dislikes one of her +children. Of course she hides her feeling and does her duty. But all +the same she can't help the feeling that is down in her heart. I had a +presentiment before he was born that I wouldn't like him, and sure +enough, I didn't. And he didn't like me, or his father, or any of us." + +"It would never occur to me to turn to him," said Mildred. + +"Then you see that you've got to go back to the general. You can't get +a divorce and alimony, for it was you that left him--and for no cause. +He was within his rights." + +Mildred hesitated, confessed: "I had thought of going back to him and +acting in such a way that he'd be glad to give me a divorce and an +allowance." + +"Yes, you might do that," said her mother. "A great many women do. +And, after all, haven't they a right to? A lady has got to have proper +support, and is it just to ask her to live with a man she loathes?" + +"I haven't thought of the right or wrong of it," said Mildred. "It +looks to me as though right and wrong have very little to do with life +as it's lived. They're for hypocrites--and fools." + +"Mildred!" exclaimed her mother, deeply shocked. + +Mildred was not a little shocked at her own thoughts as she inspected +them in the full light into which speech had dragged them. "Anyhow," +she went on, "I soon saw that such a plan was hopeless. He's not the +man to be trifled with. Long before I could drive him to give me a +living and let me go he would have driven me to flight or suicide." + +Her mother had now had time to reflect upon Mildred's revelations. +Aided by the impressions she herself had gotten of the little general, +she began to understand why her daughter had fled and why she would not +return. She felt that the situation was one which time alone could +solve. Said she: "Well, the best thing is for you to stay on here and +wait until he makes some move." + +"He'll have me watched--that's all he'll do," said Mildred. "When he +gets ready he'll divorce me for deserting him." + +Mrs. Presbury felt that she was right. But, concealing her +despondency, she said: "All we can do is to wait and see. You must +send for your luggage." + +"I've nothing but a large bag," said Mildred. "I checked it in the +parcel-room of the New York station." + +Mrs. Presbury was overwhelmed. How account to Hanging Rock for the +reappearance of a baggageless and husbandless bride? But she held up +bravely. With a cheerfulness that did credit to her heart and showed +how well she loved her daughter she said: "We must do the best we can. +We'll get up some story." + +"No," said Mildred. "I'm going back to New York. You can tell people +here what you please--that I've gone to rejoin him or to wait for +him--any old thing." + +"At least you'll wait and talk with Presbury," pleaded her mother. "He +is VERY sensible." + +"If he has anything to suggest," said Mildred, "he can write it. I'll +send you my address." + +"Milly," cried her mother, agitated to the depths, "where ARE you +going? WHAT are you going to do? You look so strange--not at all like +yourself." + +"I'm going to a hotel to-night--probably to a boarding-house +to-morrow," said Mildred. "In a few days I shall begin to--" she +hesitated, decided against confidence--"begin to support myself at +something or other." + +"You must be crazy!" cried her mother. "You wouldn't do anything--and +you couldn't." + +"Let's not discuss it, mamma," said the girl tranquilly. + +The mother looked at her with eyes full of the suspicion one lady +cannot but have as to the projects of another lady in such +circumstances. + +"Mildred," she said pleadingly, "you must be careful. You'll find +yourself involved in a dreadful scandal. I know you wouldn't DO +anything WRONG no matter how you were driven. But--" + +"I'll not do anything FOOLISH, mamma," interrupted the girl. "You are +thinking about men, aren't you?" + +"Men are always ready to destroy a woman," said her mother. "You must +be careful--" + +Mildred was laughing. "Oh, mamma," she cried, "do be sensible and do +give me credit for a little sense. I've got a very clear idea of what +a woman ought to do about men, and I assure you I'm not going to be +FOOLISH. And you know a woman who isn't foolish can be trusted where a +woman who's only protected by her principles would yield to the first +temptation--or hunt round for a temptation." + +"But you simply can't go to New York and live there all alone--and with +nothing!" + +"Can I stay here--for more than a few days?" + +"But maybe, after a few days--" stammered her mother. + +"You see, I've got to begin," said Mildred. "So why delay? I'd gain +nothing. I'd simply start Hanging Rock to gossiping--and start Mr. +Presbury to acting like a fiend again." + +Her mother refused to be convinced--was the firmer, perhaps, because +she saw that Mildred was unshakable in her resolve to leave +forthwith--the obviously sensible and less troublesome course. They +employed the rest of Mildred's three hours' stop in arguing--when +Mildred was not raging against the little general. Her mother was more +than willing to assist her in this denunciation, but Mildred preferred +to do it all herself. She had--perhaps by unconsciously absorbed +training from her lawyer father--an unusual degree of ability to see +both sides of a question. When she assailed her husband, she saw only +her own side; but somehow when her mother railed and raved, she began +to see another side--and the sight was not agreeable. She wished to +feel that her husband was altogether in the wrong; she did not wish to +have intruded upon her such facts as that she had sold herself to +him--quite in the customary way of ladies, but nevertheless quite +shamelessly--or that in strict justice she had done nothing for him to +entitle her to a liberal money allowance or any allowance at all. + +On the train, going back to New York, she admitted to herself that the +repulsive little general had held strictly to the terms of the +bargain--"but only a devil and one with not a single gentlemanly +instinct would insist on such a bargain." It took away much of the +shame, and all of the sting, of despising herself to feel that she was +looking still lower when she turned to despising him. + +To edge out the little general she began to think of her mother, but as +she passed in review what her mother had said and how she had said it +she saw that for all the protests and arguings her mother was more than +resigned to her departure. Mildred felt no bitterness; ever since she +could remember her mother had been a shifter of responsibility. Still, +to stare into the face of so disagreeable a fact as that one had no +place on earth to go to, no one on earth to turn to, not even one's own +mother--to stare on at that grimacing ugliness did not tend to +cheerfulness. Mildred tried to think of the future--but how could she +think of something that was nothing? She knew that she would go on, +somehow, in some direction, but by no effort of her imagination could +she picture it. She was so impressed by the necessity of considering +the future that, to rouse herself, she tried to frighten herself with +pictures of poverty and misery, of herself a derelict in the vast and +cold desert of New York--perhaps in rags, hungry, ill, but all in vain. +She did not believe it. Always she had had plenty to wear and to eat, +and comfortable surroundings. She could no more think of herself as +without those things than a living person can imagine himself dead. + +"I'm a fool," she said to herself. "I'm certain to get into all sorts +of trouble. How can it be otherwise, when I've no money, no friends, +no experience, no way of making a living--no honest way--perhaps no way +of the other kind, either?" There are many women who ecstasize their +easily tickled vanities by fancying that if they were so disposed they +need only flutter an eyelid to have men by the legion striving for +their favors, each man with a bag of gold. Mildred, inexperienced as +she was, had no such delusions. Her mind happened not to be of that +chastely licentious caste which continually revolves and fantastically +exaggerates the things of the body. + +She could not understand her own indifference about the future. She +did not realize that it was wholly due to Stanley Baird's offer. She +was imagining she was regarding that offer as something she might +possibly consider, but probably would not. She did not know that her +soul had seized upon it, had enfolded it and would on no account let it +go. It is the habit of our secret selves thus to make decisions and +await their own good time for making us acquainted with them. + +With her bag on the seat beside her she set out to find a temporary +lodging. Not until several hotels had refused her admittance on the +pretext that they were "full up" did she realize that a young woman +alone is an object of suspicion in New York. When a fourth room-clerk +expressed his polite regrets she looked him straight in the eye and +said: + +"I understand. But I can't sleep in the street. You must tell me +where I can go." + +"Well, there's the Ripon over in Seventh Avenue," said he. + +"Is it respectable?" said she. + +"Oh, it's very clean and comfortable there," said he. "They'll treat +you right." + +"Is it respectable?" said she. + +"Well, now, it doesn't LOOK queer, if that's what you mean," replied +he. "You'll do very nicely there. You can be just as quiet as you +want." + +She saw that hotel New York would not believe her respectable. So to +the Ripon she went, and was admitted without discussion. As the last +respectable clerk had said, it did not LOOK queer. But it FELT queer; +she resolved that she would go into a boarding-house the very next day. + +Here again what seemed simple proved difficult. No respectable +boarding-house would have Miss Mary Stevens. She was confident that +nothing in her dress or manner hinted mystery. Yet those sharp-eyed +landladies seemed to know at once that there was something peculiar +about her. Most of them became rude the instant they set eyes upon +her. A few--of the obviously less prosperous class--talked with her, +seemed to be listening for something which her failing to say decided +them upon all but ordering her out of the house. She, hindered by her +innocence, was slow in realizing that she could not hope for admission +to any select respectable circle, even of high-class salesladies and +clerks, unless she gave a free and clear account of herself--whence she +had come, what she was doing, how she got her money. + +Toward the end of the second day's wearisome and humiliating search she +found a house that would admit her. It was a pretentious, +well-furnished big house in Madison Avenue. The price--thirty-five +dollars a week for board, a bedroom with a folding bed in an alcove, +and a bath, was more than double what she had counted on paying, but +she discovered that decent and clean lodgings and food fit to eat were +not to be had for less. "And I simply can't live pig-fashion," said +she. "I'd be so depressed that I could do nothing. I can't live like +a wild animal, and I won't." She had some vague +notion--foreboding--that this was not the proper spirit with which to +face life. "I suppose I'm horribly foolish," reflected she, "but if I +must go down, I'll go down with my colors flying." She did not know +precisely what that phrase meant, but it sounded fine and brave and +heartened her to take the expensive lodgings. + +The landlady was a Mrs. Belloc. Mildred had not talked with her twenty +minutes before she had a feeling that this name was assumed. The +evening of her first day in the house she learned that her guess was +correct--learned it from the landlady herself. After dinner Mrs. +Belloc came into her room to cheer her up, to find out about her and to +tell her about herself. + +"Now that you've come," said she, "the house is full up--except some +little rooms at the top that I'd as lief not fill. The probabilities +are that any ladies who would take them wouldn't be refined enough to +suit those I have. There are six, not counting me, every one with a +bath and two with private parlors. And as they're all handsome, +sensible women, ladylike and steady, I think the prospects are that +they'll pay promptly and that I won't have any trouble." + +Mildred reflected upon this curious statement. It sounded innocent +enough, yet what a peculiar way to put a simple fact. + +"Of course it's none of my business how people live as long as they +keep up the respectabilities," pursued Mrs. Belloc. "It don't do to +inquire into people in New York. Most of 'em come here because they +want to live as they please." + +"No doubt," said Mildred a little nervously, for she suspected her +landlady of hitting at her, and wondered if she had come to +cross-examine her and, if the results were not satisfactory, to put her +into the street. + +"I know _I_ came for that reason," pursued Mrs. Belloc. "I was a +school-teacher up in New England until about two years ago. Did you +ever teach school?" + +"Not yet," said Mildred. "And I don't think I ever shall. I don't +know enough." + +"Oh, yes, you do. A teacher doesn't need to know much. The wages are +so poor--at least up in New England--that they don't expect you to know +anything. It's all in the books. I left because I couldn't endure the +life. Lord! how dull those little towns are! Ever live in a little +town?" + +"All my life," said Mildred. + +"Well, you'll never go back." + +"I hope not." + +"You won't. Why should you? A sensible woman with looks--especially +if she knows how to carry her clothes--can stay in New York as long as +she pleases, and live off the fat of the land." + +"That's good news," said Mildred. She began to like the landlady--not +for what she said, but for the free and frank and friendly way of the +saying--a human way, a comradely way, a live-and-let-live way. + +"I didn't escape from New England without a struggle," continued Mrs. +Belloc, who was plainly showing that she had taken a great fancy to +"Mary Stevens." + +"I suppose it was hard to save the money out of your salary," said +Mildred. + +Mrs. Belloc laughed. She was about thirty-five years old, though her +eyes and her figure were younger than that. Her mouth was pleasant +enough, but had lost some of its freshness. "Save money!" cried she. +"I'd never have succeeded that way. I'd be there yet. I had never +married--had two or three chances, but all from poor sticks looking for +someone to support them. I saw myself getting old. I was looking +years older than I do now. Talk about sea air for freshening a woman +up--it isn't in it with the air of New York. Here's the town where +women stay young. If I had come here five years ago I could almost try +for the squab class." + +"Squab class?" queried Mildred. + +"Yes, squabs. Don't you see them around everywhere?--the women dressed +like girls of sixteen to eighteen--and some of them are that, and +younger. They go hopping and laughing about--and they seem to please +the men and to have no end of a good time. Especially the oldish men. +Oh, yes, you know a squab on sight--tight skirt, low shoes and silk +stockings, cute pretty face, always laughing, hat set on rakishly and +hair done to match, and always a big purse or bag--with a yellow-back +or so in it--as a kind of a hint, I guess." + +Mildred had seen squabs. "I've envied them--in a way," said she. +"Their parents seem to let them do about as they please." + +"Their parents don't know--or don't care. Sometimes it's one, +sometimes the other. They travel in two sets. One is where they meet +young fellows of their own class--the kind they'll probably marry, +unless they happen to draw the capital prize. The other set they +travel in--well, it's the older men they meet round the swell hotels +and so on--the yellow-back men." + +"How queer!" exclaimed Mildred, before whose eyes a new world was +opening. "But how do they--these--squabs--account for the money?" + +"How do a thousand and one women in this funny town account at home for +money and things?" retorted Mrs. Belloc. "Nothing's easier. For +instance, often these squabs do--or pretend to do--a little something +in the way of work--a little canvassing or artists' model or anything +you please. That helps them to explain at home--and also to make each +of the yellow-back men think he's the only one and that he's being +almost loved for himself alone." + +Mrs. Belloc laughed. Mildred was too astonished to laugh, and too +interested--and too startled or shocked. + +"But I was telling you how _I_ got down here," continued the landlady. +"Up in my town there was an old man--about seventy-five--close as the +bark on a tree, and ugly and mean." She paused to draw a long breath +and to shake her head angrily yet triumphantly at some figure her fancy +conjured up. "Oh, he WAS a pup!--and is! Well, anyhow, I decided that +I'd marry him. So I wrote home for fifty dollars. I borrowed another +fifty here and there. I had seventy-five saved up against sickness. I +went up to Boston and laid it all out in underclothes and house +things--not showy but fine and good to look at. Then one day, when the +weather was fine and I knew the old man would be out in his buggy +driving round--I dressed myself up to beat the band. I took hours to +it--scrubbing, powdering, sacheting, perfuming, fixing the hair, fixing +my finger-nails, fixing up my feet, polishing every nail and making +them look better than most hands." + +Mildred was so interested that she was excited. What strange freak was +coming? + +"You never could guess," pursued Mrs. Belloc, complacently. "I took my +sunshade and went out, all got up to kill. And I walked along the road +until I saw the old man's buggy coming with him in it. Then I gave my +ankle a frightful wrench. My! How it hurt!" + +"What a pity!" said Mildred sympathetically. "What a shame!" + +"A pity? A shame?" cried Mrs. Belloc, laughing. "Why, my dear, I did +it a-purpose." + +"On purpose!" exclaimed Mildred. + +"Certainly. That was my game. I screamed out with pain--and the +scream was no fake, I can tell you. And I fell down by the roadside on +a nice grassy spot where no dust would get on me. Well, up comes the +old skinflint in his buggy. He climbed down and helped me get off my +slipper and stocking. I knew I had him the minute I saw his old face +looking at that foot I had fixed up so beautifully." + +"How DID you ever think of it?" exclaimed Mildred. + +"Go and teach school for ten years in a dull little town, my dear--and +look in the glass every day and see your youth fading away--and you'll +think of most anything. Well, to make a long story short, the old man +took me in the buggy to his house where he lived with his deaf, +half-blind old widowed daughter. I had to stay there three weeks. I +married him the fourth week. And just two months to a day from the +afternoon I sprained my ankle, he gave me fifty dollars a week--all +signed and sealed by a lawyer--to go away and leave him alone. I might +have stood out for more, but I was too anxious to get to New York. And +here I am!" She gazed about the well-furnished room, typical of that +almost luxurious house, with an air of triumphant satisfaction. Said +she: "I've no patience with a woman who says she can't get on. Where's +her brains?" + +Mildred was silent. Perhaps it was a feeling of what was hazily in the +younger woman's mind and a desire to answer it that led Mrs. Belloc to +say further: "I suppose there's some that would criticize my way of +getting there. But I want to know, don't all women get there by +working men? Only most of them are so stupid that they have to go on +living with the man. I think it's low to live with a man you hate." + +"Oh, I'm not criticizing anybody," said Mildred. + +"I didn't think you were," said Mrs. Belloc. "If I hadn't seen you +weren't that kind, I'd not have been so confidential. Not that I'm +secretive with anybody. I say and do what I please. Anyone who doesn't +like my way or me can take the other side of the street. I didn't come +to New York to go in society. I came here to LIVE." + +Mildred looked at her admiringly. There were things about Mrs. Belloc +that she did not admire; other things--suspected rather than known +things--that she knew she would shrink from, but she heartily admired +and profoundly envied her utter indifference to the opinion of others, +her fine independent way of walking her own path at her own gait. + +"I took this boarding-house," Mrs. Belloc went on, "because I didn't +want to be lonesome. I don't like all--or even most of--the ladies +that live here. But they're all amusing to talk with--and don't put on +airs except with their men friends. And one or two are the real +thing--good-hearted, fond of a joke, without any meanness. I tell you, +New York is a mighty fine place if you get 'in right.' Of course, if +you don't, it's h-e-l-l." (Mrs. Belloc took off its unrefined edge by +spelling it.) "But what place isn't?" she added. + +"And your husband never bothers you?" inquired Mildred. + +"And never will," replied Mrs. Belloc. "When he dies I'll come into a +little more--about a hundred and fifty a week in all. Not a fortune, +but enough with what the boarding-house brings in. I'm a pretty fair +business woman." + +"I should say so!" exclaimed Mildred. + +"You said you were Miss Stevens, didn't you?" said Mrs. Belloc--and +Mildred knew that her turn had come. + +"Yes," replied she. "But I am also a married woman." She hesitated, +reddened. "I didn't give you my married name." + +"That's your own business," said Mrs. Belloc in her easiest manner. "My +right name isn't Belloc, either. But I've dropped that other life. You +needn't feel a bit embarrassed in this house. Some of my boarders SEEM +to be married. All that have regular-appearing husbands SAY they are. +What do I care, so long as everything goes along smoothly? I don't get +excited about trifles." + +"Some day perhaps I'll tell you about myself," said Mildred. "Just at +present I--well, I seem not to be able to talk about things." + +"It's not a bad idea to keep your mouth shut, as long as your affairs +are unsettled," advised Mrs. Belloc. "I can see you've had little +experience. But you'll come out all right. Just keep cool, and don't +fret about trifles. And don't let any man make a fool of you. That's +where we women get left. We're afraid of men. We needn't be. We can +mighty easily make them afraid of us. Use the soft hand till you get +him well in your grip. Then the firm hand. Nothing coarse or cruel or +mean. But firm and self-respecting." + +Mildred was tempted to take Mrs. Belloc fully into her confidence and +get the benefit of the advice of shrewdness and experience. So strong +was the temptation, she would have yielded to it had Mrs. Belloc asked +a few tactful, penetrating questions. But Mrs. Belloc refrained, and +Mildred's timidity or delicacy induced her to postpone. The next day +she wrote Stanley Baird, giving her address and her name and asking him +to call "any afternoon at four or five." She assumed that he would +come on the following day, but the letter happened to reach him within +an hour of her mailing it, and he came that very afternoon. + +When she went down to the drawing-room to receive him, she found him +standing in the middle of the room gazing about with a quizzical +expression. As soon as the greetings were over he said: + +"You must get out of here, Mildred. This won't do." + +"Indeed I shan't," said she. "I've looked everywhere, and this is the +only comfortable place I could find--where the rates were reasonable +and where the landlady didn't have her nose in everybody's business." + +"You don't understand," said he. "This is a bird-cage. Highly gilded, +but a bird-cage." + +She had never heard the phrase, but she understood--and instantly she +knew that he was right. She colored violently, sat down abruptly. But +in a moment she recovered herself, and with fine defiance said: + +"I don't care. Mrs. Belloc is a kind-hearted woman, and it's as easy +to be respectable here as anywhere." + +"Sure," assented he. "But you've got to consider appearances to a +certain extent. You won't be able to find the right sort of a +boarding-house--one you'd be comfortable in. You've got to have a flat +of your own." + +"I can't afford it," said Mildred. "I can't afford this, even. But I +simply will not live in a shabby, mussy way." + +"That's right!" cried Stanley. "You can't do proper work in poor +surroundings. Some women could, but not your sort. But don't worry. +I'm going to see you through. I'll find a place--right away. You want +to start in at once, don't you?" + +"I've got to," said Mildred. + +"Then leave it all to me." + +"But WHAT am I to do?" + +"Sing, if you can. If not, then act. We'll have you on the stage +within a year or so. I'm sure of it. And I'll get my money back, with +interest." + +"I don't see how I can accept it," said Mildred very feebly. + +"You've got to," said Stanley. "What alternative is there? None. So +let's bother no more about it. I'll consult with those who know, find +out what the thing costs, and arrange everything. You're as helpless +as a baby, and you know it." + +Yes, Mildred knew it. + +He looked at her with an amused smile. "Come, out with it!" he cried. +"You've got something on your mind. Let's get everything straight--and +keep it that way." + +Mildred hung her head. + +"You're uneasy because I, a man, am doing this for you, a young woman? +Is that it?" + +"Yes," she confessed. + +He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and spoke in a brisk, +businesslike way. "In the first place, it's got to be done, hasn't it? +And someone has got to do it? And there is no one offering but me? Am +I right?" + +She nodded. + +"Then _I_'ve got to do it, and you've GOT to let me. There's logic, if +ever there was logic. A Philadelphia lawyer couldn't knock a hole in +it. You trust me, don't you?" + +She was silent. + +"You don't trust me, then," said he cheerfully. "Well, perhaps you're +right. But you trust yourself, don't you?" + +She moved restlessly, but remained silent. + +"You are afraid I might put you in a difficult position?" + +"Something like that," she admitted, in a low, embarrassed voice. + +"You fear that I expect some return which you do not intend to give?" + +She was silent. + +"Well, I don't," said he bluntly. "So put your mind at rest. Some day +I'll tell you why I am doing this, but I want you to feel that I ask +nothing of you but my money back with interest, when you can afford to +pay." + +"I can't feel that," said she. "You're putting me in your debt--so +heavily that I'd feel I ought to pay anything you asked. But I +couldn't and wouldn't pay." + +"Unless you felt like it?" suggested he. + +"It's honest for me to warn you that I'm not likely to feel that way." + +"There is such a thing as winning a woman's love, isn't there?" said he +jestingly. It was difficult to tell when Stanley Baird was jesting and +when he was in earnest. + +"Is that what you expect?" said she gravely. + +"If I say yes?" + +She lowered her eyes and laughed in an embarrassed way. + +He was frankly amused. "You see, you feel that you're in my power. And +you are. So why not make the best of it?" A pause, then he said +abruptly and with a convincing manliness, "I think, Mildred, you can +trust me not to be a beast." + +She colored and looked at him with quick contrition. "I'm ashamed of +myself," said she. "Please forget that I said anything. I'll take +what I must, and I'll pay it back as soon as I can. And--thank you, +Stanley." The tears were in her eyes. "If I had anything worth your +taking I'd be glad to give it to you. What vain fools we women are!" + +"Aren't you, though!" laughed he. "And now it's all settled--until +you're on the stage, and free, and the money's paid back--WITH +interest. I shall charge you six per cent." + +When she first knew him she had not been in the least impressed by what +now seemed to her his finest and rarest trait, for, in those days she +had been as ignorant of the realities of human nature as one who has +never adventured his boat beyond the mouth of the peaceful land-locked +harbor is ignorant of the open sea. But in the hard years she had been +learning--not only from Presbury and General Siddall, but from the cook +and the housemaid, from every creditor, every tradesman, everyone whose +attitude socially toward her had been modified by her changed +fortunes--and whose attitude had not been changed? Thus, she was now +able to appreciate--at least in some measure--Stanley Baird's delicacy +and tact. No, not delicacy and tact, for that implied effort. His +ability to put this offer in such a way that she could accept without +serious embarrassment arose from a genuine indifference to money as +money, a habit of looking upon it simply as a means to an end. He +offered her the money precisely as he would have offered her his +superior strength if it had been necessary to cross a too deep and +swift creek. She had the sense that he felt he was doing something +even less notable than he admitted, and that he talked of it as a +valuable and rather unusual service simply because it was the habit +thus to regard such matters. + +As they talked on of "the great career" her spirits went up and up. It +was evident that he now had a new and keen interest in life, that she +was doing him a greater favor than he was doing her. He had always had +money, plenty of it, more than he could use. He now had more than +ever--for, several rich relatives had died and, after the habit of the +rich, had left everything to him, the one of all the connections who +needed it least. He had a very human aversion to spending money upon +people or things he did not like. He would have fought to the last +court an attempt by his wife to get alimony. He had a reputation with +the "charity gang" of being stingy because he would not give them so +much as the price of a bazaar ticket. Also, the impecunious spongers at +his clubs spread his fame as a "tight-wad" because he refused to let +them "stick him up" for even a round of drinks. Where many a really +stingy man yielded through weakness or fear of public opinion, he stood +firm. His one notable surrender of any kind had been his marriage; +that bitter experience had cured him of the surrendering habit for all +time. Thenceforth he did absolutely and in everything as he pleased. + +Mildred had heard that he was close about money. She had all but +forgotten it, because her own experience with him had made such a +charge seem ridiculous. She now assumed--so far as she thought about it +at all--that he was extremely generous. She did not realize what a +fine discriminating generosity his was, or how striking an evidence of +his belief in her as well as of his liking for her. + +As he rose to go he said: "You mustn't forget that our arrangement is +a secret between us. Neither of us can afford to have anyone know it." + +"There isn't anyone in the world who wouldn't misunderstand it," said +she, without the least feeling of embarrassment. + +"Just so," said he. "And I want you to live in such a way that I can +come to call. We must arrange things so that you will take your own +name--" + +"I intend to use the name Mary Stevens in my work," she interrupted. + +"But there mustn't be any concealment, any mystery to excite curiosity +and scandal--" + +This time the interruption was her expression. He turned to see what +had startled her, and saw in the doorway of the drawing-room the +grotesquely neat and stylish figure of the little general. Before +either could speak he said: + +"How d'you do, Mr. Baird? You'll pardon me if I ask you to leave me +alone with my WIFE." + +Stanley met the situation with perfect coolness. "How are you, +General?" said he. "Certainly, I was just going." He extended his +hand to Mildred, said in a correct tone of conventional friendliness, +"Then you'll let me know when you're settled?" He bowed, moved toward +the door, shook hands with the general, and passed out, giving from +start to finish a model example of a man of the world extricating +himself from an impossible situation and leaving it the better for his +having been entangled. To a man of Siddall's incessant and clumsy +self-consciousness such unaffected ease could not but be proof positive +of Mildred's innocence--unless he had overheard. And his first words +convinced her that he had not. Said he: + +"So you sent for your old admirer?" + +"I ran across him accidentally," replied Mildred. + +"I know," said the little general. "My men picked you up at the pier +and haven't lost sight of you since. It's fortunate that I've kept +myself informed, or I might have misunderstood that chap's being here." +A queer, cloudy look came into his eyes. "I must give him a warning +for safety's sake." He waved his hand in dismissal of such an +unimportant trifle as the accidental Baird. He went on, his wicked +eyes bent coldly and dully upon her: "Do you know what kind of a house +this is?" + +"Stanley Baird urged me to leave," replied she. "But I shall stay until +I find a better--and that's not easy." + +"Yes, my men have reported to me on the difficulties you've had. It +was certainly fortunate for you that I had them look after you. +Otherwise I'd never have understood your landing in this sort of a +house. You are ready to come with me?" + +"Your secretary explained that if I left the hotel it was the end." + +"He told you that by my orders." + +"So he explained," said Mildred. She seated herself, overcome by a +sudden lassitude that was accompanied not by fear, but by indifference. +"Won't you sit down? I am willing to hear what you have to say." + +The little general, about to sit, was so astonished that he +straightened and stiffened himself. "In consenting to overlook your +conduct and take you back I have gone farther than I ever intended. I +have taken into consideration your youth and inexperience." + +"But I am not going back," said Mildred. + +The little general slowly seated himself. "You have less than two +hundred and fifty dollars left," said he. + +"Really? Your spies know better than I." + +"I have seen Presbury. He assures me that in no circumstances will he +and your mother take you back." + +"They will not have the chance to refuse," said Mildred. + +"As for your brother--" + +"I have no brother," said she coldly. + +"Then you are coming back with me." + +"No," said Mildred. "I should"--she cast about for an impressive +alternative--"I should stay on here, rather." + +The little general--his neat varnished leather and be-spatted shoes +just touched the floor--examined his highly polished top-hat at several +angles. Finally he said: "You need not fear that your misconduct will +be remembered against you. I shall treat you in every way as my wife. +I shall assume that your--your flight was an impulse that you regret." + +"I shan't go back," said Mildred. "Nothing you could offer would +change me." + +"I cannot make any immediate concession on the--the matter that caused +you to go," pursued he, as if she had not spoken, "but if I see that +you have reliability and good sense, I'll agree to give you an +allowance later." + +Mildred eyed him curiously. "Why are you making these offers, these +concessions?" she said. "You think everyone in the world is a fool +except yourself. You're greatly deceived. I know that you don't mean +what you've been saying. I know that if you got me in your power +again, you would do something frightful. I've seen through that mask +you wear. I know the kind of man you are." + +"If you know that," said the general in his even slow way, monotonous, +almost lifeless, "you know you'd better come with me than stand out +against me." + +She did not let him see how this struck terror into her. She said: "No +matter what you might do to me, when I'm away from you, it would be +less than you'd do with me under your roof. At any rate, it'd seem +less." + +The general reflected, decided to change to another point: "You made a +bargain with me. You've broken it. I never let anyone break a bargain +with me without making them regret it. I'm giving you a chance to keep +your bargain." + +She was tempted to discuss, but she could not find the words, or the +strength. Besides, how futile to discuss with such a man. She sank +back in her chair wearily. "I shall never go back," she said. + +He looked at her, his face devoid of expression, but she had a sense of +malignance unutterable eying her from behind a screen. He said: "I +see you've misunderstood my generosity. You think I'm weak where you +are concerned because I've come to you instead of doing as I said and +making you come to me." He rose. "Well, my offer to you is closed. And +once more I say, you will come to me and ask to be taken back. I may +or may not take you back. It depends on how I'll feel at that time." + +Slowly, with his ludicrously pompous strut, he marched to the +drawing-room door. She had not felt like smiling, but if there had +been any such inclination it would have fled before the countenance +that turned upon her at the threshold. It was the lean, little face +with the funny toupee and needle-like mustache and imperial, but behind +it lay a personality like the dull, cold, yellow eyes of the devil-fish +ambushed in the hazy mass of dun-colored formlessness of collapsed body +and tentacles. He said: + +"You'd best be careful how you conduct yourself. You'll be under +constant observation. And any friends you make--they'd do well to +avoid you." + +He was gone. She sat without the power of motion, without the power of +thought. After a time--perhaps long, perhaps short, she did not +know--Mrs. Belloc came in and entered upon a voluble apology for the +maid's having shown "the little gentleman" into the drawing-room when +another was already there. "That maid's as green as spring corn," said +she. "Such a thing never happened in my house before. And it'll never +happen again. I do hope it didn't cause trouble." + +"It was my husband," said Mildred. "I had to see him some time." + +"He's certainly a very elegant little gentleman," said Mrs. Belloc. "I +rather like small men, myself." + +Mildred gazed at her vaguely and said, "Tell me--a rich man, a very +rich man--if he hates anyone, can he make trouble?" + +"Money can do anything in this town," replied Mrs. Belloc. "But +usually rich men are timid and stingy. If they weren't, they'd make us +all cringe. As it is, I've heard some awful stories of how men and +women who've got some powerful person down on them have been hounded." + +Mildred turned deathly sick. "I think I'll go to my room," she said, +rising uncertainly and forcing herself toward the door. + +Mrs. Belloc's curiosity could not restrain itself. "You're leaving?" +she asked. "You're going back to your husband?" + +She was startled when the girl abruptly turned on her and cried with +flashing eyes and voice strong and vibrant with passion: "Never! +Never! No matter what comes--NEVER!" + + +The rest of the day and that night she hid in her room and made no +effort to resist the terror that preyed upon her. Just as our strength +is often the source of weakness, so our weaknesses often give birth to +strength. Her terror of the little general, given full swing, shrieked +and grimaced itself into absurdity. She was ashamed of her orgy, was +laughing at it as the sun and intoxicating air of a typical New York +morning poured in upon her. She accepted Mrs. Belloc's invitation to +take a turn through the park and up Riverside Drive in a taxicab, came +back restored to her normal state of blind confidence in the future. +About noon Stanley Baird telephoned. + +"We must not see each other again for some time," said he. "I rather +suspect that you--know--who may be having you watched." + +"I'm sure of it," said she. "He warned me." + +"Don't let that disturb you," pursued Stanley. "A man--a singing +teacher--his name's Eugene Jennings--will call on you this afternoon at +three. Do exactly as he suggests. Let him do all the talking." + +She had intended to tell Baird frankly that she thought, indeed knew, +that it was highly dangerous for him to enter into her affairs in any +way, and to urge him to draw off. She felt that it was only fair to +act so toward one who had been unselfishly generous to her. But now +that the time for speaking had come, she found herself unable to speak. +Only by flatly refusing to have anything to do with his project could +she prevail upon him. To say less than that she had completely and +finally changed her mind would sound, and would be, insincere. And +that she could not say. She felt how noble it would be to say this, how +selfish, and weak, too, it was to cling to him, possibly to involve him +in disagreeable and even dangerous complications, but she had no +strength to do what she would have denounced another as base for not +doing. Instead of the lofty words that flow so freely from the lips of +stage and fiction heroines, instead of the words that any and every +reader of this history would doubtless have pronounced in the same +circumstances, she said: + +"You're quite sure you want to go on?" + +"Why not?" came instantly back over the wire. + +"He is a very, very relentless man," replied she. + +"Did he try to frighten you?" + +"I'm afraid he succeeded." + +"You're not going back on the career!" exclaimed he excitedly. "I'll +come down there and--" + +"No, no," cried she. "I was simply giving you a chance to free +yourself." She felt sure of him now. She scrambled toward the heights +of moral grandeur. "I want you to stop. I've no right to ask you to +involve yourself in my misfortunes. Stanley, you mustn't. I can't +allow it." + +"Oh, fudge!" laughed he. "Don't give me these scares. Don't +forget--Jennings at three. Good-by and good luck." + +And he rang off that she might have no chance on impulse to do herself +mischief with her generous thoughtfulness for him. She felt rather +mean, but not nearly so mean as she would have felt had she let the +opportunity go by with no generous word said. "And no doubt my +aversion for that little wretch," thought she, "makes me think him more +terrible than he is. After all, what can he do? Watch me--and discover +nothing, because there'll be nothing to discover." + +Jennings came exactly at three--came with the air of a man who wastes +no one's time and lets no one waste his time. He was a youngish man of +forty or thereabouts, with a long sharp nose, a large tight mouth, and +eyes that seemed to be looking restlessly about for money. That they +had not looked in vain seemed to be indicated by such facts as that he +came in a private brougham and that he was most carefully dressed, +apparently with the aid of a valet. + +"Miss Stevens," he said with an abrupt bow, before Mildred had a chance +to speak, "you have come to New York to take singing lessons--to +prepare yourself for the stage. And you wish a comfortable place to +live and to work." He extended his gloved hand, shook hers frigidly, +dropped it. "We shall get on--IF you work, but only if you work. I do +not waste myself upon triflers." He drew a card from his pocket. "If +you will go to see the lady whose name and address are written on this +card, I think you will find the quarters you are looking for." + +"Thank you," said Mildred. + +"Come to me--my address is on the card, also--at half-past ten on +Saturday. We will then lay out your work." + +"If you find I have a voice worth while," Mildred ventured. + +"That, of course," said Mr. Jennings curtly. "Until half-past ten on +Saturday, good day." + +Again he gave the abrupt foreign bow and, while Mildred was still +struggling with her surprise and confusion, she saw him, through the +window, driving rapidly away. Mrs. Belloc came drifting through the +room; she had the habit of looking about whenever there were new +visitors, and in her it was not irritating because her interest was +innocent and sympathetic. Said Mildred: + +"Did you see that man, Mrs. Belloc?" + +"What an extraordinary nose he had," replied she. + +"Yes, I noticed that," said Mildred. "But it was the only thing I did +notice. He is a singing teacher--Mr. Jennings." + +"Eugene Jennings?" + +"Yes, Eugene." + +"He's the best known singing teacher in New York. He gets fifteen +dollars a half-hour." + +"Then I simply can't take from him!" exclaimed Mildred, before she +thought. "That's frightful!" + +"Isn't it, though?" echoed Mrs. Belloc. "I've heard his income is +fifty thousand a year, what with lessons and coaching and odds and +ends. There's a lot of them that do well, because so many fool women +with nothing to do cultivate their voices--when they can't sing a +little bit. But he tops them all. I don't see how ANY teacher can put +fifteen dollars of value into half an hour. But I suppose he does, or +he wouldn't get it. Still, his may be just another case of New York +nerve. This is the biggest bluff town in the world, I do believe. +Here, you can get away with anything, I don't care what it is, if only +you bluff hard enough." + +As there was no reason for delay and many reasons against it, Mildred +went at once to the address on the card Jennings had left. She found +Mrs. Howell Brindley installed in a plain comfortable apartment in +Fifty-ninth Street, overlooking the park and high enough to make the +noise of the traffic endurable. A Swedish maid, prepossessingly white +and clean, ushered her into the little drawing-room, which was +furnished with more simplicity and individual taste than is usual +anywhere in New York, cursed of the mania for useless and tasteless +showiness. There were no messy draperies, no fussy statuettes, vases, +gilt boxes, and the like. Mildred awaited the entrance of Mrs. Brindley +hopefully. + +She was not disappointed. Presently in came a quietly-dressed, +frank-looking woman of a young forty--a woman who had by no means lost +her physical freshness, but had gained charm of another and more +enduring kind. As she came forward with extended but not overeager +hand, she said: + +"I was expecting you, Mrs. Siddall--that is, Miss Stevens." + +"Mr. Jennings did not say when I was to come. If I am disturbing you--" + +Mrs. Brindley hastened to assure her that her visit was quite +convenient. "I must have someone to share the expense of this +apartment with me, and I want the matter settled. Mr. Jennings has +explained about you to me, and now that I've seen you--" here she +smiled charmingly--"I am ready to say that it is for you to say." + +Mildred did not know how to begin. She looked at Mrs. Brindley with +appeal in her troubled young eyes. + +"You no doubt wish to know something about me," said Mrs. Brindley. "My +husband was a composer--a friend of Mr. Jennings. He died two years +ago. I am here in New York to teach the piano. What the lessons will +bring, with my small income, will enable me to live--if I can find +someone to help out at the expenses here. As I understand it, you are +willing to pay forty dollars a week, I to run the house, pay all the +bills, and so on--all, of course, if you wish to come here." + +Mildred made a not very successful attempt to conceal her embarrassment. + +"Perhaps you would like to look at the apartment?" suggested Mrs. +Brindley. + +"Thank you, yes," said Mildred. + +The tour of the apartment--two bedrooms, dining-room, kitchen, +sitting-room, large bath-room, drawing-room--took only a few minutes, +but Mildred and Mrs. Brindley contrived to become much better +acquainted. Said Mildred, when they were in the drawing-room again: + +"It's most attractive--just what I should like. What--how much did Mr. +Jennings say?" + +"Forty dollars a week." She colored slightly and spoke with the +nervousness of one not in the habit of discussing money matters. "I do +not see how I could make it less. That is the fair share of the--" + +"Oh, I think that is most reasonable," interrupted Mildred. "And I +wish to come." + +Mrs. Brindley gave an almost childlike sigh of relief and smiled +radiantly. "Then it's settled," said she. "I've been so nervous about +it." She looked at Mildred with friendly understanding. "I think you +and I are somewhat alike about practical things. You've not had much +experience, either, have you? I judge so from the fact that Mr. +Jennings is looking after everything for you." + +"I've had no experience at all," said Mildred. "That is why I'm +hesitating. I'm wondering if I can afford to pay so much." + +Mrs. Brindley laughed. "Mr. Jennings wished to fix it at sixty a week, +but I insisted that forty was enough," said she. + +Mildred colored high with embarrassment. How much did Mrs. Brindley +know?--or how little? She stammered: "Well, if Mr. Jennings says it +is all right, I'll come." + +"You'll let me know to-morrow? You can telephone Mr. Jennings." + +"Yes, I'll let you know to-morrow. I'm almost sure I'll come. In +fact, I'm quite sure. And--I think we shall get on well together." + +"We can help each other," said Mrs. Brindley. "I don't care for +anything in the world but music." + +"I want to be that way," said Mildred. "I shall be that way." + +"It's the only sure happiness--to care for something, for some THING," +said Mrs. Brindley. "People die, or disappoint one, or become +estranged. But when one centers on some kind of work, it gives +pleasure always--more and more pleasure." + +"I am so afraid I haven't voice enough, or of the right kind," said +Mildred. "Mr. Jennings is going to try me on Saturday. Really I've no +right to settle anything until he has given his opinion." + +Mrs. Brindley smiled with her eyes only, and Mildred wondered. + +"If he should say that I wouldn't do," she went on, "I'd not know which +way to turn." + +"But he'll not say that," said Mrs. Brindley. "You can sing, can't +you? You have sung?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"Then you'll be accepted by him. And it will take him a long time to +find out whether you'll do for a professional." + +"I'm afraid I sing very badly." + +"That will not matter. You'll sing better than at least half of +Jennings's pupils." + +"Then he doesn't take only those worth while?" + +Mrs. Brindley looked amused. "How would he live if he did that? It's +a teacher's business to teach. Learning--that's the pupil's lookout. If +teachers taught only those who could and would learn, how would they +live?" + +"Then I'll not know whether I'll do!" exclaimed Mildred. + +"You'll have to find out for yourself," said Mrs. Brindley. "No one +can tell you. Anyone's opinion might be wrong. For example, I've +known Jennings, who is a very good judge, to be wrong--both ways." +Hesitatingly: "Why not sing for me? I'd like to hear." + +"Would you tell me what you honestly thought?" said Mildred. + +Mrs. Brindley laughingly shook her head. Mildred liked her honesty. +"Then it'd be useless to sing for you," said she. "I'm not vain about +my voice. I'd simply like to make a living by it, if I could. I'll +even confess that there are many things I care for more than for music. +Does that prove that I can never sing professionally?" + +"No, indeed," Mrs. Brindley assured her. "It'd be strange if a girl of +your age cared exclusively for music. The passion comes with the work, +with progress, success. And some of the greatest--that is, the most +famous and best paid--singers never care much about music, except as a +vanity, and never understand it. A singer means a person born with a +certain shape of mouth and throat, a certain kind of vocal chords. The +rest may be natural or acquired. It's the instrument that makes the +singer, not brains or temperament." + +"Do let me sing for you," said Mildred. "I think it will help me." + +Between them they chose a little French song--"Chanson d'Antonine"--and +Mrs. Brindley insisted on her playing her own accompaniment. "I wish +to listen," said she, "and I can't if I play." + +Mildred was surprised at her own freedom from nervousness. She sang +neither better nor worse than usual--sang in the clear and pleasant +soprano which she flattered herself was not unmusical. When she +finished she said: + +"That's about as I usually sing. What do you think?" + +Mrs. Brindley reflected before she replied: "I BELIEVE it's worth +trying. If I were you, I should keep on trying, no matter what anyone +said." + +Mildred was instantly depressed. "You think Mr. Jennings may reject +me?" she asked. + +"I KNOW he will not," replied Mrs. Brindley. "Not as long as you can +pay for the lessons. But I was thinking of the real thing--of whether +you could win out as a singer." + +"And you don't think I can?" said Mildred. + +"On the contrary, I believe you can," replied Mrs. Brindley. "A singer +means so much besides singing. The singing is the smallest part of it. +You'll understand when you get to work. I couldn't explain now. But I +can say that you ought to go ahead." + +Mildred, who had her share of vanity, had hoped for some enthusiasm. +Mrs. Brindley's judicial tone was a severe blow. She felt a little +resentful, began to cast about for vanity-consoling reasons for Mrs. +Brindley's restraint. "She means well," she said to herself, "but +she's probably just a tiny bit jealous. She's not so young as she once +was, and she hasn't the faintest hope of ever being anything more than +a piano-teacher." + +Mrs. Brindley showed that she had more than an inkling of Mildred's +frame of mind by going on to say in a gentle, candid way: "I want to +help you. So I shall be careful not to encourage you to believe too +much in what you have. That would prevent you from getting what you +need. You must remember, you are no longer a drawing-room singer, but +a candidate for the profession. That's a very different thing." + +Mildred saw that she was mistaken, that Mrs. Brindley was honest and +frank and had doubtless told her the exact truth. But her vanity +remained sore. Never before had anyone said any less of her singing +than that it was wonderful, marvelous, equal to a great deal that +passed for fine in grand opera. She had known that this was +exaggeration, but she had not known how grossly exaggerated. Thus, +this her first experience of the professional attitude was galling. +Only her unusual good sense saved her from being angry with Mrs. +Brindley. And it was that same good sense that moved her presently to +try to laugh at herself. With a brave attempt to smile gayly she said: + +"You don't realize how you've taken me down. I had no idea I was so +conceited about my singing. I can't truthfully say I like your +frankness, but there's a part of me that's grateful to you for it, and +when I get over feeling hurt, I'll be grateful through and through." + +Mrs. Brindley's face lighted up beautifully. "You'll DO!" she cried. +"I'm sure you'll do. I've been waiting and watching to see how you +would take my criticism. That's the test--how they take criticism. If +they don't take it at all, they'll not go very far, no matter how +talented they are. If they take it as you've taken it, there's +hope--great hope. Now, I'm not afraid to tell you that you sang +splendidly for an amateur--that you surprised me." + +"Don't spoil it all," said Mildred. "You were right; I can't sing." + +"Not for grand opera, not for comic opera even," replied Mrs. Brindley. +"But you will sing, and sing well, in one or the other, if you work." + +"You really mean that?" said Mildred. + +"If you work intelligently and persistently," said Mrs. Brindley. +"That's a big if--as you'll discover in a year or so." + +"You'll see," said Mildred confidently. "Why, I've nothing else to do, +and no other hope." + +Mrs. Brindley's smile had a certain sadness in it. She said: + +"It's the biggest if in all this world." + + + +V + +AT Mrs. Belloc's a telephone message from Jennings was awaiting her; he +would call at a quarter-past eight and would detain Miss Stevens only a +moment. And at eight fifteen exactly he rang the bell. This time +Mildred was prepared; she refused to be disconcerted by his abrupt +manner and by his long sharp nose that seemed to warn away, to threaten +away, even to thrust away any glance seeking to investigate the rest of +his face or his personality. She looked at him candidly, calmly, and +seeingly. Seeingly. With eyes that saw as they had never seen before. +Perhaps from the death of her father, certainly from the beginning of +Siddall's courtship, Mildred had been waking up. There is a part of +our nature--the active and aggressive part--that sleeps all our lives +long or becomes atrophied if we lead lives of ease and secure +dependence. It is the important part of us, too--the part that +determines character. The thing that completed the awakening of +Mildred was her acquaintance with Mrs. Belloc. That positive and +finely-poised lady fascinated her, influenced her powerfully--gave her +just what she needed at the particular moment. The vital moments in +life are not the crises over which shallow people linger, but are the +moments where we met and absorbed the ideas that enabled us to weather +these crises. The acquaintance with Mrs. Belloc was one of those vital +moments; for, Mrs. Belloc's personality--her look and manner, what she +said and the way she said it--was a proffer to Mildred of invaluable +lessons which her awakening character eagerly absorbed. She saw +Jennings as he was. She decided that he was of common origin, that his +vanity was colossal and aquiver throughout with sensitiveness; that he +belonged to the familiar type of New-Yorker who succeeds by bluffing. +Also, she saw or felt a certain sexlessness or indifference to sex--and +this she later understood. Men whose occupation compels them +constantly to deal with women go to one extreme or the other--either +become acutely sensitive to women as women or become utterly +indifferent, unless their highly discriminated taste is appealed +to--which cannot happen often. Jennings, teaching only women because +only women spending money they had not earned and could not earn would +tolerate his terms and his methods, had, as much through necessity as +through inclination, gone to the extreme of lack of interest in all +matters of sex. One look at him and the woman who had come with the +idea of offering herself in full or part payment for lessons drooped in +instinctive discouragement. + +Jennings hastened to explain to Mildred that she need not hesitate +about closing with Mrs. Brindley. "Your lessons are arranged for," +said he. "There has been put in the Plaza Trust Company to your credit +the sum of five thousand dollars. This gives you about a hundred +dollars a week for your board and other personal expenses. If that is +not enough, you will let me know. But I estimated that it would be +enough. I do not think it wise for young women entering upon the +preparation for a serious career to have too much money." + +"It is more than enough," murmured the girl. "I know nothing about +those things, but it seems to me--" + +"You can use as little of it as you like," interrupted Jennings, rising. + +Mildred felt as though she had been caught and exposed in a +hypocritical protest. Jennings was holding out something toward her. +She took it, and he went on: + +"That's your check-book. The bank will send you statements of your +account, and will notify you when any further sums are added. Now, I +have nothing more to do with your affairs--except, of course, the +artistic side--your development as a singer. You've not forgotten your +appointment?" + +"No," said Mildred, like a primary school-child before a formidable +teacher. + +"Be prompt, please. I make no reduction for lessons wholly or partly +missed. The half-hour I shall assign to you belongs to you. If you do +not use it, that is your affair. At first you will probably be like +all women--careless about your appointments, coming with lessons +unprepared, telephoning excuses. But if you are serious you will soon +fall into the routine." "I shall try to be regular," murmured Mildred. + +Jennings apparently did not hear. "I'm on my way to the opera-house," +said he. "One of my old pupils is appearing in a new role, and she is +nervous. Good night." + +Once more that swift, quiet exit, followed almost instantaneously by +the sound of wheels rolling away. Never had she seen such rapidity of +motion without loss of dignity. "Yes, he's a fraud," she said to +herself, "but he's a good one." + +The idea of a career had now become less indefinite. It was still +without any attraction--not because of the toil it involved, for that +made small impression upon her who had never worked and had never seen +anyone work, but because a career meant cutting herself off from +everything she had been brought up to regard as fit and proper for a +lady. She was ashamed of this; she did not admit its existence even to +herself, and in her talks with Baird about the career she had professed +exactly the opposite view. Yet there it was--nor need she have been +ashamed of a feeling that is instilled into women of her class from +babyhood as part of their ladylike education. The career had not +become definite. She could not imagine herself out on a stage in some +sort of a costume, with a painted face, singing before an audience. +Still, the career was less indefinite than when it had no existence +beyond Stanley Baird's enthusiasm and her own whipped-up pretense of +enthusiasm. + +She shrank from the actual start, but at the same time was eager for +it. Inaction began to fret her nerves, and she wished to be doing +something to show her appreciation of Stanley Baird's generosity. She +telephoned Mrs. Brindley that she would come in the morning, and then +she told her landlady. + +Mrs. Belloc was more than regretful; she was distressed. Said she: +"I've taken a tremendous fancy to you, and I hate to give you up. I'd +do most anything to keep you." + +Mildred explained that her work compelled her to go. + +"That's very interesting," said Mrs. Belloc. "If I were a few years +younger, and hadn't spent all my energy in teaching school and putting +through that marriage, I'd try to get on the stage, myself. I don't +want to lose sight of you." + +"Oh, I'll come to see you from time to time." + +"No, you won't," said Mrs. Belloc practically. "No more than I'd come +to see you. Our lives lie in different directions, and in New York +that means we'll never have time to meet. But we may be thrown +together again, some time. As I've got a twenty years' lease on this +house, I guess you'll have no trouble in finding me. I suppose I could +look you up through Professor Jennings?" + +"Yes," said Mildred. Then impulsively, "Mrs. Belloc, there's a reason +why I'd like to change without anyone's knowing what has become of +me--I mean, anyone that might be--watching me." + +"I understand perfectly," said Mrs. Belloc with a ready sympathy that +made Mildred appreciate the advantages of the friendship of +unconventional, knock-about people. "Nothing could be easier. You've +got no luggage but that bag. I'll take it up to the Grand Central +Station and check it, and bring the check back here. You can send for +it when you please." + +"But what about me?" said Mildred. + +"I was coming to that. You walk out of here, say, about half an hour +after I go in the taxi. You walk through to the corner of Lexington +Avenue and Thirty-seventh Street--there aren't any cabs to be had +there. I'll be waiting in the taxi, and we'll make a dash up the East +Side and I can drop you at some quiet place in the park and go on--and +you can walk to your new address. How does that strike you?" + +Mildred expressed her admiration. The plan was carried out, as Mrs. +Belloc--a born genius at all forms of intrigue--had evolved it in +perfection on the spur of the moment. As they went up the far East +Side, Mrs. Belloc, looking back through the little rear window, saw a +taxi a few blocks behind them. "We haven't given them the slip yet," +said she, "but we will in the park." They entered the park at East +Ninetieth Street, crossed to the West Drive. Acting on Mrs. Belloc's +instructions, the motorman put on full speed--with due regard to the +occasional policeman. At a sharp turning near the Mall, when the taxi +could be seen from neither direction, he abruptly stopped. Out sprang +Mildred and disappeared behind the bushes completely screening the walk +from the drive. At once the taxi was under-way again. She, waiting +where the screen of bushes was securely thick, saw the taxi that had +followed them in the East Side flash by--in pursuit of Mrs. Belloc +alone. + +She was free--at least until some mischance uncovered her to the little +general. At Mrs. Brindley's she found a note awaiting her--a note from +Stanley Baird: + + +DEAR MILDRED: + +I'm of for the Far West, and probably shall not be in town again until +the early summer. The club forwards my mail and repeats telegrams as +marked. Go in and win, and don't hesitate to call on me if you need +me. No false pride, PLEASE! I'm getting out of the way because it's +obviously best for the present. + +STANLEY. + + +As she finished, her sense of freedom was complete. She had not +realized how uneasy she was feeling about Stanley. She did not doubt +his generosity, did not doubt that he genuinely intended to leave her +free, and she believed that his delicacy was worthy of his generosity. +Still, she was constantly fearing lest circumstances should thrust them +both--as much against his will as hers--into a position in which she +would have to choose between seeming, not to say being, ungrateful, and +playing the hypocrite, perhaps basely, with him. The little general +eluded, Stanley voluntarily removed; she was indeed free. Now she +could work with an untroubled mind, could show Mrs. Brindley that +intelligent and persistent work--her "biggest if in all the world"--was +in fact a very simple matter. + +She had not been settled at Mrs. Brindley's many hours before she +discovered that not only was she free from all hindrances, but was to +have a positive and great help. Mrs. Brindley's talent for putting +people at their ease was no mere drawing-room trick. + +She made Mildred feel immediately at home, as she had not felt at home +since her mother introduced James Presbury into their house at Hanging +Rock. Mrs. Brindley was absolutely devoid of pretenses. When Mildred +spoke to her of this quality in her she said: + +"I owe that to my husband. I was brought up like everybody else--to be +more or less of a poser and a hypocrite. In fact, I think there was +almost nothing genuine about me. My husband taught me to be myself, to +be afraid of nobody's opinion, to show myself just as I was and to let +people seek or avoid me as they saw fit. He was that sort of man +himself." + +"He must have been a remarkable man," said Mildred. + +"He was," replied Mrs. Brindley. "But not attractive--at least not to +me. Our marriage was a mistake. We quarreled whenever we were not at +work with the music. If he had not died, we should have been +divorced." She smiled merrily. "Then he would have hired me as his +musical secretary, and we'd have got on beautifully." + +Mildred was still thinking of Mrs. Brindley's freedom from pretense. +"I've never dared be myself," confessed she. "I don't know what myself +really is like. I was thinking the other day how for one reason and +another I've been a hypocrite all my life. You see, I've always been a +dependent--have always had to please someone in order to get what I +wanted." + +"You can never be yourself until you have an independent income, +however small," said Mrs. Brindley. "I've had that joy only since my +husband died. It's as well that I didn't have it sooner. One is the +better for having served an apprenticeship at self-repression and at +pretending to virtues one has not. Only those who earn their freedom +know how to use it. If I had had it ten or fifteen years ago I'd have +been an intolerable tyrant, making everyone around me unhappy and +therefore myself. The ideal world would be one where everyone was born +free and never knew anything else. Then, no one being afraid or having +to serve, everyone would have to be considerate in order to get himself +tolerated." + +"I wonder if I really ever shall be able to earn a living?" sighed +Mildred. + +"You must decide that whatever you can make shall be for you a living," +said the older woman. "I have lived on my fixed income, which is under +two thousand a year. And I am ready to do it again rather than +tolerate anything or anybody that does not suit me." + +"I shall have to be extremely careful," laughed Mildred. "I shall be a +dreadful hypocrite with you." + +Mrs. Brindley smiled; but underneath, Mildred saw--or perhaps +felt--that her new friend was indeed not one to be trifled with. She +said: + +"You and I will get on. We'll let each other alone. We have to be more +or less intimate, but we'll never be familiar." + +After a time she discovered that Mrs. Brindley's first name was +Cyrilla, but Mrs. Brindley and Miss Stevens they remained to each other +for a long time--until circumstances changed their accidental intimacy +into enduring friendship. Not to anticipate, in the course of that +same conversation Mildred said: + +"If there is anything about me--about my life--that you wish me to +explain, I shall be glad to do so." + +"I know all I wish to know," replied Cyrilla Brindley. "Your face and +your manner and your way of speaking tell me all the essentials." + +"Then you must not think it strange when I say I wish no one to know +anything about me." + +"It will be impossible for you entirely to avoid meeting people," said +Cyrilla. "You must have some simple explanation about yourself, or you +will attract attention and defeat your object." + +"Lead people to believe that I'm an orphan--perhaps of some obscure +family--who is trying to get up in the world. That is practically the +truth." + +Mrs. Brindley laughed. "Quite enough for New York," said she. "It is +not interested in facts. All the New-Yorker asks of you is, 'Can you +pay your bills and help me pay mine?'" + +Competent men are rare; but, thanks to the advantage of the male sex in +having to make the struggle for a living, they are not so rare as +competent women. Mrs. Brindley was the first competent woman Mildred +had ever known. She had spent but a few hours with her before she +began to appreciate what a bad atmosphere she had always breathed--bad +for a woman who has her way to make in the world, or indeed for any +woman not willing to be content as mere more or less shiftless, more or +less hypocritical and pretentious, dependent and parasite. Mrs. +Brindley--well bred and well educated--knew all the little matters +which Mildred had been taught to regard as the whole of a lady's +education. But Mildred saw that these trifles were but a trifling +incident in Mrs. Brindley's knowledge. She knew real things, this +woman who was a thorough-going housekeeper and who trebled her income +by giving music lessons a few hours a day to such pupils as she thought +worth the teaching. When she spoke, she always said something one of +the first things noticed by Mildred, who, being too lazy to think +except as her naturally good mind insisted on exercising itself, +usually talked simply to kill time and without any idea of getting +anywhere. But while Cyrilla--without in the least intending it--roused +her to a painful sense of her own limitations, she did not discourage +her. Mildred also began to feel that in this new atmosphere of ideas, +of work, of accomplishment, she would rapidly develop into a different +sort of person. It was extremely fortunate for her, thought she, that +she was living with such a person as Cyrilla Brindley. In the old +atmosphere, or with any taint of it, she would have been unable to +become a serious person. She would simply have dawdled along, +twaddling about "art" and seriousness and careers and sacrifice, +content with the amateur's methods and the amateur's results--and +deluding herself that she was making progress. Now--It was as +different as public school from private school--public school where the +mind is rudely stimulated, private school where it is sedulously +mollycoddled. She had come out of the hothouse into the open. + +At first she thought that Jennings was to be as great a help to her as +Cyrilla Brindley. Certainly if ever there was a man with the air of a +worker and a place with the air of a workshop, that man and that place +were Eugene Jennings and his studio in Carnegie Hall. When Mildred +entered, on that Saturday morning, at exactly half-past ten, +Jennings--in a plain if elegant house-suit--looked at her, looked at +the clock, stopped a girl in the midst of a burst of tremulous noisy +melody. + +"That will do, Miss Bristow," said he. "You have never sung it worse. +You do not improve. Another lesson like this, and we shall go back and +begin all over again." + +The girl, a fattish, "temperamental" blonde, burst into tears. + +"Kindly take that out into the hall," said Jennings coldly. "Your time +is up. We cannot waste Miss Stevens's time with your hysterics." + +Miss Bristow switched from tears to fury. "You brute! You beast!" she +shrieked, and flung herself out of the room, slamming the door after +her. Jennings took a book from a pile upon a table, opened it, and set +it on a music-stand. Evidently Miss Bristow was forgotten--indeed, had +passed out of his mind at half-past ten exactly, not to enter it again +until she should appear at ten on Monday morning. He said to Mildred: + +"Now, we'll see what you can do. Begin." + +"I'm a little nervous," said Mildred with a shy laugh. "If you don't +mind, I'd like to wait till I've got used to my surroundings." + +Jennings looked at her. The long sharp nose seemed to be rapping her +on the forehead like a woodpecker's beak on the bark of the tree. +"Begin," he said, pointing to the book. + +Mildred flushed angrily. "I shall not begin until I CAN begin," said +she. The time to show this man that he could not treat her brutally +was at the outset. + +Jennings opened the door into the hall. "Good day, Miss Stevens," he +said with his abrupt bow. + +Mildred looked at him; he looked at her. Her lip trembled, the hot +tears flooded and blinded her eyes. She went unsteadily to the +music-stand and tried to see the notes of the exercises. Jennings +closed the door and seated himself at the far end of the room. She +began--a ridiculous attempt. She stopped, gritted her teeth, began +again. Once more the result was absurd; but this time she was able to +keep on, not improving, but maintaining her initial off-key quavering. +She stopped. + +"You see," said she. "Shall I go on?" + +"Don't stop again until I tell you to, please," said he. + +She staggered and stumbled and somersaulted through two pages of +DO-RE-ME-FA-SOL-LA-SI. Then he held up his finger. + +"Enough," said he. + +Silence, an awful silence. She recalled what Mrs. Belloc had told her +about him, what Mrs. Brindley had implied. But she got no consolation. +She said timidly: + +"Really, Mr. Jennings, I can do better than that. Won't you let me try +a song?" + +"God forbid!" said he. "You can't stand. You can't breathe. You +can't open your mouth. Naturally, you can't sing." + +She dropped to a chair. + +"Take the book, and go over the same thing, sitting," said he. + +She began to remove her wraps. + +"Just as you are," he commanded. "Try to forget yourself. Try to +forget me. Try to forget what a brute I am, and what a wonderful +singer you are. Just open your mouth and throw the notes out." + +She was rosy with rage. She was reckless. She sang. At the end of +three pages he stopped her with an enthusiastic hand-clapping. "Good! +Good!" he cried. "I'll take you. I'll make a singer of you. Yes, yes, +there's something to work on." + +The door opened. A tall, thin woman with many jewels and a superb fur +wrap came gliding in. Jennings looked at the clock. The hands pointed +to eleven. Said he to Mildred: + +"Take that book with you. Practice what you've done to-day. Learn to +keep your mouth open. We'll go into that further next time." He was +holding the door open for her. As she passed out, she heard him say: + +"Ah, Mrs. Roswell. We'll go at that third song first." + +The door closed. Reviewing all that had occurred, Mildred decided that +she must revise her opinion of Jennings. A money-maker he no doubt +was. And why not? Did he not have to live? But a teacher also, and a +great teacher. Had he not destroyed her vanity at one blow, demolished +it?--yet without discouraging her. And he went straight to the bottom +of things--very different from any of the teachers she used to have +when she was posing in drawing-rooms as a person with a voice equal to +the most difficult opera, if only she weren't a lady and therefore not +forced to be a professional singing person. Yes, a great teacher--and +in deadly earnest. He would permit no trifling! How she would have to +work! + +And she went to work with an energy she would not have believed she +possessed. He instructed her minutely in how to stand, in how to +breathe, in how to open her mouth and keep it open, in how to relax her +throat and leave it relaxed. He filled every second of her half-hour; +she had never before realized how much time half an hour was, how use +could be made of every one of its eighteen hundred seconds. She went +to hear other teachers give lessons, and she understood why Jennings +could get such prices, could treat his pupils as he saw fit. She +became an extravagant admirer of him as a teacher, thought him a +genius, felt confident that he would make a great singer of her. With +the second lesson she began to progress rapidly. In a few weeks she +amazed herself. At last she was really singing. Not in a great way, +but in the beginnings of a great way. Her voice had many times the +power of her drawing-room days. Her notes were full and round, and +came without an effort. Her former ideas of what constituted facial +and vocal expression now seemed ridiculous to her. She was now singing +without making those dreadful faces which she had once thought charming +and necessary. Her lower register, always her best, was almost +perfect. Her middle register--the test part of a voice--was showing +signs of strength and steadiness and evenness. And she was fast +getting a real upper register, as distinguished from the forced and +shrieky high notes that pass as an upper register with most singers, +even opera singers. After a month of this marvelous forward march, she +sang for Mrs. Brindley--sang the same song she had essayed at their +first meeting. When she finished, Mrs. Brindley said: + +"Yes, you've done wonders. I've been noticing your improvement as you +practiced. You certainly have a very different voice and method from +those you had a month ago," and so on through about five minutes of +critical and discriminating praise. + +Mildred listened, wondering why her dissatisfaction, her irritation, +increased as Mrs. Brindley praised on and on. Beyond question Cyrilla +was sincere, and was saying even more than Mildred had hoped she would +say. Yet-- Mildred sat moodily measuring off octaves on the keyboard +of the piano. If she had been looking at her friend's face she would +have flared out in anger; for Cyrilla Brindley was taking advantage of +her abstraction to observe her with friendly sympathy and sadness. +Presently she concealed this candid expression and said: + +"You are satisfied with your progress, aren't you, Miss Stevens?" + +Mildred flared up angrily. "Certainly!" replied she. "How could I +fail to be?" + +Mrs. Brindley did not answer--perhaps because she thought no answer was +needed or expected. But to Mildred her silence somehow seemed a denial. + +"If you can only keep what you've got--and go on," said Mrs. Brindley. + +"Oh, I shall, never fear," retorted Mildred. + +"But I do fear," said Mrs. Brindley. "I think it's always well to fear +until success is actually won. And then there's the awful fear of not +being able to hold it." + +After a moment's silence Mildred, who could not hide away resentment +against one she liked, said: "Why aren't YOU satisfied, Mrs. Brindley?" + +"But I am satisfied," protested Cyrilla. "Only it makes me afraid to +see YOU so well satisfied. I've seen that often in people first +starting, and it's always dangerous. You see, my dear, you've got a +straight-away hundred miles to walk. Can't you see that it would be +possible for you to become too much elated by the way you walked the +first part of the first mile?" + +"Why do you try to discourage me?" said Mildred. + +Mrs. Brindley colored. "I do it because I want to save you from +despair a little later," said she. "But that is foolish of me. I +shall only irritate you against me. I'll not do it again. And please +don't ask my opinion. If you do, I can't help showing exactly what I +think." + +"Then you don't think I've done well?" cried Mildred. + +"Indeed you have," replied Cyrilla warmly. + +"Then I don't understand. What DO you mean?" + +"I'll tell you, and then I'll stop and you must not ask my opinion +again. We live too close together to be able to afford to criticize +each other. What I meant was this: You have done well the first part +of the great task that's before you. If you had done it any less well, +it would have been folly for you to go on." + +"That is, what I've done doesn't amount to anything? Mr. Jennings +doesn't agree with you." + +"Doubtless he's right," said Mrs. Brindley. "At any rate, we all agree +that you have shown that you have a voice." + +She said this so simply and heartily that Mildred could not but be +mollified. Mrs. Brindley changed the subject to the song Mildred had +sung, and Mildred stopped puzzling over the mystery of what she had +meant by her apparently enthusiastic words, which had yet diffused a +chill atmosphere of doubt. + +She was doing her scales so well that she became impatient of such +"tiresome child's play." And presently Jennings gave her songs, and +did not discourage her when she talked of roles, of getting seriously +at what, after all, she intended to do. Then there came a week of vile +weather, and Mildred caught a cold. She neglected it. Her voice left +her. Her tonsils swelled. She had a bad attack of ulcerated sore +throat. For nearly three weeks she could not take a single one of the +lessons, which were, nevertheless, paid for. Jennings rebuked her +sharply. + +"A singer has no right to be sick," said he. + +"You have a cold yourself," retorted she. + +"But I am not a singer. I've nothing that interferes with my work." + +"It's impossible not to take cold," said Mildred. "You are unreasonable +with me." + +He shrugged his shoulders. "Go get well," he said. + +The sore throat finally yielded to the treatment of Dr. Hicks, the +throat-specialist. His bill was seventy-five dollars. But while the +swelling in the tonsils subsided it did not depart. She could take +lessons again. Some days she sang as well as ever, and on those days +Jennings was charming. Other days she sang atrociously, and Jennings +treated her as if she were doing it deliberately. A third and worse +state was that of the days when she in the same half-hour alternately +sang well and badly. On those days Jennings acted like a lunatic. He +raved up and down the studio, all but swearing at her. At first she +was afraid of him--withered under his scorn, feared he would throw open +his door and order her out and forbid her ever to enter again. But +gradually she came to understand him--not enough to lose her fear of +him altogether, but enough to lose the fear of his giving up so +profitable a pupil. + +The truth was that Jennings, like every man who succeeds at anything in +this world, operated upon a system to which he rigidly adhered. He was +a man of small talent and knowledge, but of great, persistence and not +a little common sense. He had tried to be a singer, had failed because +his voice was small and unreliable. He had adopted teaching singing as +a means of getting a living. He had learned just enough about it to +enable him to teach the technical elements--what is set down in the +books. By observing other and older teachers he had got together a +teaching system that was as good--and as bad--as any, and this he +dubbed the Jennings Method and proceeded to exploit as the only one +worth while. When that method was worked out and perfected, he ceased +learning, ceased to give a thought to the professional side of his +profession, just as most professional men do. He would have resented a +suggestion or a new idea as an attack upon the Jennings Method. The +overwhelming majority of the human race--indeed, all but a small +handful--have this passion for stagnation, this ferocity against +change. It is in large part due to laziness; for a new idea means work +in learning it and in unlearning the old ideas that have been true +until the unwelcome advent of the new. In part also this resistance to +the new idea arises from a fear that the new idea, if tolerated, will +put one out of business, will set him adrift without any means of +support. The coachman hates the automobile, the hand-worker hates the +machine, the orthodox preacher hates the heretic, the politician hates +the reformer, the doctor hates the bacteriologist and the chemist, the +old woman hates the new--all these in varying proportions according to +the degree in which the iconoclast attacks laziness or livelihood. +Finally we all hate any and all new ideas because they seem to imply +that we, who have held the old ideas, have been ignorant and stupid in +so doing. A new idea is an attack upon the vanity of everyone who has +been a partisan of the old ideas and their established order. + +Jennings, thoroughly human in thus closing his mind to all ideas about +his profession, was equally human in that he had his mind and his +senses opened full width to ideas on how to make more money. If there +had been money in new ideas about teaching singing Jennings would not +have closed to them. But the money was all in studying and learning +how better to handle the women--they were all women who came to him for +instruction. His common sense warned him at the outset that the +obviously easygoing teacher would not long retain his pupils. On the +other hand, he saw that the really severe teacher would not retain his +pupils, either. + +Who were these pupils? In the first place, they were all ignorant, for +people who already know do not go to school to learn. They had the +universal delusion that a teacher can teach. The fact is that a +teacher is a well. Some wells are full, others almost dry. Some are +so arranged that water cannot be got from them, others have attachments +of various kinds, making the drawing of water more or less easy. But +not from the best well with the latest pump attachment can one get a +drink unless one does the drinking oneself. A teacher is rarely a +well. The pupil must not only draw the water, but also drink it, must +not only teach himself, but also learn what he teaches. Now we are all +of us born thirsty for knowledge, and nearly all of us are born both +capable of teaching ourselves and capable of learning what we teach, +that is, of retaining and assimilating it. There is such a thing as +artificially feeding the mind, just as there is such a thing as +artificially feeding the body; but while everyone knows that artificial +feeding of the body is a success only to a limited extent and for a +brief period, everyone believes that the artificial feeding of the mind +is not only the best method, but the only method. Nor does the +discovery that the mind is simply the brain, is simply a part of the +body, subject to the body's laws, seem materially to have lessened this +fatuous delusion. + +Some of Jennings's pupils--not more than two of the forty-odd were in +genuine earnest; that is, those two were educating themselves to be +professional singers, were determined so to be, had limited time and +means and endless capacity for work. Others of the forty--about +half-thought they were serious, though in fact the idea of a career was +more or less hazy. They were simply taking lessons and toiling +aimlessly along, not less aimlessly because they indulged in vague talk +and vaguer thought about a career. The rest--the other half of the +forty--were amusing themselves by taking singing lessons. It killed +time, it gave them a feeling of doing something, it gave them a +reputation of being serious people and not mere idlers, it gave them an +excuse for neglecting the domestic duties which they regarded as +degrading--probably because to do them well requires study and earnest, +hard work. The Jennings singing lesson, at fifteen dollars a +half-hour, was rather an expensive hypocrisy; but the women who used it +as a cloak for idleness as utter as the mere yawners and bridgers and +shoppers had rich husbands or fathers. + +Thus it appears that the Jennings School was a perfect microcosm, as +the scientists would say, of the human race--the serious very few, +toiling more or less successfully toward a definite goal; the many, +compelled to do something, and imagining themselves serious and +purposeful as they toiled along toward nothing in particular but the +next lesson--that is, the next day's appointed task; the utterly idle, +fancying themselves busy and important when in truth they were simply a +fraud and an expense. + +Jennings got very little from the deeply and genuinely serious. One of +them he taught free, taking promissory notes for the lessons. But he +held on to them because when they finally did teach themselves to sing +and arrived at fame, his would be part of the glory--and glory meant +more and more pupils of the paying kinds. His large income came from +the other two kinds of pupils, the larger part of it from the kind that +had no seriousness in them. His problem was how to keep all these +paying pupils and also keep his reputation as a teacher. In solving +that problem he evolved a method that was the true Jennings's method. +Not in all New York, filled as it is with people living and living well +upon the manipulation of the weaknesses of their fellow beings--not in +all New York was there an adroiter manipulator than Eugene Jennings. He +was harsh to brutality when he saw fit to be so--or, rather, when he +deemed it wise to be so. Yet never had he lost a paying pupil through +his harshness. These were fashionable women--most delicate, sensitive +ladies--at whom he swore. They wept, stayed on, advertised him as a +"wonderful serious teacher who won't stand any nonsense and doesn't +care a hang whether you stay or go--and he can teach absolutely anybody +to sing!" He knew how to be gentle without seeming to be so; he knew +how to flatter without uttering a single word that did not seem to be +reluctant praise or savage criticism; he knew how to make a lady with a +little voice work enough to make a showing that would spur her to keep +on and on with him; he knew how to encourage a rich woman with no more +song than a peacock until she would come to him three times a week for +many years--and how he did make her pay for what he suffered in +listening to the hideous squawkings and yelpings she inflicted upon him! + +Did Jennings think himself a fraud? No more than the next human being +who lives by fraud. Is there any trade or profession whose +practitioners, in the bottom of their hearts, do not think they are +living excusably and perhaps creditably? The Jennings theory was that +he was a great teacher; that there were only a very few serious and +worth-while seekers of the singing art; that in order to live and to +teach these few, he had to receive the others; that, anyhow, singing +was a fine art for anyone to have and taking singing lessons made the +worst voice a little less bad--or, at the least, singing was splendid +for the health. One of his favorite dicta was, "Every child should be +taught singing--for its health, if for nothing else." And perhaps he +was right! At any rate, he made his forty to fifty thousand a +year--and on days when he had a succession of the noisy, tuneless +squawkers, he felt that he more than earned every cent of it. + +Mildred did not penetrate far into the secret of the money-making +branch of the Jennings method. It was crude enough, too. But are not +all the frauds that fool the human race crude? Human beings both +cannot and will not look beneath surfaces. All Mildred learned was +that Jennings did not give up paying pupils. She had not confidence +enough in this discovery to put it to the test. She did not dare +disobey him or shirk--even when she was most disposed to do so. But +gradually she ceased from that intense application she had at first +brought to her work. She kept up the forms. She learned her lessons. +She did all that was asked. She seemed to be toiling as in the +beginning. In reality, she became by the middle of spring a mere +lesson-taker. Her interest in clothes and in going about revived. She +saw in the newspapers that General Siddall had taken a party of friends +on a yachting trip around the world, so she felt that she was no longer +being searched for, at least not vigorously. She became acquainted +with smart, rich West Side women, taking lessons at Jennings's. She +amused herself going about with them and with the "musical" men they +attracted--amateur and semi-professional singers and players upon +instruments. She drew Mrs. Brindley into their society. They had +little parties at the flat in Fifty-ninth Street--the most delightful +little parties imaginable--dinners and suppers, music, clever +conversations, flirtations of a harmless but fascinating kind. If +anyone had accused Mildred of neglecting her work, of forgetting her +career, she would have grown indignant, and if Mrs. Brindley had +overheard, she would have been indignant for her. Mildred worked as +much as ever. She was making excellent progress. She was doing all +that could be done. It takes time to develop a voice, to make an +opera-singer. Forcing is dangerous, when it is not downright useless. + +In May--toward the end of the month--Stanley Baird returned. Mildred, +who happened to be in unusually good voice that day, sang for him at +the Jennings studio, and he was enchanted. As the last note died away +he cried out to Jennings: + +"She's a wonder, isn't she?" + +Jennings nodded. "She's got a voice," said he. + +"She ought to go on next year." + +"Not quite that," said Jennings. "We want to get that upper register +right first. And it's a young voice--she's very young for her age. We +must be careful not to strain it." + +"Why, what's a voice for if not to sing with?" said Stanley. + +"A fine voice is a very delicate instrument," replied the teacher. He +added coldly, "You must let me judge as to what shall be done." + +"Certainly, certainly," said Stanley in haste. + +"She's had several colds this winter and spring," pursued Jennings. +"Those things are dangerous until the voice has its full growth. She +should have two months' complete rest." + +Jennings was going away for a two months' vacation. He was giving this +advice to all his pupils. + +"You're right," said Baird. "Did you hear, Mildred?" + +"But I hate to stop work," objected Mildred. "I want to be doing +something. I'm very impatient of this long wait." + +And honest she was in this protest. She had no idea of the state of +her own mind. She fancied she was still as eager as ever for the +career, as intensely interested as ever in her work. She did not dream +of the real meaning of her content with her voice as it was, of her +lack of uneasiness over the appalling fact that such voice as she had +was unreliable, came and went for no apparent reason. + +"Absolute rest for two months," declared Jennings grimly. "Not a note +until I return in August." + +Mildred gave a resigned sigh. + +There is much inveighing against hypocrisy, a vice unsightly rather +than desperately wicked. And in the excitement about it its dangerous, +even deadly near kinsman, self-deception, escapes unassailed. Seven +cardinal sins; but what of the eighth?--the parent of all the others, +the one beside which the children seem almost white? + + +During the first few weeks Mildred had been careful about spending +money. Economy she did not understand; how could she, when she had +never had a lesson in it or a valuable hint about it? So economy was +impossible. The only way in which such people can keep order in their +finances is by not spending any money at all. Mildred drew nothing, +spent nothing. This, so long as she gave her whole mind to her work. +But after the first great cold, so depressing, so subtly undermining, +she began to go about, to think of, to need and to buy clothes, to +spend money in a dozen necessary ways. After all, she was simply +borrowing the money. Presently, she would be making a career, would be +earning large sums. She would pay back everything, with interest. +Stanley meant for her to use the money. Really, she ought to use it. +How would her career be helped by her going about looking a dowd and a +frump? She had always been used to the comforts of life. If she +deprived herself of them, she would surely get into a frame of mind +where her work would suffer. No, she must lead the normal life of a +woman of her class. To work all the time--why, as Jennings said, that +took away all the freshness, made one stale and unfit. A little +distraction--always, of course, with musical people, people who talked +and thought and did music--that sort of distraction was quite as much a +part of her education as the singing lessons. Mrs. Brindley, certainly +a sensible and serious woman if ever there was one--Mrs. Brindley +believed so, and it must be so. + +After that illness and before she began to go about, she had fallen +into several fits of hideous blues, had been in despair as to the +future. As soon as she saw something of people--always the valuable, +musical sort of people--her spirits improved. And when she got a few +new dresses--very simple and inexpensive, but stylish and charming--and +the hats, too, were successful--as soon as she was freshly arrayed she +was singing better and was talking hopefully of the career again. Yes, +it was really necessary that she live as she had always been used to +living. + +When Stanley came back her account was drawn up to the last cent of the +proportionate amount. In fact, it might have been a few dollars--a +hundred or so--overdrawn. She was not sure. Still, that was a small +matter. During the summer she would spend less, and by fall she would +be far ahead again--and ready to buy fall clothes. One day he said: + +"You must be needing more money." + +"No indeed," cried she. "I've been living within the hundred a +week--or nearly. I'm afraid I'm frightfully extravagant, and--" + +"Extravagant?" laughed he. "You are afraid to borrow! Why, three or +four nights of singing will pay back all you've borrowed." + +"I suppose I WILL make a lot of money," said she. "They all tell me so. +But it doesn't seem real to me." She hastily added: "I don't mean the +career. That seems real enough. I can hardly wait to begin at the +roles. I mean the money part. You see, I never earned any money and +never really had any money of my own." + +"Well, you'll have plenty of it in two or three years," said Stanley, +confidently. "And you mustn't try to live like girls who've been +brought up to hardship. It isn't necessary, and it would only unfit +you for your work." + +"I think that's true," said she. "But I've enough--more than enough." +She gave him a nervous, shy, almost agonized look. "Please don't try +to put me under any heavier obligations than I have to be." + +"Please don't talk nonsense about obligation," retorted he. "Let's get +away from this subject. You don't seem to realize that you're doing me +a favor, that it's a privilege to be allowed to help develop such a +marvelous voice as yours. Scores of people would jump at the chance." + +"That doesn't lessen my obligation," said she. And she thought she +meant it, though, in fact, his generous and plausible statement of the +case had immediately lessened not a little her sense of obligation. + +On the whole, however, she was not sorry she had this chance to talk of +obligation. Slowly, as they saw each other from time to time, often +alone, Stanley had begun--perhaps in spite of himself and +unconsciously--to show his feeling for her. Sometimes his hand +accidentally touched hers, and he did not draw it away as quickly as he +might. And she--it was impossible for her to make any gesture, much +less say anything, that suggested sensitiveness on her part. It would +put him in an awkward position, would humiliate him most unjustly. He +fell into the habit of holding her hand longer than was necessary at +greeting or parting, of touching her caressingly, of looking at her +with the eyes of a lover instead of a friend. She did not like these +things. For some mysterious reason--from sheer perversity, she +thought--she had taken a strong physical dislike to him. Perfectly +absurd, for there was nothing intrinsically repellent about this +handsome, clean, most attractively dressed man, of the best type of +American and New-Yorker. No, only perversity could explain such a silly +notion. She was always afraid he would try to take advantage of her +delicate position--always afraid she would have to yield something, +some trifle; yet the idea of giving anything from a sense of obligation +was galling to her. His very refraining made her more nervous, the +more shrinking. If he would only commit some overt act--seize her, kiss +her, make outrageous demands--but this refraining, these touches that +might be accidental and again might be stealthy approach-- She hated +to have him shake hands with her, would have liked to draw away when +his clothing chanced to brush against hers. + +So she was glad of the talk about obligation. It set him at a +distance, immediately. He ceased to look lovingly, to indulge in the +nerve-rasping little caresses. He became carefully formal. He was +evidently eager to prove the sincerity of his protestations--too eager +perhaps, her perverse mind suggested. Still, sincere or not, he held +to all the forms of sincerity. + +Some friends of Mrs. Brindley's who were going abroad offered her their +cottage on the New Jersey coast near Seabright, and a big new +touring-car and chauffeur. She and Mildred at once gave up the plan +for a summer in the Adirondacks, the more readily as several of the men +and women they saw the most of lived within easy distance of them at +Deal Beach and Elberon. When Mildred went shopping she was lured into +buying a lot of summer things she would not have needed in the +Adirondacks--a mere matter of two hundred and fifty dollars or +thereabouts. A little additional economy in the fall would soon make +up for such a trifle, and if there is one time more than another when a +woman wishes to look well and must look well, that time is +summer--especially by the sea. + +When her monthly statement from the bank came on the first of July she +found that five thousand dollars had been deposited to her credit. She +was moved by this discovery to devote several hours--very depressed +hours they were--to her finances. She had spent a great deal more +money than she had thought; indeed, since March she had been living at +the rate of fifteen thousand a year. She tried to account for this +amazing extravagance. But she could recall no expenditure that was not +really almost, if not quite, necessary. It took a frightful lot of +money to live in New York. How DID people with small incomes manage to +get along? Whatever would have become of her if she had not had the +good luck to be able to borrow from Stanley? What would become of her +if, before she was succeeding on the stage, Stanley should die or lose +faith in her or interest in her? What would become of her! She had +been living these last few months among people who had wide-open eyes +and knew everything that was going on--and did some "going-on" +themselves, as she was now more than suspecting. There were many +women, thousands of them--among the attractive, costily dressed throngs +she saw in the carriages and autos and cabs--who would not like to have +it published how they contrived to live so luxuriously. No, they would +not like to have it published, though they cared not a fig for its +being whispered; New York too thoroughly understood how necessary +luxurious living was, and was too completely divested of the follies of +the old-fashioned, straight-laced morality, to mind little shabby +details of queer conduct in striving to keep up with the procession. +Even the married women, using their husbands--and letting their +husbands use them--did not frown on the irregularities of their sisters +less fortunately married or not able to find a permanent "leg to pull." +As for the girls--Mildred had observed strange things in the lives of +the girls she knew more or less well nowadays. In fact, all the women, +of all classes and conditions, were engaged in the same mad struggle to +get hold of money to spend upon fun and finery--a struggle matching in +recklessness and resoluteness the struggle of the men down-town for +money for the same purposes. It was curious, this double mania of the +men and the women--the mania to get money, no matter how; the instantly +succeeding mania to get rid of it, no matter how. Looking about her, +Mildred felt that she was peculiar and apart from nearly all the women +she knew. SHE got her money honorably. SHE did not degrade herself, +did not sell herself, did not wheedle or cajole or pretend in the least +degree. She had grown more liberal as her outlook on life had widened +with contact with the New York mind--no, with the mind of the whole +easy-going, luxury-mad, morality-scorning modern world. She still kept +her standard for herself high, and believed in a purity for herself +which she did not exact or expect in her friends. In this respect she +and Cyrilla Brindley were sympathetically alike. No, Mildred was +confident that in no circumstances, in NO circumstances, would she +relax her ideas of what she personally could do and could not do. Not +that she blamed, or judged at all, women who did as she would not; but +she could not, simply could not, however hard she might be driven, do +those things--though she could easily understand how other women did +them in preference to sinking down into the working class or eking out +a frowsy existence in some poor boarding-house. The temptation would +be great. Thank Heaven, it was not teasing her. She would resist it, +of course. But-- + +What if Stanley Baird should lose interest? What if, after he lost +interest, she should find herself without money, worse of than she had +been when she sold herself into slavery--highly moral and +conventionally correct slavery, but still slavery--to the little +general with the peaked pink-silk nightcap hiding the absence of the +removed toupee--and with the wonderful pink-silk pajamas, gorgeously +monogramed in violet--and the tiny feet and ugly hands--and those +loathsome needle-pointed mustaches and the hideous habit of mumbling +his tongue and smacking his lips? What if, moneyless, she should not +be able to find another Stanley or a man of the class gentleman willing +to help her generously even on ANY terms? What then? + +She was looking out over the sea, her bank-book and statements and +canceled checks in her lap. Their cottage was at the very edge of the +strand; its veranda was often damp from spray after a storm. It was +not storming as she sat there, "taking stock"; under a blue sky an +almost tranquil sea was crooning softly in the sunlight, innocent and +happy and playful as a child. She, dressed in a charming negligee and +looking forward to a merry day in the auto, with lunch and dinner at +attractive, luxurious places farther down the coast--she was stricken +with a horrible sadness, with a terror that made her heart beat wildly. + +"I must be crazy!" she said, half aloud. "I've never earned a dollar +with my voice. And for two months it has been unreliable. I'm acting +like a crazy person. What WILL become of me?" + +Just then Stanley Baird came through the pretty little house, seeking +her. "There you are!" he cried. "Do go get dressed." + +Hastily she flung a scarf over the book and papers in her lap. She had +intended to speak to him about that fresh deposit of five thousand +dollars--to refuse it, to rebuke him. Now she did not dare. + +"What's the matter?" he went on. "Headache?" + +"It was the wine at dinner last night," explained she. "I ought never +to touch red wine. It disagrees with me horribly." + +"That was filthy stuff," said he. "You must take some champagne at +lunch. That'll set you right." + +She stealthily wound the scarf about the papers. When she felt that all +were secure she rose. She was looking sweet and sad and peculiarly +beautiful. There was an exquisite sheen on her skin. She had washed +her hair that morning, and it was straying fascinatingly about her brow +and ears and neck. Baird looked at her, lowered his eyes and colored. + +"I'll not be long," she said hurriedly. + +She had to pass him in the rather narrow doorway. From her garments +shook a delicious perfume. He caught her in his arms. The blood had +flushed into his face in a torrent, swelling out the veins, giving him +a distorted and wild expression. + +"Mildred!" he cried. "Say that you love me a little! I'm so lonely +for you--so hungry for you!" + +She grew cold with fear and with repulsion. She neither yielded to his +embrace nor shook it off. She simply stood, her round smooth body hard +though corsetless. He kissed her on the throat, kissed the lace over +her bosom, crying out inarticulately. In the frenzy of his passion he +did not for a while realize her lack of response. As he felt it, his +arms relaxed, dropped away from her, fell at his side. He hung his +head. He was breathing so heavily that she glanced into the house +apprehensively, fearing someone else might hear. + +"I beg pardon," he muttered. "You were too much for me this morning. +It was your fault. You are maddening!" + +She moved on into the house. + +"Wait a minute!" he called after her. + +She halted, hesitating. + +"Come back," he said. "I've got something to say to you." + +She turned and went back to the veranda, he retreating before her and +his eyes sinking before the cold, clear blue of hers. + +"You're going up, not to come down again," he said. "You think I've +insulted you--think I've acted outrageously." + +How glad she was that he had so misread her thoughts--had not +discovered the fear, the weakness, the sudden collapse of all her +boasted confidence in her strength of character. + +"You'll never feel the same toward me again," he went fatuously on. +"You think I'm a fraud. Well, I'll admit that I am in love with +you--have been ever since the steamer--always was crazy about that +mouth of yours--and your figure, and the sound of your voice. I'll +admit I'm an utter fool about you--respect you and trust you as I never +used to think any woman deserved to be respected and trusted. I'll +even admit that I've been hoping--all sorts of things. I knew a woman +like you wouldn't let a man help her unless she loved him." + +At this her heart beat wildly and a blush of shame poured over her face +and neck. He did not see. He had not the courage to look at her--to +face that expression of the violated goddess he felt confident her face +was wearing. In love, he reasoned and felt about her like an +inexperienced boy, all his experience going for nothing. He went on: + +"I understand we can never be anything to each other until you're on +the stage and arrived. I'd not have it otherwise, if I could. For I +want YOU, and I'd never believe I had you unless you were free." + +The color was fading from her cheeks. At this it flushed deeper than +before. She must speak. Not to speak was to lie, was to play the +hypocrite. Yet speak she dared not. At least Stanley Baird was better +than Siddall. Anyhow, who was she, that had been the wife of Siddall, +to be so finicky? + +"You don't believe me?" he said miserably. "You think I'll forget +myself sometime again?" + +"I hope not," she said gently. "I believe not. I trust you, Stanley." + +And she went into the house. He looked after her, in admiration of the +sweet and pure calm of this quiet rebuke. She tried to take the same +exalted view of it herself, but she could not fool herself just then +with the familiar "good woman" fake. She knew that she had struck the +flag of self-respect. She knew what she would really have done had he +been less delicate, less in love, and more "practical." And she found +a small and poor consolation in reflecting, "I wonder how many women +there are who take high ground because it costs nothing." We are prone +to suspect everybody of any weakness we find in ourselves--and perhaps +we are not so far wrong as are those who accept without question the +noisy protestations of a world of self-deceivers. + +Thenceforth she and Stanley got on better than ever--apparently. But +though she ignored it, she knew the truth--knew her new and deep +content was due to her not having challenged his assertion that she +loved him. He, believing her honest and high minded, assumed that the +failure to challenge was a good woman's way of admitting. But with the +day of reckoning--not only with him but also with her own +self-respect--put off until that vague and remote time when she should +be a successful prima donna, she gave herself up to enjoyment. That +was a summer of rarely fine weather, particularly fine along the Jersey +coast. They--always in gay parties--motored up and down the coast and +inland. Several of the "musical" men--notably Richardson of +Elberon--had plenty of money; Stanley, stopping with his cousins, the +Frasers, on the Rumson Road, brought several of his friends, all rich +and more or less free. As every moment of Mildred's day was full and +as it was impossible not to sleep and sleep well in that ocean air, +with the surf soothing the nerves as the lullaby of a nurse soothes a +baby, she was able to put everything unpleasant out of mind. She was +resting her voice, was building up her health; therefore the career was +being steadily advanced and no time was being wasted. She felt sorry +for those who had to do unpleasant or disagreeable things in making +their careers. She told herself that she did not deserve her good +fortune in being able to advance to a brilliant career not through +hardship but over the most delightful road imaginable--amusing herself, +wearing charming and satisfactory clothes, swimming and dancing, +motoring and feasting. Without realizing it, she was strongly under +the delusion that she was herself already rich--the inevitable delusion +with a woman when she moves easily and freely and luxuriously about, +never bothered for money, always in the company of rich people. The +rich are fated to demoralize those around them. The stingy rich fill +their satellites with envy and hatred. The generous rich fill them +with the feeling that the light by which they shine and the heat with +which they are warm are not reflected light and heat but their own. + +Never had she been so happy. She even did not especially mind Donald +Keith, a friend of Stanley's and of Mrs. Brindley's, who, much too +often to suit her, made one of the party. She had tried in vain to +discover what there was in Keith that inspired such intense liking in +two people so widely different as expansive and emotional Stanley Baird +and reserved and distinctly cold Cyrilla Brindley. Keith talked +little, not only seemed not to listen well, but showed plainly, even in +tete-a-tete conversations, that his thoughts had been elsewhere. He +made no pretense of being other than he was--an indifferent man who +came because it did not especially matter to him where he was. +Sometimes his silence and his indifference annoyed Mildred; +again--thanks to her profound and reckless contentment--she was able to +forget that he was along. He seemed to be and probably was about forty +years old. His head was beautifully shaped, the line of its +profile--front, top, and back--being perfect in intellectuality, +strength and symmetry. He was rather under the medium height, about +the same height as Mildred herself. He was extremely thin and loosely +built, and his clothes seemed to hang awry, giving him an air of +slovenliness which became surprising when one noted how scrupulously +neat and clean he was. His brown hair, considerably tinged with rusty +gray, grew thinly upon that beautiful head. His skin was dry and +smooth and dead white. This, taken with the classic regularity of his +features, gave him an air of lifelessness, of one burnt out by the fire +of too much living; but whether the living had been done by Keith +himself or by his immediate ancestors appearances did not disclose. +This look of passionless, motionless repose, like classic sculpture, +was sharply and startlingly belied by a pair of really wonderful +eyes--deeply and intensely blue, brilliant, all seeing, all +comprehending, eyes that seemed never to sleep, seemed the ceaselessly +industrious servants of a brain that busied itself without pause. The +contrast between the dead white calm of his face, the listlessness of +his relaxed figure, and these vivid eyes, so intensely alive, gave to +Donald Keith's personality an uncanniness that was most disagreeable to +Mildred. + +"That's what fascinates me," said Cyrilla, when they were discussing +him one day. + +"Fascinates!" exclaimed Mildred. "He's tiresome--when he isn't rude." + +"Rude?" + +"Not actively rude but, worse still, passively rude." + +"He is the only man I've ever seen with whom I could imagine myself +falling in love," said Mrs. Brindley. + +Mildred laughed in derision. "Why, he's a dead man!" cried she. + +"You don't understand," said Cyrilla. "You've never lived with a man." +She forgot completely, as did Mildred herself, so completely had Mrs. +Siddall returned to the modes and thoughts of a girl. "At home--to +live with--you want only reposeful things. That is why the Greeks, +whose instincts were unerring, had so much reposeful statuary. One +grows weary of agitating objects. They soon seem hysterical and +shallow. The same thing's true of persons. For permanent love and +friendship you want reposeful men--calm, strong, silent. The other +kind either wear you out or wear themselves out with you." + +"You forget his eyes," put in Stanley. "Did you ever see such eyes!" + +"Yes, those eyes of his!" cried Mildred. "You certainly can't call +them reposeful, Mrs. Brindley." + +Mrs. Brindley did not seize the opportunity to convict her of +inconsistency. Said she: + +"I admit the eyes. They're the eyes of the kind of man a woman wants, +or another man wants in his friend. When Keith looks at you, you feel +that you are seeing the rarest being in the world--an absolutely +reliable person. When I think of him I think of reliable, just as when +you think of the sun you think of brightness." + +"I had no idea it was so serious as this," teased Stanley. + +"Nor had I," returned Cyrilla easily, "until I began to talk about him. +Don't tell him, Mr. Baird, or he might take advantage of me." + +The idea amused Stanley. "He doesn't care a rap about women," said he. +"I hear he has let a few care about him from time to time, but he soon +ceased to be good-natured. He hates to be bored." + +As he came just then, they had to find another subject. Mildred +observed him with more interest. She had learned to have respect for +Mrs. Brindley's judgments. But she soon gave over watching him. That +profound calm, those eyes concentrating all the life of the man like a +burning glass-- She had a disagreeable sense of being seen through, +even to her secretest thought, of being understood and measured and +weighed--and found wanting. It occurred to her for the first time that +part of the reason for her not liking him was the best of reasons--that +he did not like her. + +The first time she was left alone with him, after this discovery, she +happened to be in an audacious and talkative mood, and his lack of +response finally goaded her into saying: "WHY don't you like me?" She +cared nothing about it; she simply wished to hear what he would say--if +he could be roused into saying anything. He was sitting on the steps +leading from the veranda to the sea--was smoking a cigarette and gazing +out over the waves like a graven image, as if he had always been posed +there and always would be there, the embodiment of repose gazing in +ineffable indifference upon the embodiment of its opposite. He made no +answer. + +"I asked you why you do not like me," said she. "Did you hear?" + +"Yes," replied he. + +She waited; nothing further from him. Said she: + +"Well, give me one of your cigarettes." + +He rose, extended his case, then a light. He was never remiss in those +kinds of politeness. When she was smoking, he seated himself again and +dropped into the former attitude. She eyed him, wondering how it could +be possible that he had endured the incredible fatigues and hardships +Stanley Baird had related of him--hunting and exploring expeditions +into tropics and into frozen regions, mountain climbs, wild sea voyages +in small boats, all with no sign of being able to stand anything, yet +also with no sign of being any more disturbed than now in this seaside +laziness. Stanley had showed them a picture of him taken twenty years +and more ago when he was in college; he had looked almost the same +then--perhaps a little older. + +"Well, I am waiting," persisted she. + +She thought he was about to look at her--a thing he had never done, to +her knowledge, since they had known each other. She nerved herself to +receive the shock, with a certain flutter of expectancy, of excitement +even. But instead of looking, he settled himself in a slightly +different position and fixed his gaze upon another point in the +horizon. She noted that he had splendid hands--ideal hands for a man, +with the same suggestion of intense vitality and aliveness that flashed +from his eyes. She had not noted this before. Next she saw that he +had good feet, and that his boots were his only article of apparel that +fitted him, or rather, that looked as if made for him. + +She tossed her cigarette over the rail to the sand. He startled her by +speaking, in his unemotional way. He said: + +"Now, I like you better." + +"I don't understand," said she. + +No answer from him. The cigarette depending listlessly from his lips +seemed--as usual--uncertain whether it would stay or fall. She watched +this uncertainty with a curious, nervous interest. She was always +thinking that cigarette would fall, but it never did. Said she: + +"Why did you say you liked me less?" + +"Better," corrected he. + +"We used to have a pump in our back yard at home," laughed she. "One +toiled away at the handle, but nothing ever came. And it was a +promising-looking pump, too." + +He smiled--a slow, reluctant smile, but undeniably attractive. Said he: + +"Because you threw away your cigarette." + +"You object to women smoking?" + +"No," said he. His tone made her feel how absurd it was to suspect him +of such provincialism. + +"You object to MY smoking?" suggested she; laughing, "Pump! Pump!" + +"No," said he. + +"Then your remark meant nothing at all?" + +He was silent. + +"You are rude," said she coldly, rising to go into the house. + +He said something, what she did not hear, in her agitation. She paused +and inquired: + +"What did you say?" + +"I said, I am not rude but kind," replied he. + +"That is detestable!" cried she. "I have not liked you, but I have +been polite to you because of Stanley and Mrs. Brindley. Why should +you be insulting to me?" + +"What have I done?" inquired he, unmoved. He had risen as she rose, +but instead of facing her he was leaning against the post of the +veranda, bent upon his seaward vigil. + +"You have insinuated that your reasons for not liking me were a +reflection on me." + +"You insisted," said he. + +"You mean that they are?" demanded she furiously. She was amazed at her +wild, unaccountable rage. + +He slowly turned his head and looked at her--a glance without any +emotion whatever, simply a look that, like the beam of a powerful +searchlight, seemed to thrust through fog and darkness and to light up +everything in its path. Said he: + +"Do you wish me to tell you why I don't like you?" + +"No!" she cried hysterically. "Never mind--I don't know what I'm +saying." And she went hastily into the house. A moment later, in her +own room upstairs, she was wondering at herself. Why had she become +confused? What did he mean? What had she seen--or half seen--in the +darkness and fog within herself when he looked at her? In a passion +she cried: + +"If he would only stay away!" + + + +VI + +BUT he did not stay away. He owned and lived in a small house up on +the Rumson Road. While the house was little more than a bungalow and +had a simplicity that completely hid its rare good taste from the +average observer, its grounds were the most spacious in that +neighborhood of costly, showy houses set in grounds not much more +extensive than a city building lot. The grounds had been cleared and +drained to drive out and to keep out the obnoxious insect life, but had +been left a forest, concealing the house from the roads. Stanley Baird +was now stopping with Keith, and brought him along to the cottage by +the sea every day. + +The parties narrowed to the same four persons. Mrs. Brindley seemed +never to tire of talking to Keith--or to tire of talking about him when +the two men had left, late each night. As for Stanley, he referred +everything to Keith--the weather prospects, where they should go for +the day, what should be eaten and drunk, any point about politics or +fashion, life or literature or what not, that happened to be discussed. +And he looked upon Donald's monosyllabic reply to his inquiry as a +final judgment, ending all possibility of argument. Mildred held out +long. Then, in spite of herself, she began to yield, ceased to dislike +him, found a kind of pleasure--or, perhaps, fascinated interest--in the +nervousness his silent and indifferent presence caused her. She liked +to watch that immobile, perfect profile, neither young nor old, indeed +not suggesting age in any degree, but only experience and +knowledge--and an infinite capacity for emotion, for passion even. The +dead-white color declared it had already been lived; the brilliant, +usually averted or veiled eyes asserted present vitality, pulsing under +a calm surface. + +One day when Stanley, in the manner of one who wishes a thing settled +and settled right, said he would ask Donald Keith about it, Mildred, a +little piqued, a little amused, retorted: + +"And what will he answer? Why, simply yes or no." + +"That's all," assented Stanley. "And that's quite enough, isn't it?" + +"But how do you know he's as wise as he pretends?" + +"He doesn't pretend to be anything or to know anything. That's +precisely it." + +Mildred suddenly began to like Keith. She had never thought of this +before. Yes, it was true, he did not pretend. Not in the least, not +about anything. When you saw him, you saw at once the worst there was +to see. It was afterward that you discovered he was not slovenly, but +clean and neat, not badly but well dressed, not homely but handsome, +not sickly but soundly well, not physically weak but strong, not dull +but vividly alive, not a tiresome void but an unfathomable mystery. + +"What does he do?" she asked Mrs. Brindley. + +Cyrilla's usually positive gray eyes looked vague. She smiled. "I +never asked," said she. "I've known him nearly three years, and it +never occurred to me to ask, or to wonder. Isn't that strange? Usually +about the first inquiry we make is what a man does." + +"I'll ask Stanley," said Mildred. And she did about an hour later, +when they were in the surf together, with the other two out of earshot. +Said Stanley: + +"He's a lawyer, of course. Also, he's written a novel or two and a +book of poems. I've never read them. Somehow, I never get around to +reading." + +"Oh, he's a lawyer? That's the way he makes his living." + +"A queer kind of lawyer. He never goes to court, and his clients are +almost all other lawyers. They go to him to get him to tell them what +to do, and what not to do. He's got a big reputation among lawyers, +Fred Norman tells me, but makes comparatively little, as he either +can't or won't charge what he ought. I told him what Norman said, and +he only smiled in that queer way he has. I said: 'You make twenty or +thirty thousand a year. You ought to make ten times that.'" + +"And what did he answer?" asked Mildred. "Nothing?" + +"He said: 'I make all I want. If I took in more, I'd be bothered +getting rid of it or investing it. I can always make all I'll +want--unless I go crazy. And what could a crazy man do with money? It +doesn't cost anything to live in a lunatic asylum.'" + +Several items of interest to add to those she had collected. He could +talk brilliantly, but he preferred silence. He could make himself +attractive to women and to men, but he preferred to be detached. He +could be a great lawyer, but he preferred the quiet of obscurity. He +could be a rich man, but he preferred to be comparatively poor. + +Said Mildred: "I suppose some woman--some disappointment in love--has +killed ambition, and everything like that." + +"I don't think so," replied Baird. "The men who knew him as a boy say +he was always as he is now. He lived in the Arabian desert for two +years." + +"Why didn't he stay?" laughed Mildred. "That life would exactly suit +him." + +"It did," said Stanley. "But his father died, and he had to come home +and support his mother--until she died. That's the way his whole life +has been. He drifts in the current of circumstances. He might let +himself be blown away to-morrow to the other end of the earth and stay +away years--or never come back." + +"But how would he live?" + +"On his wits. And as well or as poorly as he cared. He's the sort of +man everyone instinctively asks advice of--me, you, his valet, the +farmer who meets him at a boundary fence, the fellow who sits nest him +in a train--anyone." + +Mildred did not merely cease to dislike him; she went farther, and +rapidly. She began to like him, to circle round that tantalizing, +indolent mystery as a deer about a queer bit of brush in the +undergrowth. She liked to watch him. She was alternately afraid to +talk before him and recklessly confidential--all with no response or +sign of interest from him. If she was silent, when they were alone +together, he was silent, too. If she talked, still he was silent. What +WAS he thinking about? What did he think of her?--that especially. + +"What ARE you thinking?" she interrupted herself to say one afternoon +as they sat together on the strand under a big sunshade. She had been +talking on and on about her career--talking conceitedly, as her subject +intoxicated her--telling him what triumphs awaited her as soon as she +should be ready to debut. As he did not answer, she repeated her +question, adding: + +"I knew you weren't listening to me, or I shouldn't have had the +courage to say the foolish things I did." + +"No, I wasn't," admitted he. + +"Why not?" + +"For the reason you gave." + +"That what I said was--just talk?" + +"Yes." + +"You don't believe I'll do those things?" + +"Do you?" + +"I've GOT to believe it," said she. "If I didn't--" She came to a full +stop. + +"If you didn't, then what?" It was the first time he had ever +flattered her with interest enough to ask her a question about herself. + +"If I didn't believe I was going to succeed--and succeed big--" she +began. After a pause, she added, "I'd not dare say it." + +"Or think it," said he. + +She colored. "What do you mean?" she asked. + +He did not reply. + +"What do you mean, Mr. Keith?" she urged. + +"You are always asking me questions to which you already know the +answer," said he. + +"You're referring to a week or so ago, when I asked you why you +disliked me?" + +No answer. No sign of having heard. No outward sign of interest in +anything, even in the cigarette drooping from the corner of his mouth. + +"Wasn't that it?" she insisted. + +"You are always asking me questions to which you already know the +answer," repeated he. + +"I am annoying you?" + +No answer. + +She laughed. "Do you want me to go away and leave you in peace with +that--law case--or whatever it is?" + +"I don't like to be alone." + +"But anyone would do?--a dog?" + +No reply. + +"You mean, a dog would be better because it doesn't ask questions to +which it knows the answer." + +No reply. + +"Well, I have a pleasant-sounding voice. As I'm saying nothing, it may +be soothing--like the sound of the waves. I've learned to take you as +you are. I rather like your pose." + +No reply. No sign that he was even tempted to rise to this bait and +protest. + +"But you don't like mine," she went on. "Yes, it is a pose. But I've +got to keep it up, and to pretend to myself that it isn't. And it +isn't altogether. I shall be a successful singer." + +"When?" said he. Actually he was listening! + +She answered: "In--about two years, I think." + +No comment. + +"You don't believe it?" + +"Do you?" A pause. "Why ask these questions you've already answered +yourself?" + +"I'll tell you why," replied she, her face suddenly flushed with +earnestness. "Because I want you to help me. You help everyone else. +Why not me?" + +"You never asked me," said he. + +"I didn't know I wanted it until just now--as I said it. But YOU must +have known, because you are so much more experienced than I--and +understand people--what's going on in their minds, deeper than they can +see." Her tone became indignant, reproachful. "Yes, you must have +known I needed your help. And you ought to have helped me, even if you +did dislike me. You've no right to dislike anyone as young as I." + +He was looking at her now, the intensely alive blue eyes sympathetic, +penetrating, understanding. It was frightful to be so thoroughly +understood--all one's weaknesses laid bare--yet it was a relief and a +joy, too--like the cruel healing knife of the surgeon. Said he: + +"I do not like kept women." + +She gasped, grew ghastly. It was a frightful insult, one for which she +was wholly unprepared. "You--believe--that?" she said slowly. + +"Another of those questions," he said. And he looked calmly away, out +over the sea, as if his interest in the conversation were at an end. + +What should she say? How deny--how convince him? For convince him she +must, and then go away and never permit him to speak to her again until +he had apologized. She said quietly: "Mr. Keith, you have insulted +me." + +"I do not like kept women, either with or without a license," said he +in the same even, indifferent way. "When you ceased to be a kept woman, +I would help you, if I could. But no one can help a kept woman." + +There was nothing to do but to rise and go away. She rose and went +toward the house. At the veranda she paused. He had not moved. She +returned. He was still inspecting the horizon, the cigarette depending +from his lips--how DID he keep it alight? She said: + +"Mr. Keith, I am sure you did not mean to insult me. What did you mean?" + +"Another of those questions," said he. + +"Honestly, I do not understand." + +"Then think. And when you have thought, you will understand." + +"But I have thought. I do not understand." + +"Then it would be useless to explain," said he. "That is one of those +vital things which, if one cannot understand them for oneself, one is +hopeless--is beyond helping." + +"You mean I am not in earnest about my career?" + +"Another of those questions. If you had not seen clearly what I meant, +you would have been really offended. You'd have gone away and not come +back." + +She saw that this was true. And, seeing, she wondered how she could +have been so stupid as not to have seen it at once. She had yet to +learn that overlooking the obvious is a universal human failing and +that seeing the obvious is the talent and the use of the superior of +earth--the few who dominate and determine the race. + +"You reproach me for not having helped you," he went on. "How does it +happen that you are uneasy in mind--so uneasy that you are quarreling +at me?" + +A light broke upon her. "You have been drawing me on, from the +beginning," she cried. "You have been helping me--making me see that I +needed help." + +"No," said he. "I've been waiting to see whether you would rouse from +your dream of grandeur." + +"YOU have been rousing me." + +"No," he said. "You've roused yourself. So you may be worth helping +or, rather, worth encouraging, for no one can HELP you but yourself." + +She looked at him pathetically. "But what shall I do?" she asked. +"I've got no money, no experience, no sense. I'm a vain, luxury-loving +fool, cursed with a--with a--is it a conscience?" + +"I hope it's something more substantial. I hope it's common sense." + +"But I have been working--honestly I have." + +"Don't begin lying to yourself again." + +"Don't be harsh with me." + +He drew in his legs, in preparation for rising--no doubt to go away. + +"I don't mean that," she cried testily. "You are not harsh with me. +It's the truth that's harsh--the truth I'm beginning to see--and feel. +I am afraid--afraid. I haven't the courage to face it." + +"Why whine?" said he. "There's nothing in that." + +"Do you think there's any hope for me?" + +"That depends," said he. + +"On what?" + +"On what you want." + +"I want to be a singer, a great singer." + +"No, there's no hope." + +She grew cold with despair. He had a way of saying a thing that gave +it the full weight of a verdict from which there was no appeal. + +"Now, if you wanted to make a living," he went on, "and if you were +determined to learn to sing as well as you could, with the idea that +you might be able to make a living--why, then there might be hope." + +"You think I can sing?" + +"I never heard you. Can you?" + +"They say I can." + +"What do YOU say?" + +"I don't know," she confessed. "I've never been able to judge. +Sometimes I think I'm singing well, and I find out afterward that I've +sung badly. Again, it's the other way." + +"Then, obviously, what's the first thing to do?" + +"To learn to judge myself," said she. "I never thought of it +before--how important that is. Do you know Jennings--Eugene Jennings?" + +"The singing teacher? No." + +"Is he a good teacher?" + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"Because he has not taught you that you will never sing until you are +your own teacher. Because he has not taught you that singing is a +small and minor part of a career as a singer." + +"But it isn't," protested she. + +A long silence. Looking at him, she felt that he had dismissed her and +her affairs from his mind. + +"Is it?" she said, to bring him back. + +"What?" asked he vaguely. + +"You said that a singer didn't have to be able to sing." + +"Did I?" He glanced down the shore toward the house. "It feels like +lunch-time." He rose. + +"What did you mean by what you said?" + +"When you have thought about your case a while longer, we'll talk of it +again--if you wish. But until you've thought, talking is a waste of +time." + +She rose, stood staring out to sea. He was observing her, a faint +smile about his lips. He said: + +"Why bother about a career? After all, kept woman is a thoroughly +respectable occupation--or can be made so by any preacher or justice of +the peace. It's followed by many of our best women--those who pride +themselves on their high characters--and on their pride." + +"I could not belong to a man unless I cared for him," said she. "I +tried it once. I shall never do it again." + +"That sounds fine," said he. "Let's go to lunch." + +"You don't believe me?" + +"Do you?" + +She sank down upon the sand and burst into a wild passion of sobs and +tears. When her fight for self-control was over and she looked up to +apologize for her pitiful exhibition of weakness--and to note whether +she had made an impression upon his sympathies--she saw him just +entering the house, a quarter of a mile away. To anger succeeded a +mood of desperate forlornness. She fell upon herself with gloomy +ferocity. She could not sing. She had no brains. She was taking +money--a disgracefully large amount of money--from Stanley Baird under +false pretenses. How could she hope to sing when her voice could not +be relied upon? Was not her throat at that very moment slightly sore? +Was it not always going queer? She--sing! Absurd. Did Stanley Baird +suspect? Was he waiting for the time when she would gladly accept what +she must have from him, on his own terms? No, not on his terms, but on +the terms she herself would arrange--the only terms she could make. No, +Stanley believed in her absolutely--believed in her career. When he +discovered the truth, he would lose interest in her, would regard her +as a poor, worthless creature, would be eager to rid himself of her. +Instead of returning to the house, she went in the opposite direction, +made a circuit and buried herself in the woods beyond the Shrewsbury. +She was mad to get away from her own company; but the only company she +could fly to was more depressing than the solitude and the taunt and +sneer and lash of her own thoughts. It was late in the afternoon +before she nerved herself to go home. She hoped the others would have +gone off somewhere; but they were waiting for her, Stanley anxious and +Cyrilla Brindley irritated. Her eyes sought Keith. He was, as usual, +the indifferent spectator. + +"Where have you been?" cried Stanley. + +"Making up my mind," said she in the tone that forewarns of a storm. + +A brief pause. She struggled in vain against an impulse to look at +Keith. When her eyes turned in his direction he, not looking at her, +moved in his listless way toward the door. Said he: + +"The auto's waiting. Come on." + +She vacillated, yielded, began to put on the wraps Stanley was +collecting for her. It was a big touring-car, and they sat two and +two, with the chauffeur alone. Keith was beside Mildred. When they +were under way, she said: + +"Why did you stop me? Perhaps I'll never have the courage again." + +"Courage for what?" asked he. + +"To take your advice, and break off." + +"MY advice?" + +"Yes, your advice." + +"You have to clutch at and cling to somebody, don't you? You can't +bear the idea of standing up by your own strength." + +"You think I'm trying to fasten to you?" she said, with an angry laugh. + +"I know it. You admitted it. You are not satisfied with the way +things are going. You have doubts about your career. You shrink from +your only comfortable alternative, if the career winks out. You ask me +my opinion about yourself and about careers. I give it. Now, I find +you asked only that you might have someone to lean on, to accuse of +having got you into a mess, if doing what you think you ought to do +turns out as badly as you fear." + +It was the longest speech she had heard him make. She had no +inclination to dispute his analysis of her motives. "I did not realize +it," said she, "but that is probably so. But--remember how I was +brought up." + +"There's only one thing for you to do." + +"Go back to my husband? You know--about me--don't you?" + +"Yes" + +"I can't go back to him." + +"No." + +"Then--what?" she asked. + +"Go on, as now," replied he. + +"You despise me, don't you?" + +"No." + +"But you said you did." + +"Dislike and despise are not at all the same." + +"You admit that you dislike me," cried she triumphantly. He did not +answer. + +"You think me a weak, clinging creature, not able to do anything but +make pretenses." + +No answer. + +"Don't you?" she persisted. + +"Probably I have about the same opinion of you that you have of +yourself." + +"What WILL become of me?" she said. Her face lighted up with an +expression of reckless beauty. "If I could only get started I'd go to +the devil, laughing and dancing--and taking a train with me." + +"You ARE started," said he, with an amiable smile. "Keep on. But I +doubt if you'll be so well amused as you may imagine. Going to the +devil isn't as it's painted in novels by homely old maids and by men +too timid to go out of nights. A few steps farther, and your +disillusionment will begin. But there'll be no turning back. Already, +you are almost too old to make a career." + +"I'm only twenty-four. I flattered myself I looked still younger." + +"It's worse than I thought," said he. "Most of the singers, even the +second-rate ones, began at fifteen--began seriously. And you haven't +begun yet." + +"That's unjust," she protested. "I've done a little. Many great people +would think it a great deal." + +"You haven't begun yet," repeated he calmly. "You have spent a lot of +money, and have done a lot of dreaming and talking and listening to +compliments, and have taken a lot of lessons of an expensive charlatan. +But what have those things to do with a career?" + +"You've never heard me sing." + +"I do not care for singing." + +"Oh!" said she in a tone of relief. "Then you know nothing about all +this." + +"On the contrary, I know everything about a career. And we were talking +of careers, not of singing." + +"You mean that my voice is worthless because I haven't the other +elements?" + +"What else could I have meant?" said he. "You haven't the strength. +You haven't the health." + +She laughed as she straightened herself. "Do I look weak and sickly?" +cried she. + +"For the purposes of a career as a female you are strong and well," +said he. "For the purpose of a career as a singer--" He smiled and +shook his head. "A singer must have muscles like wire ropes, like a +blacksmith or a washerwoman. The other day we were climbing a hill--a +not very steep hill. You stopped five times for breath, and twice you +sat down to rest." + +She was literally hanging her head with shame. "I wasn't very well +that day," she murmured. + +"Don't deceive yourself," said he. "Don't indulge in the fatal folly +of self-excuse." + +"Go on," she said humbly. "I want to hear it all." + +"Is your throat sore to-day?" pursued he. + +She colored. "It's better," she murmured. + +"A singer with sore throat!" mocked he. "You've had a slight fogginess +of the voice all summer." + +"It's this sea air," she eagerly protested. "It affects everyone." + +"No self-excuse, please," interrupted he. "Cigarettes, champagne, all +kinds of foolish food, an impaired digestion--that's the truth, and you +know it." + +"I've got splendid digestion! I can eat anything!" she cried. "Oh, +you don't know the first thing about singing. You don't know about +temperament, about art, about all the things that singing really means." + +"We were talking of careers," said he. "A career means a person who +can be relied upon to do what is demanded of him. A singer's career +means a powerful body, perfect health, a sound digestion. Without +them, the voice will not be reliable. What you need is not singing +teachers, but teachers of athletics and of hygiene. To hear you talk +about a career is like listening to a child. You think you can become +a professional singer by paying money to a teacher. There are lawyers +and doctors and business men in all lines who think that way about +their professions--that learning a little routine of technical +knowledge makes a lawyer or a doctor or a merchant or a financier." + +"Tell me--WHAT ought I to learn?" + +"Learn to think--and to persist. Learn to concentrate. Learn to make +sacrifices. Learn to handle yourself as a great painter handles his +brush and colors. Then perhaps you'll make a career as a singer. If +not, it'll be a career as something or other." + +She was watching him with a wistful, puzzled expression. "Could I ever +do all that?" + +"Anyone could, by working away at it every day. If you gain only one +inch a day, in a year you'll have gained three hundred and sixty-five +inches. And if you gain an inch a day for a while and hold it, you +soon begin to gain a foot a day. But there's no need to worry about +that." He was gazing at her now with an expression of animation that +showed how feverishly alive he was behind that mask of calmness. "The +day's work--that's the story of success. Do the day's work +persistently, thoroughly, intelligently. Never mind about to-morrow. +Thinking of it means dreaming or despairing--both futilities. Just the +day's work." + +"I begin to understand," she said thoughtfully. "You are right. I've +done nothing. Oh, I've been a fool--more foolish even than I thought." + +A long silence, then she said, somewhat embarrassed and in a low voice, +though there was no danger of those in front of them hearing: + +"I want you to know that there has been nothing wrong--between Stanley +and me." + +"Do you wish me to put that to your credit or to your discredit?" +inquired he. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, you've just told me that you haven't given Stanley anything at +all for his money--that you've cheated him outright. The thing itself +is discreditable, but your tone suggests that you think I'll admire you +for it." + +"Do you mean to say that you'd think more highly of me if I were--what +most women would be in the same circumstances?" + +"I mean to say that I think the whole business is discreditable to both +of you--to his intelligence, to your character." + +"You are frank," said she, trying to hide her anger. + +"I am frank," replied he, undisturbed. He looked at her. "Why should +I not be?" + +"You know that I need you, that I don't dare resent," said she. "So +isn't it--a little cowardly?" + +"Why do you need me? Not for money, for you know you'll not get that." + +"I don't want it," cried she, agitated. "I never thought of it." + +"Yes, you've probably thought of it," replied he coolly. "But you will +not get it." + +"Well, that's settled--I'll not get it." + +"Then why do you need me? Of what use can I be to you? Only one use +in the world. To tell you the truth--the exact truth. Is not that so?" + +"Yes," she said. "That is what I want from you--what I can't get from +anyone else. No one else knows the truth--not even Mrs. Brindley, +though she's intelligent. I take back what I said about your being +cowardly. Oh, you do stab my vanity so! You mustn't mind my crying +out. I can't help it--at least, not till I get used to you." + +"Cry out," said he. "It does no harm." + +"How wonderfully you understand me!" exclaimed she. "That's why I let +you say to me anything you please." + +He was smiling peculiarly--a smile that somehow made her feel +uncomfortable. She nerved herself for some still deeper stab into her +vanity. He said, his gaze upon her and ironical: + +"I'm sorry I can't return the compliment." + +"What compliment?" asked she. + +"Can't say that you understand me. Why do you think I am doing this?" + +She colored. "Oh, no indeed, Mr. Keith," she protested, "I don't think +you are in love with me--or anything of that sort. Indeed, I do not. I +know you better than that." + +"Really?" said he, amused. "Then you are not human." + +"How can you think me so vain?" she protested. + +"Because you are so," replied he. "You are as vain--no more so, but +just as much so--as the average pretty and attractive woman brought up +as you have been. You are not obsessed by the notion that your +physical charms are all-powerful, and in that fact there is hope for +you. But you attach entirely too much importance to them. You will +find them a hindrance for a long time before they begin to be a help to +you in your career. And they will always be a temptation to you to +take the easy, stupid way of making a living--the only way open to most +women that is not positively repulsive." + +"I think it is the most repulsive," said Mildred. + +"Don't cant," replied he, unimpressed. "It's not so repulsive to your +sort of woman as manual labor--or as any kind of work that means no +leisure, no luxury and small pay." + +"I wonder," said Mildred. "I--I'm afraid you're right. But I WON'T +admit it. I don't dare." + +"That's the finest, truest thing I've ever heard you say," said Keith. + +Mildred was pleased out of all proportion to the compliment. Said she +with frank eagerness, "Then I'm not altogether hopeless?" + +"As a character, no indeed," replied he. "But as a career-- I was +about to say, you may set your mind at rest. I shall never try to +collect for my services. I am doing all this solely out of obstinacy." + +"Obstinacy?" asked the puzzled girl. + +"The impossible attracts me. That's why I've never been interested to +make a career in law or politics or those things. I care only for the +thing that can't be done. When I saw you and studied you, as I study +every new thing, I decided that you could not possibly make a career." + +"Why have you changed your mind?" she interrupted eagerly. + +"I haven't," replied he. "If I had, I should have lost interest in +you. Just as soon as you show signs of making a career, I shall lose +interest in you. I have a friend, a doctor, who will take only cases +where cure is impossible. Looking at you, it occurred to me that here +was a chance to make an experiment more interesting than any of his. +And as I have no other impossible task inviting me at present, I +decided to undertake you--if you were willing." + +"Why do you tell me this?" she asked. "To discourage me?" + +"No. Your vanity will prevent that." + +"Then why?" + +"To clear myself of all responsibility for you. You understand--I bind +myself to nothing. I am free to stop or to go on at any time." + +"And I?" said Mildred. + +"You must do exactly as I tell you." + +"But that is not fair," cried she. + +"Why not?" inquired he. "Without me you have no hope--none whatever." + +"I don't believe that," declared she. "It is not true." + +"Very well. Then we'll drop the business," said he tranquilly. "If +the time comes when you see that I'm your only hope, and if then I'm in +my present humor, we will go on." + +And he lapsed into silence from which she soon gave over trying to +rouse him. She thought of what he had said, studied him, but could +make nothing of it. She let four days go by, days of increasing unrest +and unhappiness. She could not account for herself. Donald Keith +seemed to have cast a spell over her--an evil spell. Her throat gave +her more and more trouble. She tried her voice, found that it had +vanished. She examined herself in the glass, and saw or fancied that +her looks were going--not so that others would note it, but in the +subtle ways that give the first alarm to a woman who has beauty worth +taking care of and thinks about it intelligently. She thought Mrs. +Brindley was beginning to doubt her, suspected a covert uneasiness in +Stanley. Her foundations, such as they were, seemed tottering and +ready to disintegrate. She saw her own past with clear vision for the +first time--saw how futile she had been, and why Keith believed there +was no hope for her. She made desperate efforts to stop thinking about +past and future, to absorb herself in present comfort and luxury and +opportunities for enjoyment. But Keith was always there--and to see +him was to lose all capacity for enjoyment. She was curt, almost rude +to him--had some vague idea of forcing him to stay away. Yet every +time she lost sight of him, she was in terror until she saw him again. + +She was alone on the small veranda facing the high-road. She happened +to glance toward the station; her gaze became fixed, her body rigid, +for, coming leisurely and pompously toward the house, was General +Siddall, in the full panoply of his wonderful tailoring and +haberdashery. She thought of flight, but instantly knew that flight +was useless; the little general was not there by accident. She waited, +her rigidity giving her a deceptive seeming of calm and even ease. He +entered the little yard, taking off his glossy hat and exposing the +rampant toupee. He smiled at her so slightly that the angle of the +needle-pointed mustaches and imperial was not changed. The cold, +expressionless, fishy eyes simply looked at her. + +"A delightful little house," said he, with a patronizing glance around. +"May I sit down?" + +She inclined her head. + +"And you are looking well, charming," he went on, and he seated himself +and carefully planted his neat boots side by side. "For the summer +there's nothing equal to the seashore. You are surprised to see me?" + +"I thought you were abroad," said Mildred. + +"So I was--until yesterday. I came back because my men had found you. +And I'm here because I venture to hope that you have had enough of this +foolish escapade. I hope we can come to an understanding. I've lost my +taste for wandering about. I wish to settle down--to have a home and +to stay in it. By that I mean, of course, two or three--or possibly +four--houses, according to the season." Mildred sent her glance +darting about. The little general saw and began to talk more rapidly. +"I've given considerable thought to our--our misunderstanding. I feel +that I gave too much importance to your--your-- I did not take your +youth and inexperience of the world and of married life sufficiently +into account. Also the first Mrs. Siddall was not a lady--nor the +second. A lady, a young lady, was a new experience to me. I am a +generous man. So I say frankly that I ought to have been more patient." + +"You said you would never see me again until I came to you," said +Mildred. As he was not looking at her, she watched his face. She now +saw a change--behind the mask. But he went on in an unchanged voice: + +"Were you aware that Mrs. Baird is about to sue her husband for a +separation--not for a divorce but for a separation--and name you?" + +Mildred dropped limply back in her chair. + +"That means scandal," continued Siddall, "scandal touching my name--my +honor. I may say, I do not believe what Mrs. Baird charges. My men +have had you under observation for several weeks. Also, Mrs. Brindley +is, I learn, a woman of the highest character. But the thing looks +bad--you hiding from your husband, living under an assumed name, +receiving the visits of a former admirer." + +"You are mistaken," said Mildred. "Mrs. Baird would not bring such a +false, wicked charge." + +"You are innocent, my dear," said the general. + +"You don't realize how your conduct looks. She intends to charge that +her husband has been supporting you." + +Mildred, quivering, started up, sank weakly back again. + +"But," he went on, "you will easily prove that your money is your +inheritance from your father. I assured myself of that before I +consented to come here." + +"Consented?" said Mildred. "At whose request?" + +"That of my own generosity," replied he. "But my honor had to be +reassured. When I was satisfied that you were innocent, and simply +flighty and foolish, I came. If there had been any taint upon you, of +course I could not have taken you back. As it is, I am willing--I may +say, more than willing. Mrs. Baird can be bought off and frightened +off. When she finds you have me to protect you, she will move very +cautiously, you may be sure." + +As the little man talked, Mildred saw and felt behind the mask the +thoughts, the longings of his physical infatuation for her coiling and +uncoiling and reaching tremulously out toward her like unclean, +horrible tentacles. She was drawn as far as could be back into her +chair, and her soul was shrinking within her body. + +"I am willing to make you a proper allowance, and to give you all +proper freedom," he went on. He showed his sharp white teeth in a +gracious smile. "I realize I must concede something of my +old-fashioned ideas to the modern spirit. I never thought I would, but +I didn't appreciate how fond I was of you, my dear." He mumbled his +tongue and noiselessly smacked his thin lips. "Yes, you are worth +concessions and sacrifices." + +"I am not going back," said Mildred. "Nothing you could offer me would +make any difference." She felt suddenly calm and strong. She stood. +"Please consider this final." + +"But, my dear," said the general softly, though there was a wicked +gleam behind the mask, "you forget the scandal--" + +"I forget nothing," interrupted she. "I shall not go back." + +Before he could attempt further to detain her she opened the screen +door and entered. It closed on the spring and on the spring lock. + +Donald Keith, coming in from the sea-front veranda, was just in time to +save her from falling. She pushed him fiercely away and sank down on +the sofa just within the pretty little drawing-room. She said: + +"Thank you. I didn't mean to be rude. I was only angry with myself. +I'm getting to be one of those absurd females who blubber and keel +over." + +"You're white and limp," said he. "What's the matter?" + +"General Siddall is out there." + +"Um--he's come back, has he?" said Keith. + +"And I am afraid of him--horribly afraid of him." + +"In some places and circumstances he would be a dangerous proposition," +said Keith. "But not here in the East--and not to you." + +"He would do ANYTHING. I don't know what he can do, but I am sure it +will be frightful--will destroy me." + +"You are going with him?" + +She laughed. "I loathe him. I thought I left him through fear and +anger. I was mistaken. It was loathing. And my fear of him--it's +loathing, too." + +"You mean that?" said Keith, observing her intently. "You wish to be +rid of him?" + +"What a poor opinion you have of me," said she. "Really, I don't +deserve quite that." + +"Then come with me." + +The look of terror and shrinking returned. "Where? To see him?" + +"For the last time," said Keith. "There'll be no scene." + +It was the supreme test of her confidence in him. Without hesitation, +she rose, preceded him into the hall, and advanced firmly toward the +screen door through which the little general could be seen. He was +standing at the top step, his back to them. At the sound of the +opening door he turned. + +"This is Mr. Donald Keith," said Mildred. "He wishes to speak to you." + +The general bowed; Keith bent his head. They eyed each other with the +measuring glance. Keith said in his dry, terse way: "I asked Miss +Gower to come with me because I wish her to hear what I have to say to +you." + +"You mean my wife," said the general with a gracious smile. + +"I mean Miss Gower," returned Keith. "As you know, she is not your +wife." + +Mildred uttered a cry; but the two men continued to look each at the +other, with impassive countenances. + +"Your only wife is the woman who has been in the private insane asylum +of Doctor Rivers at Pueblo, Colorado, for the past eleven years. For +about twenty years before that she was in the Delavan private asylum +near Denver. You could not divorce her under the laws of Colorado. The +divorce you got in Nevada was fraudulent." + +"That's a lie," said the general coldly. + +Keith went on, as if he had not heard: "You will not annoy this lady +again. And you will stop bribing Stanley Baird's wife to make a fool +of herself. And you will stop buying houses in the blocks where Baird +owns real estate, and moving colored families into them." + +"I tell you that about my divorce is a lie," replied Siddall. + +"I can prove it," said Keith. "And I can prove that you knew it before +you married your second wife." + +For the first time Siddall betrayed at the surface a hint of how hard +he was hit. His skin grew bright yellow; wrinkles round his eyes and +round the base of his nose sprang into sudden prominence. + +"I see you know what I mean--that attempt to falsify the record at +Carson City," said Keith. He opened the screen door for Mildred to +pass in. He followed her, and the door closed behind them. They went +into the drawing-room. He dropped into an easy chair, crossed his +legs, leaned his head back indolently--a favorite attitude of his. + +"How long have you known?" said she. Her cheeks were flushed with +excitement. + +"Oh, a good many years," replied he. "It was one of those accidental +bits of information a man runs across in knocking about. As soon as +Baird told me about you, I had the thing looked up, quietly. I was +going up to see him to-morrow--about the negroes and Mrs. Baird's suit." + +"Does Stanley know?" inquired she. + +"No," said Keith. "Not necessary. Never will be. If you like, you +can have the marriage annulled without notoriety. But that's not +necessary, either." + +After a long silence, she said: "What does this make out of me?" + +"You mean, what would be thought of you, if it were known?" inquired +he. "Well, it probably wouldn't improve your social position." + +"I am disgraced," said she, curiously rather than emotionally. + +"Would be, if it were known," corrected he, "and if you are nothing but +a woman without money looking for a husband. If you happened to be a +singer or an actress, it would add to your reputation--make you more +talked about." + +"But I am not an actress or a singer." + +"On the other hand, I should say you didn't amount to much socially. +Except in Hanging Rock, of course--if there is still a Hanging Rock. +Don't worry about your reputation. Fussing and fretting about your +social position doesn't help toward a career." + +"Naturally, you take it coolly. But you can hardly expect me to," +cried she. + +"You are taking it coolly," said he. "Then why try to work yourself up +into a fit of hysterics? The thing is of no importance--except that +you're free now--will never be bothered by Siddall again. You ought to +thank me, and forget it. Don't be one of the little people who are +forever agitating about trifles." + +Trifles! To speak of such things as trifles! And yet-- Well, what +did they actually amount to in her life? "Yes, I AM free," she said +thoughtfully. "I've got what I wanted--got it in the easiest way +possible." + +"That's better," said he approvingly. + +"And I've burnt my bridges behind me," pursued she. "There's nothing +for me now but to go ahead." + +"Which road?" inquired he carelessly. + +"The career," cried she. "There's no other for me. Of course I COULD +marry Stanley, when he's free, as he would be before very long, if I +suggested it. Yes, I could marry him." + +"Could you?" observed he. + +"Doesn't he love me?" + +"Undoubtedly." + +"Then why do you say he would not marry me?" demanded she. + +"Did I say that?" + +"You insinuated it. You suggested that there was a doubt." + +"Then, there is no doubt?" + +"Yes, there is," she cried angrily. "You won't let me enjoy the least +bit of a delusion. He might marry me if I were famous. But as I am +now-- He's an inbred snob. He can't help it. He simply couldn't +marry a woman in my position. But you're overlooking one thing--that +_I_ would not marry HIM." + +"That's unimportant, if true," said Keith. + +"You don't believe it?" + +"I don't care anything about it, my dear lady," said Keith. "Have you +got time to waste in thinking about how much I am in love with you? +What a womanly woman you are, to be sure. Your true woman, you know, +never thinks of anything but love--not how much she loves, but how much +she is loved." + +"Be careful!" she warned. "Some day you'll go too far in saying +outrageous things to me." + +"And then?" said he smilingly. + +"You care nothing for our friendship?" + +"The experiment is the only interest I have in you," replied he. + +"That is not true," said she. "You have always liked me. That's why +you looked up my hus-- General Siddall and got ready for him. That's +why you saved me to-day. You are a very tender-hearted and generous +man--and you hide it as you do everything else about yourself." + +He was looking off into space from the depths of the easy chair, a +mocking smile on his classical, impassive face. + +"What puzzles me," she went on, "is why you interest yourself in as +vain and shallow and vacillating a woman as I am. You don't care for +my looks--and that's all there is to me." + +"Don't pause to be contradicted," said he. + +She was in a fine humor now. "You might at least have said I was up to +the female average, for I am. What have they got to offer a man but +their looks? Do you know why I despise men?" + +"Do you?" + +"I do. And it's because they put up with women as much as they +do--spend so much money on them, listen to their chatter, admire their +ridiculous clothes. Oh, I understand why. I've learned that. And I +can imagine myself putting up with anything in some one man I happened +to fancy strongly. But men are foolish about the whole sex--or all of +them that have a shadow of a claim to good looks." + +"Yes, the men make fools of themselves," admitted he. "But I notice +that the men manage somehow to make the careers, and hold on to the +money and the power, while the women have to wheedle and fawn and +submit in order to get what they want from the men. There's nothing to +be said for your sex. It's been hopelessly corrupted by mine. For all +the talk about the influence of woman, what impression has your sex +made upon mine? And your sex--it has been made by mine into exactly +what we wished it to be. Take my advice, get out of your sex. Abandon +it, and make a career." + +After a while she recalled with a start the events of less than an hour +ago--events that ought to have seemed wildly exciting, arousing the +deepest and strongest emotions. Yet they had made no impression upon +her. Absolutely none. She had no horror in the thought that she had +been the victim of a bigamist; she had no elation over her release into +freedom and safety. She wondered whether this arose from utter +frivolousness or from indifference to the trifles of conventional joys, +sorrows, agitations, excitements which are the whole life of most +people--that indifference which is the cause of the general opinion +that men and women who make careers are usually hardened in the process. + +As she lay awake that night--she had got a very bad habit of lying +awake hour after hour--she suddenly came to a decision. But she did +not tell Keith for several days. She did it in this way: + +"Don't you think I'm looking better?" she asked. + +"You're sleeping again," said he. + +"Do you know why? Because my mind's at rest. I've decided to accept +your offer." + +"And my terms?" said he, apparently not interested by her announcement. + +"And your terms," assented she. "You are free to stop whenever the +whim strikes you; I must do exactly as you bid. What do you wish me to +do?" + +"Nothing at present," replied he. "I will let you know." + +She was disappointed. She had assumed that something--something new +and interesting, probably irritating, perhaps enraging, would occur at +once. His indifference, his putting off to a future time, which his +manner made seem most hazily indefinite, gave her the foolish and +collapsing sense of having broken through an open door. + + + +VII + +THE first of September they went up to town. Stanley left at once for +his annual shooting trip; Donald Keith disappeared, saying--as was his +habit--neither what he was about nor when he would be seen again. Mrs. +Brindley summoned her pupils and her musical friends. Mildred resumed +the lessons with Jennings. There was no doubt about it, she had +astonishingly improved during the summer. There had come--or, rather, +had come back--into her voice the birdlike quality, free, joyous, +spontaneous, that had not been there since her father's death and the +family's downfall. She was glad that her arrangement with Donald Keith +was of such a nature that she was really not bound to go on with it--if +he should ever come back and remind her of what she had said. Now that +Jennings was enthusiastic--giving just and deserved praise, as her own +ear and Mrs. Brindley assured her, she was angry at herself for having +tolerated Keith's frankness, his insolence, his insulting and +contemptuous denials of her ability. She was impatient to see him, +that she might put him down. She said to Jennings: + +"You think I can make a career?" + +"There isn't a doubt in my mind now," replied he. "You ought to be one +of the few great lyric sopranos within five years." + +"A man, this summer--a really unusual man in some ways--told me there +was no hope for me." + +"A singing teacher?" + +"No, a lawyer. A Mr. Keith--Donald Keith." + +"I've heard of him," said Jennings. "His mother was Rivi, the famous +coloratura of twenty years ago." + +Mildred was astounded. "He must know something about music." + +"Probably," replied Jennings. "He lived with her in Italy, I believe, +until he was almost grown. Then she died. You sang for him?" + +"No," Mildred said it hesitatingly. + +"Oh!" said Jennings, and his expression--interested, disturbed, +puzzled--made Mildred understand why she had been so reluctant to +confess. Jennings did not pursue the subject, but abruptly began the +lesson. That day and several days thereafter he put her to tests he +had never used before. She saw that he was searching for +something--for the flaw implied in the adverse verdict of the son of +Lucia Rivi. She was enormously relieved when he gave over the search +without having found the flaw. She felt that Donald Keith's verdict +had been proved false or at least faulty. Yet she was not wholly +reassured, and from time to time she suspected that Jennings had not +been, either. + +Soon the gayety of the preceding winter and spring was in full swing +again. Keith did not return, did not write, and Cyrilla Brindley +inquired and telephoned in vain. Mildred worked with enthusiasm, with +hope, presently with confidence. She hoped every day that Keith would +come; she would make him listen to her, force him to admit. She caught +a slight cold, neglected it, tried to sing it away. Her voice left her +abruptly. She went to Jennings as usual the day she found herself able +to do nothing more musical than squeak. She told him her plight. Said +he: + +"Begin! Let's hear." + +She made a few dismal attempts, stopped short, and, half laughing, half +ashamed, faced him for the lecture she knew would be forthcoming. Now, +it so happened that Jennings was in a frightful humor that day--one of +those humors in which the most prudent lose their self-control. He had +been listening to a succession of new pupils--women with money and no +voice, women who screeched and screamed and thoroughly enjoyed +themselves and angled confidently for compliments. As Jennings had an +acute musical ear, his sufferings had been frightful. He was used to +these torments, had the habit of turning the fury into which they put +him into excellent financial or disciplinary account. But on this +particular day his nerves went to pieces, and it was with Mildred that +the explosion came. When she looked at him, she was horrified to see a +face distorted and discolored by sheer rage. + +"You fool!" he shouted, storming up and down. "You fool! You can't +sing! Keith was right. You wouldn't do even for a church choir. You +can't be relied on. There's nothing behind your voice--no strength, no +endurance, no brains. No brains! Do you hear?--no brains, I say!" + +Mildred was terrified. She had seen him in tantrums before, but always +there had been a judicious reserving of part of the truth. Instead of +resenting, instead of flashing eye or quivering lips, Mildred sat down +and with white face and dazed eyes stared straight before her. Jennings +raved and roared himself out. As he came to his senses from this +debauch of truth-telling his first thought was how expensive it might +be. Thus, long before there was any outward sign that the storm had +passed, the ravings, the insults were shrewdly tempered with +qualifyings. If she kept on catching these colds, if she did not obey +his instructions, she might put off her debut for years--for three +years, for two years at least. And she would always be rowing with +managers and irritating the public--and so on and on. But the mischief +had been done. The girl did not rouse. + +"No use to go on to-day," he said gruffly--the pretense at last +rumblings of an expiring storm. + +"Nor any other day," said Mildred. + +She stood and straightened herself. Her face was beautiful rather than +lovely. Its pallor, its strong lines, the melancholy intensity of the +eyes, made her seem more the woman fully developed, less, far less, the +maturing girl. + +"Nonsense!" scolded Jennings. "But no more colds like that. They +impair the quality of the voice." + +"I have no voice," said the girl. "I see the truth." + +Jennings was inwardly cursing his insane temper. In about the kindliest +tone he had ever used with her, he said: "My dear Miss Stevens, you +are in no condition to judge to-day. Come back to-morrow. Do +something for that cold to-night. Clear out the throat--and come back +to-morrow. You will see." + +"Yes, I know those tricks," said she, with a sad little smile. "You +can make a crow seem to sing. But you told me the truth." + +"To-morrow," he cried pleasantly, giving her an encouraging pat on the +shoulder. He knew the folly of talking too much, the danger of +confirming her fears by pretending to make light of them. "A good +sleep, and to-morrow things will look brighter." + +He did not like her expression. It was not the one he was used to +seeing in those vain, "temperamental" pupils of his--the downcast +vanity that will be up again in a few hours. It was rather the +expression of one who has been finally and forever disillusioned. + +On her way home she stopped to send Keith a telegram: "I must see you +at once." + +There were several at the apartment for tea, among them Cullan, an +amateur violinist and critic on music whom she especially liked. For, +instead of the dreamy, romantic character his large brown eyes and +sensitive features suggested, he revealed in talk and actions a boyish +gayety--free, be it said, from boyish silliness--that was most +infectious. His was one of those souls that put us in the mood to +laugh at all seriousness, to forget all else in the supreme fact of the +reality of existence. He made her forget that day--forget until +Keith's answering telegram interrupted: "Next Monday afternoon." + +A week less a day away! She shrank and trembled at the prospect of +relying upon herself alone for six long days. Every prop had been +taken away from her. Even the dubious prop of the strange, +unsatisfactory Keith. For had he not failed her? She had said, "must" +and "at once"; and he had responded with three words of curt refusal. + +After dinner Stanley unexpectedly appeared. He hardly waited for the +necessary formalities of the greeting before he said to Mrs. Brindley: +"I want to see Mildred alone. I know you won't mind, Mrs. Brindley. +It's very important." He laughed nervously but cheerfully. "And in a +few minutes I'll call you in. I think I'll have something interesting +to tell you." + +Mrs. Brindley laughed. With her cigarette in one hand and her cup of +after-dinner coffee in the other, she moved toward the door, saying +gayly to Mildred: + +"I'll be in the next room. If you scream I shall hear. So don't be +alarmed." + +Stanley closed the door, turned beaming upon Mildred. Said he: "Here's +my news. My missus has got her divorce." + +Mildred started up. + +"Yes, the real thing," he assured her. "Of course I knew what was +doing. But I kept mum--didn't want to say anything to you till I could +say everything. Mildred, I'm free. We can be married to-morrow, if you +will." + +"Then you know about me?" said she, confused. + +"On the way I stopped in to see Keith. He told me about that +skunk--told me you were free, too." + +Mildred slowly sat down. Her elbows rested upon the table. There was +her bare forearm, slender and round, and her long, graceful fingers lay +against her cheek. The light from above reflected charmingly from the +soft waves and curves of her hair. "You're lovely--simply lovely!" +cried Stanley. "Mildred--darling--you WILL marry me, won't you? You +can go right on with the career, if you like. In fact, I'd rather you +would, for I'm frightfully proud of your voice. And I've changed a lot +since I became sincerely interested in you. The other sort of life and +people don't amuse me any more. Mildred, say you'll marry me. I'll +make you as happy as the days are long." + +She moved slightly. Her hand dropped to the table. + +"I guess I came down on you too suddenly," said he. "You look a bit +dazed." + +"No, I'm not dazed," replied she. + +"I'll call Mrs. Brindley in, and we'll all three talk it over." + +"Please don't," said she. "I've got to think it out for myself." + +"I know there isn't anyone else," he went on. "So, I'm sure--dead +sure, Mildred, that I can teach you to love me." + +She looked at him pleadingly. "I don't have to answer right away?" + +"Certainly not," laughed he. "But why shouldn't you? What is there +against our getting married? Nothing. And everything for it. Our +marriage will straighten out all the--the little difficulties, and you +can go ahead with the singing and not bother about money, or what +people might say, or any of those things." + +"I--I've got to think about it, Stanley," she said gently. "I want to +do the decent thing by you and by myself." + +"You're afraid I'll interfere in the career--won't want you to go on? +Mildred, I swear I'm--" + +"It isn't that," she interrupted, her color high. "The truth is--" she +faltered, came to a full stop--cried, "Oh, I can't talk about it +to-night." + +"To-morrow?" he suggested. + +"I--don't know," she stammered. "Perhaps to-morrow. But it may be two +or three days." + +Stanley looked crestfallen. "That hurts, Mildred," he said. "I was SO +full of it, so anxious to be entirely happy, and I thought you'd fall +right in with it. Something to do with money? You're horribly +sensitive about money, dear. I like that in you, of course. Not many +women would have been as square, would have taken as little--and worked +hard--and thought and cared about nothing but making good-- By Jove, +it's no wonder I'm stark crazy about YOU!" + +She was flushed and trembling. "Don't," she pleaded. "You're beating +me down into the dust. I--I'm--" She started up. "I can't talk +to-night. I might say things I'd be-- I can't talk about it. I must--" + +She pressed her lips together and fled through the hall to her own +room, to shut and lock herself in. He stared in amazement. When he +heard the distant sound of the turning key he dropped to a chair again +and laughed. Certainly women were queer creatures--always doing what +one didn't expect. Still, in the end--well, a sensible woman knew a +good chance to marry and took it. There was no doubt a good deal of +pretense in Mildred's delicacy as to money matters--but a devilish +creditable sort of pretense. He liked the ladylike, "nice" pretenses, +of women of the right sort--liked them when they fooled him, liked them +when they only half fooled him. + +Presently he knocked on the door of the little library, opened it when +permission came in Cyrilla's voice. She was reading the evening +paper--he did not see the glasses she hastily thrust into a drawer. In +that soft light she looked a scant thirty, handsome, but for his taste +too intellectual of type to be attractive--except as a friend. + +"Well," said he, as he lit a cigarette and dropped the match into the +big copper ash-bowl, "I'll bet you can't guess what I've been up to." + +"Making love to Miss Stevens," replied she. "And very foolish it is of +you. She's got a steady head in that way." + +"You're mighty right," said he heartily. "And I admire her for that +more than for anything else. I'd trust her anywhere." + +"You're paying yourself a high compliment," laughed Cyrilla. + +"How's that?" inquired he. "You're too subtle for me. I'm a bit slow." + +Mrs. Brindley decided against explaining. It was not wise to risk +raising an unjust doubt in the mind of a man who fancied that a woman +who resisted him would be adamant to every other man. "Then I've got +to guess again?" said she. + +"I've been asking her to marry me," said Stanley, who could contain it +no longer. "Mrs. B. was released from me to-day by the court in +Providence." + +"But SHE'S not free," said Cyrilla, a little severely. + +Stanley looked confused, finally said: "Yes, she is. It's a queer +story. Don't say anything. I can't explain. I know I can trust you +to keep a close mouth." + +"Minding my own business is my one supreme talent," said Cyrilla. + +"She hasn't accepted me--in so many words," pursued Baird, "but I've +hopes that it'll come out all right." + +"Naturally," commented Cyrilla dryly. + +"I know I'm not--not objectionable to her. And how I do love her!" He +settled himself at his ease. "I can't believe it's really me. I never +thought I'd marry--just for love. Did you?" + +"You're very self-indulgent," said Cyrilla. + +"You mean I'm marrying her because I can't get her any other way. +There's where you're wrong, Mrs. Brindley. I'm marrying her because I +don't want her any other way. That's why I know it's love. I didn't +think I was capable of it. Of course, I've been rather strong after +the ladies all my life. You know how it is with men." + +"I do," said Mrs. Brindley. + +"No, you don't either," retorted he. "You're one of those cold, +stand-me-off women who can't comprehend the nature of man." + +"As you please," said she. In her eyes there was a gleam that more +than suggested a possibility of some man--some man she might +fancy--seeing an amazingly different Cyrilla Brindley. + +"I may say I was daft about pretty women," continued Baird. "I never +read an item about a pretty woman in the papers, or saw a picture of a +pretty woman that I didn't wish I knew her--well. Can you imagine +that?" laughed he. + +"Commonplace," said Cyrilla. "All men are so. That's why the papers +always describe the woman as pretty and why the pictures are published." + +"Really? Yes, I suppose so." Baird looked chagrined. "Anyhow, here I +am, all for one woman. And why? I can't explain it to myself. She's +pretty, lovely, entrancing sometimes. She has charm, grace, sweetness. +She dresses well and carries herself with a kind of sweet haughtiness. +She looks as if she knew a lot--and nothing bad. Do you know, I can't +imagine her having been married to that beast! I've tried to imagine +it. I simply can't." + +"I shouldn't try if I were you," said Mrs. Brindley. + +"But I was talking about why I love her. Does this bore you?" + +"A little," laughed Cyrilla. "I'd rather hear some man talking about +MY charms. But go on. You are amusing, in a way." + +"I'll wager I am. You never thought I'd be caught? I believed I was +immune--vaccinated against it. I thought I knew all the tricks and +turns of the sex. Yet here I am!" + +"What do you think caught you?" + +"That's the mystery. It's simply that I can't do without her. +Everything she looks and says and does interests me more than anything +else in the world. And when I'm not with her I'm wishing I were and +wondering how she's looking or what she's saying or doing. You don't +think she'll refuse me?" This last with real anxiety. + +"I haven't an idea," replied Mrs. Brindley. "She's--peculiar. In some +moods she would. In others, she couldn't. And I've never been able to +settle to my satisfaction which kind of mood was the real Mary Stevens." + +"She IS queer, isn't she?" said Stanley thoughtfully. "But I've told +her she'd be free to go on with the career. Fact is, I want her to do +it." + +Mrs. Brindley's eyes twinkled. "You think it would justify you to your +set in marrying her, if she made a great hit?" + +Stanley blushed ingenuously. "I'll not deny that has something to do +with it," he admitted. "And why not?" + +"Why not, indeed?" said she. "But, after she had made the hit, you'd +want her to quit the stage and take her place in society. Isn't that +so?" + +"You ARE a keen one," exclaimed he admiringly. "But I didn't say that +to her. And you won't, will you?" + +"It's hardly necessary to ask that," said Mrs. Brindley. "Now, +suppose-- You don't mind my talking about this?" + +"What I want," replied he. "I can't talk or think anything but her." + +"Now, suppose she shouldn't make a hit. Suppose she should +fail--should not develop reliable voice enough?" + +Stanley looked frightened. "But she can't fail," he cried with +over-energy. "There's no question about her voice." + +"I understand," Mrs. Brindley hastened to say. "I was simply making +conversation with her as the subject." + +"Oh, I see." Stanley settled back. + +"Suppose she should prove not to be a great artist--what then?" +persisted Cyrilla, who was deeply interested in the intricate obscure +problem of what people really thought as distinguished from what they +professed and also from what they imagined they thought. + +"The fact that she's a great artist--that's part of her," said Baird. +"If she weren't a great singer, she wouldn't be she--don't you see?" + +"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Brindley with an ironic sadness which she +indulged openly because there was no danger of his understanding. + +"I don't exactly love her because she amounts to a lot--or is sure to," +pursued he, vaguely dissatisfied with himself. "It's just as she +doesn't care for me because I've got the means to take care of her +right, yet that's part of me--and she'd not be able to marry me if I +hadn't. Don't you see?" + +"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Brindley with more irony and less sadness. +"There's always SOME reason beside love." + +"I'd say there's always some reason FOR love," said Baird, and he felt +that he had said something brilliant--as is the habit of people of +sluggish mentality when they say a thing they do not themselves +understand. "You don't doubt that I love her?" he went on. "Why should +I ask her to marry me if I didn't?" + +"I suppose that settles it," said Cyrilla. + +"Of course it does," declared he. + +For an hour he sat there, talking on, most of it a pretty dull kind of +drivel. Mrs. Brindley listened patiently, because she liked him and +because she had nothing else to do until bedtime. At last he rose with +a long sigh and said: + +"I guess I might as well be going." + +"She'll not come in to-night again," said Cyrilla slyly. + +He laughed. "You are a good one. I'll own up, I've been staying on +partly in the hope that she'd come back. But it's been a great joy to +talk to you about her. I know you love her, too." + +"Yes, I'm extremely fond of her," said she. "I've not known many +women--many people without petty mean tricks. She's one." + +"Isn't she, though?" exclaimed he. + +"I don't mean she's perfect," said Mrs. Brindley. "I don't even mean +that she's as angelic as you think her. I'd not like her, if she were. +But she's a superior kind of human." + +She was tired of him now, and got him out speedily. As she closed the +front door upon him, Mildred's door, down the hall, opened. Her head +appeared, an inquiring look upon her face. Mrs. Brindley nodded. +Mildred, her hair done close to her head, a dressing-robe over her +nightgown and her bare feet in little slippers, came down the hall. She +coiled herself up in a big chair in the library and lit a cigarette. +She looked like a handsome young boy. + +"He told you?" she said to Mrs. Brindley. + +"Yes," replied Cyrilla. + +Silence. In all their intimate acquaintance there had never been an +approach to the confidential on either side. It was Cyrilla's notion +that confidences were a mistake, and that the more closely people were +thrown together the more resolutely they ought to keep certain barriers +between them. She and Mildred got on too admirably, liked each other +too well, for there to be any trifling with their relations--and +over-intimacy inevitably led to trifling. Mildred had restrained +herself because Mrs. Brindley had compelled it by rigid example. Often +she had longed to talk things over, to ask advice; but she had never +ventured further than generalities, and Mrs. Brindley had never +proffered advice, had never accepted opportunities to give it except in +the vaguest way. She had taught Mildred a great deal, but always by +example, by doing, never by saying what ought or ought not to be done. +Thus, such development of Mildred's character as there had been was +natural and permanent. + +"He has put me in a peculiar position," said Mildred. "Or, rather, I +have let myself drift into a peculiar position. For I think you're +right in saying that oneself is always to blame. Won't you let me talk +about it to you, please? I know you hate confidences. But I've got +to--to talk. I'd like you to advise me, if you can. But even if you +don't, it'll do me good to say things aloud." + +"Often one sees more clearly," was Cyrilla's reply--noncommittal, yet +not discouraging. + +"I'm free to marry him," Mildred went on. "That is, I'm not married. +I'd rather not explain--" + +"Don't," said Mrs. Brindley. "It's unnecessary." + +"You know that it's Stanley who has been lending me the money to live +on while I study. Well, from the beginning I've been afraid I'd find +myself in a difficult position." + +"Naturally," said Mrs. Brindley, as she paused. + +"But I've always expected it to come in another way--not about +marriage, but--" + +"I understand," said Mrs. Brindley. "You feared you'd be called on to +pay in the way women usually pay debts to men." + +Mildred nodded. "But this is worse than I expected--much worse." + +"I hadn't thought of that," said Cyrilla. "Yes, you're right. If he +had hinted the other thing, you could have pretended not to understand. +If he had suggested it, you could have made him feel cheap and mean." + +"I did," said Mildred. "He has been--really wonderful--better than +almost any man would have been--more considerate than I deserved. And +I took advantage of it." + +"A woman has to," said Cyrilla. "The fight between men and women is so +unequal." + +"I took advantage of him," repeated Mildred. "And he apologized, and +I--I went on taking the money. I didn't know what else to do. Isn't +that dreadful?" + +"Nothing to be proud of," said Cyrilla. "But a very usual transaction." + +"And then," pursued Mildred, "I discovered that I--that I'd not be able +to make a career. But still I kept on, though I've been trying to +force myself to--to show some pride and self-respect. I discovered it +only a short time ago, and it wasn't really until to-day that I was +absolutely sure." + +"You ARE sure?" + +"There's hardly a doubt," replied Mildred. "But never mind that now. +I've got to make a living at something, and while I'm learning whatever +it is, I've got to have money to live on. And I can get it only from +him. Now, he asks me to marry him. He wouldn't ask me if he didn't +think I was going to be a great singer. He doesn't know it, but I do." + +Mrs. Brindley smiled sweetly. + +"And he thinks that I love him, also. If I accept him, it will be +under doubly false pretenses. If I refuse him I've got to stop taking +the money." + +A long silence; then Mrs. Brindley said: "Women--the good ones, +too--often feel that they've a right to treat men as men treat them. I +think almost any woman would feel justified in putting off the crisis." + +"You mean, I might tell him I'd give him my answer when I was +independent and had paid back." + +Cyrilla nodded. Mildred relit her cigarette, which she had let go out. +"I had thought of that," said she. "But--I doubt if he'd tolerate it. +Also"--she laughed with the peculiar intonation that accompanies the +lifting of the veil over a deeply and carefully hidden corner of one's +secret self--"I am afraid. If I don't marry him, in a few weeks, or +months at most, he'll probably find out that I shall never be a great +singer, and then I'd not be able to marry him if I wished to." + +"He IS a temptation," said Cyrilla. "That is, his money is--and he +personally is very nice." + +"I married a man I didn't care for," pursued Mildred. "I don't want +ever to do that again. It is--even in the best circumstances--not +agreeable, not as simple as it looks to the inexperienced girls who are +always doing it." + +"Still, a woman can endure that sort of thing," said Mrs. Brindley, +"unless she happens to be in love with another man." She was observing +the unconscious Mildred narrowly, a state of inward tension and +excitement hinted in her face, but not in her voice. + +"That's just it?" said Mildred, her face carefully averted. "I--I +happen to be in love with another man." + +A spasm of pain crossed Cyrilla's face. + +"A man who cares nothing about me--and never will. He's just a +friend--so much the friend that he couldn't possibly think of me as--as +a woman, needing him and wanting him"--her eyes were on fire now, and a +soft glow had come into her cheeks--"and never daring to show it +because if I did he would fly and never let me see him again." + +Cyrilla Brindley's face was tragic as she looked at the beautiful girl, +so gracefully adjusted to the big chair. She sighed covertly. "You +are lovely," she said, "and young--above all, young." + +"This man is peculiar," replied Mildred forlornly. "Anyhow, he doesn't +want ME. He knows me for the futile, weak, worthless creature I am. He +saw through my bluff, even before I saw through it myself. If it +weren't for him, I could go ahead--do the sensible thing--do as women +usually do. But--" She came to a full stop. + +"Love is a woman's sense of honor," said Cyrilla softly. "We're +merciless and unscrupulous--anything--everything--where we don't love. +But where we do love, we'll go farther for honor than the most +honorable man. That's why we're both worse and better than men--and +seem to be so contradictory and puzzling." + +"I'd do anything for him," said Mildred. She smiled drearily. "And he +wants nothing." + +She had nothing more to say. She had talked herself out about Stanley, +and her mind was now filled with thoughts that could not be spoken. As +she rose to go to bed, she looked appealingly at Cyrilla. Then, with a +sudden and shy rush she flung her arms round her and kissed her. "Thank +you--so much," she said. "You've done me a world of good. Saying it all +out loud before YOU has made me see. I know my own mind, now." + +She did not note the pathetic tenderness of Cyrilla's face as she said, +"Good night, Mildred." But she did note the use of her first name--and +her own right first name--for the first time since they had known each +other. She embraced and kissed her again. "Good night, Cyrilla," she +said gratefully. + + +As she entered Jennings's studio the next day he looked at her; and +when Jennings looked, he saw--as must anyone who lives well by playing +upon human nature. He did not like her expression. She did not +habitually smile; her light-heartedness, her optimism, did not show +themselves in that inane way. But this seriousness of hers was of a +new kind, of the kind that bespeaks sobriety and saneness of soul. And +that kind of seriousness--the deep, inward gravity of a person whose +days of trifling with themselves and with the facts of life, and of +being trifled with, are over--would have impressed Jennings equally had +she come in laughing, had her every word been a jest. + +"No, I didn't come for a lesson--at least not the usual kind," said she. + +He was not one to yield without a struggle. Also he wished to feel his +way to the meaning of this new mood. He put her music on the rack. +"We'll begin where we--" + +"This half-hour of your time is mine, is it not?" said she quietly. +"Let's not waste any of it. Yesterday you told me that I could not +hope to make a career because my voice is unreliable. Why is it +unreliable?" + +"Because you have a delicate throat," replied he, yielding at once +where he instinctively knew he could not win. + +"Then why can I sing so well sometimes?" + +"Because your throat is in good condition some days--in perfect +condition." + +"It's the colds then--and the slight attacks of colds?" + +"Certainly." + +"If I did not catch colds--if I kept perfectly well--could I rely on my +voice?" + +"But that's impossible," said he. + +"Why?" + +"You're not strong enough." + +"Then I haven't the physical strength for a career?" + +"That--and also you are lacking in muscular development. But after +several years of lessons--" + +"If I developed my muscles--if I became strong--" + +"Most of the great singers come from the lower classes--from people who +do manual labor. They did manual labor in their youth. You girls of +the better class have to overcome that handicap." + +"But so many of the great singers are fat." + +"Yes, and under that fat you'll find great ropes of muscle--like a +blacksmith." + +"What Keith meant," she said. "I wonder-- Why do I catch cold so +easily? Why do I almost always have a slight catch in the throat? Have +you noticed that I nearly always have to clear my throat just a little?" + +Her expression held him. He hesitated, tried to evade, gave it up. +"Until that passes, you can never hope to be a thoroughly reliable +singer," said he. + +"That is, I can't hope to make a career?" + +His silence was assent. + +"But I have the voice?" + +"You have the voice." + +"An unusual voice?" + +"Yes, but not so unusual as might be thought. As a matter of fact, +there are thousands of fine voices. The trouble is in reliability. Only +a few are reliable." + +She nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "I begin to understand what Mr. +Keith meant," she said. "I begin to see what I have to do, and +how--how impossible it is." + +"By no means," declared Jennings. "If I did not think otherwise, I'd +not be giving my time to you." + +She looked at him gravely. His eyes shifted, then returned defiantly, +aggressively. She said: + +"You can't help me to what I want. So this is my last lesson--for the +present. I may come back some day--when I am ready for what you have +to give." + +"You are going to give up?" + +"Oh, no--oh, dear me, no," replied she. "I realize that you're +laughing in your sleeve as I say so, because you think I'll never get +anywhere. But you--and Mr. Keith--may be mistaken." She drew from her +muff a piece of music--the "Batti Batti," from "Don Giovanni." "If you +please," said she, "we'll spend the rest of my time in going over this. +I want to be able to sing it as well as possible." + +He looked searchingly at her. "If you wish," said he. "But I doubt if +you'll be able to sing at all." + +"On the contrary, my cold's entirely gone," replied she. "I had an +exciting evening, I doctored myself before I went to bed, and three or +four times in the night. I found, this morning, that I could sing." + +And it was so. Never had she sung better. "Like a true artist!" he +declared with an enthusiasm that had a foundation of sincerity. "You +know, Miss Stevens, you came very near to having that rarest of all +gifts--a naturally placed voice. If you hadn't had singing teachers as +a girl to make you self-conscious and to teach you wrong, you'd have +been a wonder." + +"I may get it back," said Mildred. + +"That never happens," replied he. "But I can almost do it." + +He coached her for half an hour straight ahead, sending the next pupil +into the adjoining room--an unprecedented transgression of routine. He +showed her for the first time what a teacher he could be, when he +wished. There was an astonishing difference between her first singing +of the song and her sixth and last--for they went through it carefully +five times. She thanked him and then put out her hand, saying: + +"This is a long good-by." + +"To-morrow," replied he, ignoring her hand. + +"No. My money is all gone. Besides, I have no time for amateur +trifling." + +"Your lessons are paid for until the end of the month. This is only +the nineteenth." + +"Then you are so much in." Again she put out her hand. + +He took it. "You owe me an explanation." + +She smiled mockingly. "As a friend of mine says, don't ask questions +to which you already know the answer." + +And she departed, the smile still on her charming face, but the new +seriousness beneath it. As she had anticipated, she found Stanley +Baird waiting for her in the drawing-room of the apartment. Being by +habit much interested in his own emotions and not at all in the +emotions of others, he saw only the healthful radiance the sharp +October air had put into her cheeks and eyes. Certainly, to look at +Mildred Gower was to get no impression of lack of health and strength. +Her glance wavered a little at sight of him, then the expression of +firmness came back. + +"You look like that picture you gave me a long time ago," said he. "Do +you remember it?" + +She did not. + +"It has a--different expression," he went on. "I don't think I'd have +noticed it but for Keith. I happened to show it to him one day, and he +stared at it in that way he has--you know?" + +"Yes, I know," said Mildred. She was seeing those uncanny, brilliant, +penetrating eyes, in such startling contrast to the calm, lifeless +coloring and classic chiseling of features. + +"And after a while he said, 'So, THAT'S Miss Stevens!' And I asked him +what he meant, and he took one of your later photos and put the two +side by side. To my notion the later was a lot the more attractive, for +the face was rounder and softer and didn't have a certain kind +of--well, hardness, as if you had a will and could ride rough shod. Not +that you look so frightfully unattractive." + +"I remember the picture," interrupted Mildred. "It was taken when I +was twenty--just after an illness." + +"The face WAS thin," said Stanley. "Keith called it a 'give away.'" + +"I'd like to see it," said Mildred. + +"I'll try to find it. But I'm afraid I can't. I haven't seen it since +I showed it to Keith, and when I hunted for it the other day, it didn't +turn up. I've changed valets several times in the last six months--" + +But Mildred had ceased listening. Keith had seen the picture, had +called it a "give away," had been interested in it--and the picture had +disappeared. She laughed at her own folly, yet she was glad Stanley +had given her this chance to make up a silly day-dream. She waited +until he had exhausted himself on the subject of valets, their +drunkenness, their thievish habits, their incompetence, then she said: + +"I took my last lesson from Jennings to-day." + +"What's the matter? Do you want to change? You didn't say anything +about it? Isn't he good?" + +"Good enough. But I've discovered that my voice isn't reliable, and +unless one has a reliable voice there's no chance for a grand-opera +career--or for comic opera, either." + +Stanley was straightway all agitation and protest. "Who put that notion +in your head? There's nothing in it, Mildred. Jennings is crazy about +your voice, and he knows." + +"Jennings is after the money," replied Mildred. "What I'm saying is the +truth. Stanley, our beautiful dream of a career has winked out." + +His expression was most revealing. + +"And," she went on, "I'm not going to take any more of your money--and, +of course, I'll pay back what I've borrowed when I can"--she +smiled--"which may not be very soon." + +"What's all this about, anyhow?" demanded he. "I don't see any sign of +it in your face. You wouldn't take it so coolly if it were so." + +"I don't understand why I'm not wringing my hands and weeping," replied +she. "Every few minutes I tell myself that I ought to be. But I stay +quite calm. I suppose I'm--sort of stupefied." + +"Do you really mean that you've given up?" cried he. + +"It's no use to waste the money, Stanley. I've got the voice, and +that's what deceived us all. But there's nothing BEHIND the voice. +With a great singer the greatness is in what's behind the voice, not in +the voice itself." + +"I don't believe a word of it," cried he violently. "You've been +discouraged by a little cold. Everybody has colds. Why, in this +climate the colds are always getting the Metropolitan singers down." + +"But they've got strong throats, and my throat's delicate." + +"You must go to a better climate. You ought to be abroad, anyhow. That +was part of my plan--for us to go abroad--" He stopped in confusion, +reddened, went bravely on--"and you to study there and make your debut." + +Mildred shook her head. "That's all over," said she. "I've got to +change my plans entirely." + +"You're a little depressed, that's all. For a minute you almost +convinced me. What a turn you did give me! I forgot how your voice +sounded the last time I heard it. No, you'd not be so calm, if you +didn't know everything was all right." + +Her eyes lit up with sly humor. "Perhaps I'm calm because I feel that +my future's secure as your wife. What more could a woman ask?" + +He forced an uncomfortable laugh. "Of course--of course," he said with +a painful effort to be easy and jocose. + +"I knew you'd marry me, even if I couldn't sing a note. I knew your +belief in my career had nothing to do with it." + +He hesitated, blurted out the truth. "Speaking seriously, that isn't +quite so," said he. "I've got my heart set on your making a great +tear--and I know you'll do it." + +"And if you knew I wouldn't, you'd not want to marry me?" + +"I don't say that," protested he. "How can I say how I'd feel if you +were different?" + +She nodded. "That's sensible, and it's candid," she said. She laid +her hand impulsively on his arm. "I DO like you, Stanley. You have +got such a lot of good qualities. Don't worry. I'm not going to +insist on your marrying me." + +"You don't have to do that, Mildred," said he. "I'm staring, raving +crazy about you, though I'm a damn fool to let you know it." + +"Yes, it is foolish," said she. "If you'd kept me worrying-- Still, I +guess not. But it doesn't matter. You can protest and urge all you +please, quite safely. I'm not going to marry you. Now let's talk +business." + +"Let's talk marriage," said he. "I want this thing settled. You know +you intend to marry me, Mildred. Why not say so? Why keep me gasping +on the hook?" + +They heard the front door open, and the rustling of skirts down the +hall. Mildred called: + +"Mrs. Brindley! Cyrilla!" + +An instant and Cyrilla appeared in the doorway. When she and Baird had +shaken hands, Mildred said: + +"Cyrilla, I want you to tell the exact, honest truth. Is there any hope +for a woman with a delicate throat to make a grand-opera career?" + +Cyrilla paled, looked pleadingly at Mildred. + +"Tell him," commanded Mildred. + +"Very little," said Mrs. Brindley. "But--" + +"Don't try to soften it," interrupted Mildred. "The truth, the plain +truth." + +"You've no right to draw me into this," cried Cyrilla indignantly, and +she started to leave the room. + +"I want him to know," said Mildred. "And he wants to know." + +"I refuse to be drawn into it," Cyrilla said, and disappeared. + +But Mildred saw that Stanley had been shaken. She proceeded to explain +to him at length what a singer's career meant--the hardships, the +drafts on health and strength, the absolute necessity of being +reliable, of singing true, of not disappointing audiences--what a +delicate throat meant--how delicate her throat was--how deficient she +was in the kind of physical strength needed--muscular power with +endurance back of it. When she finished he understood. + +"I'd always thought of it as an art," he said ruefully. "Why, it's +mostly health and muscles and things that have nothing to do with +music." He was dazed and offended by this uncovering of the mechanism +of the art--by the discovery of the coarse and painful toil, the +grossly physical basis, of what had seemed to him all idealism. He had +been full of the delusions of spontaneity and inspiration, like all +laymen, and all artists, too, except those of the higher ranks--those +who have fought their way up to the heights and, so, have learned that +one does not achieve them by being caught up to them gloriously in a +fiery cloud, but by doggedly and dirtily and sweatily toiling over +every inch of the cruel climb. + +He sat silent when she had finished. She waited, then said: + +"Now, you see. I release you, and I'll take no more money to waste." + +He looked at her with dumb misery that smote her heart. Then his +expression changed--to the shining, hungry eyes, the swollen veins, the +reddened countenance, the watering lips of desire. He seized her in +his arms, and in a voice trembling with passion, he cried: "You must +marry me, anyhow! I've GOT to have you, Mildred." + +If she had loved him, his expression, his impassioned voice would have +thrilled her. But she did not love him. It took all her liking for +him, and the memory of all she owed him--that unpaid debt!--to enable +her to push him away gently and to say without any show of the +repulsion she felt: + +"Stanley, you mustn't do that. And it's useless to talk of marriage. +You're generous, so you are taking pity on me. But believe me, I'll +get along somehow." + +"Pity? I tell you I love you," he cried, catching desperately at her +hands and holding them in a grip she could not break. "You've no right +to treat me like this." + +It was one of those veiled and stealthy reminders of obligation +habitually indulged in by delicate people seeking repayment of the +debt, but shunning the coarseness of direct demand. Mildred saw her +opportunity. Said she quietly: + +"You mean you want me to give myself to you in payment, or part +payment, for the money you've loaned me?" + +He released her hands and sprang up. He had meant just that, but he +had not had the courage, or the meanness, or both, to admit boldly his +own secret wish. She had calculated on this--had calculated well. +"Mildred!" he cried in a shocked voice. "YOU so lacking in delicacy as +to say such a thing!" + +"If you didn't mean that, Stanley, what DID you mean?" + +"I was appealing to our friendship--our--our love for each other." + +"Then you should have waited until I was free." + +"Good God!" he cried, "don't you see that's hopeless? Mildred, be +sensible--be merciful." + +"I shall never marry a man when he could justly suspect I did it to +live off him." + +"What an idea! It's a man's place to support a woman!" + +"I was speaking only of myself. _I_ can't do it. And it's absurd for +you and me to be talking about love and marriage when anyone can see +I'd be marrying you only because I was afraid to face poverty and a +struggle." + +Her manner calmed him somewhat. "Of course it's obvious that you've +got to have money," said he, "and that the only way you can get it is +by marriage. But there's something else, too, and in my opinion it's +the principal thing--we care for each other. Why not be sensible, +Mildred? Why not thank God that as long as you have to marry, you can +marry someone you care for." + +"Could you feel that I cared for you, if I married you now?" inquired +she. + +"Why not? I'm not so entirely lacking in self-esteem. I feel that I +must count for something." + +Mildred sat silently wondering at this phenomenon so astounding, yet a +commonplace of masculine egotism. She had no conception of this vanity +which causes the man, at whom the street woman smiles, to feel +flattered, though he knows full well what she is and her dire +necessity. She could not doubt that he was speaking the truth, yet she +could not believe that conceit could so befog common sense in a man +who, for all his slowness and shallowness, was more than ordinarily +shrewd. + +"Even if I thought I loved you," said she, "I couldn't be sure in these +circumstances that I wasn't after your money." + +"Don't worry about that," replied he. "I understand you better than +you understand yourself." + +"Let's stop talking about it," said she impatiently. "I want to explain +to you the business side of this." She took her purse from the table. +"Here are the papers." She handed him a check and a note. "I made +them out at the bank this morning. The note is for what I owe you--and +draws interest at four per cent. The check is for all the money I have +left except about four hundred dollars. I've some bills I must pay, +and also I didn't dare quite strip myself. The note may not be worth +the paper it's written on, but I hope--" + +Before she could prevent him he took the two papers, and, holding them +out of her reach, tore them to bits. + +Her eyes gleamed angrily. "I see you despise me--as much as I've +invited. But, I'll make them out again and mail them to you." + +"You're a silly child," said he gruffly. "We're going to be married." + +She eyed him with amused exasperation. "It's too absurd!" she cried. +"And if I yielded, you'd be trying to get out of it." She hesitated +whether to tell him frankly just how she felt toward him. She decided +against it, not through consideration--for a woman feels no +consideration for a man she does not love, if he has irritated her--but +through being ashamed to say harsh things to one whom she owed so much. +"It's useless for you to pretend and to plead," she went on. "I shall +not yield. You'll have to wait until I'm free and independent." + +"You'll marry me then?" + +"No," replied she, laughing. "But I'll be able to refuse you in such a +way that you'll believe." + +"But you've got to marry, Mildred, and right away." A suspicion entered +his mind and instantly gleamed in his eyes. "Are you in love with +someone else?" + +She smiled mockingly. + +"It looks as if you were," he went on, arguing with himself aloud. "For +if you weren't you'd marry me, even though you didn't like me. A woman +in your fix simply couldn't keep herself from it. Is THAT why you're +so calm?" + +"I'm not marrying anybody," said she. + +"Then what are you going to do?" + +"You'll see." + +Once more the passionate side of his nature showed--not merely +grotesque, unattractive, repellent, as in the mood of longing, but +hideous. Among men Stanley Baird passed for a man of rather arrogant +and violent temper, but that man who had seen him at his most violent +would have been amazed. The temper men show toward men bears small +resemblance either in kind or in degree to the temper of jealous +passion they show toward the woman who baffles them or arouses their +suspicions; and no man would recognize his most intimate man friend--or +himself--when in that paroxysm. Mildred had seen this mood, gleaming at +her through a mask, in General Siddall. It had made her sick with fear +and repulsion. In Stanley Baird it first astounded her, then filled +her with hate. + +"Stanley!" she gasped. + +"WHO is it?" he ground out between his teeth. And he seized her +savagely. + +"If you don't release me at once," said she calmly, "I shall call Mrs. +Brindley, and have you put out of the house. No matter if I do owe you +all that money." + +"Stop!" he cried, releasing her. "You're very clever, aren't +you?--turning that against me and making me powerless." + +"But for that, would you dare presume to touch me, to question me?" +said she. + +He lowered his gaze, stood panting with the effort to subdue his fury. + +She went back to her own room. A few hours later came a letter of +apology from him. She answered it friendlily, said she would let him +know when she could see him again, and enclosed a note and a check. + + + +VIII + +MILDRED went to bed that night proud of her strength of character. Were +there many women--was there any other woman she knew or knew about--who +in her desperate circumstances would have done what she had done? She +could have married a man who would have given her wealth and the very +best social position. She had refused him. She could have continued +to "borrow" from him the wherewithal to keep her in luxurious comfort +while she looked about at her ease for a position that meant +independence. She had thrust the temptation from her. All this from +purely high-minded motives; for other motive there could be none. She +went to sleep, confident that on the morrow she would continue to tread +the path of self-respect with unfaltering feet. But when morning came +her throat was once more slightly off--enough to make it wise to +postpone the excursion in search of a trial for musical comedy. The +excitement or the reaction from excitement--it must be the one or the +other--had resulted in weakness showing itself, naturally, at her +weakest point--that delicate throat. When life was calm and orderly, +and her mind was at peace, the trouble would pass, and she could get a +position of some kind. Not the career she had dreamed; that was +impossible. But she had voice enough for a little part, where a living +could be made; and perhaps she would presently fathom the secret of the +cause of her delicate throat and would be able to go far--possibly as +far as she had dreamed. + +The delay of a few days was irritating. She would have preferred to +push straight on, while her courage was taut. Still, the delay had one +advantage--she could prepare the details of her plan. So, instead of +going to the office of the theatrical manager--Crossley, the most +successful producer of light, musical pieces of all kinds--she went to +call on several of the girls she knew who were more or less in touch +with matters theatrical. And she found out just how to proceed toward +accomplishing a purpose which ought not to be difficult for one with +such a voice as hers and with physical charms peculiarly fitted for +stage exhibition. + +Not until Saturday was her voice at its best again. She, naturally, +decided not to go to the theatrical office on Monday, but to wait until +she had seen and talked with Keith. One more day did not matter, and +Keith might be stimulating, might even have some useful suggestions to +offer. She received him with a manner that was a version, and a most +charming version, of his own tranquil indifference. But his first +remark threw her into a panic. Said he: + +"I've only a few minutes. No, thanks, I'll not sit." + +"You needn't have bothered to come," said she coldly. + +"I always keep my engagements. Baird tells me you have given up the +arrangement you had with him. You'll probably be moving from here, as +you'll not have the money to stay on. Send me your new address, +please." He took a paper from his pocket and gave it to her. "You +will find this useful--if you are in earnest," said he. "Good-by, and +good luck. I'll hope to see you in a few weeks." + +Before she had recovered herself in the least, she was standing there +alone, the paper in her hand, her stupefied gaze upon the door through +which he had disappeared. All his movements and his speech had been of +his customary, his invariable, deliberateness; but she had the +impression of whirling and rushing haste. With a long gasping sigh she +fell to trembling all over. She sped to her room, got its door safely +closed just in time. Down she sank upon the bed, to give way to an +attack of hysterics. + +We are constantly finding ourselves putting forth the lovely flowers +and fruit of the virtues whereof the heroes and heroines of romance are +so prolific. Usually nothing occurs to disillusion us about ourselves. +But now and then fate, in unusually brutal ironic mood, forces us to +see the real reason why we did this or that virtuous, self-sacrificing +action, or blossomed forth in this or that nobility of character. +Mildred was destined now to suffer one of these savage blows of +disillusionment about self that thrust us down from the exalted moral +heights where we have been preening into humble kinship with the weak +and frail human race. She saw why she had refused Stanley, why she had +stopped "borrowing," why she had put off going to the theatrical +managers, why she had delayed moving into quarters within her +diminished and rapidly diminishing means. She had been counting on +Donald Keith. She had convinced herself that he loved her even as she +loved him. He would fling away his cold reserve, would burst into +raptures over her virtue and her courage, would ask her to marry him. +Or, if he should put off that, he would at least undertake the +responsibility of getting her started in her career. Well! He had +come; he had shown that Stanley had told him all or practically all; +and he had gone, without asking a sympathetic question or making an +encouraging remark. As indifferent as he seemed. Burnt out, cold, +heartless. She had leaned upon him; he had slipped away, leaving her to +fall painfully, and ludicrously, to the ground. She had been boasting +to herself that she was strong, that she would of her own strength +establish herself in independence. She had not dreamed that she would +be called upon to "make good." She raved against Keith, against +herself, against fate. And above the chaos and the wreck within her, +round and round, hither and yon, flapped and shied the black thought, +"What SHALL I do?" + +When she sat up and dried her eyes, she chanced to see the paper Keith +had left; with wonder at her having forgotten it and with a throb of +hope she opened and began to read his small, difficult writing: + + +A career means self-denial. Not occasional, intermittent, but steady, +constant, daily, hourly--a purpose that never relaxes. + +A career as a singer means not only the routine, the patient tedious +work, the cutting out of time-wasting people and time-wasting pleasures +that are necessary to any and all careers. It means in addition--for +such a person--sacrifices far beyond a character so undisciplined and +so corrupted by conventional life as is yours. The basis of a singing +career is health and strength. You must have great physical strength +to be able to sing operas. You must have perfect health. + +Diet and exercise. A routine life, its routine rigidly adhered to, day +in and day out, month after month, year after year. Small and +uninteresting and monotonous food, nothing to drink, and, of course, no +cigarettes. Such is the secret of a reliable voice for you who have a +"delicate throat"--which is the silly, shallow, and misleading way of +saying a delicate digestion, for sore throat always means indigestion, +never means anything else. To sing, the instrument, the absolutely +material machine, must be in perfect order. The rest is easy. + +Some singers can commit indiscretions of diet and of lack of exercise. +But not you, because you lack this natural strength. Do not be +deceived and misled by their example. + +Exercise. You must make your body strong, powerful. You have not the +muscles by nature. You must acquire them. + +The following routine of diet and exercise made one of the great +singers, and kept her great for a quarter of a century. If you adopt +it, without variation, you can make a career. If you do not, you need +not hope for anything but failure and humiliation. Within my knowledge +sixty-eight young men and young women have started in on this system. +Not one had the character to persist to success. This may suggest why, +except two who are at the very top, all of the great singers are men +and women whom nature has made powerful of body and of digestion--so +powerful that their indiscretions only occasionally make them +unreliable. + + +There Mildred stopped and flung the paper aside. She did not care even +to glance at the exercises prescribed or at the diet and the routine of +daily work. How dull and uninspired! How grossly material! Stomach! +Chewing! Exercising machines! Plodding dreary miles daily, rain or +shine! What could such things have to do with the free and glorious +career of an inspired singer? Keith was laughing at her as he hastened +away, abandoning her to her fate. + +She examined herself in the glass to make sure that the ravages of her +attack of rage and grief and despair could be effaced within a few +hours, then she wrote a note--formal yet friendly--to Stanley Baird, +informing him that she would receive him that evening. He came while +Cyrilla and Mildred were having their after, dinner coffee and +cigarettes. He was a man who took great pains with his clothes, and +got them where pains was not in vain. That evening he had arrayed +himself with unusual care, and the result was a fine, manly figure of +the well-bred New-Yorker type. Certainly Stanley had ground for his +feeling that he deserved and got liking for himself. The three sat in +the library for perhaps half an hour, then Mrs. Brindley rose to leave +the other two alone. Mildred urged her to stay--Mildred who had been +impatient of her presence when Stanley was announced. Urged her to +stay in such a tone that Cyrilla could not persist, but had to sit down +again. As the three talked on and on, Mildred continued to picture life +with Stanley--continued the vivid picturing she had begun within ten +minutes of Stanley's entering, the picturing that had caused her to +insist on Cyrilla's remaining as chaperon. A young girl can do no such +picturing as Mildred could not avoid doing. To the young girl married +life, its tete-a-tetes, its intimacies, its routine, are all a blank. +Any attempt she makes to fill in details goes far astray. But Mildred, +with Stanley there before her, could see her life as it would be. + +Toward half-past ten, Stanley said, shame-faced and pleading, "Mildred, +I should like to see you alone for just a minute before I go." + +Mildred said to Cyrilla: "No, don't move. We'll go into the +drawing-room." + +He followed her there, and when the sound of Mrs. Brindley's step in +the hall had died away, he began: "I think I understand you a little +now. I shan't insult you by returning or destroying that note or the +check. I accept your decision--unless you wish to change it." He +looked at her with eager appeal. His heart was trembling, was sick +with apprehension, with the sense of weakness, of danger and gloom +ahead. "Why shouldn't I help you, at least, Mildred?" he urged. + +Whence the courage came she knew not, but through her choking throat +she forced a positive, "No." + +"And," he went on, "I meant what I said. I love you. I'm wretched +without you. I want you to marry me, career or no career." + +Her fears were clamorous, but she forced herself to say, "I can't +change." + +"I hoped--a little--that you sent me the note to-day because you-- You +didn't?" + +"No," said Mildred. "I want us to be friends. But you must keep away." + +He bent his head. "Then I'll go 'way off somewhere. I can't bear being +here in New York and not seeing you. And when I've been away a year or +so, perhaps I'll get control of myself again." + +Going away!--to try to forget!--no doubt, to succeed in forgetting! +Then this was her last chance. + +"Must I go, Mildred? Won't you relent?" + +"I don't love you--and I never can." She was deathly white and +trembling. She lifted her eyes to begin a retreat, for her courage had +quite oozed away. He was looking at her, his face distorted with a +mingling of the passion of desire and the passion of jealousy. She +shrank, caught at the back of a chair for support, felt suddenly strong +and defiant. To be this man's plaything, to submit to his moods, to +his jealousies, to his caprices--to be his to fumble and caress, his to +have the fury of his passion wreak itself upon her with no response +from her but only repulsion and loathing--and the long dreary hours and +days and years alone with him, listening to his commonplaces, often so +tedious, forced to try to amuse him and to keep him in a good humor +because he held the purse-strings-- + +"Please go," she said. + +She was still very young, still had years and years of youth unspent. +Surely she could find something better than this. Surely life must +mean something more than this. At least it was worth a trial. + +He held out his hand. She gave him her reluctant and cold fingers. He +said something, what she did not hear, for the blood was roaring in her +ears as the room swam round. He was gone, and the next thing she +definitely knew she was at the threshold of Cyrilla's room. Cyrilla +gave her a tenderly sympathetic glance. She saw herself in a mirror and +knew why; her face was gray and drawn, and her eyes lay dully deep +within dark circles. + +"I couldn't do it," she said. "I sent for him to marry him. But I +couldn't." + +"I'm glad," said Cyrilla. "Marriage without love is a last resort. And +you're a long way from last resorts." + +"You don't think I'm crazy?" + +"I think you've won a great victory." + +"Victory!" And Mildred laughed dolefully. "If this is victory, I hope +I'll never know defeat." + +Why did Mildred refuse Stanley Baird and cut herself off from him, even +after her hopes of Donald Keith died through lack of food, real or +imaginary? It would be gratifying to offer this as a case of pure +courage and high principle, untainted of the motives which govern +ordinary human actions. But unluckily this is a biography, not a +romance, a history and not a eulogy. And Mildred Gower is a human +being, even as you and I, not a galvanized embodiment of superhuman +virtues such as you and I are pretending to be, perhaps even to +ourselves. The explanation of her strange aberration, which will be +doubted or secretly condemned by every woman of the sheltered classes +who loves her dependence and seeks to disguise it as something sweet +and fine and "womanly"--the explanation of her almost insane act of +renunciation of all that a lady holds most dear is simple enough, +puzzling though she found it. Ignorance, which accounts for so much of +the squalid failure in human life, accounts also for much if not all +the most splendid audacious achievement. Very often--very, very +often--the impossibilities are achieved by those who in their ignorance +advance not boldly but unconcernedly where a wiser man or woman would +shrink and retreat. Fortunate indeed is he or she who in a crisis is +by chance equipped with neither too little nor too much knowledge--who +knows enough to enable him to advance, but does not know enough to +appreciate how perilous, how foolhardy, how harsh and cruel, advance +will be. Mildred was in this instance thus fortunate--unfortunate, she +was presently to think it. She knew enough about loveless marriage to +shrink from it. She did not know enough about what poverty, +moneylessness, and friendlessness mean in the actuality to a woman bred +as she had been. She imagined she knew--and sick at heart her notion +of poverty made her. But imagination was only faintest foreshadowing +of actuality. If she had known, she would have yielded to the +temptation that was almost too strong for her. And if she had +yielded--what then? Not such a repulsive lot, as our comfortable +classes look at it. Plenty to eat and drink and to wear, servants and +equipages and fine houses and fine society, the envy of her gaping +kind--a comfortable life for the body, a comfortable death for mind and +heart, slowly and softly suffocated in luxury. Partly through +knowledge that strongly affected her character, which was on the whole +aspiring and sensitive beyond the average to the true and the +beautiful, partly through ignorance that veiled the future from her +none too valorous and hardy heart, she did not yield to the temptation. +And thus, instead of dying, she began to live, for what is life but +growth in experience, in strength and knowledge and capability? + +A baby enters the world screaming with pain. The first sensations of +living are agonizing. It is the same with the birth of souls, for a +soul is not really born until that day when it is offered choice +between life and death and chooses life. In Mildred Gower's case this +birth was an agony. She awoke the following morning with a dull +headache, a fainting heart, and a throat so sore that she felt a +painful catch whenever she tried to swallow. She used the spray; she +massaged her throat and neck vigorously. In vain; it was folly to +think of going where she might have to risk a trial of her voice that +day. The sun was brilliant and the air sharp without being humid or +too cold. She dressed, breakfasted, went out for a walk. The throat +grew worse, then better. She returned for luncheon, and afterward +began to think of packing, not that she had chosen a new place, but +because she wished to have some sort of a sense of action. But her +unhappiness drove her out again--to the park where the air was fine and +she could walk in comparative solitude. + +"What a silly fool I am!" thought she. "Why did I do this in the +worst, the hardest possible way? I should have held on to Stanley +until I had a position. No, I'm such a poor creature that I could never +have done it in that way. I'd simply have kept on bluffing, fooling +myself, putting off and putting of. I had to jump into the water with +nobody near to help me, or I'd never have begun to learn to swim. I +haven't begun yet. I may never learn to swim. I may drown. Yes, I +probably shall drown." + +She wandered aimlessly on--around the upper reservoir where the strong +breeze freshened her through and through and made her feel less forlorn +in spite of her chicken heart. She crossed the bridge at the lower end +and came down toward the East Drive. A taxicab rushed by, not so fast, +however, that she failed to recognize Donald Keith and Cyrilla +Brindley. They were talking so earnestly--Keith was talking, for a +wonder, and Mrs. Brindley listening--that they did not see her. She +went straight home. But as she was afoot, the journey took about half +an hour. Cyrilla was already there, in a negligee, looking as if she +had not been out of the little library for hours. She was writing a +letter. Mildred strolled in and seated herself. Cyrilla went on +writing. Mildred watched her impatiently. She wished to talk, to be +talked to, to be consoled and cheered, to hear about Donald Keith. +Would that letter never be finished? At last it was, and Cyrilla took +a book and settled herself to reading. There was a vague something in +her manner--a change, an attitude toward Mildred--that disturbed +Mildred. Or, was that notion of a change merely the offspring of her +own somber mood? Seeing that Mrs. Brindley would not begin, she broke +the silence herself. Said she awkwardly: + +"I've decided to move. In fact, I've got to move." + +Cyrilla laid down the book and regarded her tranquilly. "Of course," +said she. "I've already begun to arrange for someone else." + +Mildred choked, and the tears welled into her eyes. She had not been +mistaken; Cyrilla had changed toward her. Now that she had no +prospects for a brilliant career, now that her money was gone, Cyrilla +had begun to--to be human. No doubt, in the course of that drive, +Cyrilla had discovered that Keith had no interest in her either. +Mildred beat down her emotion and was soon able to say in a voice as +unconcerned as Cyrilla's: + +"I'll find a place to-morrow or next day, and go at once." + +"I'll be sorry to lose you," said Mrs. Brindley, "but I agree with you +that you can't get settled any too soon." + +"You don't happen to know of any cheap, good place?" said Mildred. + +"If it's cheap, I don't think it's likely to be good--in New York," +replied Cyrilla. "You'll have to put up with inconveniences--and +worse. I'd offer to help you find a place, but I think everything +self-reliant one does helps one to learn. Don't you?" + +"Yes, indeed," assented Mildred. The thing was self-evidently true; +still she began to hate Cyrilla. This cold-hearted New York! How she +would grind down her heel when she got it on the neck of New York! +Friendship, love, helpfulness--what did New York and New-Yorkers know +of these things? "Or Hanging Rock, either," reflected she. What a +cold and lonely world! + +"Have you been to see about a position?" inquired Cyrilla. + +Mildred was thrown into confusion. "I can't go--for a--day or so," she +stammered. "The changeable weather has rather upset my throat. Nothing +serious, but I want to be at my best." + +"Certainly," said Mrs. Brindley. Her direct gaze made Mildred +uncomfortable. She went on: "You're sure it's the weather?" + +"What else could it be?" demanded Mildred with a latent resentment +whose interesting origin she did not pause to inquire into. + +"Well, salad, or sauces, or desserts, or cafe au lait in the morning, +or candy, or tea," said Cyrilla. "Or it might be cigarettes, or all +those things--and thin stockings and low shoes--mightn't it?" + +Never before had she known Cyrilla to say anything meddlesome or +cattish. Said Mildred with a faint sneer, "That sounds like Mr. +Keith's crankiness." + +"It is," replied Cyrilla. "I used to think he was a crank on the +subject of singing and stomachs, and singing and ankles. But I've been +convinced, partly by him, mostly by what I've observed." + +Mildred maintained an icy silence. + +"I see you are resenting what I said," observed Cyrilla. + +"Not at all," said Mildred. "No doubt you meant well." + +"You will please remember that you asked me a question." + +So she had. But the discovery that she was clearly in the wrong, that +she had invited the disguised lecture, only aggravated her sense of +resentment against Mrs. Brindley. She spent the rest of the afternoon +in sorting and packing her belongings--and in crying. She came upon +the paper Donald Keith had left. She read it through carefully, +thoughtfully, read it to the last direction as to exercise with the +machine, the last arrangement for a daily routine of life, the last +suggestion as to diet. + +"Fortunately all that isn't necessary," said she to herself, when she +had finished. "If it were, I could never make a career. I'm not +stupid enough to be able to lead that kind of life. Why, I'd not care +to make a career, at that price. Slavery--plain slavery." + +When she went in to dinner, she saw instantly that Cyrilla too had been +crying. Cyrilla did not look old, anything but that, indeed was not +old and would not begin to be for many a year. Still, after +thirty-five or forty a woman cannot indulge a good cry without its +leaving serious traces that will show hours afterward. At sight of the +evidences of Cyrilla's grief Mildred straightway forgot her resentment. +There must have been some other cause for Cyrilla's peculiar conduct. +No matter what, since it was not hardness of heart. + +It was a sad, even a gloomy dinner. But the two women were once more +in perfect sympathy. And afterward Mildred brought the Keith paper and +asked Cyrilla's opinion. Cyrilla read slowly and without comment. At +last she said: + +"He got this from his mother, Lucia Rivi. Have you read her life?" + +"No. I've heard almost nothing about her, except that she was famous." + +"She was more than that," said Mrs. Brindley. "She was great, a great +personality. She was an almost sickly child and girl. Her first +attempts on the stage were humiliating failures. She had no health, no +endurance, nothing but a small voice of rare quality." Cyrilla held up +the paper. "This tells how she became one of the surest and most +powerful dramatic sopranos that ever lived." + +"She must have been a dull person to have been able to lead the kind of +life that's described there," said Mildred. + +"Only two kinds of persons could do it," replied Cyrilla--"a dull +person--a plodder--and a genius. Middling people--they're the kind that +fill the world, they're you and I, my dear--middling people have to +fuss with the trifles that must be sacrificed if one is to do anything +big. You call those trifles your freedom, but they're your slavery. +And by sacrificing them the Lucia Rivis buy their freedom." Cyrilla +looked at the paper with a heavy sigh. "Ah, I wish I had seen this +when I was your age. Now, it's too late." + +Said Mildred: "Would you seriously advise me to try that?" + +Cyrilla came and sat beside her and put an arm around her. "Mildred," +she said, "I've never thrust advice on you. I only dare do it now +because you ask me, and because I love you. You must try it. It's +your one chance. If you do not, you will fail. You don't believe me?" + +In a tone that was admission, Mildred said: "I don't know." + +"Keith has given you there the secret of a successful career. You'll +never read it in any book, or get it from any teacher, or from any +singer or manager or doctor. You must live like that, you must do +those things or you will fail even in musical comedy. You would fail +even as an actress, if you tried that, when you found out that the +singing was out of the question." + +Mildred was impressed. Perhaps she would have been more impressed had +she not seen Keith and Mrs. Brindley in the taxi, Keith talking +earnestly and Mrs. Brindley listening as if to an oracle. Said she: +"Perhaps I'll adopt some of the suggestions." + +Cyrilla shook her head. "It's a route to success. You must go the +whole route or not at all." + +"Don't forget that there have been other singers besides Rivi." + +"Not any that I recall who weren't naturally powerful in every way. And +how many of them break down? Mildred, please do put the silly nonsense +about nerves and temperament and inspiration and overwork and weather +and climate--put all that out of your head. Build your temple of a +career as high and graceful and delicate as you like, but build it on +the coarse, hard, solid rock, dear!" + +Mildred tried to laugh lightly. "How Mr. Keith does hypnotize people!" +cried she. + +Mrs. Brindley's cheeks burned, and her eyes lowered in acute +embarrassment. "He has a way of being splendidly and sensibly right," +said she. "And the truth is wonderfully convincing--once one sees it." +She changed the subject, and it did not come up--or, perhaps, come OUT +again--before they went to bed. The next day Mildred began the +depressing, hopeless search for a place to live that would be clean, +comfortable, and cheap. Those three adjectives describe the ideal +lodging; but it will be noted that all these are relative. In fact, +none of the three means exactly the same thing to any two members of +the human family. Mildred's notion of clean--like her notion of +comfortable--on account of her bringing up implied a large element of +luxury. As for the word "cheap," it really meant nothing at all to +her. From one standpoint everything seemed cheap; from another, +everything seemed dear; that is, too dear for a young woman with less +than five hundred dollars in the world and no substantial prospect of +getting a single dollar more--unless by hook and crook, both of which +means she was resolved not to employ. + +Never having earned so much as a single penny, the idea of anyone's +giving her anything for what she might be able to do was disturbingly +vague and unreal. On the other hand, looking about her, she saw scores +of men and women, personally known to her to be dull of conversation, +and not well mannered or well dressed or well anything, who were making +livings without overwhelming difficulty. Why not Mildred Gower? In +this view the outlook was not discouraging. "I'll no doubt go through +some discomfort, getting myself placed. But somewhere and somehow I +shall be placed--and how I shall revenge myself on Donald Keith!" His +fascination for her had not been destroyed by his humiliating lack of +belief in her, nor by his cold-hearted desertion at just the critical +moment. But his conduct had given her the incentive of rage, of stung +vanity--or wounded pride, if you prefer. She would get him back; she +would force him to admit; she would win him, if she could--and that +ought not to be difficult when she should be successful. Having won +him, then-- What then? Something superb in the way of revenge; she +would decide what, when the hour of triumph came. Meanwhile she must +search for lodgings. + +In her journeyings under the guidance of attractive advertisements and +"carefully selected" agents' lists, she found herself in front of her +first lodgings in New York--the house of Mrs. Belloc. She had often +thought of the New England school-teacher, arrived by such strange +paths at such a strange position in New York. She had started to call +on her many times, but each time had been turned aside; New York makes +it more than difficult to find time to do anything that does not have +to be done at a definite time and for a definite reason. She was worn +out with her futile trampings up and down streets, up and down stairs. +Up the stone steps she went and rang the bell. + +Yes, Mrs. Belloc was in, and would be glad to see her, if Miss Stevens +would wait in the drawing-room a few minutes. She had not seated +herself when down the stairs came the fresh, pleasantly countrified +voice of Mrs. Belloc, inviting her to ascend. As Mildred started up, +she saw at the head of the stairs the frank and cheerful face of the +lady herself. She was holding together at the neck a thin silk wrapper +whose lines strongly suggested that it was the only garment she had on. + +"Why should old friends stand on ceremony?" said Mrs. Belloc. "Come +right up. I've been taking a bath. My masseuse has just gone." Mrs. +Belloc enclosed her in a delightfully perfumed embrace, and they kissed +with enthusiasm. + +"I AM glad to see you," said Mildred, feeling all at once a thrilling +sense of at-homeness. "I didn't realize how glad I'd be till I saw +you." + +"It'd be a pretty stiff sort that wouldn't feel at home with me," +observed Mrs. Belloc. "New York usually stiffens people up. It's had +the opposite effect on me. Though I must say, I have learned to stiffen +with people I don't like--and I'll have to admit that I like fewer and +fewer. People don't wear well, do they? What IS the matter with them? +Why can't they be natural and not make themselves into rubbishy, old +scrap-bags full of fakes and pretenses? You're looking at my hair." + +They were in Mrs. Belloc's comfortable sitting-room now, and she was +smoking a cigarette and regarding Mildred with an expression of delight +that was most flattering. Said Mildred: + +"Your hair does look well. It's thicker--isn't it?" + +"Think so?" said Mrs. Belloc. "It ought to be, with all the time and +money I've spent on it. My, how New York does set a woman to repairing +and fixing up. Nothing artificial goes here. It mustn't be paint and +plumpers and pads, but the real teeth. Why, I've had four real teeth +set in as if they were rooted--and my hips toned down. You may +remember what heavy legs I had--piano-legs. Look at 'em now." Mrs. +Belloc drew the wrapper to her knee and exposed in a pale-blue silk +stocking a thin and comely calf. + +"You HAVE been busy!" said Mildred. + +"That's only a little part. I started to tell you about the hair. It +was getting gray--not in a nice, pretty way, all over, but in spots and +streaks. Nothing else makes a woman look so ragged and dingy and old +as spotted, streaky gray hair. So I had the hair-woman touch it up. +She vows it won't make my face hard. That's the trouble with dyed or +touched hair, you know. But this is a new process." + +"It's certainly a success," said Mildred. And in fact it was, and +thanks to it and the other improvements Mrs. Belloc was an attractive +and even a pretty woman, years younger than when Mildred saw her. + +"Yes, I think I've improved," said Mrs. Belloc. "Nothing to scream +about--but worth while. That's what we're alive for--to improve--isn't +it? I've no patience with people who slide back, or don't get +on--people who get less and less as they grow older. The trouble with +them is they're vain, satisfied with themselves as they are, and lazy. +Most women are too lazy to live. They'll only fix up to catch a man." + +Mildred had grown sober and thoughtful. + +"To catch a man," continued Mrs. Belloc. "And not much even for that. +I'll warrant YOU'RE getting on. Tell me about it." + +"Tell me about yourself, first," said Mildred. + +"WHY all this excitement about improving?" And she smiled significantly. + +"No, you'll have to guess again," said Mrs. Belloc. "Not a man. You +remember, I used to be crazy about gay life in New York--going out, and +men, theaters, and lobster-palaces--everything I didn't get in my home +town, everything the city means to the jays. Well, I've gotten over all +that. I'm improving, mind and body, just to keep myself interested in +life, to keep myself young and cheerful. I'm interested in myself, in +my house and in woman's suffrage. Not that the women are fit to vote. +They aren't, any more than the men. But what MAKES people? Why, +responsibility. That old scamp I married--he's dead. And I've got the +money, and everything's very comfortable with me. Just think, I didn't +have any luck till I was an old maid far gone. I'm not telling my age. +All my life it had rained bad luck--pitchforks, tines down. And why?" + +"Yes, why?" said Mildred. She did not understand how it was, but Mrs. +Belloc seemed to be saying the exact things she needed to hear. + +"I'll tell you why. Because I didn't work. Drudging along isn't work +any more than dawdling along. Work means purpose, means head. And my +luck began just as anybody's does--when I rose up and got busy. You +may say it wasn't very creditable, the way I began; but it was the best +_I_ could do. I know it isn't good morals, but I'm willing to bet that +many a man has laid the foundations of a big fine career by doing +something that wasn't at all nice or right. He had to do it, to 'get +through.' If he hadn't done it, he'd never have 'got through.' Anyhow, +whether that's so or not, everyone's got to make a fight to break into +the part of the world where living's really worth living. But I needn't +tell YOU that. You're doing it." + +"No, I'm not," replied Mildred. "I'm ashamed to say so, but I'm not. +I've been bluffing--and wasting time." + +"That's bad, that's bad," said Mrs. Belloc. "Especially, as you've got +it in you to get there. What's been the trouble? The wrong kind of +associations?" + +"Partly," said Mildred. + +Mrs. Belloc, watching her interestedly, suddenly lighted up. "Why not +come back here to live?" said she. "Now, please don't refuse till I +explain. You remember what kind of people I had here?" + +Mildred smiled. "Rather--unconventional?" + +"That's polite. Well, I've cleared 'em out. Not that I minded their +unconventionality; I liked it. It was so different from the +straight-jackets and the hypocrisy I'd been living among and hating. +But I soon found out that--well, Miss Stevens, the average human being +ought to be pretty conventional in his morals of a certain kind. If +he--or SHE--isn't, they begin to get unconventional in every way--about +paying their bills, for instance, and about drinking. I got sick and +tired of those people. So, I put 'em all out--made a sweep. And now +I've become quite as respectable as I care to be--or as is necessary. +The couples in the house are married, and they're nice people of good +families. It was Mrs. Dyckman--she's got the whole second floor front, +she and her husband and the daughter--it was Mrs. Dyckman who +interested me in the suffrage movement. You must hear her speak. And +the daughter does well at it, too--and keeps a fashionable +millinery-shop--and she's only twenty-four. Then there's Nora Blond." + +"The actress?" + +"The actress. She's the quietest, hardest-working person here. She's +got the whole first floor front. Nobody ever comes to see her, except +on Sunday afternoon. She leads the queerest life." + +"Tell me about that," said Mildred. + +"I don't know much about it," confessed Mrs. Belloc. "She's regular as +a clock--does everything on time, and at the same time. Two meals a +day--one of them a dry little breakfast she gets herself. Walks, +fencing, athletics, study." + +"What slavery!" + +"She's the happiest person I ever saw," retorted Mrs. Belloc. "Why, +she's got her work, her career. You don't look at it right, Miss +Stevens. You don't look happy. What's the matter? Isn't it because +you haven't been working right--because you've been doing these alleged +pleasant things that leave a bad taste in your mouth and weaken you? +I'll bet, if you had been working hard, you'd not be unhappy now. +Better come here to live." + +"Will you let me tell you about myself?" + +"Go right ahead. May I ask questions, where I want to know more? I do +hate to get things halfway." + +Mildred freely gave her leave, then proceeded to tell her whole story, +omitting nothing that was essential to an understanding. In conclusion +she said: "I'd like to come. You see, I've very little money. When +it's gone, I'll go, unless I make some more." + +"Yes, you must come. That Mrs. Brindley seems to be a nice woman, a +mighty nice woman. But her house, and the people that come there--they +aren't the right sort for a girl that's making a start. I can give you +a room on the top floor--in front. The young lady next to you is a +clerk in an architect's office, and a fine girl she is." + +"How much does she pay?" said Mildred. + +"Your room won't be quite as nice as hers. I put you at the top +because you can sing up there, part of the mornings and part of the +afternoons, without disturbing anybody. I don't have a general table +any more. You can take your meals in your room or at the restaurant in +the apartment-house next door. It's good and quite reasonable." + +"How much for the room?" persisted Mildred, laughing. + +"Seven dollars a week, and the use of the bath." + +Mildred finally wrung from her that the right price was twelve dollars +a week, and insisted on paying that--"until my money gets low." + +"Don't worry about that," said Mrs. Belloc. + +"You mustn't weaken me," cried Mildred. "You mustn't encourage me to +be a coward and to shirk. That's why I'm coming here." + +"I understand," said Mrs. Belloc. "I've got the New England streak of +hardness in me, though I believe that masseuse has almost ironed it out +of my face. Do I look like a New England schoolmarm?" + +Mildred could truthfully answer that there wasn't a trace of it. + +When she returned to Mrs. Brindley's--already she had ceased to think +of it as home--she announced her new plans. Mrs. Brindley said +nothing, but Mildred understood the quick tightening of the lines round +her mouth and the shifting of the eyes. She hastened to explain that +Mrs. Belloc was no longer the sort of woman or the sort of landlady she +had been a few months before. Mrs. Brindley of the older New York, +could neither understand nor believe in the people of the new and real +New York whom it molds for better or for worse so rapidly--and even +remolds again and again. But Mildred was able to satisfy her that the +house was at least not suspicious. + +"It doesn't matter where you're going," said Mrs. Brindley. "It's that +you are going. I can't bear giving you up. I had hoped that our lives +would flow on and on together." She was with difficulty controlling +her emotions. "It's these separations that age one, that take one's +life. I almost wish I hadn't met you." + +Mildred was moved, herself. Not so much as Mrs. Brindley because she +had the necessities of her career gripping her and claiming the +strongest feelings there were in her. Also, she was much the younger, +not merely in years but in experience. And separations have no real +poignancy in them for youth. + +"Yes, I know you love me," said Cyrilla, "but love doesn't mean to you +what it means to me. I'm in that middle period of life where +everything has its fullest meaning. In youth we're easily consoled and +distracted because life seems so full of possibilities, and we can't +believe friendship and love are rare, and still more rarely worth +while. In old age, when the arteries harden and the blood flows slow +and cold, we become indifferent. But between thirty-five and fifty-five +how the heart can ache!" She smiled, with trembling lips. "And how it +can rejoice!" she cried bravely. "I must not forget to mention that. +Ah, my dear, you must learn to live intensely. If I had had your +chance!" + +"Ridiculous!" laughed Mildred. "You talk like an old woman. And I +never think of you as older than myself." + +"I AM an old woman," said Cyrilla. And, with a tightening at the heart +Mildred saw, deep in the depths of her eyes, the look of old age. "I've +found that I'm too old for love--for man-and-woman love--and that means +I'm an old woman." + +Mildred felt that there was only a thin barrier of reserve between her +and some sad secret of this strange, shy, loving woman's--a barrier so +thin that she could almost hear the stifled moan of a broken heart. But +the barrier remained; it would have been impossible for Cyrilla +Brindley to talk frankly about herself. + +When Mildred came out of her room the next morning, Cyrilla had gone, +leaving a note: + + +I can't bear good-bys. Besides, we'll see each other very soon. +Forgive me for shrinking, but really I can't. + + +Before night Mildred was settled in the new place and the new room, +with no sense of strangeness. She was reproaching herself for +hardness, for not caring about Cyrilla, the best and truest friend she +had ever had. But the truth lay in quite a different direction. The +house, the surroundings, where she had lived luxuriously, dreaming her +foolish and fatuous dreams, was not the place for such a struggle as +was now upon her. And for that struggle she preferred, to sensitive, +sober, refined, impractical Cyrilla Brindley, the companionship and the +sympathy, the practical sympathy, of Agnes Belloc. No one need be +ashamed or nervous before Agnes Belloc about being poor or unsuccessful +or having to resort to shabby makeshifts or having to endure coarse +contacts. Cyrilla represented refinement, appreciation of the finished +work--luxurious and sterile appreciation and enjoyment. Agnes +represented the workshop--where all the doers of all that is done live +and work. Mildred was descending from the heights where live those who +have graduated from the lot of the human race and have lost all that +superficial or casual resemblance to that race. She was going down to +live with the race, to share in its lot. She was glad Agnes Belloc was +to be there. + +Generalizing about such a haphazard conglomerate as human nature is +highly unsatisfactory, but it may be cautiously ventured that in New +England, as in old England, there is a curiously contradictory way of +dealing with conventionality. Nowhere is conventionality more in +reverence; yet when a New-Englander, man or woman, happens to elect to +break with it, nowhere is the break so utter and so defiant. If Agnes +Belloc, cut loose from the conventions that had bound her from +childhood to well into middle life, had remained at home, no doubt she +would have spent a large part of her nights in thinking out ways of +employing her days in outraging the conventionalities before her +horrified and infuriated neighbors. But of what use in New York to +cuff and spit upon deities revered by only an insignificant class--and +only officially revered by that class? Agnes had soon seen that there +was no amusement or interest whatever in an enterprise which in her New +England home would have filled her life to the brim with excitement. +Also, she saw that she was well into that time of life where the +absence of reputation in a woman endangers her comfort, makes her +liable to be left alone--not despised and denounced, but simply avoided +and ignored. So she was telling Mildred the exact truth. She had laid +down the arms she had taken up against the social system, and had come +in--and was fighting it from the safer and wiser inside. She still +insisted that a woman had the same rights as a man; but she took care +to make it clear that she claimed those rights only for others, that +she neither exercised them nor cared for them for herself. And to make +her propaganda the more effective, she was not only circumspect +herself, but was exceedingly careful to be surrounded by circumspect +people. No one could cite her case as proof that woman would expand +liberty into license. In theory there was nothing lively that she did +not look upon at least with tolerance; in practice, more and more she +disliked seeing one of her sex do anything that might cause the world +to say "woman would abuse liberty if she had it." "Sensible people," +she now said, "do as they like. But they don't give fools a chance to +titter and chatter." + +Agnes Belloc was typical--certainly of a large and growing class in +this day--of the decay of ancient temples and the decline of the +old-fashioned idealism that made men fancy they lived nobly because +they professed and believed nobly. She had no ethical standards. She +simply met each situation as it arose and dealt with it as common sense +seemed in that particular instance to dictate. For a thousand years +genius has been striving with the human race to induce it to abandon +its superstitions and hypocrisies and to defy common sense, so +adaptable, so tolerant, so conducive to long and healthy and happy +life. Grossly materialistic, but alluringly comfortable. Whether for +good or for evil or for both good and evil, the geniuses seem in a fair +way at last to prevail over the idealists, religious and political. And +Mrs. Belloc, without in the least realizing it, was a most significant +sign of the times. + +"Your throat seems to be better to-day," said she to Mildred at +breakfast. "Those simple house-remedies I tried on you last night seem +to have done some good. Nothing like heat--hot water--and no eating. +The main thing was doing without dinner last night." + +"My nerves are quieter," advanced Mildred as the likelier explanation +of the return of the soul of music to its seat. "And my mind's at +rest." + +"Yes, that's good," said plain Agnes Belloc. "But getting the stomach +straight and keeping it straight's the main thing. My old grandmother +could eat anything and do anything. I've seen her put in a glass of +milk or a saucer of ice-cream on top of a tomato-salad. The way she +kept well was, whenever she began to feel the least bit off, she +stopped eating. Not a bite would she touch till she felt well again." + +Mildred, moved by an impulse stronger than her inclination, produced +the Keith paper. "I wish you'd read this, and tell me what you think +of it. You've got so much common sense." + +Agnes read it through to the end, began at the beginning and read it +through again. "That sounds good to me," said she. "I want to think +it over. If you don't mind I'd like to show it to Miss Blond. She +knows a lot about those things. I suppose you're going to see Mr. +Crossley to-day?--that's the musical manager's name, isn't it?" + +"I'm going at eleven. That isn't too early, is it?" + +"If I were you, I'd go as soon as I was dressed for the street. And if +you don't get to see him, wait till you do. Don't talk to +under-staffers. Always go straight for the head man. You've got +something that's worth his while. How did he get to be head man? +Because he knows a good thing the minute he sees it. The under fellows +are usually under because they are so taken up with themselves and with +impressing people how grand they are that they don't see anything else. +So, when you talk to them, you wear yourself out and waste your time." + +"There's only one thing that makes me nervous," said Mildred. "Everyone +I've ever talked with about going on the stage--everyone who has talked +candidly--has said--" + +"Yes, I know," said Mrs. Belloc, as Mildred paused to search for +smooth-sounding words in which to dress, without disguising, a +distinctly ugly idea. "I've heard that, too. I don't know whether +there's anything in it or not." She looked admiringly at Mildred, who +that morning was certainly lovely enough to tempt any man. "If there is +anything in it, why, I reckon YOU'D be up against it. That's the worst +of having men at the top in any trade and profession. A woman's got to +get her chance through some man, and if he don't choose to let her have +it, she's likely to fail." + +Mildred showed how this depressed her. + +"But don't you fret about that till you have to," advised Mrs. Belloc. +"I've a notion that, even if it's true, it may not apply to you. Where +a woman offers for a place that she can fill about as well as a hundred +other women, she's at the man's mercy; but if she knows that she's far +and away the best for the place, I don't think a man's going to stand +in his own light. Let him see that he can make money through YOU, +money he won't make if he don't get you. Then, I don't think you'll +have any trouble." + +But Mildred's depression did not decrease. "If my voice could only be +relied on!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it exasperating that I've got a +delicate throat!" + +"It's always something," said Mrs. Belloc. "One thing's about as bad +as another, and anything can be overcome." + +"No, not in my case," said Mildred. "The peculiar quality of my +voice--what makes it unusual--is due to the delicateness of my throat." + +"Maybe so," said Mrs. Belloc. + +"Of course, I can always sing--after a fashion," continued Mildred. +"But to be really valuable on the stage you've got to be able always to +sing at your best. So I'm afraid I'm in the class of those who'll suit, +one about as well as another." + +"You've got to get out of that class," said Mrs. Belloc. "The men in +that class, and the women, have to do any dirty work the boss sees fit +to give 'em--and not much pay, either. Let me tell you one thing, Miss +Stevens. If you can't get among the few at the top in the singing +game, you must look round for some game where you can hope to be among +the few. No matter WHAT it is. By using your brains and working hard, +there's something you can do better than pretty nearly anybody else can +or will do it. You find that." + +The words sank in, sank deep. Mildred, sense of her surroundings lost, +was gazing straight ahead with an expression that gave Mrs. Belloc hope +and even a certain amount of confidence. There was a distinct advance; +for, after she reflected upon all that Mildred had told her, little of +her former opinion of Mildred's chances for success had remained but a +hope detained not without difficulty. Mrs. Belloc knew the human race +unusually well for a woman--unusually well for a human being of +whatever sex or experience. She had discovered how rare is the +temperament, the combination of intelligence and tenacity, that makes +for success. She had learned that most people, judged by any standard, +were almost total failures, that most of the more or less successful +were so merely because the world had an enormous amount of important +work to be done, even though half-way, and had no one but those +half-competents to do it. As incompetence in a man would be tolerated +where it would not be in a woman, obviously a woman, to get on, must +have the real temperament of success. + +She now knew enough about Mildred to be able to "place" her in the +"lady" class--those brought up not only knowing how to do nothing with +a money value (except lawful or unlawful man-trapping), but also +trained to a sensitiveness and refinement and false shame about work +that made it exceedingly difficult if not impossible for them to learn +usefulness. She knew all Mildred's handicaps, both those the girl was +conscious of and those far heavier ones which she fatuously regarded as +advantages. How was Mildred ever to learn to dismiss and disregard +herself as the pretty woman of good social position, an object of +admiration and consideration? Mildred, in the bottom of her heart, was +regarding herself as already successful--successful at the highest a +woman can achieve or ought to aspire to achieve--was regarding her +career, however she might talk or might fancy she believed, as a mere +livelihood, a side issue. She would be perhaps more than a little +ashamed of her stage connections, should she make any, until she should +be at the very top--and how get to the top when one is working under +the handicap of shame? Above all, how was this indulgently and +shelteredly reared lady to become a working woman, living a routine +life, toiling away day in and day out, with no let up, permitting no +one and nothing to break her routine? "Really," thought Agnes Belloc, +"she ought to have married that Baird man--or stayed on with the nasty +general. I wonder why she didn't! That's the only thing that gives me +hope. There must be something in her--something that don't +appear--something she doesn't know about, herself. What is it? Maybe +it was only vanity and vacillation. Again, I don't know." + +The difficulty Mrs. Belloc labored under in her attempt to explore and +map Mildred Gower was a difficulty we all labor under in those same +enterprises. We cannot convince ourselves--in spite of experience +after experience--that a human character is never consistent and +homogeneous, is always conglomerate, that there are no two traits, +however naturally exclusive, which cannot coexist in the same +personality, that circumstance is the dominating factor in human action +and brings forward as dominant characteristics now one trait or set of +traits, consistent or inconsistent, and now another. The Alexander who +was Aristotle's model pupil was the same Alexander as the drunken +debaucher. Indeed, may it not be that the characters which play the +large parts in the comedy of life are naturally those that offer to the +shifting winds of circumstances the greatest variety of strongly +developed and contradictory qualities? For example, if it was +Mildred's latent courage rescued her from Siddall, was it not her +strong tendency to vacillation that saved her from a loveless and +mercenary marriage to Stanley Baird? Perhaps the deep underlying truth +is that all unusual people have in common the character that centers a +powerful aversion to stagnation; thus, now by their strong qualities, +now by their weaknesses, they are swept inevitably on and on and ever +on. Good to-day, bad to-morrow, good again the day after, weak in this +instance, strong in that, now brave and now cowardly, soft at one time, +hard at another, generous and the reverse by turns, they are consistent +only in that they are never at rest, but incessantly and inevitably go. + +Mildred reluctantly rose, moved toward the door with lingering step. "I +guess I'd better make a start," said she. + +"That's the talk," said Mrs. Belloc heartily. But the affectionate +glance she sent after the girl was dubious--even pitying. + + + +IX + +TWO minutes' walk through to Broadway, and she was at her destination. +There, on the other side of the way, stood the Gayety Theater, with the +offices of Mr. Clarence Crossley overlooking the intersection of the +two streets. Crossley was intrenched in the remotest of a series of +rooms, each tenanted by under-staffers of diminishing importance as you +drew way from the great man. It was next to impossible to get at +him--a cause of much sneering and dissatisfaction in theatrical +circles. Crossley, they said, was exclusive, had the swollen head, had +forgotten that only a few years before he had been a cheap little +ticket-seller grateful for a bow from any actor who had ever had his +name up. Crossley insisted that he was not a victim of folie de +grandeur, that, on the contrary, he had become less vain as he had +risen, where he could see how trivial a thing rising was and how +accidental. Said he: + +"Why do I shut myself in? Because I'm what I am--a good thing, easy +fruit. You say that men a hundred times bigger than I'll ever be don't +shut themselves up. You say that Mountain, the biggest financier in +the country, sits right out where anybody can go up to him. Yes, but +who'd dare go up to him? It's generally known that he's a cannibal, +that he kills his own food and eats it warm and raw. So he can afford +to sit in the open. If I did that, all my time and all my money would +go to the cheap-skates with hard-luck tales. I don't hide because I'm +haughty, but because I'm weak and soft." + +In appearance Mr. Crossley did not suggest his name. He was a tallish, +powerful-looking person with a smooth, handsome, audacious face, with +fine, laughing, but somehow untrustworthy eyes--at least untrustworthy +for women, though women had never profited by the warning. He dressed +in excellent taste, almost conspicuously, and the gay and expensive +details of his toilet suggested a man given over to liveliness. As a +matter of fact, this liveliness was potential rather than actual. Mr. +Crossley was always intending to resume the giddy ways of the years +before he became a great man, but was always so far behind in the +important things to be done and done at once that he was forced to put +off. However, his neckties and his shirts and his flirtations, +untrustworthy eyes kept him a reputation for being one of the worst +cases in Broadway. In vain did his achievements show that he could not +possibly have time or strength for anything but work. He looked like a +rounder; he was in a business that gave endless dazzling opportunities +for the lively life; a rounder he was, therefore. + +He was about forty. At first glance, so vivid and energetic was he, he +looked like thirty-five, but at second glance one saw the lines, the +underlying melancholy signs of strain, the heavy price he had paid for +phenomenal success won by a series of the sort of risks that make the +hair fall as autumn leaves on a windy day and make such hairs as stick +turn rapidly gray. Thus, there were many who thought Crossley was +through vanity shy of the truth by five or six years when he said forty. + +In ordinary circumstances Mildred would never have got at Crossley. +This was the first business call of her life where she had come as an +unknown and unsupported suitor. Her reception would have been such at +the hands of Crossley's insolent and ill-mannered underlings that she +would have fled in shame and confusion. It is even well within the +possibilities that she would have given up all idea of a career, would +have sent for Baird, and so on. And not one of those who, timid and +inexperienced, have suffered rude rebuff at their first advance, would +have condemned her. But it so chanced--whether by good fortune or by +ill the event was to tell--that she did not have to face a single +underling. The hall door was open. She entered. It happened that +while she was coming up in the elevator a quarrel between a motorman +and a driver had heated into a fight, into a small riot. All the +underlings had rushed out on a balcony that commanded a superb view of +the battle. The connecting doors were open; Mildred advanced from room +to room, seeking someone who would take her card to Mr. Crossley. When +she at last faced a closed door she knocked. + +"Come!" cried a pleasant voice. + +And in she went, to face Crossley himself--Crossley, the "weak and +soft," caught behind his last entrenchment with no chance to escape. +Had Mildred looked the usual sort who come looking for jobs in musical +comedy, Mr. Crossley would not have risen--not because he was snobbish, +but because, being a sensitive, high-strung person, he instinctively +adopted the manner that would put the person before him at ease. He +glanced at Mildred, rose, and thrust back forthwith the slangy, offhand +personality that was perhaps the most natural--or was it merely the +most used?--of his many personalities. It was Crossley the man of the +world, the man of the artistic world, who delighted Mildred with a +courteous bow and offer of a chair, as he said: + +"You wished to see me?" + +"If you are Mr. Crossley," said Mildred. + +"I should be tempted to say I was, if I wasn't," said he, and his +manner made it a mere pleasantry to put her at ease. + +"There was no one in the outside room, so I walked on and on until your +door stopped me." + +"You'll never know how lucky you were," said he. "They tell me those +fellows out there have shocking manners." + +"Have you time to see me now? I've come to apply for a position in +musical comedy." + +"You have not been on the stage, Miss--" + +"Gower. Mildred Gower. I've decided to use my own name." + +"I know you have not been on the stage." + +"Except as an amateur--and not even that for several years. But I've +been working at my voice." + +Crossley was studying her, as she stood talking--she had refused the +chair. He was more than favorably impressed. But the deciding element +was not Mildred's excellent figure or her charm of manner or her sweet +and lovely face. It was superstition. Just at that time Crossley had +been abruptly deserted by Estelle Howard; instead of going on with the +rehearsals of "The Full Moon," in which she was to be starred, she had +rushed away to Europe with a violinist with whom she had fallen in love +at the first rehearsal. Crossley was looking about for someone to take +her place. He had been entrenched in those offices for nearly five +years; in all that time not a single soul of the desperate crowds that +dogged him had broken through his guard. Crossley was as superstitious +as was everyone else who has to do with the stage. + +"What kind of a voice?" asked he. + +"Lyric soprano." + +"You have music there. What?" + +"'Batti Batti' and a little song in English--'The Rose and the Bee.'" + +Crossley forgot his manners, turned his back squarely upon her, thrust +his hands deep into his trousers pockets, and stared out through the +window. He presently wheeled round. She would not have thought his +eyes could be so keen. Said he: "You were studying for grand opera?" + +"Yes." + +"Why do you drop it and take up this?" + +"No money," replied she. "I've got to make my living at once." + +"Well, let's see. Come with me, please." + +They went out by a door into the hall, went back to the rear of the +building, in at an iron door, down a flight of steep iron skeleton +steps dimly lighted. Mildred had often been behind the scenes in her +amateur theatrical days; but even if she had not, she would have known +where she was. Crossley called, "Moldini! Moldini!" + +The name was caught up by other voices and repeated again and again, +more and more remotely. A moment, and a small dark man with a +superabundance of greasy dark hair appeared. "Miss Gower," said +Crossley, "this is Signor Moldini. He will play your accompaniments." +Then to the little Italian, "Piano on the stage?" + +"Yes, sir." + +To Mildred with a smile, "Will you try?" + +She bent her head. She had no voice--not for song, not for speech, not +even for a monosyllable. + +Crossley took Moldini aside where Mildred could not hear. "Mollie," +said he, "this girl crept up on me, and I've got to give her a trial. +As you see, she's a lady, and you know what they are." + +"Punk," said Moldini. + +Crossley nodded. "She seems a nice sort, so I want to let her down +easy. I'll sit back in the house, in the dark. Run her through that +'Batti Batti' thing she's got with her. If she's plainly on the fritz, +I'll light a cigarette. If I don't light up, try the other song she +has. If I still don't light up make her go through that 'Ah, were you +here, love,' from the piece. But if I light up, it means that I'm +going to light out, and that you're to get rid of her--tell her we'll +let her know if she'll leave her address. You understand?" + +"Perfectly." + +Far from being thrilled and inspired, her surroundings made her sick at +heart--the chill, the dampness, the bare walls, the dim, dreary lights, +the coarsely-painted flats-- At last she was on the threshold of her +chosen profession. What a profession for such a person as she had +always been! She stood beside Moldini, seated at the piano. She gazed +at the darkness, somewhere in whose depths Crossley was hidden. After +several false starts she sang the "Batti Batti" through, sang it +atrociously--not like a poor professional, but like a pretentious +amateur, a reversion to a manner of singing she had once had, but had +long since got rid of. She paused at the end, appalled by the silence, +by the awfulness of her own performance. + +From the darkness a slight click. If she had known!--for, it was +Crossley's match-safe. + +The sound, slight yet so clear, startled her, roused her. She called +out: "Mr. Crossley, won't you please be patient enough to let me try +that again?" + +A brief hesitation, then: "Certainly." + +Once more she began. But this time there was no hesitation. From +first to last she did it as Jennings had coached her, did it with all +the beauty and energy of her really lovely voice. As she ended, +Moldini said in a quiet but intense undertone: "Bravo! Bravo! Fresh +as a bird on a bright spring morning." And from the darkness came: +"Ah--that's better, Miss Gower. That was professional work. Now for +the other." + +Thus encouraged and with her voice well warmed, she could not but make +a success of the song that was nearer to what would be expected of her +in musical comedy. Crossley called out: "Now, the sight singing, +Moldini. I don't expect you to do this well, Miss Gower. I simply wish +to get an idea of how you'd do a piece we have in rehearsal." + +"You'll have no trouble with this," said Moldini, as he opened the +comedy song upon the rack with a contemptuous whirl. "It's the easy +showy stuff that suits the tired business man and his laced-in wife. Go +at it and yell." + +Mildred glanced through it. There was a subtle something in the +atmosphere now that put her at her ease. She read the words aloud, +laughing at their silly sentimentality, she and Moldini and Crossley +making jokes about it. Soon she said: "I'm ready." + +She sang it well. She asked them to let her try it again. And the +second time, with the words in her mind and the simple melody, she was +able to put expression into it and to indicate, with restraint, the +action. Crossley came down the aisle. + +"What do you think, Mollie?" he said to Moldini. + +"We might test her at a few rehearsals." + +Crossley meekly accepted the salutary check on his enthusiasm. "Do you +wish to try, Miss Gower?" + +Mildred was silent. She knew now the sort of piece in which she was to +appear. She had seen a few of them, those cheap and vulgar farces with +their thin music, their more than dubious-looking people. What a +come-down! What a degradation! It was as bad in its way as being the +wife of General Siddall. And she was to do this, in preference to +marrying Stanley Baird. + +"You will be paid, of course, during rehearsal; that is, as long as we +are taking your time. Fifty dollars a week is about as much as we can +afford." Crossley was watching her shrewdly, was advancing these +remarks in response to the hesitation he saw so plainly. "Of course it +isn't grand opera," he went on. "In fact, it's pretty low--almost as +low as the public taste. You see, we aren't subsidized by millionaires +who want people to think they're artistic, so we have to hustle to +separate the public from its money. But if you make a hit, you can +earn enough to put you into grand opera in fine style." + +"I never heard of anyone's graduating from here into grand opera," said +Mildred. + +"Because our stars make so much money and make it so easily. It'll be +your own fault if you don't." + +"Can't I come to just one rehearsal--to see whether I can--can do it?" +pleaded Mildred. + +Crossley, made the more eager and the more superstitious by this +unprecedented reluctance, shook his head. + +"No. You must agree to stay as long as we want you," said he. "We +can't allow ourselves to be trifled with." + +"Very well," said Mildred resignedly. "I will rehearse as long as you +want me." + +"And will stay for the run of the piece, if we want that?" said +Crossley. "You to get a hundred a week if you are put in the cast. +More, of course, if you make a hit." + +"You mean I'm to sign a contract?" cried Mildred in dismay. + +"Exactly," said Crossley. A truly amazing performance. Moldini was +not astonished, however, for he had heard the songs, and he knew +Crossley's difficulties through Estelle Howard's flight. Also, he knew +Crossley--never so "weak and soft" that he trifled with unlikely +candidates for his productions. Crossley had got up because he knew +what to do and when to do it. + +Mildred acquiesced. Before she was free to go into the street again, +she had signed a paper that bound her to rehearse for three weeks at +fifty dollars a week and to stay on at a hundred dollars a week for +forty weeks or the run of "The Full Moon," if Crossley so desired; if +he did not, she was free at the end of the rehearsals. A shrewdly +one-sided contract. But Crossley told himself he would correct it, if +she should by some remote chance be good enough for the part and should +make a hit in it. This was no mere salve to conscience, by the way. +Crossley would not be foolish enough to give a successful star just +cause for disliking and distrusting him and at the earliest opportunity +leaving him to make money for some rival manager. + +Mrs. Belloc had not gone out, had been waiting in a fever of anxiety. +When Mildred came into her sitting-room with a gloomy face and dropped +to a chair as if her last hope had abandoned her, it was all Agnes +Belloc could do to restrain her tears. Said she: + +"Don't be foolish, my dear. You couldn't expect anything to come of +your first attempt." + +"That isn't it," said Mildred. "I think I'll give it up--do something +else. Grand opera's bad enough. There were a lot of things about it +that I was fighting my distaste for." + +"I know," said Agnes. "And you'd better fight them hard. They're +unworthy of you." + +"But--musical comedy! It's--frightful!" + +"It's an honest way of making a living, and that's more than can be +said of--of some things. I suppose you're afraid you'll have to wear +tights--or some nonsense like that." + +"No, no. It's doing it at all. Such rotten music--and what a +loathsome mess!" + +Mrs. Belloc's eyes flashed. "I'm losing all patience!" she cried. "I +know you've been brought up like a fool and always surrounded by fools. +I suppose you'd rather sell yourself to some man. Do you know what's +the matter with you, at bottom? Why, you're lazy and you're a coward. +Too lazy to work. And afraid of what a lot of cheap women'll +say--women earning their board and clothes in about the lowest way such +a thing can be done. Haven't you got any self-respect?" + +Mildred rose. "Mrs. Belloc," she said angrily, "I can't permit even +you to say such things to me." + +"The shoe seems to fit," retorted Mrs. Belloc. "I never yet saw a +lady, a real, silk-and-diamonds, sit-in-the-parlor lady, who had any +self-respect. If I had my way they wouldn't get a mouthful to eat till +they had earned it. That'd be a sure cure for the lady disease. I'm +ashamed of you, Miss Stevens! And you're ashamed of yourself." + +"Yes, I am," said Mildred, with a sudden change of mood. + +"The best thing you can do is to rest till lunch-time. Then start out +after lunch and hunt a job. I'll go with you." + +"But I've got a job," said Mildred. "That's what's the matter." + +Agnes Belloc's jaw dropped and her rather heavy eyebrows shot up toward +the low sweeping line of her auburn hair. She made such a ludicrous +face that Mildred laughed outright. Said she: + +"It's quite time. Fifty a week, for three weeks of rehearsal. No +doubt _I_ can go on if I like. Nothing could be easier." + +"Crossley?" + +"Yes. He was very nice--heard me sing three pieces--and it was all +settled. I'm to begin to-morrow." + +The color rose in Agnes Belloc's face until she looked apoplectic. She +abruptly retreated to her bedroom. After a few minutes she came back, +her normal complexion restored. "I couldn't trust myself to speak," +said she. "That was the worst case of ingratitude I ever met up with. +You, getting a place at fifty dollars a week--and on your first +trial--and you come in looking as if you'd lost your money and your +reputation. What kind of a girl are you, anyway?" + +"I don't know," said Mildred. "I wish I did." + +"Well, I'm sorry you got it so easy. Now you'll have a false notion +from the start. It's always better to have a hard time getting things. +Then you appreciate them, and have learned how to hold on." + +"No trouble about holding on to this," said Mildred carelessly. + +"Please don't talk that way, child," pleaded Agnes, almost tearful. +"It's frightful to me, who've had experience, to hear you invite a +fall-down." + +Mildred disdainfully fluttered the typewritten copy of the musical +comedy. "This is child's play," said she. "The lines are beneath +contempt. As for the songs, you never heard such slop." + +"The stars in those pieces get four and five hundred, and more, a +week," said Mrs. Belloc. "Believe me, those managers don't pay out any +such sums for child's play. You look out. You're going at this wrong." + +"I shan't care if I do fail," said Mildred. + +"Do you mean that?" demanded Mrs. Belloc. + +"No, I don't," said Mildred. "Oh, I don't know what I mean." + +"I guess you're just talking," said Mrs. Belloc after a reflective +silence. "I guess a girl who goes and gets a good job, first crack out +of the box, must have a streak of shrewdness." + +"I hope so," said Mildred doubtfully. + +"I guess you'll work hard, all right. After you went out this morning, +I took that paper down to Miss Blond. She's crazy about it. She wants +to make a copy of it. I told her I'd ask you." + +"Certainly," said Mildred. "She says she'll return it the same day." + +"Tell her she can keep it as long as she likes." + +Mrs. Belloc eyed her gravely, started to speak, checked herself. +Instead, she said, "No, I shan't do that. I'll have it back in your +room by this evening. You might change your mind, and want to use it." + +"Very well," said Mildred, pointedly uninterested and ignoring Mrs. +Belloc's delicate but distinct emphasis upon "might." + +Mrs. Belloc kept a suspicious eye upon her--an eye that was not easily +deceived. The more she thought about Mildred's state of depression and +disdain the more tolerant she became. That mood was the natural and +necessary result of the girl's bringing up and mode of life. The +important thing--and the wonderful thing--was her being able to +overcome it. After a week of rehearsal she said: "I'm making the best +of it. But I don't like it, and never shall." + +"I should hope not," replied Mrs. Belloc. "You're going to the top. +I'd hate to see you contented at the bottom. Aren't you learning a +good deal that'll be useful later on?" + +"That's why I'm reconciled to it," said she. "The stage director, Mr. +Ransdell, is teaching me everything--even how to sing. He knows his +business." + +Ransdell not only knew, but also took endless pains with her. He was a +tall, thin, dark man, strikingly handsome in the distinguished way. So +distinguished looking was he that to meet him was to wonder why he had +not made a great name for himself. An extraordinary mind he certainly +had, and an insight into the reasons for things that is given only to +genius. He had failed as a composer, failed as a playwright, failed as +a singer, failed as an actor. He had been forced to take up the +profession of putting on dramatic and musical plays, a profession that +required vast knowledge and high talents and paid for them in niggardly +fashion both in money and in fame. Crossley owed to him more than to +any other single element the series of successes that had made him +rich; yet the ten thousand a year Crossley paid him was regarded as +evidence of Crossley's lavish generosity and was so. It would have +been difficult to say why a man so splendidly endowed by nature and so +tireless in improving himself was thus unsuccessful. Probably he +lacked judgment; indeed, that lack must have been the cause. He could +judge for Crossley; but not for himself, not when he had the feeling of +ultimate responsibility. + +Mildred had anticipated the most repulsive associations--men and women +of low origin and of vulgar tastes and of vulgarly loose lives. She +found herself surrounded by simple, pleasant people, undoubtedly +erratic for the most part in all their habits, but without viciousness. +And they were hard workers, all. Ransdell--for Crossley--tolerated no +nonsense. His people could live as they pleased, away from the +theater, but there they must be prompt and fit. The discipline was as +severe as that of a monastery. She saw many signs that all sorts of +things of the sort with which she wished to have no contact were going +on about her; but as she held slightly--but not at all +haughtily--aloof, she would have had to go out of her way to see enough +to scandalize her. She soon suspected that she was being treated with +extraordinary consideration. This was by Crossley's orders. But the +carrying out of their spirit as well as their letter was due to +Ransdell. Before the end of that first week she knew that there was +the personal element behind his admiration for her voice and her talent +for acting, behind his concentrating most of his attention upon her +part. He looked his love boldly whenever they were alone; he was +always trying to touch her--never in a way that she could have +resented, or felt like resenting. He was not unattractive to her, and +she was eager to learn all he had to teach, and saw no harm in helping +herself by letting him love. + +Toward the middle of the second week, when they were alone in her +dressing-room, he--with the ingenious lack of abruptness of the +experienced man at the game--took her hand, and before she was ready, +kissed her. He did not accompany these advances with an outburst of +passionate words or with any fiery lighting up of the eyes, but calmly, +smilingly, as if it were what she was expecting him to do, what he had +a right to do. + +She did not know quite how to meet this novel attack. She drew her hand +away, went on talking about the part--the changes he had suggested in +her entrance, as she sang her best solo. He discussed this with her +until they rose to leave the theater. He looked smilingly down on her, +and said with the flattering air of the satisfied connoisseur: + +"Yes, you are charming, Mildred. I can make a great artist and a great +success out of you. We need each other." + +"I certainly need you," said she gratefully. "How much you've done for +me." + +"Only the beginning," replied he. "Ah, I have such plans for you--such +plans. Crossley doesn't realize how far you can be made to go--with +the right training. Without it--" He shook his head laughingly. "But +you shall have it, my dear." And he laid his hands lightly and +caressingly upon her shoulders. + +The gesture was apparently a friendly familiarity. To resent it, even +to draw away, would put her in the attitude of the woman absurdly +exercised about the desirability and sacredness of her own charms. + +Still smiling, in that friendly, assured way, he went on: "You've been +very cold and reserved with me, my dear. Very unappreciative." + +Mildred, red and trembling, hung her head in confusion. + +"I've been at the business ten years," he went on, "and you're the +first woman I've been more than casually interested in. The pretty +ones were bores. The homely ones--I can't interest myself in a homely +woman, no matter how much talent she has. A woman must first of all +satisfy the eye. And you--" He seated himself and drew her toward +him. She, cold all over and confused in mind and almost stupefied, +resisted with all her strength; but her strength seemed to be oozing +away. She said: + +"You must not do this. You must not do this. I'm horribly +disappointed in you." + +He drew her to his lap and held her there without any apparent tax upon +his strength. He kissed her, laughingly pushing away the arms with +which she tried to shield her face. Suddenly she found strength to +wrench herself free and stood at a distance from him. She was panting a +little, was pale, was looking at him with cold anger. + +"You will please leave this room," said she. + +He lit a cigarette, crossed his legs comfortably, and looked at her +with laughing eyes. "Don't do that," he said genially. "Surely my +lessons in acting haven't been in vain. That's too obviously a pose." + +She went to the mirror, arranged her hat, and moved toward the door. He +rose and barred the way. + +"You are as sensible as you are sweet and lovely," said he. "Why +should you insist on our being bad friends?" + +"If you don't stand aside, I'll call out to the watchman." + +"I'd never have thought you were dishonest. In fact, I don't believe +it yet. You don't look like one of those ladies who wish to take +everything and give nothing." His tone and manner were most +attractive. Besides, she could not forget all he had done for her--and +all he could do for her. Said she: + +"Mr. Ransdell, if I've done anything to cause you to misunderstand, it +was unconscious. And I'm sorry. But I--" + +"Be honest," interrupted he. "Haven't I made it plain that I was +fascinated by you?" + +She could not deny it. + +"Haven't I been showing you that I was willing to do everything I could +for you?" + +"I thought you were concerned only about the success of the piece." + +"The piece be jiggered," said he. "You don't imagine YOU are necessary +to its success, do you? You, a raw, untrained girl. Don't your good +sense tell you I could find a dozen who would do, let us say, ALMOST as +well?" + +"I understand that," murmured she. + +"Perhaps you do, but I doubt it," rejoined he. "Vanity's a fast growing +weed. However, I rather expected that you would remain sane and +reasonably humble until you'd had a real success. But it seems not. +Now tell me, why should I give my time and my talent to training +you--to putting you in the way of quick and big success?" + +She was silent. + +"What did you count on giving me in return? Your thanks?" + +She colored, hung her head. + +"Wasn't I doing for you something worth while? And what had you to give +in return?" He laughed with gentle mockery. "Really, you should have +been grateful that I was willing to do so much for so little, for what +I wanted ought--if you are a sensible woman--to seem to you a trifle in +comparison with what I was doing for you. It was my part, not yours, +to think the complimentary things about you. How shallow and vain you +women are! Can't you see that the value of your charms is not in them, +but in the imagination of some man?" + +"I can't answer you," said she. "You've put it all wrong. You +oughtn't to ask payment for a favor beyond price." + +"No, I oughtn't to HAVE to ask," corrected he, in the same pleasantly +ironic way. "You ought to have been more than glad to give freely. +But, curiously, while we've been talking, I've changed my mind about +those precious jewels of yours. We'll say they're pearls, and that my +taste has suddenly changed to diamonds." He bowed mockingly. "So, +dear lady, keep your pearls." + +And he stood aside, opening the door for her. She hesitated, dazed +that she was leaving, with the feeling of the conquered, a field on +which, by all the precedents, she ought to have been victor. She +passed a troubled night, debated whether to relate her queer experience +to Mrs. Belloc, decided for silence. It drafted into service all her +reserve of courage to walk into the theater the next day and to appear +on the stage among the assembled company with her usual air. Ransdell +greeted her with his customary friendly courtesy and gave her his +attention, as always. By the time they had got through the first act, +in which her part was one of four of about equal importance, she had +recovered herself and was in the way to forget the strange stage +director's strange attack and even stranger retreat. But the situation +changed with the second act, in which she was on the stage all the time +and had the whole burden. The act as originally written had been less +generous to her; but Ransdell had taken one thing after another away +from the others and had given it to her. She made her first entrance +precisely as he had trained her to make it and began. A few seconds, +and he stopped her. + +"Please try again, Miss Gower," said he. "I'm afraid that won't do." + +She tried again; again he stopped her. She tried a third time. His +manner was all courtesy and consideration, not the shade of a change. +But she began to feel a latent hostility. Instinctively she knew that +he would no longer help her, that he would leave her to her own +resources, and judge her by how she acquitted herself. She made a +blunder of her third trial. + +"Really, Miss Gower, that will never do," said he mildly. "Let me show +you how you did it." + +He gave an imitation of her--a slight caricature. A titter ran through +the chorus. He sternly rebuked them and requested her to try again. +Her fourth attempt was her worst. He shook his head in gentle +remonstrance. "Not quite right yet," said he regretfully. "But we'll +go on." + +Not far, however. He stopped her again. Again the courteous, kindly +criticism. And so on, through the entire act. By the end of it, +Mildred's nerves were unstrung. She saw the whole game, and realized +how helpless she was. Before the end of that rehearsal, Mildred had +slipped back from promising professional into clumsy amateur, tolerable +only because of the beautiful freshness of her voice--and it was a +question whether voice alone would save her. Yet no one but Mildred +herself suspected that Ransdell had done it, had revenged himself, had +served notice on her that since she felt strong enough to stand alone +she was to have every opportunity to do so. He had said nothing +disagreeable; on the contrary, he had been most courteous, most +forbearing. + +In the third act she was worse than in the second. At the end of the +rehearsal the others, theretofore flattering and encouraging, turned +away to talk among themselves and avoided her. Ransdell, about to +leave, said: + +"Don't look so down-hearted, Miss Gower. You'll be all right +to-morrow. An off day's nothing." + +He said it loudly enough for the others to hear. Mildred's face grew +red with white streaks across it, like the prints of a lash. The +subtlest feature of his malevolence had been that, whereas on other +days he had taken her aside to criticize her, on this day he had spoken +out--gently, deprecatingly, but frankly--before the whole company. +Never had Mildred Gower been so sad and so blue as she was that day and +that night. She came to the rehearsal the following day with a sore +throat. She sang, but her voice cracked on the high notes. It was a +painful exhibition. Her fellow principals, who had been rather glad of +her set-back the day before, were full of pity and sympathy. They did +not express it; they were too kind for that. But their looks, their +drawing away from her--Mildred could have borne sneers and jeers +better. And Ransdell was SO forbearing, SO gentle. + +Her voice got better, got worse. Her acting remained mediocre to bad. +At the fifth rehearsal after the break with the stage-director, Mildred +saw Crossley seated far back in the dusk of the empty theater. It was +his first appearance at rehearsals since the middle of the first week. +As soon as he had satisfied himself that all was going well, he had +given his attention to other matters where things were not going well. +Mildred knew why he was there--and she acted and sang atrociously. +Ransdell aggravated her nervousness by ostentatiously trying to help +her, by making seemingly adroit attempts to cover her +mistakes--attempts apparently thwarted and exposed only because she was +hopelessly bad. + +In the pause between the second and third acts Ransdell went down and +sat with Crossley, and they engaged in earnest conversation. The +while, the members of the company wandered restlessly about the stage, +making feeble attempts to lift the gloom with affected cheerfulness. +Ransdell returned to the stage, went up to Mildred, who was sitting +idly turning the leaves of a part-book. + +"Miss Gower," said he, and never had his voice been so friendly as in +these regretful accents, "don't try to go on to-day. You're evidently +not yourself. Go home and rest for a few days. We'll get along with +your understudy, Miss Esmond. When Mr. Crossley wants to put you in +again, he'll send for you. You mustn't be discouraged. I know how +beginners take these things to heart. Don't fret about it. You can't +fail to succeed." + +Mildred rose and, how she never knew, crossed the stage. She stumbled +into the flats, fumbled her way to the passageway, to her +dressing-room. She felt that she must escape from that theater +quickly, or she would give way to some sort of wild attack of nerves. +She fairly ran through the streets to Mrs. Belloc's, shut herself in +her room. But instead of the relief of a storm of tears, there came a +black, hideous depression. Hour after hour she sat, almost without +motion. The afternoon waned; the early darkness came. Still she did +not move--could not move. At eight o'clock Mrs. Belloc knocked. +Mildred did not answer. Her door opened--she had forgotten to lock it. +In came Mrs. Belloc. + +"Isn't that you, sitting by the window?" she said. + +"Yes," replied Mildred. + +"I recognized the outline of your hat. Besides, who else could it be +but you? I've saved some dinner for you. I thought you were still +out." + +Mildred did not answer. + +"What's the matter?" said Agnes? "Ill? bad news?" + +"I've lost my position," said Mildred. + +A pause. Then Mrs. Belloc felt her way across the room until she was +touching the girl. "Tell me about it, dear," said she. + +In a monotonous, lifeless way Mildred told the story. It was some time +after she finished when Agnes said: + +"That's bad--bad, but it might be worse. You must go to see the +manager, Crossley." + +"Why?" said Mildred. + +"Tell him what you told me." + +Mildred's silence was dissent. + +"It can't do any harm," urged Agnes. + +"It can't do any good," replied Mildred. + +"That isn't the way to look at it." + +A long pause. Then Mildred said: "If I got a place somewhere else, +I'd meet the same thing in another form." + +"You've got to risk that." + +"Besides, I'd never have had a chance of succeeding if Mr. Ransdell +hadn't taught me and stood behind me." + +It was many minutes before Agnes Belloc said in a hesitating, +restrained voice: "They say that success--any kind of success--has its +price, and that one has to be ready to pay that price or fail." + +Again the profound silence. Into it gradually penetrated the soft, +insistent sound of the distant roar of New York--a cruel, clamorous, +devouring sound like a demand for that price of success. Said Agnes +timidly: + +"Why not go to see Mr. Ransdell." + +"He wouldn't make it up," said Mildred. "And I--I couldn't. I tried +to marry Stanley Baird for money--and I couldn't. It would be the same +way now--only more so." + +"But you've got to do something." + +"Yes, and I will." Mildred had risen abruptly, was standing at the +window. Agnes Belloc could feel her soul rearing defiantly at the city +into which she was gazing. "I will!" she replied. + +"It sounds as if you'd been pushed to where you'd turn and make a +fight," said Agnes. + +"I hope so," said Mildred. "It's high time." + +She thought out several more or less ingenious indirect routes into Mr. +Crossley's stronghold, for use in case frontal attack failed. But she +did not need them. Still, the hours she spent in planning them were by +no means wasted. No time is wasted that is spent in desperate, +concentrated thinking about any of the practical problems of life. And +Mildred Gower, as much as any other woman of her training--or lack of +training--was deficient in ability to use her mind purposefully. Most +of us let our minds act like a sheep in a pasture--go wandering hither +and yon, nibbling at whatever happens to offer. Only the superior few +deliberately select a pasture, select a line of procedure in that +pasture and keep to it, concentrating upon what is useful to us, and +that alone. So it was excellent experience for Mildred to sit down and +think connectedly and with wholly absorbed mind upon the phase of her +career most important at the moment. When she had worked out all the +plans that had promise in them she went tranquilly to sleep, a stronger +and a more determined person, for she had said with the energy that +counts: "I shall see him, somehow. If none of these schemes works, +I'll work out others. He's got to see me." + +But it was no occult "bearing down" that led him to order her admitted +the instant her card came. He liked her; he wished to see her again; +he felt that it was the decent thing, and somehow not difficult gently +but clearly to convey to her the truth. On her side she, who had +looked forward to the interview with some nervousness, was at her ease +the moment she faced him alone in that inner office. He had +extraordinary personal charm--more than Ransdell, though Ransdell had +the charm invariably found in a handsome human being with the +many-sided intellect that gives lightness of mind. Crossley was not +intellectual, not in the least. One had only to glance at him to see +that he was one of those men who reserve all their intelligence for the +practical sides of the practical thing that forms the basis of their +material career. He knew something of many things, had a wonderful +assortment of talents--could sing, could play piano or violin, could +compose, could act, could do mystifying card tricks, could order +women's clothes as discriminatingly as he could order his own--all +these things a little, but nothing much except making a success of +musical comedy and comic opera. He had an ambition, carefully +restrained in a closet of his mind, where it could not issue forth and +interfere with his business. This ambition was to be a giver of grand +opera on a superb scale. He regarded himself as a mere +money-maker--was not ashamed of this, but neither was he proud of it. +His ambition then represented a dream of a rise to something more than +business man, to friend and encourager and wet nurse to art. + +Mildred Gower had happened to set his imagination to working. The +discovery that she was one of those whose personalities rouse high +expectations only to mock them had been a severe blow to his confidence +in his own judgment. Though he pretended to believe, and had the habit +of saying that he was "weak and soft," was always being misled by his +good nature, he really believed himself an unerring judge of human +beings, and, as his success evidenced, he was not far wrong. Thus, +though convinced that Mildred was a "false alarm," his secret vanity +would not let him release his original idea. He had the tenacity that +is an important element in all successes; and tenacity become a fixed +habit has even been known to ruin in the end the very careers it has +made. + +Said Mildred, in a manner which was astonishingly unemotional and +businesslike: "I've not come to tattle and to whine, Mr. Crossley. +I've hesitated about coming at all, partly because I've an instinct +it's useless, partly because what I have to say isn't easy." + +Crossley's expression hardened. The old story!--excuses, excuses, +self-excuse--somebody else to blame. + +"If it hadn't been for Mr. Ransdell--the trouble he took with me, the +coaching he gave me--I'd have been a ridiculous failure at the very +first rehearsal. But--it is to Mr. Ransdell that my failure is due." + +"My dear Miss Gower," said Crossley, polite but cold, "I regret hearing +you say that. The fact is very different. Not until you had done +so--so unacceptably at several rehearsals that news of it reached me by +another way--not until I myself went to Mr. Ransdell about you did he +admit that there could be a possibility of a doubt of your succeeding. +I had to go to rehearsal myself and directly order him to restore Miss +Esmond and lay you off." + +Mildred was not unprepared. She received this tranquilly. "Mr. +Ransdell is a very clever man," said she with perfect good humor. "I've +no hope of convincing you, but I must tell my side." + +And clearly and simply, with no concealments through fear of disturbing +his high ideal of her ladylike delicacy, she told him the story. He +listened, seated well back in his tilted desk-chair, his gaze upon the +ceiling. When she finished he held his pose a moment, then got up and +paced the length of the office several times, his hands in his pockets. +He paused, looked keenly at her, a good-humored smile in those eyes of +his so fascinating to women because of their frank wavering of an +inconstancy it would indeed be a triumph to seize and hold. Said he: + +"And your bad throat? Did Ransdell give you a germ?" + +She colored. He had gone straight at the weak point. + +"If you'd been able to sing," he went on, "nobody could have done you +up." + +She could not gather herself together for speech. + +"Didn't you know your voice wasn't reliable when you came to me?" + +"Yes," she admitted. + +"And wasn't that the REAL reason you had given up grand opera?" pursued +he mercilessly. + +"The reason was what I told you--lack of money," replied she. "I did +not go into the reason why I lacked money. Why should I when, even on +my worst days, I could get through all my part in a musical +comedy--except songs that could be cut down or cut out? If I could +have made good at acting, would you have given me up on account of my +voice?" + +"Not if you had been good enough," he admitted. + +"Then I did not get my engagement on false pretenses?" + +"No. You are right. Still, your fall-down as a singer is the +important fact. Don't lose sight of it." + +"I shan't," said she tersely. + +His eyes were frankly laughing. "As to Ransdell--what a clever trick! +He's a remarkable man. If he weren't so shrewd in those little ways, +he might have been a great man. Same old story--just a little too +smart, and so always doing the little thing and missing the big thing. +Yes, he went gunning for you--and got you." He dropped into his chair. +He thought a moment, laughed aloud, went on: "No doubt he has worked +that same trick many a time. I've suspected it once or twice, but this +time he fooled me. He got you, Miss Gower, and I can do nothing. You +must see that I can't look after details. And I can't give up as +invaluable a man as Ransdell. If I put you back, he'd put you +out--would make the piece fail rather than let you succeed." + +Mildred was gazing somberly at the floor. + +"It's hard lines--devilish hard lines," he went on sympathetically. +"But what can I do?" + +"What can I do?" said Mildred. + +"Do as all people do who succeed--meet the conditions." + +"I'm not prepared to go as far as that, at least not yet," said she +with bitter sarcasm. "Perhaps when I'm actually starving and in rags--" + +"A very distressing future," interrupted Crossley. "But--I didn't make +the world. Don't berate me. Be sensible--and be honest, Miss Gower, +and tell me--how could I possibly protect you and continue to give +successful shows? If you can suggest any feasible way, I'll take it." + +"No, there isn't any way," replied she, rising to go. + +He rose to escort her to the hall door. "Personally, the Ransdell sort +of thing is--distasteful to me. Perhaps if I were not so busy I might +be forced by my own giddy misconduct to take less high ground. I've +observed that the best that can be said for human nature at its best is +that it is as well behaved as its real temptations permit. He was +making you, you know. You've admitted it." + +"There's no doubt about that," said Mildred. + +"Mind you, I'm not excusing him. I'm simply explaining him. If your +voice had been all right--if you could have stood to any degree the +test he put you to, the test of standing alone--you'd have defeated +him. He wouldn't have dared go on. He's too shrewd to think a real +talent can be beaten." + +The strong lines, the latent character, in Mildred's face were so +strongly in evidence that looking at her then no one would have thought +of her beauty or even of her sex, but only of the force that resists +all and overcomes all. "Yes--the voice," said she. "The voice." + +"If it's ever reliable, come to see me. Until then--" He put out his +hand. When she gave him hers, he held it in a way that gave her no +impulse to draw back. "You know the conditions of success now. You +must prepare to meet them. If you put yourself at the mercy of the +Ransdells--or any other of the petty intriguers that beset every avenue +of success--you must take the consequences, you must conciliate them as +best you can. If you don't wish to be at their mercy, you must do your +part." + +She nodded. He released her hand, opened the hall door. He said: + +"Forgive my little lecture. But I like you, and I can't help having +hope of you." He smiled charmingly, his keen, inconstant eyes dimming. +"Perhaps I hope because you're young and extremely lovely and I am +pitifully susceptible. You see, you'd better go. Every man's a +Ransdell at heart where pretty women are concerned." + +She did not leave the building. She went to the elevator and asked the +boy where she could find Signor Moldini. His office was the big room +on the third floor where voice candidates were usually tried out, three +days in the week. At the moment he was engaged. Mildred, seated in +the tiny anteroom, heard through the glass door a girl singing, or +trying to sing. It was a distressing performance, and Mildred wondered +that Moldini could be so tolerant as to hear her through. He came to +the door with her, thanked her profusely, told her he would let her +know whenever there was an opening "suited to your talents." As he +observed Mildred, he was still sighing and shaking his head over the +departed candidate. + +"Ugly and ignorant!" he groaned. "Poor creature! Poor, poor creature. +She makes three dollars a week--in a factory owned by a great +philanthropist. Three dollars a week. And she has no way to make a +cent more. Miss Gower, they talk about the sad, naughty girls who sell +themselves in the street to piece out their wages. But think, dear +young lady, how infinitely better of they are than the ugly ones who +can't piece out their wages." + +There he looked directly at her for the first time. Before she could +grasp the tragic sadness of his idea, he, with the mobility of candid +and highly sensitized natures, shifted from melancholy to gay, for in +looking at her he had caught only the charm of dress, of face, of +arrangement of hair. "What a pleasure!" he exclaimed, bursting into +smiles and seizing and kissing her gloved hands. "Voice like a bird, +face like an angel--only not TOO good, no, not TOO good. But it is so +rare--to look as one sings, to sing as one looks." + +For once, compliment, sincere compliment from one whose opinion was +worth while, gave Mildred pain. She burst out with her news: "Signor +Moldini, I've lost my place in the company. My voice has gone back on +me." + +Usually Moldini abounded in the consideration of fine natures that have +suffered deeply from lack of consideration. But he was so astounded +that he could only stare stupidly at her, smoothing his long greasy +hair with his thin brown hand. + +"It's all my fault; I don't take care of myself," she went on. "I +don't take care of my health. At least, I hope that's it." + +"Hope!" he said, suddenly angry. + +"Hope so, because if it isn't that, then I've no chance for a career," +explained she. + +He looked at her feet, pointed an uncannily long forefinger at them. +"The crossings and sidewalks are slush--and you, a singer, without +overshoes! Lunacy! Lunacy!" + +"I've never worn overshoes?" said Mildred apologetically. + +"Don't tell me! I wish not to hear. It makes me--like madness here." +He struck his low sloping brow with his palm. "What vanity! That the +feet may look well to the passing stranger, no overshoes! Rheumatism, +sore throat, colds, pneumonia. Is it not disgusting. If you were a +man I should swear in all the languages I know--which are five, +including Hungarian, and when one swears in Hungarian it is 'going +some,' as you say in America. Yes, it is going quite some." + +"I shall wear overshoes," said Mildred. + +"And indigestion--you have that?" + +"A little, I guess." + +"Much--much, I tell you!" cried Moldini, shaking the long finger at +her. "You Americans! You eat too fast and you eat too much. That is +why you are always sick, and consulting the doctors who give the +medicines that make worse, not better. Yes, you Americans are like +children. You know nothing. Sing? Americans cannot sing until they +learn that a stomach isn't a waste-basket, to toss everything into. You +have been to that throat specialist, Hicks?" + +"Ah, yes," said Mildred brightening. "He said there was nothing +organically wrong." + +"He is an ass, and a criminal. He ruins throats. He likes to cut, and +he likes to spray. He sprays those poisons that relieve colds and +paralyze the throat and cords. Americans sing? It is to laugh! They +have too many doctors; they take too many pills. Do you know what your +national emblem should be? A dollar-sign--yes. But that for all +nations. No, a pill--a pill, I tell you. You take pills?" + +"Now and then," said Mildred, laughing. "I admit I have several kinds +always on hand." + +"You see!" cried he triumphantly. "No, it is not mere art that America +needs, but more sense about eating--and to keep away from the doctors. +People full of pills, they cannot make poems and pictures, and write +operas and sing them. Throw away those pills, dear young lady, I +implore you." + +"Signor Moldini, I've come to ask you to help me." + +Instantly the Italian cleared his face of its half-humorous, +half-querulous expression. In its place came a grave and courteous +eagerness to serve her that was a pleasure, even if it was not +altogether sincere. And Mildred could not believe it sincere. Why +should he care what became of her, or be willing to put himself out for +her? + +"You told me one day that you had at one time taught singing," +continued she. + +"Until I was starved out?" replied he. "I told people the truth. If +they could not sing I said so. If they sang badly I told them why, and +it was always the upset stomach, the foolish food, and people will not +take care about food. They will eat what they please, and they say +eating is good for them, and that anyone who opposes them is a crank. +So most of my pupils left, except those I taught for nothing--and they +did not heed me, and came to nothing." + +"You showed me in ten minutes one day how to cure my worst fault. I've +sung better, more naturally ever since." + +"You could sing like the birds. You do--almost. You could be taught to +sing as freely and sweetly and naturally as a flower gives perfume. +That is YOUR divine gift, young lady song as pure and fresh as a bird's +song raining down through the leaves from the tree-top." + +"I have no money. I've got to get it, and I shall get it," continued +Mildred. "I want you to teach me--at any hour that you are free. And +I want to know how much you will charge, so that I shall know how much +to get." + +"Two dollars a lesson. Or, if you take six lessons a week, ten +dollars. Those were my terms. I could not take less." + +"It is too little," said Mildred. "The poorest kinds of teachers get +five dollars an hour--and teach nothing." + +"Two dollars, ten dollars a week," replied he. "It is the most I ever +could get. I will not take more from you." + +"It is too little," said she. "But I'll not insist--for obvious +reasons. Now, if you'll give me your home address, I'll go. When I +get the money, I'll write to you." + +"But wait!" cried he, as she rose to depart. "Why so hurried? Let us +see. Take of the wrap. Step behind the screen and loosen your corset. +Perhaps even you could take it off?" + +"Not without undressing," said Mildred. "But I can do that if it's +necessary." She laughed queerly. "From this time on I'll do ANYTHING +that's necessary." + +"No,--never mind. The dress of woman--of your kind of women. It is +not serious." He laughed grimly. "As for the other kind, their dress +is the only serious thing about them. It is a mistake to think that +women who dress badly are serious. My experience has been that they +are the most foolish of all. Fashionable dress--it is part of a +woman's tools. It shows that she is good at her business. The women +who try to dress like men, they are good neither at men's business nor +at women's." + +This, while Mildred was behind the screen, loosening her +corset--though, in fact, she wore it so loose at all times that she +inconvenienced herself simply to show her willingness to do as she was +told. When she came out, Moldini put her through a rigid physical +examination--made her breathe while he held one hand on her stomach, +the other on her back, listened at her heart, opened wide her throat +and peered down, thrust his long strong fingers deep into the muscles +of her arms, her throat, her chest, until she had difficulty in not +crying out with pain. + +"The foundation is there," was his verdict. "You have a good body, +good muscles, but flabby--a lady's muscles, not an opera singer's. And +you are stiff--not so stiff as when you first came here, but stiff for +a professional. Ah, we must go at this scientifically, thoroughly." + +"You will teach me to breathe--and how to produce my voice naturally?" + +"I will teach you nothing," replied he. "I will tell you what to do, +and you will teach yourself. You must get strong--strong in the supple +way--and then you will sing as God intended. The way to sing, dear +young lady, is to sing. Not to breathe artificially, and make faces, +and fuss with your throat, but simply to drop your mouth and throat +open and let it out!" + +Mildred produced from her hand-bag the Keith paper. "What do YOU think +of that?" she asked. + +Presently he looked up from his reading. "This part I have seen +before," said he. "It is Lucia Rivi's. Her cousin, Lotta Drusini, +showed it to me--she was a great singer also." + +"You approve of it?" + +"If you will follow that for two years, faithfully, you will be +securely great, and then you will follow it all your singing life--and +it will be long. But remember, dear young lady, I said IF you follow +it, and I said faithfully. I do not believe you can." + +"Why not?" said Mildred. + +"Because that means self-denial, colossal self-denial. You love things +to eat--yes?" + +Mildred nodded. + +"We all do," said Moldini. "And we hate routine, and we like foolish, +aimless little pleasures of all kinds." + +"And it will be two years before I can try grand opera--can make my +living?" said Mildred slowly. + +"I did not say that. I said, before you would be great. No, you can +sing, I think, in--wait." + +Moldini flung rapidly through an enormous mass of music on a large +table. "Ah, here!" he cried, and he showed her a manuscript of scales. +"Those two papers. It does not look much? Well, I have made it up, +myself. And when you can sing those two papers perfectly, you will be +a greater singer than any that ever lived." He laughed delightedly. +"Yes, it is all there--in two pages. But do not weep, dear lady, +because you will never sing them perfectly. You will do very well if-- +Always that if, remember! Now, let us see. Take this, sit in the +chair, and begin. Don't bother about me. I expect nothing. Just do +the best you can." + +Desperation, when it falls short of despair, is the best word for +achievement. Mildred's voice, especially at the outset, was far from +perfect condition. Her high notes, which had never been developed +properly, were almost bad. But she acquitted herself admirably from +the standpoint of showing what her possibilities were. And Moldini, +unkempt, almost unclean, but as natural and simple and human a soul as +ever paid the penalties of poverty and obscurity and friendlessness for +being natural and simple and human, exactly suited her peculiar +temperament. She knew that he liked her, that he believed in her; she +knew that he was as sympathetic toward her as her own self, that there +was no meanness anywhere in him. So she sang like a bird--a bird that +was not too well in soul or in body, but still a bird out in the +sunshine, with the airs of spring cheering his breast and its foliage +gladdening his eyes. He kept her at it for nearly an hour. She saw +that he was pleased, that he had thought out some plan and was bursting +to tell her, but had forbidden himself to speak of it. He said: + +"You say you have no money?" + +"No, but I shall get it." + +"You may have to pay high for it--yes?" + +She colored, but did not flinch. "At worst, it will be--unpleasant, +but that's all." + +"Wait one--two days--until you hear from me. I may--I do not say will, +but may--get it. Yes, I who have nothing." He laughed gayly. "And +we--you and I--we will divide the spoils." Gravely. "Do not +misunderstand. That was my little joke. If I get the money for you it +will be quite honorable and businesslike. So--wait, dear young lady." + +As she was going, she could not resist saying: + +"You are SURE I can sing?--IF, of course--always the if." + +"It is not to be doubted." + +"How well, do you think?" + +"You mean how many dollars a night well? You mean as well as this +great singer or that? I do not know. And you are not to compare +yourself with anyone but yourself. You will sing as well as Mildred +Gower at her best." + +For some reason her blood went tingling through her veins. If she had +dared she would have kissed him. + + + +X + +THAT same afternoon Donald Keith, arrived at the top of Mrs. Belloc's +steps, met Mildred coming out. Seeing their greeting, one would have +thought they had seen each other but a few minutes before or were +casual acquaintances. Said she: + +"I'm going for a walk." + +"Let's take the taxi," said he. + +There it stood invitingly at the curb. She felt tired. She disliked +walking. She wished to sit beside him and be whirled away--out of the +noisy part of the city, up where the air was clean and where there were +no crowds. But she had begun the regimen of Lucia Rivi. She hesitated. +What matter if she began now or put off beginning until after this one +last drive? + +"No, we will walk," said she. + +"But the streets are in frightful condition." + +She thrust out a foot covered with a new and shiny storm-rubber. + +"Let's drive to the park then. We'll walk there." + +"No. If I get into the taxi, I'll not get out. Send it away." + +When they were moving afoot up Madison Avenue, he said: "What's the +matter? This isn't like you." + +"I've come to my senses," replied she. "It may be too late, but I'm +going to see." + +"When I called on Mrs. Brindley the other day," said he, "she had your +note, saying that you were going into musical comedy with Crossley." + +"That's over," said she. "I lost my voice, and I lost my job." + +"So I heard," said he. "I know Crossley. I dropped in to see him this +morning, and he told me about a foolish, fashionable girl who made a +bluff at going on the stage--he said she had a good voice and was a +swell looker, but proved to be a regular 'four-flusher.' I recognized +you." + +"Thanks," said she dryly. + +"So, I came to see you." + +She inquired about Mrs. Brindley and then about Stanley Baird. Finding +that he was in Italy, she inquired: "Do you happen to know his +address?" + +"I'll get it and send it to you. He has taken a house at Monte Carlo +for the winter." + +"And you?" + +"I shall stay here--I think." + +"You may join him?" + +"It depends"--he looked at her--"upon you." + +He could put a wonderful amount of meaning into a slight inflection. +She struggled--not in vain--to keep from changing expression. + +"You realize now that the career is quite hopeless?" said he. + +She did not answer. + +"You do not like the stage life?" + +"No." + +"And the stage life does not like you?" + +"No." + +"Your voice lacks both strength and stability?" + +"Yes." + +"And you have found the one way by which you could get on--and you +don't like it?" + +"Crossley told you?" said she, the color flaring. + +"Your name was not mentioned. You may not believe it, but Crossley is +a gentleman." + +She walked on in silence. + +"I did not expect your failure to come so soon--or in quite that way," +he went on. "I got Mrs. Brindley to exact a promise from you that +you'd let her know about yourself. I called on Mrs. Belloc one day +when you were out, and gave her my confidence and got hers--and assured +myself that you were in good hands. Crossley's tale gave me--a shock. +I came at once." + +"Then you didn't abandon me to my fate, as I thought?" + +He smiled in his strange way. "I?--when I loved you? Hardly." + +"Then you did interest yourself in me because you cared--precisely as I +said," laughed she. + +"And I should have given you up if you had succeeded--precisely as I +said," replied he. + +"You wished me to fail?" + +"I wished you to fail. I did everything I could to help you to +succeed. I even left you absolutely alone, set you in the right +way--the only way in which anyone can win success." + +"Yes, you made me throw away the crutches and try to walk." + +"It was hard to do that. Those strains are very wearing at my time of +life." + +"You never were any younger, and you'll never be any older," laughed +she. "That's your charm--one of them." + +"Mildred, do you still care?" + +"How did you know?" inquired she mockingly. + +"You didn't try to conceal it. I'd not have ventured to say and do the +things I said and did if I hadn't felt that we cared for each other. +But, so long as you were leading that fatuous life and dreaming those +foolish dreams, I knew we could never be happy." + +"That is true--oh, SO true," replied she. + +"But now--you have tried, and that has made a woman of you. And you +have failed, and that has made you ready to be a wife--to be happy in +the quiet, private ways." + +She was silent. + +"I can make enough for us both--as much as we will need or want--as +much as you please, if you aren't too extravagant. And I can do it +easily. It's making little sums--a small income--that's hard in this +ridiculous world. Let's marry, go to California or Europe for several +months, then come back here and live like human beings." + +She was silent. Block after block they walked along, as if neither had +anything especial in mind, anything worth the trouble of speech. +Finally he said: + +"Well?" + +"I can't answer--yet," said she. "Not to-day--not till I've thought." + +She glanced quickly at him. Over his impassive face, so beautifully +regular and, to her, so fascinating, there passed a quick dark shadow, +and she knew that he was suffering. He laughed quietly, his old +careless, indifferent laugh. + +"Oh, yes, you can answer," said he. "You have answered." + +She drew in her breath sharply. + +"You have refused." + +"Why do you say that, Donald?" she pleaded. + +"To hesitate over a proposal is to refuse," said he with gentle +raillery. "A man is a fool who does not understand and sheer off when +a woman asks for time." + +"You know that I love you," she cried. + +"I also know that you love something else more. But it's finished. +Let's talk about something else." + +"Won't you let me tell you why I hesitate?" begged she. + +"It doesn't matter." + +"But it does. Yes, I do refuse, Donald. I'll never marry you until I +am independent. You said a while ago that what I've been through had +made a woman of me. Not yet. I'm only beginning. I'm still +weak--still a coward. Donald, I must and will be free." + +He looked full at her, with a strange smile in his brilliant eyes. Said +he, with obvious intent to change the subject: "Mrs. Brindley's very +unhappy that you haven't been to see her." + +"When you asked me to marry you, the only reason I almost accepted was +because I want someone to support me. I love you--yes. But it is as +one loves before one has given oneself and has lived the same life with +another. In the ordinary sense, it's love that I feel. But--do you +understand me, dearest?--in another sense, it's only the hope of love, +the belief that love will come." + +He stopped short and looked at her, his eyes alive with the stimulus of +a new and startling idea. + +"If you and I had been everything to each other, and you were saying +'Let us go on living the one life' and I were hesitating, then you'd be +right. And I couldn't hesitate, Donald. If you were mine, nothing +could make me give you up, but when it's only the hope of having you, +then pride and self-respect have a chance to be heard." + +He was ready to move on. "There's something in that," said he, lapsed +into his usual seeming of impassiveness. "But not much." + +"I never before knew you to fail to understand." + +"I understand perfectly. You care, but you don't care enough to suit +me. I haven't waited all these years before giving a woman my love, to +be content with a love seated quietly and demurely between pride and +self-respect." + +"You wouldn't marry me until I had failed," said she shrewdly. "Now +you attack me for refusing to marry you until I've succeeded." + +A slight shrug. "Proposal withdrawn," said he. "Now let's talk about +your career, your plans." + +"I'm beginning to understand myself a little," said she. "I suppose +you think that sort of personal talk is very silly and vain--and +trivial." + +"On the contrary," replied he, "it isn't absolutely necessary to +understand oneself. One is swept on in the same general direction, +anyhow. But understanding helps one to go faster and steadier." + +"It began, away back, when I was a girl--this idea of a career. I +envied men and despised women, the sort of women I knew and met with. I +didn't realize why, then. But it was because a man had a chance to be +somebody in himself and to do something, while a woman was just a--a +more or less ornamental belonging of some man's--what you want me to +become now." + +"As far as possible from my idea." + +"Don't you want me to belong to you?" + +"As I belong to you." + +"That sounds well, but it isn't what could happen. The fact is, Donald, +that I want to belong to you--want to be owned by you and to lose +myself in you. And it's that I'm fighting." + +She felt the look he was bending upon her, and glowed and colored under +it, but did not dare to turn her eyes to meet it. Said he: "Why fight +it? Why not be happy?" + +"Ah, but that's just it," cried she. "I shouldn't be happy. And I +should make you miserable. The idea of a career--the idea that's +rooted deep in me and can't ever be got out, Donald; it would torment +me. You couldn't kill it, no matter how much you loved me. I'd yield +for the time. Then, I'd go back--or, if I didn't, I'd be wretched and +make you wish you'd never seen me." + +"I understand," said he. "I don't believe it, but I understand." + +"You think I'm deceiving myself, because you saw me wasting my life, +playing the idler and the fool, pretending I was working toward a +career when I was really making myself fit for nothing but to be +Stanley Baird's mistress." + +"And you're still deceiving yourself. You won't see the truth." + +"No matter," said she. "I must go on and make a career--some kind of a +career." + +"At what?" + +"At grand opera." + +"How'll you get the money?" + +"Of Stanley, if necessary. That's why I asked his address. I shan't +ask for much. He'll not refuse." + +"A few minutes ago you were talking of self-respect." + +"As something I hoped to get. It comes with independence. I'll pay +any price to get it." + +"Any price?" said he, and never before had she seen his self-control in +danger. + +"I shan't ask Stanley until my other plans have failed." + +"What other plans?" + +"I am going to ask Mrs. Belloc for the money. She could afford to +give--to lend--the little I'd want. I'm going to ask her in such a way +that it will be as hard as possible for her to refuse. That isn't +ladylike, but--I've dropped out of the lady class." + +"And if she refuses?" + +"Then I'll go one after another to several very rich men I know, and +ask them as a business proposition." + +"Go in person," advised he with an undisguised sneer. + +"I'll raise no false hopes in them," she said. "If they choose to +delude themselves, I'll not go out of my way to undeceive them--until I +have to." + +"So THIS is Mildred Gower?" + +"You made that remark before." + +"Really?" + +"When Stanley showed you a certain photograph of me." + +"I remember. This is the same woman." + +"It's me," laughed she. "The real me. You'd not care to be married to +her?" + +"No," said he. Then, after a brief silence: "Yet, curiously, it was +that woman with whom I fell in love. No, not exactly in love, for I've +been thinking about what you said as to the difference between love in +posse and love in esse, to put it scientifically--between love as a +prospect and love as a reality." + +"And I was right," said she. "It explains why marriages go to pieces +and affairs come to grief. Those lovers mistook love's promise to come +for fulfillment. Love doesn't die. It simply fails to come--doesn't +redeem its promise." + +"That's the way it might be with us," said he. "That's the way it would +be with us," rejoined she. + +He did not answer. When they spoke again it was of indifferent +matters. An hour and a half after they started, they were at Mrs. +Belloc's again. She asked him to have tea in the restaurant next door. +He declined. He went up the steps with her, said: + +"Well, I wish you luck. Moldini is the best teacher in America." + +"How did you know Moldini was to teach me?" exclaimed she. + +He smiled, put out his hand in farewell. "Crossley told me. Good-by." + +"He told Crossley! I wonder why." She was so interested in this new +phase that she did not see his outstretched hand, or the look of bitter +irony that came into his eyes at this proof of the subordinate place +love and he had in her thoughts. + +"I'm nervous and anxious," she said apologetically. "Moldini told me he +had some scheme about getting the money. If he only could! But no +such luck for me," she added sadly. + +Keith hesitated, debated with himself, said: "You needn't worry. +Moldini got it--from Crossley. Fifty dollars a week for a year." + +"You got Crossley to do it?" + +"No. He had done it before I saw him. He had just promised Moldini +and was cursing himself as 'weak and soft.' But that means nothing. +You may be sure he did it because Moldini convinced him it was a good +speculation." + +She was radiant. She had not vanity enough where he was concerned to +believe that he deeply cared, that her joy would give him pain because +it meant forgetfulness of him. Nor was she much impressed by the +expression of his eyes. And even as she hurt him, she made him love +her the more; for he appreciated how rare was the woman who, in such +circumstances, does not feed her vanity with pity for the poor man +suffering so horribly because he is not to get her precious self. + +It flashed upon her why he had not offered to help her. "There isn't +anybody like you," said she, with no explanation of her apparent +irrelevancy. + +"Don't let Moldini see that you know," said he, with characteristic +fine thoughtfulness for others in the midst of his own unhappiness. "It +would deprive him of a great pleasure." + +He was about to go. Suddenly her eyes filled and, opening the outer +door, she drew him in. "Donald," she said, "I love you. Take me in +your arms and make me behave." + +He looked past her; his arms hung at his sides. Said he: "And +to-night I'd get a note by messenger saying that you had taken it all +back. No, the girl in the photograph--that was you. She wasn't made +to be MY wife. Or I to be her husband. I love you because you are +what you are. I should not love you if you were the ordinary woman, +the sort who marries and merges. But I'm old enough to spare +myself--and you--the consequences of what it would mean if we were +anything but strangers to each other." + +"Yes, you must keep away--altogether. If you didn't, I'd be neither +the one thing nor the other, but just a poor failure." + +"You'll not fail," said he. "I know it. It's written in your face." +He looked at her. She was not looking at him, but with eyes gazing +straight ahead was revealing that latent, inexplicable power which, +when it appeared at the surface, so strongly dominated and subordinated +her beauty and her sex. He shut his teeth together hard and glanced +away. + +"You will not fail," he repeated bitterly. "And that's the worst of +it." + +Without another word, without a handshake, he went. And she knew that, +except by chance, he would never see her again--or she him. + +Moldini, disheveled and hysterical with delight and suspense, was in +the drawing-room--had been there half an hour. At first she could +hardly force her mind to listen; but as he talked on and on, he +captured her attention and held it. + + +The next day she began with Moldini, and put the Lucia Rivi system into +force in all its more than conventual rigors. And for about a month +she worked like a devouring flame. Never had there been such energy, +such enthusiasm. Mrs. Belloc was alarmed for her health, but the Rivi +system took care of that; and presently Mrs. Belloc was moved to say, +"Well, I've often heard that hard work never harmed anyone, but I never +believed it. Now I know the truth." + +Then Mildred went to Hanging Rock to spend Saturday to Monday with her +mother. Presbury, reduced now by various infirmities--by absolute +deafness, by dimness of sight, by difficulty in walking--to where +eating was his sole remaining pleasure, or, indeed, distraction, spent +all his time in concocting dishes for himself. Mildred could not +resist--and who can when seated at table with the dish before one's +eyes and under one's nose. The Rivi regimen was suspended for the +visit. Mildred, back in New York and at work again, found that she was +apparently none the worse for her holiday, was in fact better. So she +drifted into the way of suspending the regimen for an evening now and +then--when she dined with Mrs. Brindley, or when Agnes Belloc had +something particularly good. All went well for a time. Then--a cold. +She neglected it, feeling sure it could not stay with one so soundly +healthy through and through. But it did stay; it grew worse. She +decided that she ought to take medicine for it. True, starvation was +the cure prescribed by the regimen, but Mildred could not bring herself +to two or three days of discomfort. Also, many people told her that +such a cure was foolish and even dangerous. The cold got better, got +worse, got better. But her throat became queer, and at last her voice +left her. She was ashamed to go to Moldini in such a condition. She +dropped in upon Hicks, the throat specialist. He "fixed her up" +beautifully with a few sprayings. A week--and her voice left her +again, and Hicks could not bring it back. As she left his office, it +was raining--an icy, dreary drizzle. She splashed her way home, in +about the lowest spirits she had ever known. She locked her door and +seated herself at the window and stared out, while the storm raged +within her. After an hour or two she wrote and sent Moldini a note: "I +have been making a fool of myself. I'll not come again until I am all +right. Be patient with me. I don't think this will occur again." She +first wrote "happen." She scratched it out and put "occur" in its +place. Not that Moldini would have noted the slip; simply that she +would not permit herself the satisfaction of the false and +self-excusing "happen." It had not been a "happen." It had been a +deliberate folly, a lapse to the Mildred she had buried the day she +sent Donald Keith away. When the note was on its way, she threw out +all her medicines, and broke the new spraying apparatus Hicks had +instructed her to buy. + +She went back to the Rivi regime. A week passed, and she was little +better. Two weeks, and she began to mend. But it was six weeks before +the last traces of her folly disappeared. Moldini said not a word, +gave no sign. Once more her life went on in uneventful, unbroken +routine--diet, exercise, singing--singing, exercise, diet--no +distractions except an occasional visit to the opera with Moldini, and +she was hating opera now. All her enthusiasm was gone. She simply +worked doggedly, drudged, slaved. + +When the days began to grow warm, Mrs. Belloc said: "I suppose you'll +soon be off to the country? Are you going to visit Mrs. Brindley?" + +"No," said Mildred. + +"Then come with me." + +"Thank you, but I can't do it." + +"But you've got to rest somewhere." + +"Rest?" said Mildred. "Why should I rest?" + +Mrs. Belloc started to protest, then abruptly changed. "Come to think +of it, why should you? You're in perfect health, and it'll be time +enough to rest when you 'get there.'" + +"I'm tired through and through," said Mildred, "but it isn't the kind +of tired that could be rested except by throwing up this frightful +nightmare of a career." + +"And you can't do that." + +"I won't," said Mildred, her lips compressed and her eyes narrowed. + +She and Moldini--and fat, funny little Mrs. Moldini--went to the +mountains. And she worked on. She would listen to none of the +suggestions about the dangers of keeping too steadily at it, about +working oneself into a state of staleness, about the imperative demands +of the artistic temperament for rest, change, variety. "It may be so," +she said to Mrs. Brindley. "But I've gone mad. I can no more drop this +routine than--than you could take it up and keep to it for a week." + +"I'll admit I couldn't," said Cyrilla. "And Mildred, you're making a +mistake." + +"Then I'll have to suffer for it. I must do what seems best to me." + +"But I'm sure you're wrong. I never knew anyone to act as you're +acting. Everyone rests and freshens up." + +Mildred lost patience, almost lost her temper. "You're trying to tempt +me to ruin myself," she said. "Please stop it. You say you never knew +anyone to do as I'm doing. Very well. But how many girls have you +known who have succeeded?" + +Cyrilla hesitatingly confessed that she had known none. + +"Yet you've known scores who've tried." + +"But they didn't fail because they didn't work enough. Many of them +worked too much." + +Mildred laughed. "How do you know why they failed?" said she. "You +haven't thought about it as I have. You haven't LIVED it. Cyrilla, I +served my apprenticeship at listening to nonsense about careers. I want +to have nothing to do with inspiration, and artistic temperament, and +spontaneous genius, and all the rest of the lies. Moldini and I know +what we are about. So I'm living as those who have succeeded lived and +not as those who have failed." + +Cyrilla was silenced, but not convinced. The amazing improvement in +Mildred's health, the splendid slim strength and suppleness of her +body, the new and stable glories of her voice--all these she knew +about, but they did not convince her. She believed in work, in hard +work, but to her work meant the music itself. She felt that the Rivi +system and the dirty, obscure little Moldini between them were +destroying Mildred by destroying all "temperament" in her. + +It was the old, old criticism of talent upon genius. Genius has always +won in its own time and generation all the world except talent. To +talent contemporaneous genius, genius seen at its patient, plodding +toil, seems coarse and obvious and lacking altogether in inspiration. +Talent cannot comprehend that creation is necessarily in travail and in +all manner of unloveliness. + +Mildred toiled on like a slave under the lash, and Moldini and the Rivi +system were her twin relentless drivers. She learned to rule herself +with an iron hand. She discovered the full measure of her own +deficiencies, and she determined to make herself a competent lyric +soprano, perhaps something of a dramatic soprano. She dismissed from +her mind all the "high" thoughts, all the dreams wherewith the little +people, even the little people who achieve a certain success, beguile +the tedium of their journey along the hard road. She was not working +to "interpret the thought of the great master" or to "advance the +singing art yet higher" or even to win fame and applause. She had one +object--to earn her living on the grand opera stage, and to earn it as +a prima donna because that meant the best living. She frankly told +Cyrilla that this was her object, when Cyrilla forced her one day to +talk about her aims. Cyrilla looked pained, broke a melancholy silence +to say: + +"I know you don't mean that. You are too intelligent. You sing too +well." + +"Yes, I mean just that," said Mildred. "A living." + +"At any rate, don't say it. You give such a false impression." + +"To whom? Not to Crossley, and not to Moldini, and why should I care +what any others think? They are not paying my expenses. And +regardless of what they think now, they'll be at my feet if I succeed, +and they'll put me under theirs if I don't." + +"How hard you have grown," cried Cyrilla. + +"How sensible, you mean. I've merely stopped being a self-deceiver and +a sentimentalist." + +"Believe me, my dear, you are sacrificing your character to your +ambition." + +"I never had any real character until ambition came," replied Mildred. +"The soft, vacillating, sweet and weak thing I used to have wasn't +character." + +"But, dear, you can't think it superior character to center one's whole +life about a sordid ambition." + +"Sordid?" + +"Merely to make a living." + +Mildred laughed merrily and mockingly. "You call that sordid? Then +for heaven's sake what is high? You had left you money enough to live +on, if you have to. No one left me an income. So, I'm fighting for +independence--and that means for self-respect. Is self-respect sordid, +Cyrilla!" + +And then Cyrilla understood--in part, not altogether. She lived in the +ordinary environment of flap-doodle and sweet hypocrisy and +sentimentality; and none such can more than vaguely glimpse the +realities. + +Toward the end of the summer Moldini said: + +"It's over. You have won." + +Mildred looked at him in puzzled surprise. + +"You have learned it all. You will succeed. The rest is detail." + +"But I've learned nothing as yet," protested she. + +"You have learned to teach yourself," replied the Italian. "You at +last can hear yourself sing, and you know when you sing right and when +you sing wrong, and you know how to sing right. The rest is easy. Ah, +my dear Miss Gower, you will work NOW!" + +Mildred did not understand. She was even daunted by that "You will +work NOW!" She had been thinking that to work harder was impossible. +What did he expect of her? Something she feared she could not realize. +But soon she understood--when he gave her songs, then began to teach +her a role, the part of Madame Butterfly herself. "I can help you only +a little there," he said. "You will have to go to my friend Ferreri +for roles. But we can make a beginning." + +She had indeed won. She had passed from the stage where a career is +all drudgery--the stage through which only the strong can pass without +giving up and accepting failure or small success. She had passed to +the stage where there is added pleasure to the drudgery, for, the +drudgery never ceases. And what was the pleasure? Why, more +work--always work--bringing into use not merely the routine parts of +the mind, but also the imaginative and creative faculties. She had +learned her trade--not well enough, for no superior man or woman ever +feels that he or she knows the trade well enough--but well enough to +begin to use it. + +Said Moldini: "When the great one, who has achieved and arrived, is +asked for advice by the sweet, enthusiastic young beginner, what is the +answer? Always the same: 'My dear child, don't! Go back home, and +marry and have babies.' You know why now?" + +And Mildred, looking back over the dreary drudgery that had been, and +looking forward to the drudgery yet to come, dreary enough for all the +prospects of a few flowers and a little sun--Mildred said: "Indeed I +do, maestro." + +"They think it means what you Americans call morals--as if that were +all of morality! But it doesn't mean morals; not at all. Sex and the +game of sex is all through life everywhere--in the home no less than in +the theater. In town and country, indoors and out, sunlight, +moonlight, and rain--always it goes on. And the temptations and the +struggles are no more and no less on the stage than off. No, there is +too much talk about 'morals.' The reason the great one says 'don't' is +the work." He shook his head sadly. "They do not realize, those eager +young beginners. They read the story-books and the lives of the great +successes and they hear the foolish chatter of common-place +people--those imbecile 'cultured' people who know nothing! And they +think a career is a triumphal march. What think you, Miss Gower--eh?" + +"If I had known I'd not have had the courage, or the vanity, to begin," +said she. "And if I could realize what's before me, I probably +shouldn't have the courage to go on." + +"But why not? Haven't you also learned that it's just the day's work, +doing every day the best you can?" + +"Oh, I shall go on," rejoined she. + +"Yes," said he, looking at her with awed admiration. "It is in your +face. I saw it there, the day you came--after you sang the 'Batti +Batti' the first time and failed." + +"There was nothing to me then." + +"The seed," replied he. "And I saw it was an acorn, not the seed of +one of those weak plants that spring up overnight and wither at noon. +Yes, you will win." He laughed gayly, rolled his eyes and kissed his +fingers. "And then you can afford to take a little holiday, and fall in +love. Love! Ah, it is a joyous pastime--for a holiday. Only for a +holiday, mind you. I shall be there and I shall seize you and take you +back to your art." + + +In the following winter and summer Crossley disclosed why he had been +sufficiently interested in grand opera to begin to back undeveloped +voices. Crossley was one of those men who are never so practical as +when they profess to be, and fancy themselves, impractical. He became a +grand-opera manager and organized for a season that would surpass in +interest any New York had known. Thus it came about that on a March +night Mildred made her debut. + +The opera was "Faust." As the three principal men singers were all +expensive--the tenor alone, twelve hundred a night--Crossley put in a +comparatively modestly salaried Marguerite. She was seized with a cold +at the last moment, and Crossley ventured to substitute Mildred Gower. +The Rivi system was still in force. She was ready--indeed, she was +always ready, as Rivi herself had been. And within ten minutes of her +coming forth from the wings, Mildred Gower had leaped from obscurity +into fame. It happens so, often in the story books, the newly +gloriously arrived one having been wholly unprepared, achieving by +sheer force of genius. It occurs so, occasionally, in life--never when +there is lack of preparation, never by force of unassisted genius, +never by accident. Mildred succeeded because she had got ready to +succeed. How could she have failed? + +Perhaps you read the stories in the newspapers--how she had discovered +herself possessed of a marvelous voice, how she had decided to use it +in public, how she had coached for a part, had appeared, had become one +of the world's few hundred great singers all in a single act of an +opera. You read nothing about what she went through in developing a +hopelessly uncertain and far from strong voice into one which, while +not nearly so good as thousands of voices that are tried and cast +aside, yet sufficed, with her will and her concentration back of it, to +carry her to fame--and wealth. + +That birdlike voice! So sweet and spontaneous, so true, so like the +bird that "sings of summer in full throated ease!" No wonder the +audience welcomed it with cheers on cheers. Greater voices they had +heard, but none more natural--and that was Moldini. + +He came to her dressing-room at the intermission. He stretched out his +arms, but emotion overcame him, and he dropped to a chair and sobbed +and cried and laughed. She came and put her arms round him and kissed +him. She was almost calm. The GREAT fear had seized her--Can I keep +what I have won? + +"I am a fool," cried Moldini. "I will agitate you." + +"Don't be afraid of that," said she. "I am nervous, yes, horribly +nervous. But you have taught me so that I could sing, no matter what +was happening." It was true. And her body was like iron to the touch. + +He looked at her, and though he knew her and had seen her train herself +and had helped in it, he marveled. "You are happy?" he said eagerly. +"Surely--yes, you MUST be happy." + +"More than that," answered she. "You'll have to find another word than +happiness--something bigger and stronger and deeper." + +"Now you can have your holiday," laughed he. "But"--with mock +sternness--"in moderation! He must be an incident only. With those +who win the high places, sex is an incident--a charming, necessary +incident, but only an incident. He must not spoil your career. If you +allowed that you would be like a mother who deserts her children for a +lover. He must not touch your career!" + +Mildred, giving the last touches to her costume before the glass, +glanced merrily at Moldini by way of it. "If he did touch it," said +she, "how long do you think he would last with me?" + +Moldini paused half-way in his nod of approval, was stricken with +silence and sadness. It would have been natural and proper for a man +thus to put sex beneath the career. It was necessary for anyone who +developed the strong character that compels success and holds it. But-- +The Italian could not get away from tradition; woman was made for the +pleasure of one man, not for herself and the world. + +"You don't like that, maestro?" said she, still observing him in the +glass. + +"No man would," said he, with returning cheerfulness. "It hurts man's +vanity. And no woman would, either; you rebuke their laziness and +their dependence!" + +She laughed and rushed away to fresh triumphs. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Price She Paid, by David Graham Phillips + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRICE SHE PAID *** + +***** This file should be named 457.txt or 457.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/457/ + +Produced by Charles Keller. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + + +Scanned by Charles Keller with +OmniPage Professional OCR software +donated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226. +Contact Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com> + + + + + +David Graham Phillips +THE PRICE SHE PAID + + + + + +I + + +HENRY GOWER was dead at sixty-one--the end of +a lifelong fraud which never had been suspected, and +never would be. With the world, with his acquaintances +and neighbors, with his wife and son and +daughter, he passed as a generous, warm-hearted, +good-natured man, ready at all times to do anything +to help anybody, incapable of envy or hatred or +meanness. In fact, not once in all his days had he ever +thought or done a single thing except for his own +comfort. Like all intensely selfish people who are wise, +he was cheerful and amiable, because that was the +way to be healthy and happy and to have those around +one agreeable and in the mood to do what one wished +them to do. He told people, not the truth, not the +unpleasant thing that might help them, but what they +wished to hear. His family lived in luxurious comfort +only because he himself was fond of luxurious comfort. +His wife and his daughter dressed fashionably and +went about and entertained in the fashionable, +expensive way only because that was the sort of life +that gratified his vanity. He lived to get what he +wanted; he got it every day and every hour of a life +into which no rain ever fell; he died, honored, respected, +beloved, and lamented. + +The clever trick he had played upon his fellow +beings came very near to discovery a few days after +his death. His widow and her son and daughter-in-law +and daughter were in the living-room of the charming +house at Hanging Rock, near New York, alternating +between sorrowings over the dead man and plannings +for the future. Said the widow: + +``If Henry had only thought what would become of +us if he were taken away!'' + +``If he had saved even a small part of what he made +every year from the time he was twenty-six--for he +always made a big income,'' said his son, Frank. + +``But he was so generous, so soft-hearted!'' +exclaimed the widow. ``He could deny us nothing.'' + +``He couldn't bear seeing us with the slightest wish +ungratified,'' said Frank. + +``He was the best father that ever lived!'' cried the +daughter, Mildred. + +And Mrs. Gower the elder and Mrs. Gower the +younger wept; and Mildred turned away to hide the +emotion distorting her face; and Frank stared gloomily +at the carpet and sighed. The hideous secret of the +life of duplicity was safe, safe forever. + +In fact, Henry Gower had often thought of the fate +of his family if he should die. In the first year of +his married life, at a time when passion for a beautiful +bride was almost sweeping him into generous thought, +he had listened for upward of an hour to the eloquence +of a life insurance agent. Then the agent, misled by +Gower's effusively generous and unselfish expressions, +had taken a false tack. He had descanted upon the +supreme satisfaction that would be felt by a dying man +as he reflected how his young widow would be left in +affluence. He made a vivid picture; Gower saw-- +saw his bride happier after his death than she had been +during his life, and attracting a swarm of admirers +by her beauty, well set off in becoming black, and by +her independent income. The generous impulse then +and there shriveled to its weak and shallow roots. With +tears in his kind, clear eyes he thanked the agent and +said: + +``You have convinced me. You need say no more. +I'll send for you in a few days.'' + +The agent never got into his presence again. +Gower lived up to his income, secure in the knowledge +that his ability as a lawyer made him certain of plenty +of money as long as he should live. But it would show +an utter lack of comprehension of his peculiar species +of character to imagine that he let himself into the +secret of his own icy-heartedness by ceasing to think +of the problem of his wife and two children without +him to take care of them. On the contrary, he thought +of it every day, and planned what he would do about +it--to-morrow. And for his delay he had excellent +convincing excuses. Did he not take care of his +naturally robust health? Would he not certainly out- +live his wife, who was always doctoring more or less? +Frank would be able to take care of himself; anyhow, +it was not well to bring a boy up to expectations, +because every man should be self-supporting and self- +reliant. As for Mildred, why, with her beauty and her +cleverness she could not but make a brilliant marriage. +Really, there was for him no problem of an orphaned +family's future; there was no reason why he should deny +himself any comfort or luxury, or his vanity any of +the titillations that come from social display. + +That one of his calculations which was the most vital +and seemed the surest proved to be worthless. It is +not the weaklings who die, after infancy and youth, +but the strong, healthy men and women. The weaklings +have to look out for themselves, receive ample +warning in the disastrous obvious effects of the +slightest imprudence. The robust, even the wariest of them, +even the Henry Gowers, overestimate and overtax their +strength. Gower's downfall was champagne. He +could not resist a bottle of it for dinner every night. +As so often happens, the collapse of the kidneys came +without any warning that a man of powerful constitution +would deem worthy of notice. By the time the +doctor began to suspect the gravity of his trouble he +was too far gone. + +Frank, candidly greedy and selfish--``Such a +contrast to his father!'' everyone said--was married to +the prettiest girl in Hanging Rock and had a +satisfactory law practice in New York. His income was +about fifteen thousand a year. But his wife had tastes +as extravagant as his own; and Hanging Rock is one +of those suburbs of New York where gather well-to-do +middle-class people to live luxuriously and to delude +each other and themselves with the notion that they are +fashionable, rich New Yorkers who prefer to live in +the country ``like the English.'' Thus, Henry +Gower's widow and daughter could count on little help +from Frank--and they knew it. + +``You and Milly will have to move to some less +expensive place than Hanging Rock,'' said Frank--it +was the living-room conference a few days after the +funeral. + +Mildred flushed and her eyes flashed. She opened +her lips to speak--closed them again with the angry +retort unuttered. After all, Frank was her mother's +and her sole dependence. They could hope for little +from him, but nothing must be said that would give +him and his mean, selfish wife a chance to break with +them and refuse to do anything whatever. + +``And Mildred must get married,'' said Natalie. +In Hanging Rock most of the girls and many of the +boys had given names taken from Burke's Peerage, the +Almanac de Gotha, and fashionable novels. + +Again Mildred flushed; but her eyes did not flash, +neither did she open her lips to speak. The little +remark of her sister-in-law, apparently so harmless and +sensible, was in fact a poisoned arrow. For Mildred +was twenty-three, had been ``out'' five years, and was +not even in the way to become engaged. She and everyone +had assumed from her lovely babyhood that she +would marry splendidly, would marry wealth and social +position. How could it be otherwise? Had she not +beauty? Had she not family and position? Had she +not style and cleverness? Yet--five years out and +not a ``serious'' proposal. An impudent poor fellow +with no prospects had asked her. An impudent rich +man from fashionable New York had hung after her +--and had presently abandoned whatever dark projects +he may have been concealing and had married in +his own set, ``as they always do, the miserable snobs,'' +raved Mrs. Gower, who had been building high upon +those lavish outpourings of candy, flowers, and automobile +rides. Mildred, however, had accepted the defection +more philosophically. She had had enough vanity +to like the attentions of the rich and fashionable +New Yorker, enough good sense to suspect, perhaps +not definitely, what those attentions meant, but +certainly what they did not mean. Also, in the back of +her head had been an intention to refuse Stanley Baird, +if by chance he should ask her. Was there any +substance to this intention, sprung from her disliking +the conceited, self-assured snob as much as she liked +his wealth and station? Perhaps not. Who can +say? At any rate, may we not claim credit for our +good intentions--so long as, even through lack of +opportunity, we have not stultified them? + +With every natural advantage apparently, Mildred's +failure to catch a husband seemed to be somehow her +own fault. Other girls, less endowed than she, were +marrying, were marrying fairly well. Why, then, was +Mildred lagging in the market? + +There may have been other reasons, reasons of +accident--for, in the higher class matrimonial market, +few are called and fewer chosen. There was one reason +not accidental; Hanging Rock was no place for a girl +so superior as was Mildred Gower to find a fitting +husband. As has been hinted, Hanging Rock was one +of those upper-middle-class colonies where splurge and +social ambition dominate the community life. In such +colonies the young men are of two classes--those beneath +such a girl as Mildred, and those who had the +looks, the manners, the intelligence, and the prospects +to justify them in looking higher socially--in looking +among the very rich and really fashionable. In the +Hanging Rock sort of community, having all the +snobbishness of Fifth Avenue, Back Bay, and Rittenhouse +Square, with the added torment of the snobbishness +being perpetually ungratified--in such communities, +beneath a surface reeking culture and idealistic folderol, +there is a coarse and brutal materialism, a passion for +money, for luxury, for display, that equals aristocratic +societies at their worst. No one can live for a winter, +much less grow up, in such a place without becoming +saturated with sycophantry. Thus, only by some +impossible combination of chances could there have been +at Hanging Rock a young man who would have +appreciated Mildred and have had the courage of +his appreciation. This combination did not happen. +In Mildred's generation and set there were only the +two classes of men noted above. The men of the one +of them which could not have attracted her accepted +their fate of mating with second-choice females to whom +they were themselves second choice. The men of the +other class rarely appeared at Hanging Rock functions, +hung about the rich people in New York, Newport, +and on Long Island, and would as soon have thought +of taking a Hanging Rock society girl to wife as of +exchanging hundred-dollar bills for twenty-five-cent +pieces. Having attractions acceptable in the best +markets, they took them there. Hanging Rock +denounced them as snobs, for Hanging Rock was +virtuously eloquent on the subject of snobbishness--we +human creatures being never so effective as when +assailing in others the vice or weakness we know from +lifelong, intimate, internal association with it. But +secretly the successfully ambitious spurners of that +suburban society were approved, were envied. And +Hanging Rock was most gracious to them whenever +it got the chance. + +In her five years of social life Mildred had gone +only with the various classes of fashionable people, +had therefore known only the men who are full of the +poison of snobbishness. She had been born and bred +in an environment as impregnated with that poison +as the air of a kitchen-garden with onions. She knew +nothing else. The secret intention to refuse Stanley +Baird, should he propose, was therefore the more +astonishing--and the more significant. From time to +time in any given environment you will find some +isolated person, some personality, with a trait wholly +foreign and out of place there. Now it is a soft voice +and courteous manners in a slum; again it is a longing +for a life of freedom and equality in a member of a +royal family that has known nothing but sordid slavery +for centuries. Or, in the petty conventionality of a +prosperous middle- or upper-class community you +come upon one who dreams--perhaps vaguely but +still longingly--of an existence where love and ideas +shall elevate and glorify life. In spite of her training, +in spite of the teaching and example of all about her +from the moment of her opening her eyes upon the +world, Mildred Gower at twenty-three still retained +something of these dream flowers sown in the soil of +her naturally good mind by some book or play or perhaps +by some casually read and soon forgotten article +in magazine or newspaper. We have the habit of +thinking only weeds produce seeds that penetrate and +prosper everywhere and anywhere. The truth is that +fine plants of all kinds, vegetable, fruit, and flower of +rarest color and perfume, have this same hardiness and +fecundity. Pull away at the weeds in your garden +for a while, and see if this is not so. Though you may +plant nothing, you will be amazed at the results if you +but clear a little space of its weeds--which you have +been planting and cultivating. + +Mildred--woman fashion--regarded it as a +reproach upon her that she had not yet succeeded in +making the marriage everyone, including herself, predicted +for her and expected of her. On the contrary, it was +the most savage indictment possible of the marriageable +and marrying men who had met her--of their +stupidity, of their short-sighted and mean-souled +calculation, of their lack of courage--the courage to +take what they, as men of flesh and blood wanted, +instead of what their snobbishness ordered. And if +Stanley Baird, the nearest to a flesh-and-blood man of +any who had known her, had not been so profoundly +afraid of his fashionable mother and of his sister, the +Countess of Waring-- But he was profoundly afraid +of them; so, it is idle to speculate about him. + +What did men see when they looked at Mildred +Gower? Usually, when men look at a woman, they +have a hazy, either pleasant or unpleasant, sense of +something feminine. That, and nothing more. Afterward, +through some whim or some thrust from chance +they may see in her, or fancy they see in her, the thing +feminine that their souls--it is always ``soul''--most +yearns after. But just at first glance, so colorless or +conventionally colored is the usual human being, the +average woman--indeed every woman but she who is +exceptional--creates upon man the mere impression of +pleasant or unpleasant petticoats. In the exceptional +woman something obtrudes. She has astonishing hair, +or extraordinary eyes, or a mouth that seems to draw a +man like a magnet; or it is the allure of a peculiar +smile or of a figure whose sinuosities as she moves +seem to cause a corresponding wave-disturbance in +masculine nerves. Further, the possession of one of +these signal charms usually causes all her charms to +have more than ordinary potency. The sight of the +man is so bewitched by the one potent charm that he +sees the whole woman under a spell. + +Mildred Gower, of the medium height and of a +slender and well-formed figure, had a face of the kind +that is called lovely; and her smile, sweet, dreamy, +revealing white and even teeth, gave her loveliness +delicate animation. She had an abundance of hair, neither +light nor dark; she had a fine clear skin. Her eyes, +gray and rather serious and well set under long straight +brows, gave her a look of honesty and intelligence. +But the charm that won men, her charm of charms, +was her mouth--mobile, slightly pouted, not too narrow, +of a wonderful, vividly healthy and vital red. She +had beauty, she had intelligence. But it was impossible +for a man to think of either, once his glance had +been caught by those expressive, inviting lips of hers, +so young, so fresh, with their ever-changing, ever- +fascinating line expressing in a thousand ways the +passion and poetry of the kiss. + +Of all the men who had admired her and had edged +away because they feared she would bewitch them into +forgetting what the world calls ``good common sense'' +--of all those men only one had suspected the real +reason for her physical power over men. All but Stanley +Baird had thought themselves attracted because she +was so pretty or so stylish or so clever and amusing to +talk with. Baird had lived intelligently enough to +learn that feminine charm is never general, is always +specific. He knew it was Mildred Gower's lips that +haunted, that frightened ambitious men away, that +sent men who knew they hadn't a ghost of a chance +with her discontentedly back to the second-choice +women who alone were available for them. Fortunately +for Mildred, Stanley Baird, too wise to flatter +a woman discriminatingly, did not tell her the secret +of her fascination. If he had told her, she would no +doubt have tried to train and to use it--and so would +inevitably have lost it. + +To go on with that important conference in the +sitting-room in the handsome, roomy house of the Gowers +at Hanging Rock, Frank Gower eagerly seized upon his +wife's subtly nasty remark. ``I don't see why in +thunder you haven't married, Milly,'' said he. ``You've +had every chance, these last four or five years.'' + +``And it'll be harder now,'' moaned her mother. +``For it looks as though we were going to be wretchedly +poor. And poverty is so repulsive.'' + +``Do you think,'' said Mildred, ``that giving me the +idea that I must marry right away will make it easier +for me to marry? Everyone who knows us knows our +circumstances.'' She looked significantly at Frank's +wife, who had been wailing through Hanging Rock +the woeful plight of her dead father-in-law's family. +The young Mrs. Gower blushed and glanced away. +``And,'' Mildred went on, ``everyone is saying that I +must marry at once--that there's nothing else for me +to do.'' She smiled bitterly. ``When I go into the +street again I shall see nothing but flying men. And +no man would come to call unless he brought a chaperon +and a witness with him.'' + +``How can you be so frivolous?'' reproached her +mother. + +Mildred was used to being misunderstood by her +mother, who had long since been made hopelessly dull +by the suffocating life she led and by pain from her +feet, which never left her at ease for a moment except +when she had them soaking in cold water. Mrs. Gower +had been born with ordinary feet, neither ugly nor +pretty and entirely fit for the uses for which nature +intended feet. She had spoiled them by wearing shoes +to make them look smaller and slimmer than they were. +In steady weather she was plaintive; in changeable +weather she varied between irritable and violent. + +Said Mildred to her brother: ``How much--JUST how much +is there?'' + +``I can't say exactly,'' replied her brother, who had +not yet solved to his satisfaction the moral problem of +how much of the estate he ought to allow his mother +and sister and how much he ought to claim for himself +--in such a way that the claim could not be disputed. + +Mildred looked fixedly at him. He showed his uneasiness +not by glancing away, but by the appearance of +a certain hard defiance in his eyes. Said she: + +``What is the very most we can hope for?'' + +A silence. Her mother broke it. ``Mildred, how +CAN you talk of those things--already?'' + +``I don't know,'' replied Mildred. ``Perhaps +because it's got to be done.'' + +This seemed to them all--and to herself--a lame +excuse for such apparent hardness of heart. Her +father had always been SENDER-HEARTED--HAD NEVER +SPOKEN OF MONEY, OR ENCOURAGED HIS FAMILY IN SPEAKING OF IT. + +A LONG AND PAINFUL SILENCE. THEN, THE WIDOW +ABRUPTLY: + +``YOU'RE SURE, Frank, there's NO insurance?'' + +``Father always said that you disliked the idea,'' +replied her son; ``that you thought insurance looked +like your calculating on his death.'' + +Under her husband's adroit prompting Mrs. Gower +had discovered such a view of insurance in her brain. +She now recalled expressing it--and regretted. But +she was silenced. She tried to take her mind of the sub- +ject of money. But, like Mildred, she could not. The +thought of imminent poverty was nagging at them like +toothache. ``There'll be enough for a year or so?'' +she said, timidly interrogative. + +``I hope so,'' said Frank. + +Mildred was eying him fixedly again. Said she: +``Have you found anything at all?'' + +``He had about eight thousand dollars in bank,'' +said Frank. ``But most of it will go for the pressing +debts.'' + +``But how did HE expect to live?'' urged Mildred. + +``Yes, there must have been SOMETHING,'' said her +mother. + +``Of course, there's his share of the unsettled and +unfinished business of the firm,'' admitted Frank. + +``How much will that be?'' persisted Mildred. + +``I can't tell, offhand,'' said Frank, with virtuous +reproach. ``My mind's been on--other things.'' + +Henry Gower's widow was not without her share of +instinctive shrewdness. Neither had she, unobservant +though she was, been within sight of her son's +character for twenty-eight years without having +unconfessed, unformed misgivings concerning it. +``You mustn't bother about these things now, Frank +dear,'' said she. ``I'll get my brother to look into +it.'' + +``That won't be necessary,'' hastily said Frank. ``I +don't want any rival lawyer peeping into our firm's affairs.'' + +``My brother Wharton is the soul of honor,'' said +Mrs. Gower, the elder, with dignity. ``You are too +young to take all the responsibility of settling the +estate. Yes, I'll send for Wharton to-morrow.'' + +``It'll look as though you didn't trust me,'' said +Frank sourly. + +``We mustn't do anything to start the gossips in +this town,'' said his wife, assisting. + +``Then send for him yourself, Frank,'' said Mildred, +``and give him charge of the whole matter.'' + +Frank eyed her furiously. ``How ashamed father +would be!'' exclaimed he. + +But this solemn invoking of the dead man's spirit +was uneffectual. The specter of poverty was too +insistent, too terrible. Said the widow: + +``I'm sure, in the circumstances, my dear dead +husband would want me to get help from someone older +and more experienced.'' + +And Frank, guilty of conscience and an expert in +the ways of conventional and highly moral rascality, +ceased to resist. His wife, scenting danger to their +getting the share that ``rightfully belongs to the son, +especially when he has been the brains of the firm for +several years,'' made angry and indiscreet battle for no +outside interference. The longer she talked the firmer +the widow and the daughter became, not only because +she clarified suspicions that had been too hazy to +take form, but also because they disliked her intensely. +The following day Wharton Conover became unofficial +administrator. He had no difficulty in baffling +Frank Gower's half-hearted and clumsy efforts to +hide two large fees due the dead man's estate. He +discovered clear assets amounting in all to sixty- +three thousand dollars, most of it available within a few +months. + +``As you have the good-will of the firm and as your +mother and sister have only what can be realized in +cash,'' said he to Frank, ``no doubt you won't insist +on your third.'' + +``I've got to consider my wife,'' said Frank. ``I +can't do as I'd like.'' + +``You are going to insist on your third?'' said +Conover, with an accent that made Frank quiver. + +``I can't do otherwise,'' said he in a dogged, shamed +way. + +``Um,'' said Conover. ``Then, on behalf of my +sister and her daughter I'll have to insist on a more +detailed accounting than you have been willing to give +--and on the production of that small book bound in +red leather which disappeared from my brother-in-law's +desk the afternoon of his death.'' + +A wave of rage and fear surged up within Frank +Gower and crashed against the seat of his life. For +days thereafter he was from time to time seized with +violent spasms of trembling; years afterward he was +attributing premature weaknesses of old age to the +effects of that moment of horror. His uncle's words +came as a sudden, high shot climax to weeks of +exasperating peeping and prying and questioning, of +sneer and insinuation. Conover had been only moderately +successful at the law, had lost clients to Frank's +father, had been beaten when they were on opposite +sides. He hated the father with the secret, hypocritical +hatred of the highly moral and religious man. He de- +spised the son. It is not often that a Christian gentleman +has such an opportunity to combine justice and +revenge, to feed to bursting an ancient grudge, the +while conscious that he is but doing his duty. + +Said Frank, when he was able to speak: ``You have +been listening to the lies of some treacherous clerk +here.'' + +``Don't destroy that little book,'' proceeded Conover +tranquilly. ``We can prove that you took it.'' + +Young Gower rose. ``I must decline to have anything +further to say to you, sir,'' said he. ``You will +leave this office, and you will not be admitted here again +unless you come with proper papers as administrator.'' + +Conover smiled with cold satisfaction and departed. +There followed a series of quarrels--between Frank +and his sister, between Frank and his mother, between +Frank's wife and his mother, between Mildred and her +mother, between the mother and Conover. Mrs. Gower +was suspicious of her son; but she knew her brother +for a pinchpenny, exacting the last drop of what he +regarded as his own. And she discovered that, if she +authorized him to act as administrator for her, he could +--and beyond question would--take a large share of +the estate. The upshot was that Frank paid over to +his mother and sister forty-seven thousand dollars, and +his mother and her brother stopped speaking to each +other. + +``I see that you have turned over all your money to +mother,'' said Frank to Mildred a few days after the +settlement. + +``Of course,'' said Mildred. She was in a mood of +high scorn for sordidness--a mood induced by the +spectacle of the shameful manners of Conover, Frank, +and his wife. + +``Do you think that's wise?'' suggested Frank. + +``I think it's decent,'' said Mildred. + +``Well, I hope you'll not live to regret it,'' said her +brother. + +Neither Mrs. Gower nor her daughter had ever had +any experience in the care of money. To both forty- +seven thousand dollars seemed a fortune--forty-seven +thousand dollars in cash in the bank, ready to issue +forth and do their bidding at the mere writing of a +few figures and a signature on a piece of paper. In +a sense they knew that for many years the family's +annual expenses had ranged between forty and fifty +thousand, but in the sense of actuality they knew +nothing about it--a state of affairs common enough +in families where the man is in absolute control and +spends all he makes. Money always had been forthcomcoming;{sic} +therefore money always would be forthcoming. + +The mourning and the loss of the person who had +filled and employed their lives caused the widow and +the daughter to live very quietly during the succeeding +year. They spent only half of their capital. For +reasons of selfish and far-sighted prudence which need +no detailing Frank moved away to New York within +six months of his father's death and reduced communication +between himself and wife and his mother and +sister to a frigid and rapidly congealing minimum. +He calculated that by the time their capital was con- +sumed they would have left no feeling of claim upon +him or he feeling of duty toward them. + +It was not until eighteen months after her father's +death, when the total capital was sunk to less than +fifteen thousand dollars, that Mildred awakened to the +truth of their plight. A few months at most, and +they would have to give up that beautiful house which +had been her home all her life. She tried to grasp +the meaning of the facts as her intelligence presented +them to her, but she could not. She had no practical +training whatever. She had been brought up as a rich +man's child, to be married to a rich man, and never to +know anything of the material details of life beyond +what was necessary in managing servants after the +indifferent fashion of the usual American woman of the +comfortable classes. She had always had a maid; she +could not even dress herself properly without the maid's +assistance. Life without a maid was inconceivable; +life without servants was impossible. + +She wandered through the house, through the +grounds. She said to herself again and again: ``We +have got to give up all this, and be miserably poor-- +with not a servant, with less than the tenement people +have.'' But the words conveyed no meaning to her. +She said to herself again and again: ``I must rouse +myself. I must do something. I must--must-- +must!'' But she did not rouse, because there was nothing +to rouse. So far as practical life was concerned +she was as devoid of ideas as a new-born baby. + +There was but the one hope--marriage, a rich +marriage. It is the habit of men who can take care of +themselves and of women who are securely well taken +care of to scorn the woman or the helpless-bred man +who marries for money or even entertains that idea. +How little imagination these scorners have! To marry +for a mere living, hardly better than one could make +for oneself, assuredly does show a pitiful lack of self- +reliance, a melancholy lack of self-respect. But for +men or women all their lives used to luxury and with +no ability whatever at earning money--for such persons +to marry money in order to save themselves from +the misery and shame that poverty means to them is the +most natural, the most human action conceivable. The +man or the woman who says he or she would not do it, +either is a hypocrite or is talking without thinking. +You may in honesty criticize and condemn a social system +that suffers men and women to be so crudely and +criminally miseducated by being given luxury they did +not earn. But to condemn the victims of that system +for acting as its logic compels is sheer folly or sheer +phariseeism. + +Would Mildred Gower have married for money? As +the weeks fled, as the bank account dwindled, she would +have grasped eagerly at any rich man who might have +offered himself--no matter how repellent he might +have been. She did not want a bare living; she did not +want what passes with the mass of middle-class people +for comfort. She wanted what she had--the beautiful +and spacious house, the costly and fashionable clothing, +the servants, the carriages and motors, the thousand +and one comforts, luxuries, and vanities to which she +had always been used. In the brain of a young woman +of poor or only comfortably off family the thoughts +that seethed in Mildred Gower's brain would have been +so many indications of depravity. In Mildred Gower's +brain they were the natural, the inevitable, thoughts. +They indicated everything as to her training, nothing +as to her character. So, when she, thinking only of a +rich marriage with no matter whom, and contrasting +herself with the fine women portrayed in the novels and +plays, condemned herself as shameless and degraded, +she did herself grave injustice. + +But no rich man, whether attractive or repulsive, +offered. Indeed, no man of any kind offered. Instead, +it was her mother who married. + +A widower named James Presbury, elderly, with an +income of five to six thousand a year from inherited +wealth, stumbled into Hanging Rock to live, was +impressed by the style the widow Gower maintained, +believed the rumor that her husband had left her better +off than was generally thought, proposed, and was +accepted. And two years and a month after Henry +Gower's death his widow became Mrs. James Presbury +--and ceased to veil from her new husband the truth +as to her affairs. + +Mildred had thought that, than the family quarrels +incident to settling her father's estate, human nature +could no lower descend. She was now to be disillusioned. +When a young man or a young woman blunders +into a poor marriage in trying to make a rich +one, he or she is usually withheld from immediate and +frank expression by the timidity of youth. Not so +the elderly man or woman. As we grow older, no mat- +ter how timidly conventional we are by nature, we +become, through selfishness or through indifference to the +opinion of others or through impatience of petty +restraint, more and more outspoken. Old Presbury +discovered how he had tricked himself four days after the +wedding. He and his bride were at the Waldorf in +New York, a-honeymooning. + +The bride had never professed to be rich. She had +simply continued in her lifelong way, had simply acted +rich. She well knew the gaudy delusions her admirer +was entertaining, and she saw to it that nothing was +said or done to disturb him. She inquired into his affairs, +made sure of the substantiality of the comparatively +small income he possessed, decided to accept him +as her best available chance to escape becoming a +charge upon her anything but eager and generous +relatives. She awaited the explosion with serenity. +She cared not a flip for Presbury, who was a soft and +silly old fool, full of antiquated compliments and so +drearily the inferior of Henry Gower, physically and +mentally, that even she could appreciate the difference, +the descent. She rather enjoyed the prospect of a +combat with him, of the end of dissimulating her +contempt. She had thought out and had put in +arsenal ready for use a variety of sneers, jeers, and +insults that suggested themselves to her as she +listened and simpered and responded while he was +courting. + +Had the opportunity offered earlier than the fourth +day she would have seized it, but not until that fourth +morning was she in just the right mood. She had +eaten too much dinner the night before, and had +followed it after two hours in a stuffy theater with an +indigestible supper. He liked the bedroom windows +open at night; she liked them closed. After she fell +into a heavy sleep, he slipped out of bed and opened +the windows wide--to teach her by the night's happy +experience that she was entirely mistaken as to the +harmfulness of fresh winter air. The result was that +she awakened with a frightful cold and a splitting +headache. And as the weather was about to change +she had shooting pains like toothache through her +toes the instant she thrust them into her shoes. +The elderly groom, believing he had a rich bride, +was all solicitude and infuriating attention. She +waited until he had wrought her to the proper pitch of +fury. Then she said--in reply to some remark of +his: + +``Yes, I shall rely upon you entirely. I want you +to take absolute charge of my affairs.'' + +The tears sprang to his eyes. His weak old mouth, +rapidly falling to pieces, twisted and twitched with +emotion. ``I'll try to deserve your confidence, +darling,'' said he. ``I've had large business experience-- +in the way of investing carefully, I mean. I don't +think your affairs will suffer in my hands.'' + +``Oh, I'm sure they'll not trouble you,'' said she in +a sweet, sure tone as the pains shot through her feet +and her head. ``You'll hardly notice my little mite in +your property.'' She pretended to reflect. ``Let me +see--there's seven thousand left, but of course half +of that is Millie's.'' + +``It must be very well invested,'' said he. ``Those +seven thousand shares must be of the very best.'' + +``Shares?'' said she, with a gentle little laugh. ``I +mean dollars.'' + +Presbury was about to lift a cup of cafe au lait to +his lips. Instead, he turned it over into the platter of +eggs and bacon. + +``We--Mildred and I,'' pursued his bride, ``were +left with only forty-odd thousand between us. Of +course, we had to live. So, naturally, there's very +little left.'' + +Presbury was shaking so violently that his head and +arms waggled like a jumping-jack's. He wrapped his +elegant white fingers about the arms of his chair to +steady himself. In a suffocated voice he said: ``Do +you mean to say that you have only seven thousand +dollars in the world?'' + +``Only half that,'' corrected she. ``Oh, dear, how +my head aches! Less than half that, for there are some +debts.'' + +She was impatient for the explosion; the agony of +her feet and head needed outlet and relief. But he +disappointed her. That was one of the situations in which +one appeals in vain to the resources of language. He +shrank and sank back in his chair, his jaw dropped, +and he vented a strange, imbecile cackling laugh. It +was not an expression of philosophic mirth, of sense +of the grotesqueness of an anti-climax. It was not an +expression of any emotion whatever. It was simply a +signal from a mind temporarily dethroned. + +``What are you laughing at?'' she said sharply. + +His answer was a repetition of the idiotic sound. + +``What's the matter with you?'' demanded she. +``Please close your mouth.'' + +It was a timely piece of advice; for his upper and +false teeth had become partially dislodged and +threatened to drop upon the shirt-bosom gayly showing +between the lapels of his dark-blue silk house-coat. He +slowly closed his mouth, moving his teeth back into +place with his tongue--a gesture that made her face +twitch with rage and disgust. + +``Seven thousand dollars,'' he mumbled dazedly. + +``I said less than half that,'' retorted she sharply. + +``And I--thought you were--rich.'' + +A peculiar rolling of the eyes and twisting of the +lips gave her the idea that he was about to vent that +repulsive sound again. ``Don't you laugh!'' she cried. +``I can't bear your laugh--even at its best.'' + +Suddenly he galvanized into fury. ``This is an +outrage!'' he cried, waving his useless-looking white fists. +``You have swindled me--SWINDLED me!'' + +Her head stopped aching. The pains in her feet +either ceased or she forgot them. In a suspiciously +calm voice she said: ``What do you mean?'' + +``I mean that you are a swindler!'' he shouted, +banging one fist on the table and waving the other. + +She acted as though his meaning were just dawning +upon her. ``Do you mean,'' said she tranquilly, ``that +you married me for money?'' + +``I mean that I thought you a substantial woman, and +that I find you are an adventuress.'' + +``Did you think,'' inquired she, ``that any woman +who had money would marry YOU?'' She laughed +very quietly. ``You ARE a fool!'' + +He sat back to look at her. This mode of combat in +such circumstances puzzled him. + +``I knew that you were rich,'' she went on, ``or you +would not have dared offer yourself to me. All my +friends were amazed at my stooping to accept you. +Your father was an Irish Tammany contractor, wasn't +he?--a sort of criminal? But I simply had to marry. +So I gave you my family and position and name in +exchange for your wealth--a good bargain for you, +but a poor one for me.'' + +These references to HIS wealth were most disconcerting, +especially as they were accompanied by remarks about +his origin, of which he was so ashamed that he had +changed the spelling of his name in the effort to clear +himself of it. However, some retort was imperative. +He looked at her and said: + +``Swindler and adventuress!'' + +``Don't repeat that lie,'' said she. ``You are +the adventurer--despite the fact that you are very +rich.'' + +``Don't say that again,'' cried he. ``I never said or +pretended I was rich. I have about five thousand a +year--and you'll not get a cent of it, madam!'' + +She knew his income, but no one would have suspected +it from her expression of horror. ``What!'' she +gasped. ``You dared to marry ME when you were a-- +beggar! Me--the widow of Henry Gower! You +impudent old wreck! Why, you haven't enough to pay +my servants. What are we to live on, pray?'' + +``I don't know what YOU'LL live on,'' replied he. +``_I_ shall live as I always have.'' + +``A beggar!'' she exclaimed. ``I--married to a +beggar.'' She burst into tears. ``How men take +advantage of a woman alone! If my son had been near +me! But there's surely some law to protect me. Yes, +I'm sure there is. Oh, I'll punish you for having +deceived me.'' Her eyes dried as she looked at him. +``How dare you sit there? How dare you face me, you +miserable fraud!'' + +Early in her acquaintance with him she had discovered +that determining factors in his character were +sensitiveness about his origin and sensitiveness about his +social position. On this knowledge of his weaknesses was +securely based her confidence that she could act as she +pleased toward him. To ease her pains she proceeded +to pour out her private opinion of him--all the +disagreeable things, all the insults she had been storing +up. + +She watched him as only a woman can watch a man. +She saw that his rage was not dangerous, that she was +forcing him into a position where fear of her revenging +herself by disgracing him would overcome anger at +the collapse of his fatuous dreams of wealth. She did +not despise him the more deeply for sitting there, for +not flying from the room or trying to kill her or somehow +compelling her to check that flow of insult. She +already despised him utterly; also, she attached small +importance to self-respect, having no knowledge of what +that quality really is. + +When she grew tired, she became quiet. They sat +there a long time in silence. At last he ran up the white +flag of abject surrender by saying: + +``What'll we live on--that's what I'd like to know?'' + +An eavesdropper upon the preceding violence of +upward of an hour would have assumed that at its end this +pair must separate, never to see each other again +voluntarily. But that idea, even as a possibility, had not +entered the mind of either. They had lived a long time; +they were practical people. They knew from the outset +that somehow they must arrange to go on together. +The alternative meant a mere pittance of alimony for +her; meant for him social ostracism and the small +income cut in half; meant for both scandal and confusion. + +Said she fretfully: ``Oh, I suppose we'll get along, +somehow. I don't know anything about those things. +I've always been looked after--kept from contact with +the sordid side of life.'' + +``That house you live in,'' he went on, ``does it +belong to you?'' + +She gave him a contemptuous glance. ``Of course,'' +said she. ``What low people you must have been used +to!'' + +``I thought perhaps you had rented it for your +bunco game,'' retorted he. ``The furniture, the horses, +the motor--all those things--do they belong to +you?'' + +``I shall leave the room if you insult me,'' said she. + +``Did you include them in the seven thousand dollars?'' + +``The money is in the bank. It has nothing to do +with our house and our property.'' + +He reflected, presently said: ``The horses and +carriages must be sold at once--and all those servants +dismissed except perhaps two. We can live in the house.'' + +She grew purple with rage. ``Sell MY carriages! +Discharge MY servants! I'd like to see you try!'' + +``Who's to pay for keeping up that establishment?'' +demanded he. + +She was silent. She saw what he had in mind. + +``If you want to keep that house and live comfortably,'' +he went on, ``you've got to cut expenses to the +bone. You see that, don't you?'' + +``I can't live any way but the way I've been used to +all my life,'' wailed she. + +He eyed her disgustedly. Was there anything equal +to a woman for folly? + +``We've got to make the most of what little we +have,'' said he. + +``I tell you I don't know anything about those +things,'' repeated she. ``You'll have to look after them. +Mildred and I aren't like the women you've been used to. +We are ladies.'' + +Presbury's rage boiled over again at the mention of +Mildred. ``That daughter of yours!'' he cried. +``What's to be done about her? I've got no money to +waste on her.'' + +``You miserable Tammany THING!'' exclaimed she. +``Don't you dare SPEAK of my daughter except in the +most respectful way.'' + +And once more she opened out upon him, wreaking +upon him all her wrath against fate, all the pent-up +fury of two years--fury which had been denied such +fury's usual and natural expression in denunciations of +the dead bread-winner. The generous and ever-kind +Henry Gower could not be to blame for her wretched +plight; and, of course, she herself could not be to blame +for it. So, until now there had been no scapegoat. +Presbury therefore received the whole burden. He, +alarmed lest a creature apparently so irrational, should +in wild rage drive him away, ruin him socially, perhaps +induce a sympathetic court to award her a large part of +his income as alimony, said not a word in reply. He +bade his wrath wait. Later on, when the peril was over, +when he had a firm grip upon the situation--then he +would take his revenge. + +They gave up the expensive suite at the Waldorf that +very day and returned to Hanging Rock. They alternated +between silence and the coarsest, crudest quarrelings, +for neither had the intelligence to quarrel wittily or the +refinement to quarrel artistically. As soon as they +arrived at the Gower house, Mildred was dragged into the +wrangle. + +``I married this terrible man for your sake,'' was the +burden of her mother's wail. ``And he is a beggar-- +wants to sell off everything and dismiss the servants.'' + +``You are a pair of paupers,'' cried the old man. +``You are shameless tricksters. Be careful how you +goad me!'' + +Mildred had anticipated an unhappy ending to her +mother's marriage, but she had not knowledge enough +of life or of human nature to anticipate any such +horrors as now began. Every day, all day long the vulgar +fight raged. Her mother and her stepfather withdrew +from each other's presence only to think up fresh insults +to fling at each other. As soon as they were armed +they hastened to give battle again. She avoided +Presbury. Her mother she could not avoid; and when her +mother was not in combat with him, she was weeping +or wailing or railing to Mildred. + +It was at Mildred's urging that her mother +acquiesced in Presbury's plans for reducing expenses +within income. At first the girl, even more ignorant +than her mother of practical affairs, did not appreciate +the wisdom, not to say the necessity, of what he +wished to do, but soon she saw that he was right, that +the servants must go, that the horses and carriages and +the motors must be sold. When she was convinced +and had convinced her mother, she still did not realize +what the thing really meant. Not until she no longer +had a maid did she comprehend. To a woman who has +never had a maid, or who has taken on a maid as a +luxury, it will seem an exaggeration to say that Mildred +felt as helpless as a baby lying alone in a crib before it +has learned to crawl. Yet that is rather an understatement +of her plight. The maid left in the afternoon. +Mildred, not without inconveniences that had in the +novelty their amusing side, contrived to dress that +evening for dinner and to get to bed; but when she awakened +in the morning and was ready to dress, the loss of +Therese became a tragedy. It took the girl nearly four +hours to get herself together presentably--and then, +never had she looked so unkempt. With her hair, thick +and soft, she could do nothing. + +``What a wonderful person Therese was!'' thought +she. ``And I always regarded her as rather stupid.'' +Her mother, who had not had a maid until she was +about thirty and had never become completely dependent, +fared somewhat better, though, hearing her moans, +you would have thought she was faring worse. + +Mildred's unhappiness increased from day to day, as +her wardrobe fell into confusion and disrepair. She +felt that she must rise to the situation, must teach +herself, must save herself from impending dowdiness and +slovenliness. But her brain seemed to be paralyzed. +She did not know how or where to begin to learn. She +often in secret gave way to the futility of tears. + +There were now only a cook and one housemaid and +a man of all work--all three newcomers, for Presbury +insisted--most wisely--that none of the servants of +the luxurious, wasteful days would be useful in the new +circumstances. He was one of those small, orderly men +who have a genius for just such situations as the one +he now proceeded to grapple with and solve. In his +pleasure at managing everything about that house, in +distributing the work among the three servants, in +marketing, and, in inspecting purchases and nosing into +the garbage-barrel, in looking for dust on picture- +frames and table-tops and for neglected weeds in the +garden walks--in this multitude of engrossing delights +he forgot his anger over the trick that had been +played upon him. He still fought with his wife and +denounced her and met insult with insult. But that, +too, was one of his pleasures. Also, he felt that on the +whole he had done well in marrying. He had been lonely +as a bachelor, had had no one to talk with, or to quarrel +with, nothing to do. The marriage was not so expensive, +as his wife had brought him a house--and it such +a one as he had always regarded as the apogee of +elegance. Living was not dear in Hanging Rock, if one +understood managing and gave time to it. And socially +he was at last established. + +Soon his wife was about as contented as she had ever +been in her life. She hated and despised her husband, +but quarreling with him and railing against him gave +her occupation and aim--two valuable assets toward +happiness that she had theretofore lacked. Her living +--shelter, food, clothing enough--was now secure. +But the most important factor of all in her content was +the one apparently too trivial to be worthy of record. +From girlhood she could not recall a single day in which +she had not suffered from her feet. And she had been +ashamed to say anything about it--had never let anyone, +even her maid, see her feet, which were about the +only unsightly part of her. None had guessed the +cause of her chronic ill-temper until Presbury, that +genius for the little, said within a week of their marriage: + +``You talk and act like a woman with chronic corns.'' + +He did not dream of the effect this chance thrust had +upon his wife. For the first time he had really +``landed.'' She concealed her fright and her shame as +best she could and went on quarreling more viciously +than ever. But he presently returned to the attack. +Said he: + +``Your feet hurt you. I'm sure they do. Now that +I think of it, you walk that way.'' + +``I suppose I deserve my fate,'' said she. ``When a +woman marries beneath her she must expect insult and +low conversation.'' + +``You must cure your feet,'' said he. ``I'll not live +in the house with a person who is made fiendish by corns. +I think it's only corns. I see no signs of bunions.'' + +``You brute!'' cried his wife, rushing from the room. + +But when they met again, he at once resumed the +subject, telling her just how she could cure herself--and +he kept on telling her, she apparently ignoring but +secretly acting on his advice. He knew what he was +about, and her feet grew better, grew well--and she +was happier than she had been since girlhood when she +began ruining her feet with tight shoes. + +Six months after the marriage, Presbury and his wife +were getting on about as comfortably as it is given to +average humanity to get on in this world of incessant +struggle between uncomfortable man and his uncomfortable +environment. But Mildred had become more +and more unhappy. Her mother, sometimes angrily, +again reproachfully--and that was far harder to bear +--blamed her for ``my miserable marriage to this low, +quarrelsome brute.'' Presbury let no day pass without +telling her openly that she was a beggar living off him, +that she would better marry soon or he would take drastic +steps to release himself of the burden. When he attacked +her before her mother, there was a violent quarrel +from which Mildred fled to hide in her room or in the +remotest part of the garden. When he hunted her out +to insult her alone, she sat or stood with eyes down and +face ghastly pale, mute, quivering. She did not inter- +rupt, did not try to escape. She was like the chained +and spiritless dog that crouches and takes the shower of +blows from its cruel master. + +Where could she go? Nowhere. What could she +do? Nothing. In the days of prosperity she had +regarded herself as proud and high spirited. She now +wondered at herself! What had become of the pride? +What of the spirit? She avoided looking at her image +in the glass--that thin, pallid face, those circled eyes, +the drawn, sick expression about the mouth and nose. +``I'm stunned,'' she said to herself. ``I've been stunned +ever since father's death. I've never recovered--nor +has mother.'' And she gave way to tears--for her +father, she fancied; in fact, from shame at her weakness +and helplessness. She thought--hoped--that she +would not be thus feeble and cowardly, if she were not +living at home, in the house she loved, the house where +she had spent her whole life. And such a house! Comfort +and luxury and taste; every room, every corner of +the grounds, full of the tenderest and most beautiful +associations. Also, there was her position in Hanging +Rock. Everywhere else she would be a stranger and +would have either no position at all or one worse than +that of the utter outsider. There, she was of the few +looked up to by the whole community. No one knew, +or even suspected, how she was degraded by her step- +father. Before the world he was courteous and +considerate toward her as toward everybody. Indeed, +Presbury's natural instincts were gentle and kindly. His +hatred of Mildred and his passion for humiliating her +were the result of his conviction that he had been tricked +into the marriage and his inability to gratify his resentment +upon his wife. He could not make the mother +suffer; but he could make the daughter suffer--and +he did. Besides, she was of no use to him and would +presently be an expense. + +``Your money will soon be gone,'' he said to her. +``If you paid your just share of the expenses it would +be gone now. When it is gone, what will you do?'' + +She was silent. + +``Your mother has written to your brother about +you.'' + +Mildred lifted her head, a gleam of her former spirit +in her eyes. Then she remembered, and bent her gaze +upon the ground. + +``But he, like the cur that he is, answered through a +secretary that he wished to have nothing to do with +either of you.'' + +Mildred guessed that Frank had made the marriage +an excuse. + +``Surely some of your relatives will do something for +you. I have my hands full, supporting your mother. +I don't propose to have two strapping, worthless women +hanging from my neck.'' + +She bent her head lower, and remained silent. + +``I warn you to bestir yourself,'' he went on. ``I +give you four months. After the first of the year you +can't stay here unless you pay your share--your third.'' + +No answer. + +``You hear what I say, miss?'' he demanded. + +``Yes,'' replied she. + +``If you had any sense you wouldn't wait until your +last cent was gone. You'd go to New York now and +get something to do.'' + +``What?'' she asked--all she could trust herself to +speak. + +``How should _I_ know?'' retorted he furiously. +``you are a stranger to me. You've been educated, I +assume. Surely there's something you can do. You've +been out six years now, and have had no success, for +you're neither married nor engaged. You can't call it +success to be flattered and sought by people who wanted +invitations to this house when it was a social center.'' + +He paused for response from her. None came. + +``You admit you are a failure?'' he said sharply. + +``Yes,'' said she. + +``You must have realized it several years ago,'' he +went on. ``Instead of allowing your mother to keep on +wasting money in entertaining lavishly here to give +you a chance to marry, you should have been preparing +yourself to earn a living.'' A pause. ``Isn't that true, +miss?'' + +He had a way of pronouncing the word ``miss'' that +made it an epithet, a sneer at her unmarried and un- +marriageable state. She colored, paled, murmured: + +``Yes.'' + +``Then, better late than never. You'll do well to +follow my advice and go to New York and look about +you.'' + +``I'll--I'll think of it,'' stammered she. + +And she did think of it. But in all her life she had +never considered the idea of money-making. That was +something for men, and for the middle and lower classes +--while Hanging Rock was regarded as most noisomely +middle class by fashionable people, it did not so regard +itself. Money-making was not for ladies. Like all her +class, she was a constant and a severe critic of the +women of the lower orders who worked for her as milliners, +dressmakers, shop-attendants, cooks, maids. But, as she +now realized, it is one thing to pass upon the work +of others; it is another thing to do work oneself. +She-- There was literally nothing that she could do. +Any occupation, even the most menial, was either +beyond her skill or beyond her strength, or beyond +both. + +Suddenly she recalled that she could sing. Her +prostrate spirit suddenly leaped erect. Yes, she could sing! +Her voice had been praised by experts. Her singing +had been in demand at charity entertainments where +amateurs had to compete with professionals. Then +down she dropped again. She sang well enough to +know how badly she sang--the long and toilsome and +expensive training that lay between her and operatic or +concert or even music-hall stage. Her voice was fine at +times. Again--most of the time--it was unreliable. +No, she could not hope to get paying employment even +as a church choir-singer. Miss Dresser who sang in the +choir of the Good Shepherd for ten dollars a Sunday, +had not nearly so good a voice as she, but it was reliable. + +``There is nothing I can do--nothing!'' + +All at once, with no apparent bridge across the vast +chasm, her heart went out, not in pity but in human +understanding and sisterly sympathy, to the women of the +pariah class at whom, during her stops in New York, +she had sometimes gazed in wonder and horror. ``Why, +we and they are only a step apart,'' she said to herself in +amazement. ``We and they are much nearer than my +maid or the cook and they!'' + +And then her heart skipped a beat and her skin grew +cold and a fog swirled over her brain. If she should be +cast out--if she could find no work and no one to support +her--would she-- ``O my God!'' she moaned. +``I must be crazy, to think such thoughts. I never +could! I'd die first--DIE!'' But if anyone had pictured +to her the kind of life she was now leading--the +humiliation and degradation she was meekly enduring +with no thought of flight, with an ever stronger desire +to stay on, regardless of pride and self-respect--if +anyone had pictured this to her as what she would +endure, what would she have said? She could see herself +flashing scornful denial, saying that she would rather +kill herself. Yet she was living--and was not even +contemplating suicide as a way out! + +A few days after Presbury gave her warning, her +mother took advantage of his absence for his religiously +observed daily constitutional to say to her: + +``I hope you didn't think I was behind him in what +he said to you about going away?'' + +Mildred had not thought so, but in her mother's +guilty tone and guiltier eyes she now read that her +mother wished her to go. + +``It'd be awful for me to be left here alone with him,'' +wailed her mother insincerely. ``Of course we've got +no money, and beggars can't be choosers. But it'd just +about kill me to have you go.'' + +Mildred could not speak. + +``I don't know a thing about money,'' Mrs. Presbury +went on. ``Your father always looked after everything.'' +She had fallen into the way of speaking of +her first husband as part of some vague, remote past, +which, indeed, he had become for her. ``This man''-- +meaning Presbury--``has only about five thousand a +year, as you know. I suppose that's as small as he says +it is. I remember our bills for one month used to be as +much or more than that.'' She waved her useless, pretty +hands helplessly. ``I don't see HOW we are to get on, +Mildred!'' + +Her mother wished her to go! Her mother had fallen +under the influence of Presbury--her mother, woman- +like, or rather, ladylike, was of kin to the helpless, flabby +things that float in the sea and attach themselves to +whatever they happen to lodge against. Her mother +wished her to go! + +``At the same time,'' Mrs. Presbury went on, ``I +can't live without somebody here to stand between me +and him. I'd kill him or kill myself.'' + +Mildred muttered some excuse and fled from the +room, to lock herself in. + +But when she came forth again to descend to dinner, +she had resolved nothing, because there was nothing to +resolve. When she was a child she leaned from the +nursery window one day and saw a stable-boy drowning +a rat that was in a big, oval, wire cage with a wooden +bottom. The boy pressed the cage slowly down in the vat +of water. The rat, in the very top of the cage, watched +the floor sink, watched the water rise. And as it watched +it uttered a strange, shrill, feeble sound which she could +still remember distinctly and terribly. It seemed to her +now that if she were to utter any sound at all, it would +be that one. + + + +II + +ON the Monday before Thanksgiving, Presbury went +up to New York to look after one of the little +speculations in Wall Street at which he was so clever. +Throughout the civilized world nowadays, and especially +in and near the great capitals of finance, there is a class +of men and women of small capital and of a character +in which are combined iron self-restraint, rabbit-like +timidity, and great shrewdness, who make often a not +inconsiderable income by gambling in stocks. They +buy only when the market is advancing strongly; they +sell as soon as they have gained the scantest margin of +profit. They never permit themselves to be tempted by +the most absolute certainty of larger gains. They will +let weeks, months even, go by without once risking a +dollar. They wait until they simply cannot lose. Tens +of thousands every year try to join this class. All but +the few soon succumb to the hourly dazzling temptations +the big gamblers dangle before the eyes of the little +gamblers to lure them within reach of the merciless +shears. + +Presbury had for many years added from one to ten +thousand a year to his income by this form of gambling, +success at which is in itself sufficient to stamp a man as +infinitely little of soul. On that Monday he, venturing +for the first time in six months, returned to Hanging +Rock on the three-thirty train the richer by two hundred +and fifty dollars--as large a ``killing'' as he had ever +made in any single day, one large enough to elevate him +to the rank of prince among the ``sure-thing snides.'' +He said nothing about his luck to his family, but let +them attribute his unprecedented good humor to the +news he brought and announced at dinner. + +``I met an old friend in the street this afternoon,'' +said he. ``He has invited us to take Thanksgiving dinner +with him. And I think it will be a dinner worth +while--the food, I mean, and the wine. Not the +guests; for there won't be any guests but us. General +Siddall is a stranger in New York.'' + +``There are Siddalls in New York,'' said his wife; +``very nice, refined people--going in the best society.'' + +Presbury showed his false teeth in a genial smile; for +the old-fashioned or plate kind of false teeth they were +extraordinarily good--when exactly in place. ``But +not my old friend Bill Siddall,'' said he. ``He's next +door to an outlaw. I'd not have accepted his invitation +if he had been asking us to dine in public. But this +is to be at his own house--his new house--and a very +grand house it is, judging by the photos he showed me. +A regular palace! He'll not be an outlaw long, I guess. +But we must wait and see how he comes out socially +before we commit ourselves.'' + +``Did you accept for me, too?'' asked Mrs. Presbury. + +``Certainly,'' said Presbury. ``And for your daughter, +too.'' + +``I can't go,'' said Mildred. ``I'm dining with the +Fassetts.'' + +The family no longer had a servant in constant +attendance in the dining-room. The maid of many functions +also acted as butler and as fetch-and-carry between +kitchen and butler's pantry. Before speaking, +Presbury waited until this maid had withdrawn to bring +the roast and the vegetables. Then he said: + +``You are going, too, miss.'' This with the full +infusion of insult into the ``miss.'' + +Mildred was silent. + +``Bill Siddall is looking for a wife,'' proceeded +Presbury. ``And he has Heaven knows how many +millions.'' + +``Do you think there's a chance for Milly?'' cried +Mrs. Presbury, who was full of alternating hopes and +fears, both wholly irrational. + +``She can have him--if she wants him,'' replied +Presbury. ``But it's only fair to warn her that he's a +stiff dose.'' + +``Is the money--CERTAIN?'' inquired Mildred's +mother with that shrewdness whose rare occasional +displays laid her open to the unjust suspicion of feigning +her habitual stupidity. + +``Yes,'' said Presbury amiably. ``It's nothing like +yours was. He's so rich he doesn't know what to do +with his income. He owns mines scattered all over the +world. And if they all failed, he's got bundles of railway +stocks and bonds, and gilt-edged trust stocks, too. +And he's a comparatively young man--hardly fifty, +I should say. He pretends to be forty.'' + +``It's strange I never heard of him,'' said Mrs. Presbury. + +``If you went to South America or South Africa or +Alaska, you'd hear of him,'' said Presbury. He laughed. +``And I guess you'd hear some pretty dreadful things. +When I knew him twenty-five years ago he had just +been arrested for forging my father's name to a check. +But he got out of that--and it's all past and gone. +Probably he hasn't committed any worse crimes than +have most of our big rich men. Bill's handicap has +been that he hadn't much education or any swell +relatives. But he's a genius at money-making.'' +Presbury looked at Mildred with a grin. ``And he's just the +husband for Mildred. She can't afford to be too +particular. Somebody's got to support her. _I_ can't and +won't, and she can't support herself.'' + +``You'll go--won't you, Mildred?'' said her mother. +``He may not be so bad.'' + +``Yes, I'll go,'' said Mildred. Her gaze was upon the +untouched food on her plate. + +``Of course she'll go,'' said Presbury. ``And she'll +marry him if she can. Won't you, miss?'' + +He spoke in his amiably insulting way--as distinguished +from the way of savagely sneering insult he +usually took with her. He expected no reply. She +surprised him. She lifted her tragic eyes and looked +fixedly at him. She said: + +``Yes, I'll go. And I'll marry him if I can.'' + +``I told him he could have you,'' said Presbury. ``I +explained to him that you were a rare specimen of the +perfect lady--just what he wanted--and that you, +and all your family, would be grateful to anybody who +would undertake your support.'' + +Mrs. Presbury flushed angrily. ``You've made it +perfectly useless for her to go!'' she cried. + +``Calm yourself, my love,'' said her husband. ``I +know Bill Siddall thoroughly. I said what would help. +I want to get rid of her as much as you do--and that's +saying a great deal.'' + +Mrs. Presbury flamed with the wrath of those who +are justly accused. ``If Mildred left, I should go, too,'' +cried she. + +``Go where?'' inquired her husband. ``To the +poorhouse?'' + +By persistent rubbing in Presbury had succeeded in +making the truth about her poverty and dependence +clear to his wife. She continued to frown and to +look unutterable contempt, but he had silenced her. +He noted this with a sort of satisfaction and went +on: + +``If Bill Siddall takes her, you certainly won't go +there. He wouldn't have you. He feels strongly on +the subject of mothers-in-law.'' + +``Has he been married before?'' asked Mrs. Presbury. + +``Twice,'' replied her husband. ``His first wife died. +He divorced the second for unfaithfulness.'' + +Mildred saw in this painstaking recital of all the +disagreeable and repellent facts about Siddall an effort +further to humiliate her by making it apparent how +desperately off she was, how she could not refuse any +offer, revolting though it might be to her pride and to +her womanly instincts. Doubtless this was in part the +explanation of Presbury's malicious candor. But an +element in that candor was a prudent preparing of the +girl's mind for worse than the reality. That he was in +earnest in his profession of a desire to bring about the +match showed when he proposed that they should take +rooms at a hotel in New York, to give her a chance to +dress properly for the dinner. True, he hastened to say +that the expense must be met altogether out of the +remnant of Mildred's share of her father's estate, but +the idea would not have occurred to him had he not +been really planning a marriage. + +Never had Mildred looked more beautiful or more +attractive than when the three were ready to sally forth +from the Manhattan Hotel on that Thanksgiving evening. +At twenty-five, a soundly healthy and vigorous +twenty-five, it is impossible for mind and nerves, +however wrought upon, to make serious inroads upon +surface charms. The hope of emancipation from her hideous +slavery had been acting upon the girl like a powerful +tonic. She had gained several pounds in the three +intervening days; her face had filled out, color had come +back in all its former beauty to her lips. Perhaps +there was some slight aid from art in the extraordinary +brilliancy of her eyes. + +Presbury inventoried her with a succession of grunts +of satisfaction. ``Yes, he'll want you,'' he said. +``You'll strike him as just the show piece he needs. +And he's too shrewd not to be aware that his choice is +limited.'' + +``You can't frighten me,'' said Mildred, with a +radiant, coquettish smile--for practice. ``Nothing +could frighten me.'' + +``I'm not trying,'' replied Presbury. ``Nor will +Siddall frighten you. A woman who's after a bill-payer +can stomach anything.'' + +``Or a man,'' said Mildred. + +``Oh, your mother wasn't as bad as all that,'' said +Presbury, who never lost an opportunity. + +Mrs. Presbury, seated beside her daughter in the cab, +gave an exclamation of rage. ``My own daughter +insulting me!'' she said. + +``Such a thought did not enter my head,'' protested +Mildred. ``I wasn't thinking of anyone in particular.'' + +``Let's not quarrel now,'' said Presbury, with +unprecedented amiability. ``We must give Bill a spectacle +of the happy family.'' + +The cab entered the porte-cochere of a huge palace +of white stone just off Fifth Avenue. The house was +even grander than they had anticipated. The wrought- +iron fence around it had cost a small fortune; the house +itself, without reference to its contents, a large fortune. +The massive outer doors were opened by two lackeys +in cherry-colored silk and velvet livery; a butler, looking +like an English gentleman, was waiting to receive +them at the top of a short flight of marble steps +between the outer and the inner entrance doors. As +Mildred ascended, she happened to note the sculpturing +over the inner entrance--a reclining nude figure of a +woman, Cupids with garlands and hymeneal torches +hovering about her. + +Mildred had been in many pretentious houses in and +near New York, but this far surpassed the grandest of +them. Everything was brand new, seemed to have been +only that moment placed, and was of the costliest- +statuary, carpets, armor, carved seats of stone and +wood, marble staircase rising majestically, tapestries, +pictures, drawing-room furniture. The hall was vast, +but the drawing-room was vaster. Empty, one would +have said that it could not possibly be furnished. Yet +it was not only full, but crowded-chairs and sofas, +hassocks and tete-a-tetes, cabinets, tables, pictures, +statues, busts, palms, flowers, a mighty fireplace in +which, behind enormous and costly andirons, crackled +enormous and costly logs. There was danger in moving +about; one could not be sure of not upsetting something, +and one felt that the least damage that could be +done there would be an appallingly expensive matter. + +Before that cavernous fireplace posed General +Siddall. He was a tiny mite of a man with a thin wiry +body supporting the head of a professional barber. +His black hair was glossy and most romantically +arranged. His black mustache and imperial were waxed +and brilliantined. There was no mistaking the liberal +use of dye, also. From the rather thin, very sharp +face looked a pair of small, muddy, brown-green eyes +--dull, crafty, cold, cruel. But the little man was so +insignificant and so bebarbered and betailored that one +could not take him seriously. Never had there been so +new, so carefully pressed, so perfectly fitting evening +clothes; never a shirt so expensively got together, or +jeweled studs, waistcoat buttons and links so high +priced. From every part of the room, from every part +of the little man's perfumed and groomed person, every +individual article seemed to be shrieking, ``The best is +not too good for Bill Siddall!'' + +Mildred was agreeably surprised--she was looking +with fierce determination for agreeable surprises-- +when the costly little man spoke, in a quiet, pleasant +voice with an elusive, attractive foreign accent. + +``My, but this is grand--grand, General Siddall!'' +said Presbury in the voice of the noisy flatterer. +``Princely! Royal!'' + +Mildred glanced nervously at Siddall. She feared +that Presbury had taken the wrong tone. She saw in +the unpleasant eyes a glance of gratified vanity. Said +he: + +``Not so bad, not so bad. I saw the house in Paris, +when I was taking a walk one day. I went to the +American ambassador and asked for the best architect +in Paris. I went to him, told him about the house-- +and here it is.'' + +``Decorations, furniture, and all!'' exclaimed Presbury. + +``No, just the house. I picked up the interiors in +different parts of Europe--had everything reproduced +where I couldn't buy outright. I want to enjoy my +money while I'm still young. I didn't care what it cost +to get the proper surroundings. As I said to my architect +and to my staff of artists, I expected to be cheated, +but I wanted the goods. And I got the goods. I'll +show you through the house after dinner. It's on this +same scale throughout. And they're putting me together +a country place--same sort of thing.'' He +threw back his little shoulders and protruded his little +chest. ``And the joke of it is that the whole business +isn't costing me a cent.'' + +``Not a cent less than half a dozen or a dozen +millions,'' said Presbury. + +``Not so much as that--not quite,'' protested the +delightedly sparkling little general. ``But what I +meant was that, as fast as these fellows spend, I go +down-town and make. Fact is, I'm a little better off +than I was when I started in to build.'' + +``Well, you didn't get any of MY money,'' laughed +Presbury. ``But I suppose pretty much everybody +else in the country must have contributed.'' + +General Siddall smiled. Mildred wondered whether +the points of his mustache and imperial would crack +and break of, if he should touch them. She noted that +his hair was roached absurdly high above the middle +of his forehead and that he was wearing the tallest heels +she had ever seen. She calculated that, with his hair +flat and his feet on the ground, he would hardly come +to her shoulder--and she was barely of woman's +medium height. She caught sight of his hands--the +square, stubby hands of a working man; the fingers +permanently slightly curved as by the handle of shovel +and pick; the skin shriveled but white with a ghastly, +sickening bleached white, the nails repulsively manicured +into long white curves. ``If he should touch +me, I'd scream,'' she thought. And then she looked at +Presbury--and around her at the evidences of enormous wealth. + +The general--she wondered where he had got that +title--led her mother in to dinner, Presbury gave her +his arm. On the way he found opportunity to mutter: + +``Lay it on thick! Flatter the fool. You can't +offend him. Tell him he's divinely handsome--a Louis +Fourteen, a Napoleon. Praise everything--napkins, +tablecloth, dishes, food. Rave over the wine.'' + +But Mildred could not adopt this obviously excellent +advice. She sat silent and cold, while Presbury and +her mother raved and drew out the general to talk of +himself--the only subject in the whole world that +seemed to him thoroughly worth while. As Mildred +listened and furtively observed, it seemed to her that +this tiny fool, so obviously pleased by these coarse and +insulting flatteries, could not possibly have had the +brains to amass the vast fortune he apparently +possessed. But presently she noted that behind the +personality that was pleased by this gross fawning and +bootlicking there lay--lay in wait and on guard-- +another personality, one that despised these guests of +his, estimating them at their true value and using them +contemptuously for the gratification of his coarse +appetites. In the glimpse she caught of that deeper and +real personality, she liked it even less than she liked +the one upon the surface. + +It was evidence of superior acumen that she saw even +vaguely the real Bill Siddall, the money-maker, beneath +the General William Siddall, raw and ignorant and +vulgar--more vulgar in his refinement than the most +shocking bum at home and at ease in foul-smelling stew. +Every man of achievement hides beneath his surface-- +personality this second and real man, who makes the +fortune, discovers the secret of chemistry, fights the +battle, carries the election, paints the picture, commits +the frightful murder, evolves the divine sermon or poem +or symphony. Thus, when we meet a man of achievement, +we invariably have a sense of disappointment. +``Why, that's not the man!'' we exclaim. ``There +must be some mistake.'' And it is, indeed, not the man. +Him we are incapable of seeing. We have only eyes +for surfaces; and, not being doers of extraordinary +deeds, but mere plodders in the routines of existence, +we cannot believe that there is any more to another than +there is to ourselves. The pleasant or unpleasant +surface for the conventional relations of life is about all +there is to us; therefore it is all there is to human +nature. Well, there's no help for it. In measuring our +fellow beings we can use only the measurements of our +own selves; we have no others, and if others are given to +us we are as foozled as one knowing only feet and +inches who has a tape marked off in meters and centimeters. + +It so happened that in her social excursions Mildred +had never been in any of the numerous homes of the +suddenly and vastly rich of humble origin. She was +used to--and regarded as proper and elegant--the +ordinary ostentations and crudities of the rich of +conventional society. No more than you or I was she +moved to ridicule or disdain by the silliness and the +tawdry vulgarity of the life of palace and liveried +lackey and empty ceremonial, by the tedious entertainments, +by the displays of costly and poisonous food. +But General Siddall's establishment presented a new +phase to her--and she thought it unique in dreadfulness +and absurdity. + +The general had had a home life in his youth--in a +coal-miner's cabin near Wilkes-Barre. Ever since, he +had lived in boarding-houses or hotels. As his shrewd +and rapacious mind had gathered in more and more +wealth, he had lived more and more luxuriously--but +always at hotels. He had seen little of the private life +of the rich. Thus he had been compelled to get his +ideas of luxury and of ceremonial altogether from the +hotel-keepers and caterers who give the rich what the +more intelligent and informed of the rich are usually +shamed by people of taste from giving themselves at +home. + +She thought the tablecloth, napkins, and gaudy gold +and flowery cut glass a little overdone, but on the whole +not so bad. She had seen such almost as grand at a +few New York houses. The lace in the cloth and in +the napkins was merely a little too magnificent. It +made the table lumpy, it made the napkins unfit for use. +But the way the dinner was served! You would have +said you were in a glorified palace-hotel restaurant. +You looked about for the cashier's desk; you were certain +a bill would be presented after the last course. + +The general, tinier and more grotesque than ever in +the great high-backed, richly carved armchair, surveyed +the progress of the banquet with the air of a god +performing miracles of creation and passing them in +review and giving them his divine endorsement. He was +well pleased with the enthusiastic praises Presbury and +his wife lavished upon the food and drink. He would +have been better pleased had they preceded and followed +every mouthful with a eulogy. He supplemented their +compliments with even more fulsome compliments, adding +details as to the origin and the cost. + +``Darcy''--this to the butler--``tell the chef that +this fish is the best yet--really exquisite.'' To +Presbury: ``I had it brought over from France--alive, +of course. We have many excellent fish, but I like a +change now and then. So I have a standing order with +Prunier--he's the big oyster- and fish-man of Paris-- +to send me over some things every two weeks by special +express. That way, an oyster costs about fifty cents +and a fish about five or six dollars.'' + +To Mrs. Presbury: ``I'll have Darcy make you and +Miss Presbury--excuse me, Miss Gower--bouquets +of the flowers afterward. Most of them come from +New York--and very high really first-class flowers are. +I pay two dollars apiece for my roses even at this +season. And orchids--well, I feel really extravagant +when I indulge in orchids as I have this evening. Ten +dollars apiece for those. But they're worth it.'' + +The dinner was interminably long--upward of +twenty kinds of food, no less than five kinds of wine; +enough served and spoiled to have fed and intoxicated a +dozen people at least. And upon every item of food +and drink the general had some remarks to make. He +impressed it upon his guests that this dinner was very +little better than the one served to him every night, that +the increase in expense and luxury was not in their +honor, but in his own--to show them what he could +do when he wished to make a holiday. Finally the +grand course was reached. Into the dining-room, to +the amazement of the guests, were rolled two great +restaurant joint wagons. Instead of being made of +silver-plated nickel or plain nickel they were of silver +embossed with gold, and the large carvers and serving- +spoons and forks had gold-mounted silver handles. +When the lackeys turned back the covers there were +disclosed several truly wonderful young turkeys, fattened +as if by painstaking and skillful hand and superbly +browned. + +Up to that time the rich and costly food had been +sadly medium--like the wines. But these turkeys were +a genuine triumph. Even Mildred gave them a look of +interest and admiration. In a voice that made General +Siddall ecstatic Presbury cried: + +``GOD bless my soul! WHERE did you get those +beauties, old man!'' + +``Paris,'' said Siddall in a voice tremulous with pride +and self-admiration. You would have thought that he +had created not merely the turkeys, but Paris, also. +``Potin sends them over to me. Potin, you know, is the +finest dealer in groceries, fruit, game, and so on in the +world. I have a standing order with him for the best of-- +everything that comes in. I'd hate to tell you what my +bill with Potin is every month--he only sends it to me +once a year. Really, I think I ought to be ashamed of +myself, but I reason that, if a man can afford it, he's +a fool to put anything but the best into his stomach.'' + +``You're right there!'' mumbled Presbury. His +mouth was full of turkey. ``You HAVE got a chef, +General!'' + +``He ought to cook well. I pay him more than most +bank-presidents get. What do you think of those joint +wagons, Mrs. Presbury?'' + +``They're very--interesting,'' replied she, a little +nervous because she suspected they were some sort of +vulgar joke. + +``I knew you'd like them,'' said the general. ``My +own idea entirely. I saw them in several restaurants +abroad--only of course those they had were just ordinary +affairs, not fit to be introduced into a gentleman's +dining-room. But I took the idea and adapted it to my +purposes--and there you are!'' + +``Very original, old man,'' said Presbury, who had +been drinking too much. ``I've never seen it before, +and I don't think I ever shall again. Got the idea +patented?'' + +But Siddall in his soberest moment would have been +slow to admit a suspicion that any of the human race, +which he regarded as on its knees before him, was +venturing to poke fun at him. Drunk as he now was, the +openest sarcasm would have been accepted as a compliment. +After a gorgeous dessert which nobody more +than touched--a molded mousse of whipped and frozen +cream and strawberries--``specially sent on to me from +Florida and costing me a dollar apiece, I guess''--after +this costly wonder had disappeared fruit was served. +General Siddall had ready a long oration upon this +course. He delivered it in a disgustingly thick tone. +The pineapple was an English hothouse product, the +grapes were grown by a costly process under glass in +Belgium. As for the peaches, Potin had sent those deli- +cately blushing marvels, and the charge for this would +be ``not less than a louis apiece, sir--a louis d'or +--which, as you no doubt know, is about four dollars +of Uncle Sam's money.'' + +The coffee--``the Queen of Holland may have it on +her PRIVATE table--MAY, I say--but I doubt if anyone +else in the world gets a smell of it except me''-- +the coffee and the brandy came not a moment too soon. +Presbury was becoming stupefied with indigestion; his +wife was nodding and was wearing that vague, forced, +pleasant smile which stands propriety-guard over a +mind asleep; Mildred Gower felt that her nerves would +endure no more; and the general was falling into a +besotted state, spilling his wine, mumbling his words. +The coffee and the brandy revived them all somewhat. +Mildred, lifting her eyes, saw by way of a mirrored +section of the enormous sideboard the English butler +surveying master and guests with slowly moving, sneering +glance of ineffable contempt. + +In the drawing-room again Mildred, requested by +Siddall and ordered by Presbury, sang a little French +song and then--at the urging of Siddall--``Annie +Laurie.'' Siddall was wiping his eyes when she turned +around. He said to Presbury: + +``Take your wife into the conservatory to look at my +orchids. I want to say a word to your stepdaughter.'' + +Mildred started up nervously. She saw how drunk +the general was, saw the expression of his face that a +woman has to be innocent indeed not to understand. +She was afraid to be left alone with him. Presbury +came up to her, said rapidly, in a low tone: + +``It's all right. He's got a high sense of what's due +a respectable woman of our class. He isn't as drunk +as he looks and acts.'' + +Having said which, he took his wife by the arm and +pushed her into the adjoining conservatory. Mildred +reseated herself upon the inlaid piano-bench. The little +man, his face now shiny with the sweat of drink and +emotion, drew up a chair in front of her. He sat-- +and he was almost as tall sitting as standing. He said +graciously: + +``Don't be afraid, my dear girl. I'm not that dangerous.'' + +She lifted her eyes and looked at him. She tried to +conceal her aversion; she feared she was not succeeding. +But she need not have concerned herself about that. +General Siddall, after the manner of very rich men, +could not conceive of anyone being less impressed with +his superiority in any way than he himself was. For +years he had heard only flatteries of himself--his own +voice singing his praises, the fawning voices of those +he hired and of those hoping to get some financial +advantage. He could not have imagined a mere woman +not being overwhelmed by the prospect of his courting +her. Nor would it have entered his head that his money +would be the chief, much less the only, consideration +with her. He had long since lost all point of view, and +believed that the adulation paid his wealth was evoked +by his charms of person, mind, and manner. Those +who imagine this was evidence of folly and weak-mindedness +and extraordinary vanity show how little they +know human nature. The strongest head could not re- +main steady, the most accurate eyes could not retain +their measuring skill, in such an environment as always +completely envelops wealth and power. And the much- +talked-of difference between those born to wealth and +power and those who rise to it from obscurity resolves +itself to little more than the difference between those +born mad and those who go insane. + +Looking at the little man with the disagreeable eyes, +so dull yet so shrewd, Mildred saw that within the +drunkard who could scarcely sit straight upon the richly +upholstered and carved gilt chair there was another person, +coldly sober, calmly calculating. And she realized +that it was this person with whom she was about to +have the most serious conversation of her life thus far. + +The drunkard smiled with a repulsive wiping and +smacking of the thin, sensual lips. ``I suppose you +know why I had you brought here this evening?'' said +he. + +Mildred looked and waited. + +``I didn't intend to say anything to-night. In fact, +I didn't expect to find in you what I've been looking +for. I thought that old fool of a stepfather of yours +was cracking up his goods beyond their merits. But +he wasn't. My dear, you suit me from the ground +up. I've been looking you over carefully. You were +made for the place I want to fill.'' + +Mildred had lowered her eyes. Her face had become +deathly pale. ``I feel faint,'' she murmured. ``It is +very warm here.'' + +``You're not sickly?'' inquired the general sharply. +``You look like a good solid woman--thin but wiry. +Ever been sick? I must look into your health. That's +a point on which I must be satisfied.'' + +A wave of anger swept through her, restoring her +strength. She was about to speak--a rebuke to his +colossal impudence that he would not soon forget. +Then she remembered, and bit her lips. + +``I don't ask you to decide to-night,'' pursued he, +hastening to explain this concession by adding: ``I +don't intend to decide, myself. All I say is that I am +willing--if the goods are up to the sample.'' + +Mildred saw her stepfather and her mother watching +from just within the conservatory door. A movement +of the portiere at the door into the hall let her +know that Darcy, the butler, was peeping and listening +there. She stood up, clenched her hands, struck them +together, struck them against her temples, crossed the +room swiftly, flung herself down upon a sofa, and burst +into tears. Presbury and his wife entered. Siddall +was standing, looking after Mildred with a grin. He +winked at Presbury and said: + +``I guess we gave her too much of that wine. It's +all old and stronger than you'd think.'' + +``My daughter hardly touched her glasses,'' cried +Mrs. Presbury. + +``I know that, ma'am,'' replied Siddall. ``I watched +her. If she'd done much drinking, I'd have been done, +then and there.'' + +``I suspect she's upset by what you've been saying, +General,'' said Presbury. ``Wasn't it enough to upset +a girl? You don't realize how magnificent you are-- +how magnificent everything is here.'' + +``I'm sorry if I upset her,'' said the general, swelling +and loftily contrite. ``I don t know why it is that people +never seem to be able to act natural with me.'' He +hated those who did, regarding them as sodden, +unappreciative fools. + +Mrs. Presbury was quieting her daughter. Presbury +and Siddall lighted cigars and went into the smoking-- +and billiard-room across the hall. Said Presbury: + +``I didn't deceive you, did I, General?'' + +``She's entirely satisfactory,'' replied Siddall. ``I'm +going to make careful inquiries about her character and +her health. If those things prove to be all right I'm +ready to go ahead.'' + +``Then the thing's settled,'' said Presbury. ``She's +all that a lady should be. And except a cold now and +then she never has anything the matter with her. She +comes of good healthy stock.'' + +``I can't stand a sickly, ailing woman,'' said Siddall. +``I wouldn't marry one, and if one I married turned out +to be that kind, I'd make short work of her. When you +get right down to facts, what is a woman? Why, a +body. If she ain't pretty and well, she ain't nothing. +While I'm looking up her pedigree, so to speak, I want +you to get her mother to explain to her just what kind +of a man I am.'' + +``Certainly, certainly,'' said Presbury. + +``Have her told that I don't put up with foolishness. +If she wants to look at a man, let her look at me.'' + +``You'll have no trouble in that way,'' said Presbury. + +``I DID have trouble in that way,'' replied the general +sourly. ``Women are fools--ALL women. But the +principal trouble with the second Mrs. Siddall was that +she wasn't a lady born.'' + +``That's why I say you'll have no trouble,'' said +Presbury. + +``Well, I want her mother to talk to her plainer than +a gentleman can talk to a young lady. I want her to +understand that I am marrying so that I can have a +WIFE--cheerful, ready, and healthy. I'll not put up +with foolishness of any kind.'' + +``I understand,'' said Presbury. ``You'll find that +she'll meet all your conditions.'' + +``Explain to her that, while I'm the easiest, most +liberal-spending man in the world when I'm getting +what I want, I am just the opposite when I'm not +getting what I pay for. If I take her and if she acts right, +she'll have more of everything that women want than +any woman in the world. I'd take a pride in my wife. +There isn't anything I wouldn't spend in showing her +off to advantage. And I'm willing to be liberal with +her mother, too.'' + +Presbury had been hoping for this. His eyes sparkled. +``You're a prince, General,'' he said. ``A genuine +prince. You know how to do things right.'' + +``I flatter myself I do,'' said the general. ``I've +been up and down the world, and I tell you most of the +kings live cheap beside me. And when I get a wife +worth showing of, I'll do still better. I've got wonderful +creative ability. There isn't anything I can't and +won't buy.'' + +Presbury noted uneasily how cold and straight, how +obviously repelled and repelling the girl was as she +yielded her fingers to Siddall at the leave-taking. He +and her mother covered the silence and ice with hot and +voluble sycophantry. They might have spared themselves +the exertion. To Siddall Mildred was at her +most fascinating when she was thus ``the lady and the +queen.'' The final impression she made upon him was +the most favorable of all. + +In the cab Mrs. Presbury talked out of the fullness +of an overflowing heart. ``What a remarkable man +the general is!'' said she. ``You've only to look at +him to realize that you're in the presence of a really +superior person. And what tact he has!--and how +generous he is!--and how beautifully he entertains! +So much dignity--so much simplicity--so much--'' + +``Fiddlesticks!'' interrupted Presbury. ``Your +daughter isn't a damn fool, Mrs. Presbury.'' + +Mildred gave a short, dry laugh. + +Up flared her mother. ``I mean every word I said!'' +cried she. ``If I hadn't admired and appreciated him, +I'd certainly not have acted as I did. _I_ couldn't stoop +to such hypocrisy.'' + +``Fiddlesticks!'' sneered Presbury. ``Bill Siddall is +a horror. His house is a horror. His dinner was a +horror. These loathsome rich people! They're ruining +the world--as they always have. They're making +it impossible for anyone to get good service or good +food or good furniture or good clothing or good +anything. They don't know good things, and they pay +exorbitant prices for showy trash, for crude vulgar +luxury. They corrupt taste. They make everyone +round them or near them sycophants and cheats. They +substitute money for intelligence and discrimination. +They degrade every fine thing in life. Civilization is +built up by brains and hard work, and along come the +rich and rot and ruin it!'' + +Mildred and her mother were listening in astonishment. +Said the mother: + +``I'd be ashamed to confess myself such a hypocrite.'' + +``And I, madam, would be ashamed to be such a +hypocrite without taking a bath of confession afterward,'' +retorted Presbury. + +``At least you might have waited until Mildred +wasn't in hearing,'' snapped she. + +``I shall marry him if I can,'' said Mildred. + +``And blissfully happy you'll be,'' said Presbury. +``Women, ladies--true ladies, like you and your +mother--have no sensibilities. All you ask is luxury. +If Bill Siddall were a thousand times worse than he is, +his money would buy him almost any refined, delicate +lady anywhere in Christendom.'' + +Mrs. Presbury laughed angrily. ``YOU, talking like +this--you of all men. Is there anything YOU wouldn't +stoop to for money?'' + +``Do you think I laid myself open to that charge by +marrying you?'' said Presbury, made cheerful despite +his savage indigestion by the opportunity for effective +insult she had given him and he had promptly seized. +``I am far too gallant to agree with you. But I'm +also too gallant to contradict a lady. By the way, +you must be careful in dealing with Siddall. Rich people +like to be fawned on, but not to be slobbered on. +You went entirely too far.'' + +Mrs. Presbury, whom indigestion had rendered stupid, +could think of no reply. So she burst into tears. +``And my own daughter sitting silent while that man +insults her mother!'' she sobbed. + +Mildred sat stiff and cold. + +``It'll be a week before I recover from that dinner,'' +Presbury went on sourly. ``What a dinner! What a +villainous mess! These vulgar, showy rich! That +champagne! He said it cost him six dollars a bottle, +and no doubt it did. I doubt if it ever saw France. +The dealers rarely waste genuine wine on such cattle. +The wine-cellars of fine houses the world through are +the laughing-stock of connoisseurs--like their picture- +galleries and their other attempts to make money do the +work of taste. I forgot to put my pills in my bag. +I'll have to hunt up an all-night drug-store. I'd not +dare go to bed without taking an antidote for that +poison.'' + +But Presbury had not been altogether improvident. +He had hoped great things of Bill Siddall's wine-cellar +--this despite an almost unbroken series of bitter +disillusionments and disappointments in experience with +those who had the wealth to buy, if they had had the +taste to select, the fine wines he loved. So, resolving +to indulge himself, he had put into his bag his pair of +gout-boots. + +This was a device of his own inventing, on which he +prided himself. It consisted of a pair of roomy doe- +skin slippers reenforced with heavy soles and provided +with a set of three thin insoles to be used according as +the state of his toes made advisable. The cost of the +Presbury gout-boot had been, thanks to patient search +for a cheap cobbler, something under four dollars-- +this, when men paid shoe specialists twenty, thirty, and +even forty dollars a pair for gout-boots that gave less +comfort. The morning after the dinner at which he +had drunk to drown his chagrin and to give him courage +and tongue for sycophantry, he put on the boots. +Without them it would have been necessary to carry him +from his room to a cab and from cab to train. With +them he was able to hobble to a street-car. He tried +to distract his mind from his sufferings by lashing +away without ceasing at his wife and his step-daughter. + +When they were once more at home, and the mother +and daughter escaped from him, the mother said: + +``I was glad to see that you put up with that wretch, +and didn't answer him back.'' + +``Of course,'' said Mildred. ``He's mad to be rid +of me, but if I offended him he might snatch away this +chance.'' + +``He would,'' said Mrs. Presbury. ``I'm sure he +would. But--'' she laughed viciously--``once you're +married you can revenge yourself--and me!'' + +``I wonder,'' said Mildred thoughtfully. + +``Why not?'' exclaimed her mother, irritated. + +``I can't make Mr. Presbury out,'' replied the girl. +``I understand why he's helping me to this chance, but +I don't understand why he isn't making friends with me, +in the hope of getting something after I'm married.'' + +Her mother saw the point, and was instantly agitated. +``Perhaps he's simply leading you on, intending to up- +set it all at the last minute.'' She gritted her teeth. +``Oh, what a wretch!'' + +Mildred was not heeding. ``I must have General +Siddall looked up carefully,'' she went on. ``It may +be that he isn't rich, or that he has another wife +somewhere, or that there's some other awful reason +why marrying him would be even worse than it +seems.'' + +``Worse than it seems!'' cried her mother. ``How +CAN you talk so, Milly! The general seems to be an +ideal husband--simply ideal! I wish _I_ had your +chance. Any sensible woman could love him.'' + +A strange look came into the girl's face, and her +mother could not withstand her eyes. ``Don't, mother,'' +she said quietly. ``Either you take me for a fool or +you are trying to show me that you have no self- +respect. I am not deceiving myself about what I'm doing.'' + +Mrs. Presbury opened her lips to remonstrate, +changed her mind, drew a deep sigh. ``It's frightful +to be a woman,'' she said. + +``To be a lady, Mr. Presbury would say,'' suggested +Mildred. + +After some discussion, they fixed upon Joseph Tilker +as the best available investigator of General Siddall. +Tilker had been head clerk for Henry Gower. He was +now in for himself and had offered to look after any +legal business Mrs. Presbury might have without +charging her. He presently reported that there was +not a doubt as to the wealth of the little general. +``There are all sorts of ugly stories about how he made +his money,'' said Tilker; ``but all the great fortunes +have a scandalous history, and I doubt if Siddall's is +any worse than the others. I don't see how it well could +be. Siddall has the reputation of being a mean and +cruel little tyrant. He is said to be pompous, vain, +ignorant--'' + +``Indeed he's not,'' cried Mrs. Presbury. ``He's a +rough diamond, but a natural gentleman. I've met +him.'' + +``Well, he's rich enough, and that was all you asked +me to find out,'' said Tilker. ``But I must warn you, +Mrs. Presbury, not to have any business or intimate +personal relations with him.'' + +Mrs. Presbury congratulated herself on her wisdom +in having come alone to hear Tilker's report. She did +not repeat any part of it to Mildred except what he had +said about the wealth. That she enlarged upon until +Mildred's patience gave out. She interrupted with a +shrewd: + +``Anything else, mamma? Anything about him personally?'' + +``We've got to judge him in that way for ourselves,'' +replied Mrs. Presbury. ``You know how wickedly they +lie about anyone who has anything.'' + +``I should like to read a full account of General +Siddall,'' said Mildred reflectively; ``just to satisfy my +curiosity.'' + +Mrs. Presbury made no reply. + +Presbury had decided that it was best to make no +advance, but to wait until they heard from Siddall. He +let a week, ten days, go by; then his impatience got +the better of his shrewdness. He sought admittance +to the great man at the offices of the International +Metals and Minerals Company in Cedar Street. After +being subjected to varied indignities by sundry under- +strappers, he received a message from the general +through a secretary: ``The general says he'll let you +know when he's ready to take up that matter. He says +he hasn't got round to it yet.'' Presbury apologized +courteously for his intrusion and went away, cursing +under his breath. You may be sure that he made his +wife and his stepdaughter suffer for what he had been +through. Two weeks more passed--three--a month. +One morning in the mail there arrived this note--type- +written upon business paper: + + +JAMES PRESBURY, Esqr.: +DEAR SIR: + +General Siddall asks me to present his compliments +and to say that he will be pleased if you and your wife and +the young lady will dine with him at his house next Thursday +the seventeenth at half-past seven sharp. + +ROBERT CHANDLESS, Secretary. + + +The only words in longhand were the two forming +the name of the secretary. Presbury laughed and +tossed the note across the breakfast table to his wife. +``You see what an ignorant creature he is,'' said he. +``He imagines he has done the thing up in grand style. +He's the sort of man that can't be taught manners +because he thinks manners, the ordinary civilities, are for +the lower orders of people. Oh, he's a joke, is Bill +Siddall--a horrible joke.'' + +Mrs. Presbury read and passed the letter to Mildred. +She simply glanced at it and returned it to her step-father. + +``I'm just about over that last dinner,'' pursued +Presbury. ``I'll eat little Thursday and drink less. +And I'd advise you to do the same, Mrs. Presbury.'' + +He always addressed her as ``Mrs. Presbury'' +because he had discovered that when so addressed she +always winced, and, if he put a certain tone into his voice, +she quivered. + +``That dinner aged you five years,'' he went on. +``Besides, you drank so much that it went to your head +and made you slather him with flatteries that irritated +him. He thought you were a fool, and no one is stupid +enough to like to be flattered by a fool.'' + +Mrs. Presbury bridled, swallowed hard, said mildly: +``We'll have to spend the night in town again, I suppose.'' + +``You and your daughter may do as you like,'' said +Presbury. ``I shall return here that night. I always +catch cold in strange beds.'' + +``We might as well all return here,'' said Mildred. +``I shall not wear evening dress; that is, I'll wear a +high-neck dress and a hat.'' + +She had just got a new hat that was peculiarly +becoming to her. She had shown Siddall herself at the +best in evening attire; another sort of costume would +give him a different view of her looks, one which she +flattered herself was not less attractive. But Presbury +interposed an emphatic veto. + +``You'll wear full evening dress,'' said he. ``Bare +neck and arms for men like Bill Siddall. They want +to see what they're getting.'' + +Mildred flushed scarlet and her lips trembled as +though she were about to cry. In fact, her emotion +was altogether shame--a shame so poignant that even +Presbury was abashed, and mumbled something apologetic. +Nevertheless she wore a low-neck dress on Thursday +evening, one as daring as the extremely daring +fashions of that year permitted an unmarried woman +to wear. It seemed to her that Siddall was still more +costly and elegant-looking than before, though this +may have been due to the fact that he always created an +impression that in the retrospect of memory seemed +exaggerated. It seemed impossible that anyone could be +so clean, so polished and scoured, so groomed and +tailored, so bedecked, so high-heeled and loftily coiffed. +His mean little countenance with its grotesquely waxed +mustache and imperial wore an expression of gracious +benignity that assured his guests they need anticipate +no disagreeable news. + +``I owe you an apology for keeping you in suspense +so long,'' said he. ``I'm a very busy man, with +interests in all parts of the world. I keep house-- +some of 'em bigger than this--open and going in sis +different places. I always like to be at home wherever +my business takes me.'' + +Mrs. Presbury rolled her eyes. ``Isn't that WONDERFUL!'' +she exclaimed. ``What an interesting life you +must lead!'' + +``Oh, so--so,'' replied the general. ``But I get +awful lonesome. I'm naturally a domestic man. I +don't care for friends. They're expensive and dangerous. +A man in my position is like a king. He can't +have friends. So, if he hasn't got a family, he hasn't +got noth--anything.'' + +``Nothing like home life,'' said Presbury. + +``Yes, indeed,'' cried Mrs. Presbury. + +The little general smiled upon Mildred, sitting pale +and silent, with eyes downcast. ``Well, I don't intend +to be alone much longer, if I can help it,'' said he. +``And I may say that I can make a woman happy if +she's the right sort--if she has sense enough to +appreciate a good husband.'' This last he said sternly, +with more than a hint of his past matrimonial misfortunes +in his frown and in his voice. ``The trouble with +a great many women is that they're fools--flighty, +ungrateful fools. If I married a woman like that, I'd +make short work of her.'' + +``And she'd deserve it, General,'' said Mildred's +mother earnestly. ``But you'll have no trouble if you +select a lady--a girl who's been well brought up and +has respect for herself.'' + +``That's my opinion, ma'am,'' said the general. +``I'm convinced that while a man can become a gentleman, +a woman's got to be born a lady or she never is +one.'' + +``Very true, General,'' cried Mrs. Presbury. ``I +never thought of it before, but it's the truest thing I +ever heard.'' + +Presbury grinned at his plate. He stole a glance at +Mildred. Their eyes met. She flushed faintly. + +``I've had a great deal of experience of women,'' pur- +sued the general. ``In my boyhood days I was a ladies' +man. And of course since I've had money they've +swarmed round me like bees in a clover-patch.'' + +``Oh, General, you're far too modest,'' cried Mrs. +Presbury. ``A man like you wouldn't need to be +afraid, if he hadn't a cent.'' + +``But not the kind of women I want,'' replied he, +firmly if complacently. ``A lady needs money to keep +up her position. She has to have it. On the other +hand, a man of wealth and station needs a lady to +assist him in the proper kind of life for men of his sort. +So they need each other. They've got to have each +other. That's the practical, sensible way to look at it.'' + +``Exactly,'' said Presbury. + +``And I've made up my mind to marry, and marry +right away. But we'll come back to this later on. +Presbury, you're neglecting that wine.'' + +``I'm drinking it slowly to enjoy it better,'' said Presbury. + +The dinner was the same unending and expensive +function that had wearied them and upset their digestions +on Thanksgiving Day. There was too much of +everything, and it was all just wrong. The general +was not quite so voluble as he had been before; his gaze +was fixed most of the time on Mildred--roving from +her lovely face to her smooth, slender shoulders and back +again. As he drank and ate his gesture of slightly +smacking his thin lips seemed to include an enjoyment +of the girl's charms. And a sensitive observer might +have suspected that she was not unconscious of this and +was suffering some such pain as if abhorrent and cruel +lips and teeth were actually mouthing and mumbling +her. She said not a word from sitting down at table +until they rose to go into the library for coffee. + +``Do tell me about your early life, General,'' Mrs. +Presbury said. ``Only the other day Millie was saying +she wished she could read a biography of your romantic +career.'' + +``Yes, it has been rather--unusual,'' conceded the +general with swelling chest and gently waving dollar- +and-a-half-apiece cigar. + +``I do so ADMIRE a man who carves out his own +fortune,'' Mrs. Presbury went on--she had not obeyed +her husband's injunction as to the champagne. ``It +seems so wonderful to me that a man could with his own +hands just dig a fortune out of the ground.'' + +``He couldn't, ma'am,'' said the general, with +gracious tolerance. ``It wasn't till I stopped the fool +digging and hunting around for gold that I began to get +ahead. I threw away the pick and shovel and opened +a hotel.'' (There were two or three sleeping-rooms of +a kind in that ``hotel,'' but it was rather a saloon of +the species known as ``doggery.'') ``Yes, it was in the +hotel that I got my start. The fellows that make the +money in mining countries ain't the prospectors and +diggers, ma'am.'' + +``Really!'' cried Mrs. Presbury breathlessly. ``How +interesting!'' + +``They're fools, they are,'' proceeded the general. +``No, the money's made by the fellows that grub-stake +the fools--give 'em supplies and send 'em out to nose +around in the mountains. Then them that find any- +thing have to give half to the fellow that did the grub- +staking. And he looks into the claim, and if there's +anything in it, why, he buys the fool out. In mines, +like everywhere else, ma'am, it ain't work, it's brains +that makes the money. No miner ever made a mining +fortune--not one. It's the brainy, foxy fellows that +stay back in the camps. I used to send out fifty and a +hundred men a year. Maybe only two or three'd turn +up anything worth while. No, ma'am, I never got a +dollar ahead on my digging. All the gold I ever dug +went right off for grub--or a good time.'' + +``Wonderful!'' exclaimed Mrs. Presbury. ``I never +heard of such a thing.'' + +``But we're not here to talk about mines,'' said the +general, his eyes upon Mildred. ``I've been looking +into matters--to get down to business--and I've +asked you here to let you know that I'm willing to go +ahead.'' + +Profound silence. Mildred suddenly drew in her +breath with a sound so sharp that the three others +started and glanced hastily at her. But she made no +further sign. She sat still and cold and pale. + +The general, perfectly at ease, broke the silence. +``I think Miss Gower and I would get on faster +alone.'' + +Presbury at once stood up; his wife hesitated, her +eyes uneasily upon her daughter. Presbury said: +``Come on, Alice.'' She rose and preceded him into the +adjoining conservatory. The little general posed +himself before the huge open fire, one hand behind him, +the other at the level of his waistcoat, the big cigar be- +tween his first and second fingers. ``Well, my dear?'' +said he. + +Mildred somewhat hesitatingly lifted her eyes; but, +once she had them up, their gaze held steadily enough +upon his--too steadily for his comfort. He addressed +himself to his cigar: + +``I'm not quite ready to say I'm willing to go the +limit,'' said he. ``We don't exactly know each other +sufficiently well as yet, do we?'' + +``No,'' said Mildred. + +``I've been making inquiries,'' he went on; ``that is, +I had my chief secretary make them--and he's a very +thorough man, thanks to my training. He reports +everything entirely all right. I admire dignity and +reserve in a woman, and you have been very particular. +Were you engaged to Stanley Baird?'' + +Mildred flushed, veiled her eyes to hide their resentful +flash at this impertinence. She debated with herself, +decided that any rebuke short of one that would +anger him would be wasted upon him. ``No,'' said she. + +``That agrees with Harding's report,'' said the +general. ``It was a mere girlish flirtation--very dignified +and proper,'' he hastened to add. ``I don't mean +to suggest that you were at all flighty.'' + +``Thank you,'' said Mildred sweetly. + +``Are there any questions you would like to ask about +me?'' inquired he. + +``No,'' said Mildred. + +``As I understand it--from my talk with Presbury +--you are willing to go on?'' + +``Yes,'' said Mildred. + +The general smiled genially. ``I think I may say +without conceit that you will like me as you know me +better. I have no bad habits--I've too much regard +for my health to over-indulge or run loose. In my +boyhood days I may have put in rather a heavy sowing +of wild oats''--the general laughed; Mildred conjured +up the wintriest and faintest of echoing smiles--``but +that's all past,'' he went on, ``and there's nothing that +could rise up to interfere with our happiness. You are +fond of children?'' + +A pause, then Mildred said quite evenly, ``Yes.'' + +``Excellent,'' said the general. ``I'll expect you and +your mother and father to dinner Sunday night. Is +that satisfactory?'' + +``Yes,'' said Mildred. + +A longish pause. Then the general: ``You seem to +be a little--afraid of me. I don't know why it is that +people are always that way with me.'' A halt, to give +her the opportunity to say the obvious flattering thing. +Mildred said nothing, gave no sign. He went on: ``It +will wear away as we know each other better. I am a +simple, plain man--kind and generous in my instincts. +Of course I am dignified, and I do not like familiarity. +But I do not mean to inspire fear and awe.'' + +A still longer pause. ``Well, everything is settled,'' +said the general. ``We understand each other clearly? +--not an engagement, nothing binding on either side +--simply a--a--an option without forfeit.'' And +he laughed--his laugh was a ghoulish sound, not loud +but explosive and an instant check upon demonstration +of mirth from anyone else. + +``I understand,'' said Mildred with a glance toward +the door through which Presbury and his wife had disappeared. + +``Now, we'll join the others, and I'll show you the +house''--again the laugh--``what may be your future +home--one of them.'' + +The four were soon started upon what was for three +of them a weariful journey despite the elevator that +spared them the ascents of the stairways. The house +was an exaggerated reproduction of all the establishments +of the rich who confuse expenditure with luxury +and comfort. Bill Siddall had bought ``the best of +everything''; that is, the things into which the purveyors +of costly furnishings have put the most excuses for +charging. Of taste, of comfort, of discrimination, +there were few traces and these obviously accidental. +``I picked out the men acknowledged to be the best in +their different lines,'' said the general, ``and I gave them +carte blanche.'' + +``I see that at a glance,'' said Presbury. ``You've +done the grand thing on the grandest possible scale.'' + +``I've looked into the finest of the famous places on +the other side,'' said the general. ``All I can say is, +I've had no regrets.'' + +``I should say not,'' cried Mrs. Presbury. + +With an affectation of modest hesitation--to show +that he was a gentleman with a gentleman's fine appreciation +of the due of maiden modesty--Siddall paused +at the outer door of his own apartments. But at one +sentence of urging from Mrs. Presbury he opened the +door and ushered them in. And soon he was showing +them everything--his Carrara marble bathroom and +bathing-pool, his bed that had been used by several +French kings, his dressing-room with its appliances of +gold and platinum and precious stones, his clothing. +They had to inspect a room full of suits, huge +chiffoniers crowded with shirts and ties and underclothes. +He exhibited silk dressing-robes and pajamas, pointed +out the marks of the fashionable London and Paris +makers, the monograms, the linings of ermine and sable. +``I'm very particular about everything that touches +me,'' explained he. ``It seems to me a gentleman can't +be too particular.'' With a meaning glance at Mildred, +``And I'd feel the same way about my wife.'' + +``You hear that, Mildred?'' said Presbury, with a +nasty little laugh. He had been relieving the tedium +of this sight-seeing tour by observing--and from time +to time aggravating--Mildred's sufferings. + +The general released his mirth-strangling goat laugh; +Mrs. Presbury echoed it with a gale of rather wild +hysterics. So well pleased was the general with the excursion +and so far did he feel advanced toward intimacy that on +the way down the majestic marble stairway he ventured +to give Mildred's arm a gentle, playful squeeze. And at +the parting he kissed her hand. Presbury had changed +his mind about returning to the country. On the way +to the hotel he girded at Mildred, reviewing all that the +little general had said and done, and sneering, jeering +at it. Mildred made not a single retort until they +were upstairs in the hotel. At the door to her room +she said to Presbury--said it in a quiet, cold, terrible +way: + +``If you really want me to go through with this +thing, you will stop insulting him and me. If you do it +again, I'll give up--and go on the streets before I'll +marry him.'' + +Presbury shrugged his shoulders and went on to the +other room. But he did not begin again the next day, +and from that time forth avoided reference to the +general. In fact, there was an astonishing change in his +whole demeanor. He ceased to bait his wife, became +polite, even affable. If he had conducted himself thus +from the outset, he would have got far less credit, would +have made far less progress toward winning the liking +of his wife, and of her daughter, than he did in a brief +two weeks of change from petty and malignant tyrant +to good-natured, interestingly talkative old gentleman. +After the manner of human nature, Mildred and her +mother, in their relief, in their pleasure through this +amazing sudden and wholly unexpected geniality, not +merely forgave but forgot all they had suffered at his +hands. Mildred was not without a suspicion of the +truth that this change, inaugurated in his own good +time, was fresh evidence of his contempt for both of +them--of his feeling that he could easily make reparation +with a little kindness and decency and put himself +in the way of getting any possible benefits from the +rich alliance. But though she practically knew what +was going on in his mind, she could not prevent herself +from softening toward him. + +Now followed a succession of dinners, of theater- and +opera-goings, of week-ends at the general's new country +palace in the fashionable region of Long Island. +All these festivities were of the same formal and tedious +character. At all the general was the central sun with +the others dim and draggled satellites, hardly more +important than the outer rim of satellite servants. He +did most of the talking; he was the sole topic of +conversation; for when he was not talking about himself +he wished to be hearing about himself. If Mildred had +not been seeing more and more plainly that other and +real personality of his, her contempt for him and for +herself would have grown beyond control. But, with +him or away from him, at every instant there was the +sense of that other real William Siddall--a shadowy +menace full of terror. She dreamed of it--was +startled from sleep by visions of a monstrous and +mighty distortion of the little general's grotesque +exterior. ``I shall marry him if I can,'' she said to her +self. ``But--can I?'' And she feared and hoped +that she could not, that courage would fail her, or +would come to her rescue, whichever it was, and that +she would refuse him. Aside from the sense of her +body that cannot but be with any woman who is beautiful, +she had never theretofore been especially physical +in thought. That side of life had remained vague, as +she had never indulged in or even been strongly tempted +with the things that rouse it from its virginal sleep. +But now she thought only of her body, because that it +was, and that alone, that had drawn this prospective +purchaser, and his eyes never let her forget it. She +fell into the habit of looking at herself in the glass-- +at her face, at her shoulders, at her whole person, not +in vanity but in a kind of wonder or aversion. And +in the visions, both the waking and the sleeping, she +reached the climax of horror when the monster touched +her--with clammy, creepy fingers, with munching lips, +with the sharp ends of the mustache or imperial. + +Said Mrs. Presbury to her husband, ``I'm afraid the +general will be irritated by Mildred's unresponsiveness.'' + +``Don't worry,'' replied Presbury. ``He's so crazy +about himself that he imagines the whole world is in the +same state.'' + +``Isn't it strange that he doesn't give her presents? +Never anything but candy and flowers.'' + +``And he never will,'' said Presbury. + +``Not until they're married, I suppose.'' + +Presbury was silent. + +``I can't help thinking that if Milly were to rouse +herself and show some--some liking--or at least +interest, it'd be wiser.'' + +``She's taking the best possible course,'' said +Presbury. ``Unconsciously to both of them, she's leading +him on. He thinks that's the way a lady should act-- +restrained, refined.'' + +Mildred's attitude was simple inertia. The most +positive effort she made was avoiding saying or doing +anything to displease him--no difficult matter, as she +was silent and almost lifeless when he was near. Without +any encouragement from her he gradually got a +deep respect for her--which meant that he became +convinced of her coldness and exclusiveness, of her +absolute trustworthiness. Presbury was more profoundly +right than he knew. The girl pursued the only course +that made possible the success she longed for, yet +dreaded and loathed. For at the outset Siddall had +not been nearly so strongly in earnest in his matrimonial +project as he had professed and had believed +himself. He wished to marry, wished to add to his +possessions the admirable show-piece and exhibition +opportunity afforded by the right sort of wife; but in the +bottom of his heart he felt that such a woman as he +dreamed of did not exist in all the foolish, fickle, and +shallow female sex. This girl--so cold, so proud, +beautiful yet not eager to display her charms or to have +them praised--she was the rare bird he sought. + +In a month he asked her to marry him; that is, he +said: ``My dear, I find that I am ready to go the +limit--if you are.'' And she assented. He put his +arm around her and kissed her cheek--and was +delighted to discover that the alluring embrace made no +impression upon the ice of her ``purity and ladylike +dignity.'' Up to the very last moment of the formal +courtship he held himself ready to withdraw should she +reveal to his watchfulness the slightest sign of having +any ``unladylike'' tendencies or feelings. She revealed +no such sign, but remained ``ladylike''; and certainly, +so the general reasoned, a woman who could thus resist +him, even in the license of the formal engagement, would +resist anybody. + +As soon as the engagement was formally concluded, +the general hurried on the preparations for the wedding. +He opened accounts at half a dozen shops in +New York--dressmakers, milliners, dealers in fine and +fashionable clothing of every kind--and gave them +orders to execute whatever commands Miss Gower or +her mother--for HER--might give them. When he +told her of this munificence and magnificence and paused +for the outburst of gratitude, he listened in vain. +Mildred colored to the roots of her hair and was silent, was +seeking the courage to refuse. + +``I know that you and your people can't afford to do +the thing as things related to me must be done,'' he +went on to say. ``So I decided to just start in a little +early at what I've got to do anyhow. Not that I blame +you for your not having money, my dear. On the contrary, +that's one of your merits with me. I wouldn't +marry a woman with money. It puts the family life on +a wrong basis.'' + +``I had planned a quiet wedding,'' said Mildred. +``I'd much prefer it.'' + +``Now you can be frank with me, my dear,'' said the +general. ``I know you ladies--how cheated you feel +if you aren't married with all the frills and fixings. +So that's the way it shall be done.'' + +``Really,'' protested Mildred, ``I'm absolutely frank. +I wish it to be quite quiet--in our drawing-room, with +no guests.'' + +Siddall smiled, genial and tolerant. ``Don't argue +with me, my dear. I know what you want, and I'll see +that you get it. Go ahead with these shop-people I've +put at your disposal--and go as far as you like. + +There isn't anything--ANYTHING--in the way of +clothes that you can't have--that you mustn't have. +Mrs. General Siddall is going to be the best-dressed +woman in the world--as she is the prettiest. I haven't +opened an account for you with Tiffany's or any of +those people. I'll look out for that part of the +business, myself.'' + +``I don't care for jewelry,'' said Mildred. + +``Naturally not for the kind that's been within your +means heretofore,'' replied he; ``but you'll open your +eyes when you see MY jewelry for MY wife. All in +good time, my dear. You and your mother must start +right in with the shopping; and, a week or so before +the wedding, I'll send my people down to transform the +house. I may be wrong, but I rather think that the +Siddall wedding will cause some talk.'' + +He was not wrong. Through his confidential +secretary, Harding the thorough, the newspaper press was +induced to take an interest in the incredible extravagance +Siddall was perpetrating in arranging for a fitting +wedding for General William Siddall. For many +days before the ceremony there were daily columns +about him and his romantic career and his romantic +wooing of the New Jersey girl of excellent family and +social position but of comparatively modest means. +The shopkeepers gave interviews on the trousseau. The +decorators and caterers detailed the splendors and the +costliness of the preparations of which they had charge. +From morning until dark a crowd hung round the house +at Hanging Rock, and on the wedding day the streets +leading to it were blocked--chiefly with people come +from a distance, many of them from New York. + +At the outset all this noise was deeply distasteful to +Mildred, but after a few days she recovered her normal +point of view, forgot the kind of man she was marry- +ing in the excitement and exultation over her sudden +splendor and fame. So strongly did the delusion presently +become, that she was looking at the little general +with anything but unfavorable eyes. He seemed to her +a quaint, fascinating, benevolent necromancer, having +miraculous powers which he was exercising in her behalf. +She even reproached herself with ingratitude in not +being wildly in love with him. Would not any other +girl, in her place, have fallen over ears in love with +this marvelous man? + +However, while she could not quite convince herself +that she loved, she became convinced without effort that +she was happy, that she was going to be still happier. +The excitement wrought her into a state of exaltation +and swept her through the wedding ceremony and the +going away as radiant a bride as a man would care to +have. + +There is much to be said against the noisy, showy +wedding. Certainly love has rarely been known to +degrade himself to the point of attending any such. But +there is something to be said for that sort of married +start--for instance, where love is neither invited nor +desired, an effort must be made to cover the painful +vacancy his absence always causes. + +The little general's insistence on a ``real wedding'' +was most happy for him. It probably got him his +bride. + + + +III + + +THE intoxication of that wedding held on long enough +and strongly enough to soften and blunt the disillusionments +of the first few days of the honeymoon. In the +prospect that period had seemed, even to Mildred's +rather unsophisticated imagination, appalling beyond +her power to endure. In the fact--thanks in large +part to that intoxication--it was certainly not +unendurable. A human being, even an innocent young girl, +can usually bear up under any experience to which a +human being can be subjected. The general in pajamas-- +of the finest silk and of pigeon's-egg blue +with a vast gorgeous monogram on the pocket--was +more grotesque, rather than more repellent, than the +general in morning or evening attire. Also he--that +is, his expert staff of providers of luxury--had +arranged for the bride a series of the most ravishing +sensations in whisking her, like the heroine of an Arabian +Night's tale, from straitened circumstances to the very +paradise of luxury. + +The general's ideas on the subject of woman were old +fashioned, of the hard-shell variety. Woman was made +for luxury, and luxury was made for woman. His +woman must be the most divinely easeful of the luxurious. +At all times she must be fit and ready for any +and every sybaritic idea that might enter her husband's +head--and other purpose she had none. When she +was not directly engaged in ministering to his joy she +must be busy preparing herself for his next call upon +her. A woman was a luxury, was the luxury of +luxuries, must have and must use to their uttermost all +capacities for gratifying his senses and his vanity. +Alone with him, she must make him constantly feel how +rich and rare and expensive a prize he had captured. +When others were about, she must be constantly making +them envy and admire him for having exclusive +rights in such wonderful preserves. All this with an +inflexible devotion to the loftiest ideals of chastity. + +But the first realizations of her husband's notions as +to women were altogether pleasant. As she entered the +automobile in which they went to the private car in the +special train that took them to New York and the +steamer--as she entered that new and prodigally +luxurious automobile, she had a first, keen sense of her +changed position. Then there was the superb private +car--her car, since she was his wife--and there was +the beautiful suite in the magnificent steamer. And at +every instant menials thrusting attentions upon her, +addressing her as if she were a queen, revealing in their +nervous tones and anxious eyes their eagerness to please, +their fear of displeasing. And on the steamer, from +New York to Cherbourg, she was never permitted to +lose sight of the material splendors that were now hers. +All the servants, all the passengers, reminded her by +their looks, their tones. At Paris, in the hotel, in the +restaurants, in the shops--especially in the shops-- +those snobbish instincts that are latent in the sanest +and the wisest of us were fed and fattened and pampered +until her head was quite turned. And the general +began to buy jewels for her. Such jewels-- +ropes of diamonds and pearls and emeralds, rings such +as she had never dreamed existed! Those shopping +excursions of theirs in the Rue de la Paix would make such +a tale as your ordinary simple citizen, ignorant of the +world's resources in luxury and therefore incredulous +about them, would read with a laugh at the extravagance +of the teller. + +Before the intoxication of the wedding had worn +away it was re-enforced by the intoxication of the honey- +moon--not an intoxication of love's providing, but +one exceeding potent in its influence upon our weak +human brains and hearts, one from which the strongest +of us, instead of sneering at poor Mildred, would better +be praying to be delivered. + +At her marriage she had a few hundred dollars left +of her patrimony--three hundred and fifty and odd, +to be more exact. She spent a little money of her own +here and there--in tips, in buying presents for her +mother, in picking up trifles for her own toilet. The +day came when she looked in her purse and found two +one-franc pieces, a fifty-franc note, and a few coppers. +And suddenly she sat back and stared, her mouth open +like her almost empty gold bag, which the general had +bought her on their first day in the Rue de la Paix. +About ten dollars in all the world, and the general had +forgotten to speak--or to make any arrangement, at +least any arrangement of which she was aware--about +a further supply of money. + +They had been married nearly a month. He knew +that she was poor. Why hadn't he said something or, +better still, DONE something? Doubtless he had simply +forgotten. But since he had forgotten for a month, +might he not continue to forget? True, he had himself +been poor at one time in his life, very poor, and +that for a long time. But it had been so many years +ago that he had probably lost all sense of the meaning +of poverty. She frowned at this evidence of his lack +of the finer sensibilities--by no means the first time +that lack had been disagreeably thrust upon her. Soon +she would be without money--and she must have money +--not much, as all the serious expenses were looked +after by the general, but still a little money. How +could she get it? How could she remind him of his +neglect without seeming to be indelicate? It was a +difficult problem. She worked at it more and more +continuously, and irritably, and nervously, as the days +went by and her fifty-two francs dwindled to five. + +She lay awake, planning long and elaborate +conversations that would imperceptibly lead him up to where +he must see what she needed without seeing that he had +been led. She carried out these ingenious conversations. +She led him along, he docilely and unsuspectingly +following. She brought him up to where it +seemed to her impossible for any human being endowed +with the ordinary faculties to fail to see what was so +plainly in view. All in vain. General William Siddall +gazed placidly--and saw nothing. + +Several days of these failures, and with her funds +reduced to a fifty-centime piece and a two-sous copper +she made a frontal attack. When they went forth for +the day's shopping she left her gold bag behind. After +an hour or so she said: + +``I've got to go to the Galleries Lafayette for some +little things. I shan't ask you to sacrifice yourself. I +know you hate those stuffy, smelly big shops.'' + +``Very well,'' said he. ``I'll use the time in a call +on my bankers.'' + +As they were about to separate, she taking the motor +and he walking, she made a face of charming dismay +and said: ``How provoking! I've left my bag at the +hotel.'' + +Instead of the expected prompt offer of money he +said, ``It'll only take you a minute or so to drive there.'' + +``But it's out of the way,'' she replied. ``I'll need +only a hundred francs or so.'' + +Said he: ``I've an account at the Bon Marche. Go +there and have the things charged. It's much the best +big shop in Paris.'' + +``Very well,'' was all she could trust herself to say. +She concealed her anger beneath a careless smile and +drove away. How dense he was! Could anything be +more exasperating--or more disagreeable? What +SHOULD she do? The situation was intolerable; yet how +could it be ended, except by a humiliating direct +request for money? She wondered how young wives +habitually dealt with this problem, when they happened to +marry husbands so negligent, not to say underbred, as +to cause them the awkwardness and the shame. There +followed several days during which the money idea was +an obsession, nagging and grinning at her every in- +stant. The sight of money gave her a peculiar itching +sensation. When the little general paid for anything +--always drawing out a great sheaf of bank notes in +doing it--she flushed hot and cold, her glance fell +guiltily and sought the money furtively. At last her +desperation gave birth to an inspiration. + +About her and the general, or, rather, about the +general, revolved the usual rich man's small army of +satellites of various degrees--secretaries, butlers, +footmen, valets, other servants male and female, some of +them supposed to be devoted entirely to her service, but +all in fact looking ever to the little general. The +members of this company, regardless of differences of rank +and pay, were banded together in a sort of democratic +fellowship, talking freely with one another, on terms +of perfect equality. She herself had, curiously, gotten +on excellent terms with this motley fraternity and found +no small relief from the strain of the general's formal +dignity in talking with them with a freedom and ease +she had never before felt in the society of underlings. +The most conspicuous and most agreeable figure in this +company was Harding, the general's factotum. Why +not lay the case before Harding? He was notably +sensible, and sympathetic--and discreet. + +The following day she did so. Said she, blushing +furiously: ``Mr. Harding, I find myself in a very +embarrassing position. I wonder if you can help me?'' + +Harding, a young man and of one of the best blond +types, said: ``No doubt I can--and I'll be glad to.'' + +``The fact is''-- Her voice was trembling with +nervousness. She opened the gold bag, took out the little +silver pieces and the big copper piece, extended her pink +palm with them upon it--``there's all I've got left of +the money I brought with me.'' + +Harding gazed at the exhibit tranquilly. He was +chiefly remarkable for his perfect self-possession. Said +he: ``Do you wish me to cash a check for you?'' + +The stupidity of men! Tears of vexation gathered +in her eyes. When she could speak she faltered: + +``No.'' + +He was looking at her now--a grave, kind glance. + +She somehow felt encouraged and heartened. She +went on: ``I was hoping--that--that the gen-- +that my husband had said something to you and that +you perhaps had not thought to say anything to me.'' + +Their glances met, his movingly sympathetic and +understanding, hers piteously forlorn--the look of a +lovely girl, stranded and friendless in a far strange +land. Presently he said gently: + +``Yes, he told me to say something to you--if you +should speak to me about this matter.'' His tone +caused in her heart a horrible stillness of suspense. He +went on: ``He said--I give you his exact words: +`If my wife should ask you for money, tell her my +ideas on the subject.' '' + +A pause. She started up, crimson, her glance +darting nervously this way and that to avoid his. ``Never +mind. Really, it's of no importance. Thank you-- +I'll get on very well--I'm sorry to have troubled +you--'' + +``Pardon me, Mrs. Siddall,'' he interposed, ``but I +think you'd best let me finish.'' + +She started to protest, she tried to move toward the +door. Her strength failed her, she sat down, waited, +nervously clasping and unclasping the costly, jewel- +embroidered bag. + +``He has explained to me, many times,'' continued +Harding, ``that he believes women do not understand +the value of money and ought not to be trusted with it. +He proposes to provide everything for you, every +comfort and luxury--I am using his own language, Mrs. +Siddall--and he has open accounts at the principal +shops in every city where you will go--New York, +Washington, Chicago, Denver, Paris, London, Rome. +He says you are at liberty to get practically anything +you please at these shops, and he will pay the bills. +He thus entirely spares you the necessity of ever spending +any money. Should you see anything you wish at +some shop where he has no account, you can have it sent +collect, and I or my assistant, Mr. Drawl, will settle +for it. All he asks is that you use discretion in this +freedom. He says it would be extremely painful to +him to have to withdraw it.'' + +Harding had pronounced this long speech in a dry +monotonous voice, like one reading mechanically from +a dull book. As Mildred listened, her thoughts began +to whirl about the central idea until she fell into a kind +of stupor. When he finished she was staring vacantly +at the bag in her lap--the bag she was holding open +wide. + +Harding continued: ``He also instructed me to say +something about his former--his experiences. The +first Mrs. Siddall he married when he was very young +and poor. As he grew rich, she became madly extravagant. +And as they had started on a basis on which she +had free access to his money he could not check her. +The result, finally, was a succession of bitter quarrels, +and they were about to divorce when she died. He +made the second Mrs. Siddall an allowance, a liberal +allowance. Her follies compelled him to withdraw it. +She resorted to underhanded means to get money from +him without his knowing it. He detected the fraud. +After a series of disagreeable incidents she committed +the indiscretion which caused him to divorce her. He +says that these experiences have convinced him that--'' + +``The second Mrs. Siddall,'' interrupted Mildred, ``is +she still alive?'' + +Harding hesitated. ``Yes,'' he said reluctantly. + +``Is she--poor?'' asked Mildred. + +``I should prefer not to--'' + +``Did the general forbid you to tell me?'' + +``On the contrary, he instructed me-- But I'd +rather not talk about it, Mrs. Siddall.'' + +``Is she poor?'' repeated Mildred. + +``Yes.'' + +``What became of her?'' + +A long pause. Then Harding said: ``She was a +poor girl when the general married her. After the +divorce she lived for a while with the man. But he had +nothing. They separated. She tried various kinds of +work--and other things. Since she lost her looks-- +She writes from time to time, asking for money.'' + +``Which she never gets?'' said Mildred. + +``Which she never gets,'' said Harding. ``Lately +she was cashier or head waitress in a cheap restaurant +in St. Louis.'' + +After a long silence Mildred said: ``I understand. +I understand.'' She drew a long breath. ``I shall +understand better as time goes on, but I understand fairly +well now.'' + +``I need not tell you, Mrs. Siddall,'' said Harding in +his gentle, tranquil way, ``that the general is the kindest +and most generous of men, but he has his own methods-- +as who has not?'' + +Mildred had forgotten that he was there--not a +difficult matter, when he had in its perfection the +secretarial manner of complete self-effacement. Said she +reflectively, like one puzzling out a difficult problem: + +``He buys a woman, as he buys a dog or a horse. +He does not give his dog, his horse, pocket-money. +Why should he give his woman pocket-money?'' + +``Will it help matters, Mrs. Siddall, to go to the other +extreme and do him a grave injustice?'' + +She did not hear. At the picture presented to her +mind by her own thoughts she gave a short satirical +laugh. ``How stupid of me not to have understood +from the outset,'' said she. ``Why, I've often heard of +this very thing.'' + +``It is more and more the custom among men of large +property, I believe,'' said Harding. ``Perhaps, Mrs. +Siddall, you would not blame them if you were in their +position. The rich men who are careless--they ruin +everybody about them, I assure you. I've seen it again +and again.'' + +But the young wife was absorbed in her own +thoughts. Harding, feeling her mood, did not interrupt. +After a while she said: + +``I must ask you some questions. These jewels the +general has been buying--'' + +Harding made a movement of embarrassment and +protest. She smiled ironically and went on: + +``One moment, please. Every time I wish to wear +any of them I have to go to him to get them. He asks +me to return them when I am undressing. He says it +is safer to keep everything in his strong box. I have +been assuming that that was the only reason. I begin +to suspect-- Am I right, Mr. Harding?'' + +``Really I can't say, Mrs. Siddall,'' said Harding. +``These are not matters to discuss with me, if you will +permit me to say so.'' + +``Oh, yes, they are,'' replied she laughingly. +``Aren't we all in the same boat?--all employes of +the general?'' + +Harding made no reply. + +Mildred was beside herself with a kind of rage that, +because outlet was necessary and because raving against +the little general would be absolutely futile, found outlet +in self-mockery and reckless sarcasm. + +``I understand about the jewels, too,'' she went on. +``They are not mine. Nothing is mine. Everything, +including myself, belongs to him. If I give satisfaction +in the position for which I've been hired for my board +and clothes, I may continue to eat the general's food +and sleep in the general's house and wear the general's +jewels and dresses and ride in the general's traps and be +waited on by the general's servants. If I don't like my +place or he doesn't like my way of filling it''--she +laughed merrily, mockingly--``out I go--into the +streets--after the second Mrs. Siddall. And the general +will hire a new--'' She paused, cast about for a +word in vain, appealed to the secretary, ``What would +you call it, Mr. Harding?'' + +Harding rose, looking at her with a very soothing +tranquillity. ``If I were you, Mrs. Siddall,'' said he, +``I should get into the auto and go for a long drive-- +out to the Bois--out to Versailles--a long, long +drive. I should be gone four or five hours at least, and +I should look at the thing from all sides. Especially, +I'd look at it from HIS standpoint.'' + +Mildred, somewhat quieter, but still mocking, said: +``If I should decide to quit, would my expenses be paid +back to where I was engaged? I fancy not.'' + +Harding looked grave. ``If you had had money +enough to pay your own expenses about, would you +have married him?'' said he. ``Isn't he paying--paying +liberally, Mrs. Siddall--for ALL he gets?'' + +Mildred, stung, drew herself up haughtily, gave him +a look that reminded him who she was and who he was. +But Harding was not impressed. + +``You said a moment ago--truly--that we are all +in the same boat,'' observed he. ``I put those questions +to you because I honestly wish to help you--because +I wish you not to act foolishly, hastily.'' + +``Thank you, Mr. Harding,'' said Mildred coldly. +And with a slight nod she went, angry and ashamed +that she had so unaccountably opened up her secret +soul, bared its ugly wounds, before a man she knew so +slightly, a man in a position but one remove from +menial. However, she took his advice--not as to trying +to view the matter from all sides, for she was +convinced that there was only the one side, but as to +calming herself by a long drive alone in the woods and +along quiet roads. When she returned she was under +control once more. + +She found the general impatiently awaiting her. +Many packages had come--from the jewelers, from +the furriers, from a shop whose specialty was the +thinnest and most delicate of hand-made underwear. The +general loved to open and inspect finery for her-- +loved it more than he loved inspecting finery for +himself, because feminine finery was far more attractive +than masculine. To whet his pleasure to the keenest +she must be there to admire with him, to try on, to +exhibit. As she entered the salon where the little man +was fussing about among the packages, their glances +met. She saw that Harding had told him--at least in +discreet outline--of their conversation. She also saw +that if she reopened the subject she would find herself +straightway whirled out upon a stormy sea of danger +that might easily overwhelm her flimsy boat. She +silently and sullenly dropped into her place; she +ministered to the general's pleasure in packages of finery. +But she did not exclaim, or admire, or respond in any +way. The honeymoon was over. Her dream of wifehood +was dissipated. + +She understood now the look she so often had seen +on the faces of rich men's poor wives driving in state +in Fifth Avenue. That night, as she inspected herself +in the glass while the general's maid for her brushed +her long thick hair, she saw the beginnings of that look +in her own face. ``I don't know just what I am,'' she +said to herself. ``But I do know what I am not. I am +not a wife.'' + +She sent away the maid, and sat there in the dressing- +room before the mirror, waiting, her glance traveling +about and noting the profuse and prodigal luxury. In +the corner stood a circular rack loaded with dressing- +gowns--more than a score of exquisite combinations +of silk and lace or silk and chiffon. It so happened +that there was nowhere in sight a single article of her +apparel or for her toilet that was not bought with +the general's money. No, there were some hairpins +that she had paid for herself, and a comb with widely +separated teeth that she had chanced to see in a +window when she was alone one day. Anything else? +Yes, a two-franc box of pins. And that was all. +Everything else belonged to the general. In the closets, +in the trunks--all the general's, part of the trousseau +he had paid for. Not an undergarment; not an outer +garment; not a hat or a pair of shoes, not a wrap, not +a pair of gloves. All, the general's. + +He was in the door of the dressing-room--the small +wiry figure in rose-silk pajamas. The mustache and +imperial were carefully waxed as always, day and night. +On the little feet were high-heeled slippers. On the +head was a rose-silk Neapolitan nightcap with gay tassel. +The nightcap hid the bald spot from which the lofty +toupee had been removed. A grotesque little figure, +but not grotesque to her. Through the mask of the +vain, boastful little face she saw the general watching +her, as she had seen him that afternoon when she came +in--the mysterious and terrible personality that had +made the vast fortune, that had ridden ruthlessly over +friend and foe, over man and woman and child--to the +goal of its desires. + +``It's late, my dear?'' said the little man. ``Come +to bed.'' + +She rose to obey--she in the general's purchases of +filmy nightgown under a pale-pink silk dressing-gown. + +He smiled with that curious noiseless mumbling and +smacking of the thin lips. She sat down again. + +``Don't keep me waiting. It's chilly,'' he said, +advancing toward her. + +``I shall sleep in here to-night--on the couch,'' said +she. She was trembling with fright at her own audacity. +She could see a fifty-centime piece and a copper +dancing before her eyes. She felt horribly alone and +weak, but she had no desire to retract the words with +which she had thrown down the gauntlet. + +The little general halted. The mask dropped; the +man, the monster, looked at her. ``What's the matter?'' +said he in an ominously quiet voice. + +``Mr. Harding delivered your message to-day,'' said +she, and her steady voice astonished her. ``So I am +going back home.'' + +He waited, looking steadily at her. + +``After he told me and I thought about it, I decided +to submit, but just now I saw that I couldn't. I don't +know what possesses me. I don't know what I'm going +to do, or how I'm going to do it. But it's all over +between us.'' She said this rapidly, fluently, in a +decisive way, quite foreign to her character as she had +thought it. + +``You are coming to bed, where you belong,'' said +he quietly. + +``No,'' replied she, pressing herself against her chair +as if force were being used to drag her from it. She +cast about for something that would make yielding +impossible. ``You are--repulsive to me.'' + +He looked at her without change of countenance. +Said he: ``Come to bed. I ask you for the last time.'' + +There was no anger in his voice, no menace either +open or covert; simply finality--the last word of the +man who had made himself feared and secure in the +mining-camps where the equation of personal courage is +straightway applied to every situation. Mildred +shivered. She longed to yield, to stammer out some excuse +and obey him. But she could not; nor was she able +to rise from her chair. She saw in his hard eyes a look +of astonishment, of curiosity as to this unaccountable +defiance in one who had seemed docile, who had +apparently no alternative but obedience. He was not so +astonished at her as she was at herself. ``What is to +become of me?'' her terror-stricken soul was crying. +``I must do as he says--I must--yet I cannot!'' +And she looked at him and sat motionless. + +He turned away, moved slowly toward the door, +halted at the threshold to give her time, was gone. A +fit of trembling seized her; she leaned forward and +rested her arms upon the dressing-table or she would +have fallen from the chair to the floor. Yet, even as +her fear made her sick and weak, she knew that she +would not yield. + +The cold drove her to the couch, to lie under half a +dozen of the dressing-gowns and presently to fall into +a sleep of exhaustion. When she awoke after what she +thought was a few minutes of unconsciousness, the +clamor of traffic in the Rue de Rivoli startled her. She +started up, glanced at the clock on the chimneypiece. +It was ten minutes past nine! When, by all the rules +governing the action of the nerves, she ought to have +passed a wakeful night she had overslept more than an +hour. Indeed, she had had the first sound and prolonged +sleep that had come to her since the honeymoon +began; for until then she had slept alone all her life +and the new order had almost given her chronic insomnia. +She rang for her maid and began to dress. The +maid did not come. She rang again and again; +apparently the bell was broken. She finished dressing and +went out into the huge, grandly and gaudily furnished +salon. Harding was at a carved old-gold and lacquer +desk, writing. As she entered he rose and bowed. + +``Won't you please call one of the servants?'' said +she. ``I want my coffee. I guess the bell in my room +is broken. My maid doesn't answer.'' + +``No, the bell is not broken,'' said Harding. + +She looked at him questioningly. + +``The general has issued an order that nothing is +to be done in this apartment, and nothing served, unless +he personally authorizes it.'' + +Mildred paled, drew herself up in what seemed a +gesture of haughtiness but was an effort to muster her +strength. To save herself from the humiliation of a +breakdown before him, she hastily retreated by the way +she had come. After perhaps a quarter of an hour she +reappeared in the salon; she was now dressed for the +street. Harding looked up from his writing, rose and +bowed gravely. Said she: + +``I am going out for a walk. I'll be back in an hour +or so.'' + +``One moment,'' said Harding, halting her as she was +opening the door into the public hall. ``The general +has issued an order that if you go out, you are not to be +allowed to return.'' + +Her hand fell from the knob. With flashing eyes +she cried, ``But that is impossible!'' + +``It is his orders,'' said Harding, in his usual quiet +manner. ``And as he pays the bills he will be +obeyed.'' + +She debated. Against her will, her trembling hand +sought the knob again. Against her will, her weak arm +began to draw the door open. Harding came toward +her, stood before her and looked directly into her eyes. +His eyes had dread and entreaty in them, but his voice +was as always when he said: + +``You know him, Mrs. Siddall.'' + +``Yes,'' she said. + +``The reason he has got ALL he wanted--whatever he +wanted--is that he will go to any length. Every other +human being, almost, has a limit, beyond which they will +not go--a physical fear or a moral fear or a fear of +public opinion. But the general--he has no limit.'' + +``Yes,'' she said. And deathly pale and almost stag- +gering she drew open the door and went out into the +public hall. + +``For God's sake, Mrs. Siddall!'' cried Harding, in +great agitation. ``Come in quickly. They are watching-- +they will tell him! Are you mad?'' + +``I think I must be,'' said she. ``I am sick with fear. +I can hardly keep from dropping down here in a faint. +Yet--'' a strange look, a mingling of abject terror +and passionate defiance, gave her an aspect quite insane +--``I am going. Perhaps I, too, have no limit.'' + +And she went along the corridor, past a group of +gaping and frightened servants, down the stairway and +out by the private entrance for the grand apartments +of the hotel in the Rue Raymond de l'Isle. She crossed +the Rue de Rivoli and entered the Tuileries Gardens. +It was only bracingly cool in the sunshine of that +winter day. She seated herself on a chair on the +terrace to regain her ebbed strength. Hardly had she +sat down when the woman collector came and stood waiting +for the two sous for the chair. Mildred opened her +bag, found two coins. She gave the coppers to the +woman. The other--all the money she had--was the +fifty-centime piece. + +``But the bag--I can get a good deal for that,'' she +said aloud. + +``I beg your pardon--I didn't catch that.'' + +She came back to a sense of her surroundings. Stanley +Baird was standing a few feet away, smiling down +at her. He was, if possible, even more attractively +dressed than in the days when he hovered about her, +hoping vague things of which he was ashamed and try- +ing to get the courage to put down his snobbishness and +marry her because she so exactly suited him. He was +wearing a new kind of collar and tie, striking yet in +excellent quiet taste. Also, his face and figure had filled +out just enough--he had been too thin in the former +days. But he was now entered upon that period of the +fearsome forties when, unless a man amounts to something, +he begins to look insignificant. He did not +amount to anything; he was therefore paling and waning +as a personality. + +``Was I thinking aloud?'' said Mildred, as she gave +him her hand. + +``You said something about `getting a good deal.' '' +He inspected her with the freedom of an old friend and +with the thoroughness of a connoisseur. Women who +took pains with themselves and were satisfied with the +results liked Stanley Baird's knowing and appreciative +way of noting the best points in their toilets. ``You're +looking fine,'' declared he. ``It must be a pleasure to +them up in the Rue de la Paix to dress you. That's +more than can be said for nine out of ten of the women +who go there. Yes, you're looking fine--and in grand +health, too. Why, you look younger than I ever saw +you. Nothing like marriage to freshen a girl up. +Well, I suppose waiting round for a husband who may +or may not turn up does wear a woman down.'' + +``It almost killed me,'' laughed Mildred. ``And you +were largely responsible.'' + +``I?'' said Baird. ``You didn't want me. I was too +old for you.'' + +``No, I didn't want you,'' said Mildred. ``But you +spoiled me. I couldn't endure the boys of my own +age.'' + +Stanley was remembering that Mildred had married +a man much older than he. With some notion of a careless +sort of tact in mind he said, ``I was betwixt and +between--neither young enough nor old enough.'' + +``You've married, too, since we met. By the way, +thank you again for that charming remembrance. +You always did have such good taste. But why +didn't you come to the wedding--you and your +wife?'' + +He laughed. ``We were busy busting up,'' said he. +``You hadn't heard? It's been in the papers. She's +gone back to her people. Oh, nothing disgraceful on +either side. Simply that we bored each other to death. +She was crazy about horses and dogs, and that set. I +think the stable's the place for horses--don't care to +have 'em parading through the house all the time, every +room, every meal, sleeping and waking. And dogs-- +the infernal brutes always have fleas. Fleas only tickled +her, but they bite me--raise welts and hills. There's +your husband now, isn't it?'' + +Baird was looking up at the windows of the +Continental, across the street. Mildred's glance slowly and +carelessly followed his. At one window stood the little +general, gazing abstractedly out over the gardens. At +another window Mildred saw Harding; at a third, her +maid; at a fourth, Harding's assistant, Drawl; at a +fifth, three servants of the retinue. Except the general, +all were looking at her. + +``You've married a very extraordinary man,'' said +Baird, in a correct tone of admiration. ``One of the +ablest and most interesting men we've got, _I_ think.'' + +``So you are free again?'' said Mildred, looking at +him with a queer, cold smile. + +``Yes, and no,'' replied Stanley. ``I hope to be +entirely free. It's her move next. I'm expecting it +every day. But I'm thoroughly respectable. Won't +you and the general dine with me?'' + +``Thanks, but I'm sailing for home to-morrow or +next day.'' + +``That's interesting,'' said Baird, with enthusiasm. +``So am I. What ship do you go on?'' + +``I don't know yet. I'm to decide this afternoon, +after lunch.'' She laughed. ``I'm sitting here waiting +for someone to ask me to lunch. I've not had even +coffee yet.'' + +``Lunch with me!'' cried Baird. ``I'll go get the +general--I know him slightly.'' + +``I didn't say anything about the general,'' said Mildred. + +Stanley smiled apologetically. ``It wouldn't do for +you to go about with me--not when my missus is looking +for grounds for divorce.'' + +``Why not?'' said Mildred. ``So's my husband.'' + +``You busted up, too? Now, that's what _I_ call +jolly.'' And he cast a puzzled glance up at the +abstracted general. ``I say, Mildred, this is no place for +either of us, is it?'' + +``I'd rather be where there's food,'' confessed she. + +``You think it's a joke, but I assure you-- Oh, +you WERE joking--about YOUR bust-up?'' + +``No, indeed,'' she assured him. ``I walked out a +while ago, and I couldn't go back if I would--and I +don't think I would if I could.'' + +``That's foolish. Better go back,'' advised he. He +was preparing hastily to decamp from so perilous a +neighborhood. ``One marriage is about like another, +once you get through the surface. I'm sure you'll be +better off than--back with your stepfather.'' + +``I've no intention of going to his house,'' she declared. +``Oh, there's your brother. I forgot.'' + +``So had I forgotten him. I'll not go there, either. +In fact, I've not thought where I'll go.'' + +``You seem to have done mighty little thinking before +you took a very serious step for a woman.'' He +was uneasily eying the rigid, abstracted little figure a +story up across the way. + +``Those things aren't a question of thinking,'' said +she absently. ``I never thought in my life--don't +think I could if I tried. But when the time came I-- +I walked out.'' She came back to herself, laughed. +``I don't understand why I'm telling you all this, +especially as you're mad with fright and wild to get away. +Well, good-by, Stanley.'' + +He lifted his hat. ``Good-by. We'll meet when we +can do so without my getting a scandal on you.'' He +walked a few paces, turned, and came back. ``By the +way, I'm sailing on the Deutschland. I thought you'd +like to know--so that you and I wouldn't by any +chance cross on the same boat.'' + +``Thanks,'' said she dryly. + +``What's the matter?'' asked he, arrested, despite his +anxiety to be gone, by the sad, scornful look in her +eyes. + +``Nothing. Why?'' + +``You had such a--such a queer look.'' + +``Really? Good-by.'' + +In fact, she had thought--had hoped for the sake +of her liking for him--that he had come back to make +the glaringly omitted offer of help that should have +come from any human being learning that a fellow +being was in the precarious position in which she had told +him she was. Not that she would have accepted any +such offer. Still, she would have liked to have heard the +kindly words. She sat watching his handsome, graceful +figure, draped in the most artistically cut of long +dark overcoats, until he disappeared in the crowd in +the Rue de Castiglione. Then, without a glance up +at the interested, not to say excited windows of the +general's splendid and spreading apartments, she +strolled down the gardens toward the Place Concorde. +In Paris the beautiful, on a bright and brisk day it is +all but impossible to despair when one still has left +youth and health. Mildred was not happy--far from +it. The future, the immediate future, pressed its +terrors upon her. But in mitigation there was, perhaps +born of youth and inexperience, a giddy sense of relief. +She had not realized how abhorrent the general was-- +married life with the general. She had been resigning +herself to it, accepting it as the only thing possible, +keeping it heavily draped with her vanities of wealth +and luxury--until she discovered that the wealth and +the luxury were in reality no more hers than they were +her maid's. And now she was free! + +That word free did not have its full meaning for her. +She had never known what real freedom was; women +of the comfortable class--and men, too, for that matter-- +usually are born into the petty slavery of conventions +at least, and know nothing else their whole lives +through--never know the joy of the thought and the +act of a free mind and a free heart. Still, she was +released from a bondage that seemed slavish even to her, +and the release gave her a sensation akin to the joy of +freedom. A heavy hand that was crushing her very +soul had been lifted off--no, FLUNG off, and by herself. +That thought, terrifying though it was, also gave her +a certain new and exalting self-respect. After all, she +was not a worm. She must have somewhere in her the +germs of something less contemptible than the essential +character of so many of the eminently respectable +women she knew. She could picture them in the situation +in which she had found herself. What would they +have done? Why, what every instinct of her education +impelled her to do; what some latent love of freedom, +some unsuspected courage of self-respect had forbidden +her to do, had withheld her from doing. + +Her thoughts and the gorgeous sunshine and her +youth and health put her in a steadily less cheerless +mood as by a roundabout way she sought the shop of the +jeweler who sold the general the gold bag she had +selected. The proprietor himself was in the front part +of the shop and received ``Madame la Generale'' with +all the honors of her husband's wealth. She brought +no experience and no natural trading talent to the +enterprise she was about to undertake; so she went +directly to the main point. + +``This bag,'' said she, laying it upon the glass +between them, ``I bought it here a short time ago.'' + +``I remember perfectly, madame. It is the handsomest, +the most artistic, we have sold this year.'' + +``I wish to sell it back to you,'' said she. + +``You wish to get something else and include it as +part payment, madame?'' + +``No, I wish to get the money for it.'' + +``Ah, but that is difficult. We do not often make +those arrangements. Second-hand articles--'' + +``But the bag is quite new. Anyhow, it must have +some value. Of course I'd not expect the full price.'' + +The jeweler smiled. ``The full price? Ah, madame, +we should not think of offering it again as it is. +We should--'' + +``No matter,'' interrupted Mildred. The man's +expression--the normally pleasant and agreeable countenance +turned to repulsive by craft and lying--made +her eager to be gone. ``What is the most you will +give me?'' + +``I shall have to consider--'' + +``I've only a few minutes. Please do not irritate +me.'' + +The man was studying her countenance with a +desperate look. Why was she, the bride of the monstrously +rich American, why was she trying to sell the +bag? Did it mean the end of her resources? Or, were +there still huge orders to be got from her? His shrewd- +ness, trained by thirty years of dealing with all kinds of +luxurious human beings, went exploring in vain. He +was alarmed by her frown. He began hesitatingly: + +``The jewels and the gold are only a small part of +the value. The chief value is the unique design, so +elegant yet so simple. For the jewels and the gold, +perhaps two thousand francs--'' + +``The purse was twelve thousand francs,'' interrupted +she. + +``Perfectly, madame. But--'' +``I am in great haste. How much will you give me?'' + +``The most would be four thousand, I fear. I shall +count up more carefully, if madame will--'' + +``No, four thousand will do.'' + +``I will send the money to madame at her hotel. The +Continental, is it not?'' + +``No, I must have it at once.'' + +The jeweler hesitated. Mildred, flushing scarlet with +shame--but he luckily thought it anger--took up the +bag and moved toward the door. + +``Pardon, madame, but certainly. Do you wish +some gold or all notes?'' + +``Notes,'' answered she. ``Fifty and hundred-franc +notes.'' + +A moment later she was in the street with the notes +in a small bundle in the bosom of her wrap. She went +hurriedly up the street. As she was about to turn the +corner into the boulevard she on impulse glanced back. +An automobile had just drawn up at the jeweler's door +and General Siddall--top-hat, sable-lined overcoat, +waxed mustache and imperial, high-heeled boots, gold- +mounted cane--was descending. And she knew that +he had awakened to his one oversight, and was on his +way to repair it. But she did not know that the jeweler +--old and wise in human ways--would hastily vanish +with the bag and that an assistant would come forward +with assurances that madame had not been in the shop +and that, if she should come in, no business would be +negotiated without the general's express consent. She +all but fainted at the narrowness of her escape and fled +round into the boulevard. She entered a taxi and told +the man to drive to Foyot's restaurant on the left bank +--where the general would never think of looking for +her. + +When she had breakfasted she strolled in the Luxembourg +Gardens, in even better humor with herself and +with the world. There was still that horrid-faced +future, but it was not leering into her very face. It +was nearly four thousand francs away--``and if I +hadn't been so stupid, I'd have got eight thousand, I'm +sure,'' she said. But she was rather proud of a stupidity +about money matters. And four thousand francs, +eight hundred dollars--that was quite a good sum. + +She had an instinct that the general would do +something disagreeable about the French and English ports +of departure for America. But perhaps he would not +think of the Italian ports. That night she set out for +Genoa, and three days later, in a different dress and +with her hair done as she never wore it, sailed as Miss +Mary Stevens for America on a German Mediterranean +boat. + +She had taken the whole of a cabin on the quieter +deck below the promenade, paying for it nearly half +of what was left of the four thousand francs. The +first three days she kept to her cabin except at the +dinner-hour, when she ventured to the deck just outside +and walked up and down for exercise. Then followed +four days of nasty weather during which she did not +leave her bed. As the sea calmed, she, wretched and +reckless, had a chair put for herself under her window +and sat there, veiled and swathed and turning her face +away whenever a rare wandering passenger happened +to pass along. Toward noon a man paused before her +to light a cigarette. She, forgetting for the moment +her precautions, looked at him. It chanced that he +looked at her at exactly the same instant. Their +glances met. He started nervously, moved on a few +steps, returned. Said she mockingly: + +``You know you needn't speak if you don't want to, +Stanley.'' + +``There isn't a soul on board that anybody ever +knew or that ever knew anybody,'' said he. ``So why +not?'' + +``And you look horribly bored.'' + +``Unspeakably,'' replied Baird. ``I've spoken to no +one since I left Paris.'' + +``What are you doing on this ship?'' inquired she. + +``To be perfectly honest,'' said he, ``I came this way +to avoid you. I was afraid you'd take passage on my +steamer just to amuse yourself with my nervousness. +And--here you are!'' + +``Amusing myself with your nervousness.'' + +``But I'm not nervous. There's no danger. Will +you let me have a chair put beside yours?'' + +``It will be a charity on your part,'' said she. + +When he was comfortably settled, he explained his +uneasiness. ``I see I've got to tell you,'' said he, ``for +I don't want you to think me a shouting ass. The fact +is my wife wants to get a divorce from me and to soak +me for big alimony. She's a woman who'll do anything +to gain her end, and--well, for some reason she's always +been jealous of you. I didn't care to get into +trouble, or to get you into trouble.'' + +``I'm traveling as Mary Stevens,'' said Mildred. +``No one knows I'm aboard.'' + +``Oh, I'm sure we're quite safe. We can enjoy the +rest of this voyage.'' + +A sea voyage not merely induces but compels a +feeling of absolute detachment from the world. To both +Stanley and Mildred their affairs--the difficulties in +which they were involved on terra firma--ceased for +the time to have any reality. The universe was nothing +but a vast stretch of water under a vast stretch +of sky; the earth and the things thereof were a retrospect +and a foreboding. Without analyzing it, both +he and she felt that they were free--free from cares, +from responsibilities--free to amuse themselves. And +they proceeded to enjoy themselves in the necessarily +quiet and limited way imposed by the littleness of +their present world and the meagerness of the +resources. + +As neither had the kind of mind that expands in +abstractions, they were soon talking in the most intimate +and personal way about themselves--were confessing +things which neither would have breathed to anyone +on land. It was the man who set the example of breaking +through the barriers of conventional restraint-- +perhaps of delicacy, though it must be said that human +beings are rarely so fine in their reticences as the theory +of refinement would have us believe. Said Stanley, +after the preliminaries of partial confidence and halting +avowal that could not be omitted, even at sea, by a man +of ``gentlemanly instinct'': + +``I don't know why I shouldn't own up. I know +you'll never tell anybody. Fact is, I and my wife were +never in love with each other for a second. We married +because we were in the same set and because our incomes +together gave us enough to do the thing rather well.'' +After a solemn pause. ``I was in love with another +woman--one I couldn't marry. But I'll not go into +that. As for my wife, I don't think she was in love +with anyone. She's as cold as a stone.'' + +Mildred smiled ironically. + +Baird saw and flushed. ``At least, she was to me. +I was ready to make a sort of bluff. You see, a man +feels guilty in those circumstances and doesn't want +to humiliate a woman. But she--'' he laughed +unpleasantly--``she wasn't bothering about MY feelings. +That's a nice, selfish little way you ladies have.'' + +``She probably saw through you and hated you for +playing the hypocrite to her,'' said Mildred. + +``You may be right, I never thought of that,'' +confessed he. ``She certainly had a vicious way of +hammering the other woman indirectly. Not that she ever +admitted being jealous. I guess she knew. Everybody +usually knows everything.'' + +``And there was a great deal of talk about you and +me,'' said Mildred placidly. + +``I didn't say it was you,'' protested Stanley, reddening. + +``No matter,'' said Mildred. ``Don't bother about +that. It's all past and gone.'' + +``Well, at any rate, my marriage was the mistake of +my life. I'm determined that she shan't trip me up and +trim me for any alimony. And as matters stand, she +can't. She left me of her own accord.'' + +``Then,'' said Mildred thoughtfully, ``if the wife +leaves of her own accord, she can't get alimony?'' + +``Certainly not--not a cent.'' + +``I supposed so,'' said she. ``I'm not sure I'd take it +if I could get it. Still, I suppose I would.'' She +laughed. ``What's the use of being a hypocrite with +oneself? I know I would. All I could get.'' + +``Then you had no LEGAL excuse for leaving?'' + +``No,'' said she. ``I--just bolted. I don't know +what's to become of me. I seem not to care, at present, +but no doubt I shall as soon as we see land again.'' + +``You'll go back to him,'' said Stanley. + +``No,'' replied she, without emphasis or any accent +whatever. + +``Sure you will,'' rejoined he. ``It's your living. +What else can you do?'' + +``That's what I must find out. Surely there's +something else for a woman besides such a married life as +mine. I can't and won't go back to my husband. And +I can't and won't go to the house at Hanging Rock. +Those two things are settled.'' + +``You mean that?'' + +``Absolutely. And I've got--less than three hundred +and fifty dollars in the whole world.'' + +Baird was silent. He was roused from his abstraction +by gradual consciousness of an ironical smile on +the face of the girl, for she did not look like a married +woman. ``You are laughing at me. Why?'' inquired +he. + +``I was reading your thoughts.'' + +``You think you've frightened me?'' + +``Naturally. Isn't a confession such as I made +enough to frighten a man? It sounded as though I +were getting ready to ask alms.'' + +``So it did,'' said he. ``But I wasn't thinking of it +in that way. You WILL be in a frightful fix pretty soon, +won't you?'' + +``It looks that way. But you need not be uneasy.'' + +``Oh, I want to help you. I'll do everything I can. +I was trying to think of something you could make +money at. I was thinking of the stage, but I suppose +you'd balk at that. I'll admit it isn't the life for a +lady. But the same thing's true of whatever money +can be made at. If I were you, I'd go back.'' + +``If I were myself, I'd go back,'' said Mildred. +``But I'm not myself.'' + +``You will be again, as soon as you face the situation.'' + +``No,'' said she slowly, ``no, I shall never be myself +again.'' + +``But you could have everything a woman wants. +Except, of course--perhaps-- But you never struck +me as being especially sentimental.'' + +``Sentiment has nothing to do with it,'' rejoined she. +``Do you think I could get a place on the stage?'' + +``Oh, you'd have to study a while, I suppose.'' + +``But I can't afford that. If I could afford to study, +I'd have my voice trained.'' + +Baird's face lighted up with enthusiasm. ``The very +thing!'' he cried. ``You've got a voice, a grand-opera +voice. I've heard lots of people say so, and it sounded +that way to me. You must cultivate your voice.'' + +Mildred laughed. ``Don't talk nonsense. Even I +know that's nonsense. The lessons alone would cost +thousands of dollars. And how could I live for the +four or five years?'' + +``You didn't let me finish,'' said Baird. ``I was +going to say that when you get to New York you must +go and have your voice passed on--by some impartial +person. If that person says it's worth cultivating, why, +I'm willing to back you--as a business proposition. +I can afford to take the risk. So, you see, it's all +perfectly simple.'' + +He had spoken rapidly, with a covert suggestion of +fear lest she would rebuke him sharply for what she +might regard as an impertinent offer. She surprised +him by looking at him calmly, reflectively, and saying: + +``Yes, you could afford it, couldn't you?'' + +``I'm sure I could. And it's the sort of thing that's +done every day. Of course, no one'd know that we had +made this little business arrangement. But that's easily +managed. I'd be glad if you'd let me do it, Mildred. +I'd like to feel that I was of some use in the world. +And I'd like to do something for YOU.'' + +By way of exceedingly cautious experiment he +ventured to put ever so slight an accent of tenderness upon +the ``you.'' He observed her furtively but nervously. +He could not get a hint of what was in her mind. She +gazed out toward the rising and falling horizon line. +Presently she said: + +``I'll think about it.'' + +``You must let me do it, Mildred. It's the sensible +thing--and you know me well enough to know that +my friendship can be counted on.'' + +``I'll think about it,'' was all she would concede. + +They discussed the singing career all that and the +succeeding days--the possibilities, the hopes, the dangers-- +but the hopes a great deal more than the dangers. +He became more and more interested in her and +in the project, as her beauty shone out with the +tranquillizing sea and as her old charm of cleverness at +saying things that amused him reasserted itself. She, +dubious and lukewarm at first, soon was trying to curb +her own excited optimism; but long before they sighted +Sandy Hook she was merely pretending to hang back. +He felt discouraged by her parting! ``If I decide to +go on, I'll write you in a few days.'' But he need not +have felt so. She had made up her mind to accept his +offer. As for the complications involved in such curiously +intimate relations with a man of his temperament, +habits, and inclinations, she saw them very vaguely in- +deed--refused to permit herself to see them any less +vaguely. Time enough to deal with complications +when and as they arose; why needlessly and foolishly +annoy herself and hamper herself? Said she to herself, +``I must begin to be practical.'' + + + +IV + + +AT the pier Mildred sent her mother a telegram, +giving the train by which she would arrive--that and +nothing more. As she descended from the parlor-car +there stood Mrs. Presbury upon the platform, face +wreathed in the most joyous of welcoming smiles, not +a surface trace of the curiosity and alarm storming +within. After they had kissed and embraced with a +genuine emotion which they did not try to hide, because +both suddenly became unconscious of that world whereof +ordinarily they were constantly mindful--after caresses +and tears Mrs. Presbury said: + +``It's all very well to dress plain, when everyone +knows you can afford the best. But don't you think +you're overdoing it a little?'' + +Mildred laughed somewhat nervously. ``Wait till +we're safe at home,'' said she. + +On the way up from the station in the carriage they +chattered away in the liveliest fashion, to make the +proper impression upon any observing Hanging- +Rockers. ``Luckily, Presbury's gone to town to-day,'' +said his wife. ``But really he's quite livable--hasn't +gone back to his old ways. He doesn't know it, but +he's rapidly growing deaf. He imagines that everyone +is speaking more and more indistinctly, and he has +lost interest in conversation. Then, too, he has done +well in Wall Street, and that has put him in a good +humor.'' + +``He'll not be surprised to see me--alone,'' said +Mildred. + +``Wait till we're home,'' said her mother nervously. + +At the house Mrs. Presbury carried on a foolish, +false-sounding conversation for the benefit of the servants, +and finally conducted Mildred to her bedroom and +shut doors and drew portieres and glanced into closets +before saying: ``Now, what IS the matter, Millie? +WHERE is your husband?'' + +``In Paris, I suppose,'' replied Mildred. ``I have +left him, and I shall never go back.'' + +``Presbury said you would!'' cried her mother. +``But I didn't believe it. I don't believe it. I brought +you up to do your duty, and I know you will.'' + +This was Mildred's first opportunity for frank and +plain speaking; and that is highly conducive to frank +and plain thinking. She now began to see clearly why +she had quit the general. Said she: ``Mamma, to be +honest and not mince words, I've left him because there's +nothing in it.'' + +``Isn't he rich?'' inquired her mother. ``I've always +had a kind of present--'' + +``Oh, he's rich, all right,'' interrupted the girl. +``But he saw to it that I got no benefit from that.'' + +``But you wrote me how he was buying you everything!'' + +``So I thought. In fact he was buying ME nothing.'' +And she went on to explain the general's system. + +Her mother listened impatiently. She would have in- +terrupted the long and angry recital many times had +not Mildred insisted on a full hearing of her grievances, +of the outrages that had been heaped upon her. +``And,'' she ended, ``I suppose he's got it so arranged +that he could have me arrested as a thief for taking the +gold bag.'' + +``Yes, it's terrible and all that,'' said her mother. +``But I should have thought living with me here when +Presbury was carrying on so dreadfully would have +taught you something. Your case isn't an exception, +any more than mine is. That's the sort of thing we +women have to put up with from men, when we're in +their power.'' + +``Not I,'' said Mildred loftily. + +``Yes, you,'' retorted her mother. ``ANY woman. +EVERY woman. Unless we have money of our own, we all +have trouble with the men about money, sooner or later, +in one way or another. And rich men!--why, it's +notorious that they're always more or less mean about money. +A wife has got to use tact. Why, I even had to use +some tact with your father, and he was as generous a +man as ever lived. Tact--that's a woman's whole life. +You ought to have used tact. You'll go back to him +and use tact.'' + +``You don't know him, mamma!'' cried Mildred. +``He's a monster. He isn't human.'' + +Mrs. Presbury drew a long face and said in a sad, +soothing voice: ``Yes, I know, dear. Men are very, +very awful, in some ways, to a nice woman--with +refined, ladylike instincts. It's a great shock to a +pure--'' + +``Oh, gammon!'' interrupted Mildred. ``Don't be +silly, mother. It isn't worth while for one woman to +talk that kind of thing to another. I didn't fully know +what I was doing when I married a man I didn't love +--a man who was almost repulsive to me. But I knew +enough. And I was getting along well enough, as any +woman does, no matter what she may say--yes, you +needn't look shocked, for that's hypocrisy, and I know +it now-- But, as I was saying, I didn't begin to HATE +him until he tried to make a slave of me. A slave!'' +she shuddered. ``He's a monster!'' + +``A little tact, and you can get everything you want,'' +insisted her mother. + +``I tell you, you don't know the man,'' cried Mildred. +``By tact I suppose you mean I could have sold things +behind his back--and all that.'' She laughed. ``He +hasn't got any back. He had it so arranged that those +cold, wicked eyes of his were always watching me. His +second wife tried `tact.' He caught her and drove her +into the streets. I'd have had no chance to get a cent, +and if I had gotten it I'd not have dared spend it. Do +you imagine I ran away from him without having +THOUGHT? If there'd been any way of staying on, any +way of making things even endurable, I'd have +stayed.'' + +``But you've got to go back, Milly,'' cried her +mother, in tears. + +``You mean that you can't support me?'' + +``And your brother Frank--'' Mrs. Presbury's +eyes flashed and her rather stout cheeks quivered. ``I +never thought I'd tell anybody, but I'll tell you. I +never liked your brother Frank, and he never liked me. +That sounds dreadful, doesn't it?'' + +``No, mother dear,'' said Mildred gently. ``I've +learned that life isn't at all as--as everybody pretends.'' + +``Indeed it isn't,'' said her mother. ``Mothers always +have favorites among their children, and very often a +mother dislikes one of her children. Of course she +hides her feeling and does her duty. But all the same +she can't help the feeling that is down in her heart. I +had a presentiment before he was born that I wouldn't +like him, and sure enough, I didn't. And he didn't like +me, or his father, or any of us.'' + +``It would never occur to me to turn to him,'' said +Mildred. + +``Then you see that you've got to go back to the +general. You can't get a divorce and alimony, for it +was you that left him--and for no cause. He was +within his rights.'' + +Mildred hesitated, confessed: ``I had thought of +going back to him and acting in such a way that he'd +be glad to give me a divorce and an allowance.'' + +``Yes, you might do that,'' said her mother. ``A +great many women do. And, after all, haven't they a +right to? A lady has got to have proper support, and +is it just to ask her to live with a man she loathes?'' + +``I haven't thought of the right or wrong of it,'' said +Mildred. ``It looks to me as though right and wrong +have very little to do with life as it's lived. They're for +hypocrites--and fools.'' + +``Mildred!'' exclaimed her mother, deeply shocked. + +Mildred was not a little shocked at her own thoughts +as she inspected them in the full light into which speech +had dragged them. ``Anyhow,'' she went on, ``I soon +saw that such a plan was hopeless. He's not the man to +be trifled with. Long before I could drive him to give +me a living and let me go he would have driven me to +flight or suicide.'' + +Her mother had now had time to reflect upon Mildred's +revelations. Aided by the impressions she herself had +gotten of the little general, she began to understand why +her daughter had fled and why she would not return. +She felt that the situation was one which time alone +could solve. Said she: ``Well, the best thing is for +you to stay on here and wait until he makes some +move.'' + +``He'll have me watched--that's all he'll do,'' said +Mildred. ``When he gets ready he'll divorce me for +deserting him.'' + +Mrs. Presbury felt that she was right. But, +concealing her despondency, she said: ``All we can do +is to wait and see. You must send for your luggage.'' + +``I've nothing but a large bag,'' said Mildred. ``I +checked it in the parcel-room of the New York station.'' + +Mrs. Presbury was overwhelmed. How account to +Hanging Rock for the reappearance of a baggageless +and husbandless bride? But she held up bravely. +With a cheerfulness that did credit to her heart and +showed how well she loved her daughter she said: ``We +must do the best we can. We'll get up some story.'' + +``No,'' said Mildred. ``I'm going back to New +York. You can tell people here what you please-- +that I've gone to rejoin him or to wait for him--any +old thing.'' + +``At least you'll wait and talk with Presbury,'' +pleaded her mother. ``He is VERY sensible.'' + +``If he has anything to suggest,'' said Mildred, ``he +can write it. I'll send you my address.'' + +``Milly,'' cried her mother, agitated to the depths, +``where ARE you going? WHAT are you going to do? +You look so strange--not at all like yourself.'' + +``I'm going to a hotel to-night--probably to a +boarding-house to-morrow,'' said Mildred. ``In a few +days I shall begin to--'' she hesitated, decided against +confidence--'' begin to support myself at something or +other.'' + +``You must be crazy!'' cried her mother. ``You +wouldn't do anything--and you couldn't.'' + +``Let's not discuss it, mamma,'' said the girl tranquilly. + +The mother looked at her with eyes full of the +suspicion one lady cannot but have as to the projects of +another lady in such circumstances. + +``Mildred,'' she said pleadingly, ``you must be +careful. You'll find yourself involved in a dreadful scandal. +I know you wouldn't DO anything WRONG no matter how +you were driven. But--'' + +``I'll not do anything FOOLISH, mamma,'' interrupted +the girl. ``You are thinking about men, aren't you?'' + +``Men are always ready to destroy a woman,'' said +her mother. ``You must be careful--'' + +Mildred was laughing. ``Oh, mamma,'' she cried, ``do +be sensible and do give me credit for a little sense. I've +got a very clear idea of what a woman ought to do +about men, and I assure you I'm not going to be FOOLISH. +And you know a woman who isn't foolish can be trusted +where a woman who's only protected by her principles +would yield to the first temptation--or hunt round for +a temptation.'' + +``But you simply can't go to New York and live +there all alone--and with nothing!'' + +``Can I stay here--for more than a few days?'' + +``But maybe, after a few days--'' stammered her +mother. + +``You see, I've got to begin,'' said Mildred. ``So +why delay? I'd gain nothing. I'd simply start Hanging +Rock to gossiping--and start Mr. Presbury to +acting like a fiend again.'' + +Her mother refused to be convinced--was the firmer, +perhaps, because she saw that Mildred was unshakable +in her resolve to leave forthwith--the obviously sensible +and less troublesome course. They employed the rest +of Mildred's three hours' stop in arguing--when Mildred +was not raging against the little general. Her +mother was more than willing to assist her in this +denunciation, but Mildred preferred to do it all herself. +She had--perhaps by unconsciously absorbed training +from her lawyer father--an unusual degree of ability +to see both sides of a question. When she assailed her +husband, she saw only her own side; but somehow when +her mother railed and raved, she began to see another +side--and the sight was not agreeable. She wished +to feel that her husband was altogether in the wrong; +she did not wish to have intruded upon her such facts +as that she had sold herself to him--quite in the +customary way of ladies, but nevertheless quite shamelessly +--or that in strict justice she had done nothing for him +to entitle her to a liberal money allowance or any allowance +at all. + +On the train, going back to New York, she admitted +to herself that the repulsive little general had held +strictly to the terms of the bargain--'' but only a devil +and one with not a single gentlemanly instinct would +insist on such a bargain.'' It took away much of the +shame, and all of the sting, of despising herself to feel +that she was looking still lower when she turned to +despising him. + +To edge out the little general she began to think of +her mother, but as she passed in review what her mother +had said and how she had said it she saw that for all +the protests and arguings her mother was more than +resigned to her departure. Mildred felt no bitterness; +ever since she could remember her mother had been a +shifter of responsibility. Still, to stare into the face +of so disagreeable a fact as that one had no place +on earth to go to, no one on earth to turn to, not even +one's own mother--to stare on at that grimacing ugliness +did not tend to cheerfulness. Mildred tried to +think of the future--but how could she think of something +that was nothing? She knew that she would go +on, somehow, in some direction, but by no effort of +her imagination could she picture it. She was so +impressed by the necessity of considering the future that, +to rouse herself, she tried to frighten herself with +pictures of poverty and misery, of herself a derelict in the +vast and cold desert of New York--perhaps in rags, +hungry, ill, but all in vain. She did not believe it. +Always she had had plenty to wear and to eat, and +comfortable surroundings. She could no more think +of herself as without those things than a living person +can imagine himself dead. + +``I'm a fool,'' she said to herself. ``I'm certain to +get into all sorts of trouble. How can it be otherwise, +when I've no money, no friends, no experience, no way +of making a living--no honest way--perhaps no way +of the other kind, either?'' There are many women +who ecstasize their easily tickled vanities by fancying +that if they were so disposed they need only flutter an +eyelid to have men by the legion striving for their favors, +each man with a bag of gold. Mildred, inexperienced +as she was, had no such delusions. Her mind happened +not to be of that chastely licentious caste which continually +revolves and fantastically exaggerates the things +of the body. + +She could not understand her own indifference about +the future. She did not realize that it was wholly due +to Stanley Baird's offer. She was imagining she was +regarding that offer as something she might possibly +consider, but probably would not. She did not know +that her soul had seized upon it, had enfolded it and +would on no account let it go. It is the habit of our +secret selves thus to make decisions and await their own +good time for making us acquainted with them. + +With her bag on the seat beside her she set out to +find a temporary lodging. Not until several hotels had +refused her admittance on the pretext that they were +``full up'' did she realize that a young woman alone is +an object of suspicion in New York. When a fourth +room-clerk expressed his polite regrets she looked him +straight in the eye and said: + +``I understand. But I can't sleep in the street. You +must tell me where I can go.'' + +``Well, there's the Ripon over in Seventh Avenue,'' +said he. + +``Is it respectable?'' said she. + +``Oh, it's very clean and comfortable there,'' said he. +``They'll treat you right.'' + +``Is it respectable?'' said she. + +``Well, now, it doesn't LOOK queer, if that's what you +mean,'' replied he. ``You'll do very nicely there. You +can be just as quiet as you want.'' + +She saw that hotel New York would not believe her +respectable. So to the Ripon she went, and was admitted +without discussion. As the last respectable clerk +had said, it did not LOOK queer. But it FELT queer; she +resolved that she would go into a boarding-house the +very next day. + +Here again what seemed simple proved difficult. No +respectable boarding-house would have Miss Mary +Stevens. She was confident that nothing in her dress +or manner hinted mystery. Yet those sharp-eyed land- +ladies seemed to know at once that there was something +peculiar about her. Most of them became rude the +instant they set eyes upon her. A few--of the obviously +less prosperous class--talked with her, seemed to be +listening for something which her failing to say decided +them upon all but ordering her out of the house. She, +hindered by her innocence, was slow in realizing that +she could not hope for admission to any select respectable +circle, even of high-class salesladies and clerks, +unless she gave a free and clear account of herself-- +whence she had come, what she was doing, how she got +her money. + +Toward the end of the second day's wearisome and +humiliating search she found a house that would admit +her. It was a pretentious, well-furnished big house in +Madison Avenue. The price--thirty-five dollars a +week for board, a bedroom with a folding bed in an +alcove, and a bath, was more than double what she had +counted on paying, but she discovered that decent and +clean lodgings and food fit to eat were not to be had +for less. ``And I simply can't live pig-fashion,'' said +she. ``I'd be so depressed that I could do nothing. I +can't live like a wild animal, and I won't.'' She had +some vague notion--foreboding--that this was not +the proper spirit with which to face life. ``I suppose +I'm horribly foolish,'' reflected she, ``but if I must go +down, I'll go down with my colors flying.'' She did +not know precisely what that phrase meant, but it +sounded fine and brave and heartened her to take the +expensive lodgings. + +The landlady was a Mrs. Belloc. Mildred had not +talked with her twenty minutes before she had a feeling +that this name was assumed. The evening of her first +day in the house she learned that her guess was correct +--learned it from the landlady herself. After dinner +Mrs. Belloc came into her room to cheer her up, to find +out about her and to tell her about herself. + +``Now that you've come,'' said she, ``the house is +full up--except some little rooms at the top that I'd +as lief not fill. The probabilities are that any ladies +who would take them wouldn't be refined enough to suit +those I have. There are six, not counting me, every +one with a bath and two with private parlors. And as +they're all handsome, sensible women, ladylike and +steady, I think the prospects are that they'll pay +promptly and that I won't have any trouble.'' + +Mildred reflected upon this curious statement. It +sounded innocent enough, yet what a peculiar way to +put a simple fact. + +``Of course it's none of my business how people live +as long as they keep up the respectabilities,'' pursued +Mrs. Belloc. ``It don't do to inquire into people in +New York. Most of 'em come here because they want +to live as they please.'' + +``No doubt,'' said Mildred a little nervously, for she +suspected her landlady of hitting at her, and wondered +if she had come to cross-examine her and, if the results +were not satisfactory, to put her into the street. + +``I know _I_ came for that reason,'' pursued Mrs. +Belloc. ``I was a school-teacher up in New England +until about two years ago. Did you ever teach +school?'' + +``Not yet,'' said Mildred. ``And I don't think I ever +shall. I don't know enough.'' + +``Oh, yes, you do. A teacher doesn't need to know +much. The wages are so poor--at least up in New +England--that they don't expect you to know anything. +It's all in the books. I left because I couldn't +endure the life. Lord! how dull those little towns are! +Ever live in a little town?'' + +``All my life,'' said Mildred. + +``Well, you'll never go back.'' + +``I hope not.'' + +``You won't. Why should you? A sensible woman +with looks--especially if she knows how to carry her +clothes--can stay in New York as long as she pleases, +and live off the fat of the land.'' + +``That's good news,'' said Mildred. She began to +like the landlady--not for what she said, but for the +free and frank and friendly way of the saying--a +human way, a comradely way, a live-and-let-live way. + +``I didn't escape from New England without a +struggle,'' continued Mrs. Belloc, who was plainly showing +that she had taken a great fancy to ``Mary Stevens.'' + +``I suppose it was hard to save the money out of +your salary,'' said Mildred. + +Mrs. Belloc laughed. She was about thirty-five years +old, though her eyes and her figure were younger than +that. Her mouth was pleasant enough, but had lost +some of its freshness. ``Save money!'' cried she. +``I'd never have succeeded that way. I'd be there yet. +I had never married--had two or three chances, but +all from poor sticks looking for someone to support +them. I saw myself getting old. I was looking years +older than I do now. Talk about sea air for freshening a +woman up--it isn't in it with the air of New York. +Here's the town where women stay young. If I had +come here five years ago I could almost try for the squab +class.'' + +``Squab class?'' queried Mildred. + +``Yes, squabs. Don't you see them around everywhere?-- +the women dressed like girls of sixteen to +eighteen--and some of them are that, and younger. +They go hopping and laughing about--and they seem +to please the men and to have no end of a good time. +Especially the oldish men. Oh, yes, you know a squab +on sight--tight skirt, low shoes and silk stockings, +cute pretty face, always laughing, hat set on rakishly +and hair done to match, and always a big purse or +bag--with a yellow-back or so in it--as a kind of a +hint, I guess.'' + +Mildred had seen squabs. ``I've envied them--in a +way,'' said she. ``Their parents seem to let them do +about as they please.'' + +``Their parents don't know--or don't care. Sometimes +it's one, sometimes the other. They travel in two +sets. One is where they meet young fellows of their +own class--the kind they'll probably marry, unless +they happen to draw the capital prize. The other set +they travel in--well, it's the older men they meet round +the swell hotels and so on--the yellow-back men.'' + +``How queer!'' exclaimed Mildred, before whose eyes +a new world was opening. ``But how do they--these +--squabs--account for the money?'' + +``How do a thousand and one women in this funny +town account at home for money and things?'' retorted +Mrs. Belloc. ``Nothing's easier. For instance, often +these squabs do--or pretend to do--a little something +in the way of work--a little canvassing or artists' +model or anything you please. That helps them to +explain at home--and also to make each of the yellow- +back men think he's the only one and that he's being +almost loved for himself alone.'' + +Mrs. Belloc laughed. Mildred was too astonished +to laugh, and too interested--and too startled or +shocked. + +``But I was telling you how _I_ got down here,'' +continued the landlady. ``Up in my town there was an +old man--about seventy-five--close as the bark on +a tree, and ugly and mean.'' She paused to draw a +long breath and to shake her head angrily yet +triumphantly at some figure her fancy conjured up. +``Oh, he WAS a pup!--and is! Well, anyhow, I +decided that I'd marry him. So I wrote home for fifty +dollars. I borrowed another fifty here and there. I +had seventy-five saved up against sickness. I went up +to Boston and laid it all out in underclothes and house +things--not showy but fine and good to look at. Then +one day, when the weather was fine and I knew the old +man would be out in his buggy driving round--I +dressed myself up to beat the band. I took hours to +it--scrubbing, powdering, sacheting, perfuming, +fixing the hair, fixing my finger-nails, fixing up my feet, +polishing every nail and making them look better than +most hands.'' + +Mildred was so interested that she was excited. What +strange freak was coming? + +``You never could guess,'' pursued Mrs. Belloc, +complacently. ``I took my sunshade and went out, all got +up to kill. And I walked along the road until I saw +the old man's buggy coming with him in it. Then I +gave my ankle a frightful wrench. My! How it +hurt!'' + +``What a pity!'' said Mildred sympathetically. +``What a shame!'' + +``A pity? A shame?'' cried Mrs. Belloc, laughing. +``Why, my dear, I did it a-purpose.'' + +``On purpose!'' exclaimed Mildred. + +``Certainly. That was my game. I screamed out +with pain--and the scream was no fake, I can tell +you. And I fell down by the roadside on a nice grassy +spot where no dust would get on me. Well, up comes +the old skinflint in his buggy. He climbed down and +helped me get off my slipper and stocking. I knew +I had him the minute I saw his old face looking at that +foot I had fixed up so beautifully.'' + +``How DID you ever think of it?'' exclaimed Mildred. + +``Go and teach school for ten years in a dull little +town, my dear--and look in the glass every day and +see your youth fading away--and you'll think of most +anything. Well, to make a long story short, the old +man took me in the buggy to his house where he lived +with his deaf, half-blind old widowed daughter. I had +to stay there three weeks. I married him the fourth +week. And just two months to a day from the afternoon +I sprained my ankle, he gave me fifty dollars a +week--all signed and sealed by a lawyer--to go away +and leave him alone. I might have stood out for more, +but I was too anxious to get to New York. And here +I am!'' She gazed about the well-furnished room, +typical of that almost luxurious house, with an air of +triumphant satisfaction. Said she: ``I've no patience +with a woman who says she can't get on. Where's her +brains?'' + +Mildred was silent. Perhaps it was a feeling of what +was hazily in the younger woman's mind and a desire +to answer it that led Mrs. Belloc to say further: ``I +suppose there's some that would criticize my way of +getting there. But I want to know, don't all women +get there by working men? Only most of them are so +stupid that they have to go on living with the man. +I think it's low to live with a man you hate.'' + +``Oh, I'm not criticizing anybody,'' said Mildred. + +``I didn't think you were,'' said Mrs. Belloc. ``If +I hadn't seen you weren't that kind, I'd not have been +so confidential. Not that I'm secretive with anybody. +I say and do what I please. Anyone who doesn't like +my way or me can take the other side of the street. +I didn't come to New York to go in society. I came +here to LIVE.'' + +Mildred looked at her admiringly. There were +things about Mrs. Belloc that she did not admire; other +things--suspected rather than known things--that +she knew she would shrink from, but she heartily +admired and profoundly envied her utter indifference to +the opinion of others, her fine independent way of +walking her own path at her own gait. + +``I took this boarding-house,'' Mrs. Belloc went on, +``because I didn't want to be lonesome. I don't like +all--or even most of--the ladies that live here. But +they're all amusing to talk with--and don't put on +airs except with their men friends. And one or two +are the real thing--good-hearted, fond of a joke, with- +out any meanness. I tell you, New York is a mighty +fine place if you get `in right.' Of course, if you +don't, it's h-e-l-l.'' (Mrs. Belloc took off its unrefined +edge by spelling it.) ``But what place isn't?'' she +added. + +``And your husband never bothers you?'' inquired +Mildred. + +``And never will,'' replied Mrs. Belloc. ``When he +dies I'll come into a little more--about a hundred and +fifty a week in all. Not a fortune, but enough with +what the boarding-house brings in. I'm a pretty fair +business woman.'' + +``I should say so!'' exclaimed Mildred. + +``You said you were Miss Stevens, didn't you?'' said +Mrs. Belloc--and Mildred knew that her turn had +come. + +``Yes,'' replied she. ``But I am also a married +woman.'' She hesitated, reddened. ``I didn't give you +my married name.'' + +``That's your own business,'' said Mrs. Belloc in her +easiest manner. ``My right name isn't Belloc, either. +But I've dropped that other life. You needn't feel a +bit embarrassed in this house. Some of my boarders +SEEM to be married. All that have regular-appearing +husbands SAY they are. What do I care, so long as +everything goes along smoothly? I don't get excited +about trifles.'' + +``Some day perhaps I'll tell you about myself,'' said +Mildred. ``Just at present I--well, I seem not to +be able to talk about things.'' + +``It's not a bad idea to keep your mouth shut, as +long as your affairs are unsettled,'' advised Mrs. Belloc. +``I can see you've had little experience. But you'll +come out all right. Just keep cool, and don't fret +about trifles. And don't let any man make a fool of +you. That's where we women get left. We're afraid +of men. We needn't be. We can mighty easily make +them afraid of us. Use the soft hand till you get him +well in your grip. Then the firm hand. Nothing +coarse or cruel or mean. But firm and self-respecting.'' + +Mildred was tempted to take Mrs. Belloc fully into +her confidence and get the benefit of the advice of +shrewdness and experience. So strong was the +temptation, she would have yielded to it had Mrs. Belloc +asked a few tactful, penetrating questions. But Mrs. +Belloc refrained, and Mildred's timidity or delicacy +induced her to postpone. The next day she wrote Stanley +Baird, giving her address and her name and asking him +to call ``any afternoon at four or five.'' She assumed +that he would come on the following day, but the letter +happened to reach him within an hour of her mailing +it, and he came that very afternoon. + +When she went down to the drawing-room to receive +him, she found him standing in the middle of the room +gazing about with a quizzical expression. As soon as +the greetings were over he said: + +``You must get out of here, Mildred. This won't +do.'' + +``Indeed I shan't,'' said she. ``I've looked everywhere, +and this is the only comfortable place I could +find--where the rates were reasonable and where the +landlady didn't have her nose in everybody's business.'' + +``You don't understand,'' said he. ``This is a bird- +cage. Highly gilded, but a bird-cage.'' + +She had never heard the phrase, but she understood-- +and instantly she knew that he was right. She colored +violently, sat down abruptly. But in a moment she +recovered herself, and with fine defiance said: + +``I don't care. Mrs. Belloc is a kind-hearted woman, +and it's as easy to be respectable here as anywhere.'' + +``Sure,'' assented he. ``But you've got to consider +appearances to a certain extent. You won't be able to +find the right sort of a boarding-house--one you'd be +comfortable in. You've got to have a flat of your +own.'' + +``I can't afford it,'' said Mildred. ``I can't afford +this, even. But I simply will not live in a shabby, +mussy way.'' + +``That's right!'' cried Stanley. ``You can't do +proper work in poor surroundings. Some women +could, but not your sort. But don't worry. I'm going +to see you through. I'll find a place--right away. +You want to start in at once, don't you?'' + +``I've got to,'' said Mildred. + +``Then leave it all to me.'' + +``But WHAT am I to do?'' + +``Sing, if you can. If not, then act. We'll have +you on the stage within a year or so. I'm sure of it. +And I'll get my money back, with interest.'' + +``I don't see how I can accept it,'' said Mildred very +feebly. + +``You've got to,'' said Stanley. ``What alternative +is there? None. So let's bother no more about it. +I'll consult with those who know, find out what the thing +costs, and arrange everything. You're as helpless as a +baby, and you know it.'' + +Yes, Mildred knew it. + +He looked at her with an amused smile. ``Come, +out with it!'' he cried. ``You've got something on +your mind. Let's get everything straight--and keep +it that way.'' + +Mildred hung her head. + +``You're uneasy because I, a man, am doing this for +you, a young woman? Is that it?'' + +``Yes,'' she confessed. + +He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and +spoke in a brisk, businesslike way. ``In the first place, +it's got to be done, hasn't it? And someone has got +to do it? And there is no one offering but me? Am +I right?'' + +She nodded. + +``Then _I_'ve got to do it, and you've GOT to let me. +There's logic, if ever there was logic. A Philadelphia +lawyer couldn't knock a hole in it. You trust me, don't +you?'' + +She was silent. + +``You don't trust me, then,'' said he cheerfully. +``Well, perhaps you're right. But you trust yourself, +don't you?'' + +She moved restlessly, but remained silent. + +``You are afraid I might put you in a difficult position?'' + +``Something like that,'' she admitted, in a low, +embarrassed voice. + +``You fear that I expect some return which you do +not intend to give?'' + +She was silent. + +``Well, I don't,'' said he bluntly. ``So put your +mind at rest. Some day I'll tell you why I am doing +this, but I want you to feel that I ask nothing of you +but my money back with interest, when you can afford +to pay.'' + +``I can't feel that,'' said she. ``You're putting me +in your debt--so heavily that I'd feel I ought to pay +anything you asked. But I couldn't and wouldn't +pay.'' + +``Unless you felt like it?'' suggested he. + +``It's honest for me to warn you that I'm not likely +to feel that way.'' + +``There is such a thing as winning a woman's love, +isn't there?'' said he jestingly. It was difficult to tell +when Stanley Baird was jesting and when he was in +earnest. + +``Is that what you expect?'' said she gravely. + +``If I say yes?'' + +She lowered her eyes and laughed in an embarrassed +way. + +He was frankly amused. ``You see, you feel that +you're in my power. And you are. So why not make +the best of it?'' A pause, then he said abruptly and +with a convincing manliness, ``I think, Mildred, you +can trust me not to be a beast.'' + +She colored and looked at him with quick contrition. +``I'm ashamed of myself,'' said she. ``Please forget +that I said anything. I'll take what I must, and I'll +pay it back as soon as I can. And--thank you, Stanley.'' +The tears were in her eyes. ``If I had anything +worth your taking I'd be glad to give it to you. What +vain fools we women are!'' + +``Aren't you, though!'' laughed he. ``And now it's +all settled--until you're on the stage, and free, and +the money's paid back--WITH interest. I shall charge +you six per cent.'' + +When she first knew him she had not been in the least +impressed by what now seemed to her his finest and +rarest trait, for, in those days she had been as ignorant +of the realities of human nature as one who has never +adventured his boat beyond the mouth of the peaceful +land-locked harbor is ignorant of the open sea. But +in the hard years she had been learning--not only +from Presbury and General Siddall, but from the cook +and the housemaid, from every creditor, every tradesman, +everyone whose attitude socially toward her had +been modified by her changed fortunes--and whose +attitude had not been changed? Thus, she was now +able to appreciate--at least in some measure--Stanley +Baird's delicacy and tact. No, not delicacy and +tact, for that implied effort. His ability to put this +offer in such a way that she could accept without serious +embarrassment arose from a genuine indifference to +money as money, a habit of looking upon it simply +as a means to an end. He offered her the money +precisely as he would have offered her his superior strength +if it had been necessary to cross a too deep and swift +creek. She had the sense that he felt he was doing +something even less notable than he admitted, and that +he talked of it as a valuable and rather unusual service +simply because it was the habit thus to regard such +matters. + +As they talked on of ``the great career'' her spirits +went up and up. It was evident that he now had a +new and keen interest in life, that she was doing him +a greater favor than he was doing her. He had always +had money, plenty of it, more than he could use. He +now had more than ever--for, several rich relatives +had died and, after the habit of the rich, had left +everything to him, the one of all the connections who needed +it least. He had a very human aversion to spending +money upon people or things he did not like. He +would have fought to the last court an attempt by his +wife to get alimony. He had a reputation with the +``charity gang'' of being stingy because he would not +give them so much as the price of a bazaar ticket. +Also, the impecunious spongers at his clubs spread his +fame as a ``tight-wad'' because he refused to let them +``stick him up'' for even a round of drinks. Where +many a really stingy man yielded through weakness +or fear of public opinion, he stood firm. His one +notable surrender of any kind had been his marriage; +that bitter experience had cured him of the surrendering +habit for all time. Thenceforth he did absolutely +and in everything as he pleased. + +Mildred had heard that he was close about money. +She had all but forgotten it, because her own experience +with him had made such a charge seem ridiculous. +She now assumed--so far as she thought about it at +all--that he was extremely generous. She did not +realize what a fine discriminating generosity his was, +or how striking an evidence of his belief in her as well +as of his liking for her. + +As he rose to go he said: ``You mustn't forget that +our arrangement is a secret between us. Neither of +us can afford to have anyone know it.'' + +``There isn't anyone in the world who wouldn't +misunderstand it,'' said she, without the least feeling of +embarrassment. + +``Just so,'' said he. ``And I want you to live in +such a way that I can come to call. We must arrange +things so that you will take your own name--'' + +``I intend to use the name Mary Stevens in my +work,'' she interrupted. + +``But there mustn't be any concealment, any mystery +to excite curiosity and scandal--'' + +This time the interruption was her expression. He +turned to see what had startled her, and saw in the +doorway of the drawing-room the grotesquely neat and +stylish figure of the little general. Before either could +speak he said: + +``How d'you do, Mr. Baird? You'll pardon me if +I ask you to leave me alone with my WIFE.'' + +Stanley met the situation with perfect coolness. +``How are you, General?'' said he. ``Certainly, I +was just going.'' He extended his hand to Mildred, +said in a correct tone of conventional friendliness, +``Then you'll let me know when you're settled?'' He +bowed, moved toward the door, shook hands with the +general, and passed out, giving from start to finish a +model example of a man of the world extricating him- +self from an impossible situation and leaving it the +better for his having been entangled. To a man of +Siddall's incessant and clumsy self-consciousness such +unaffected ease could not but be proof positive of +Mildred's innocence--unless he had overheard. And his +first words convinced her that he had not. Said he: + +``So you sent for your old admirer?'' + +``I ran across him accidentally,'' replied Mildred. + +``I know,'' said the little general. ``My men picked +you up at the pier and haven't lost sight of you since. +It's fortunate that I've kept myself informed, or I +might have misunderstood that chap's being here.'' A +queer, cloudy look came into his eyes. ``I must give +him a warning for safety's sake.'' He waved his hand +in dismissal of such an unimportant trifle as the accidental +Baird. He went on, his wicked eyes bent coldly +and dully upon her: ``Do you know what kind of a +house this is?'' + +``Stanley Baird urged me to leave,'' replied she. +``But I shall stay until I find a better--and that's not +easy.'' + +``Yes, my men have reported to me on the difficulties +you've had. It was certainly fortunate for you +that I had them look after you. Otherwise I'd never +have understood your landing in this sort of a house. +You are ready to come with me?'' + +``Your secretary explained that if I left the hotel +it was the end.'' + +``He told you that by my orders.'' + +``So he explained,'' said Mildred. She seated herself, +overcome by a sudden lassitude that was accompanied +not by fear, but by indifference. ``Won't you sit down? +I am willing to hear what you have to say.'' + +The little general, about to sit, was so astonished +that he straightened and stiffened himself. ``In +consenting to overlook your conduct and take you back +I have gone farther than I ever intended. I have taken +into consideration your youth and inexperience.'' + +``But I am not going back,'' said Mildred. + +The little general slowly seated himself. ``You have +less than two hundred and fifty dollars left,'' said he. + +``Really? Your spies know better than I.'' + +``I have seen Presbury. He assures me that in no +circumstances will he and your mother take you back.'' + +``They will not have the chance to refuse,'' said +Mildred. + +``As for your brother--'' + +``I have no brother,'' said she coldly. + +``Then you are coming back with me.'' + +``No,'' said Mildred. ``I should''--she cast about +for an impressive alternative--``I should stay on here, +rather.'' + +The little general--his neat varnished leather and +be-spatted shoes just touched the floor--examined his +highly polished top-hat at several angles. Finally he +said: ``You need not fear that your misconduct will +be remembered against you. I shall treat you in every +way as my wife. I shall assume that your--your +flight was an impulse that you regret.'' + +``I shan't go back,'' said Mildred. ``Nothing you +could offer would change me.'' + +``I cannot make any immediate concession on the-- +the matter that caused you to go,'' pursued he, as if +she had not spoken, ``but if I see that you have reliability +and good sense, I'll agree to give you an allowance later.'' + +Mildred eyed him curiously. ``Why are you making +these offers, these concessions?'' she said. ``You think +everyone in the world is a fool except yourself. You're +greatly deceived. I know that you don't mean what +you've been saying. I know that if you got me in +your power again, you would do something frightful. +I've seen through that mask you wear. I know the +kind of man you are.'' + +``If you know that,'' said the general in his even +slow way, monotonous, almost lifeless, ``you know you'd +better come with me than stand out against me.'' + +She did not let him see how this struck terror into +her. She said: ``No matter what you might do to me, +when I'm away from you, it would be less than you'd +do with me under your roof. At any rate, it'd seem +less.'' + +The general reflected, decided to change to another +point: ``You made a bargain with me. You've broken +it. I never let anyone break a bargain with me without +making them regret it. I'm giving you a chance +to keep your bargain.'' + +She was tempted to discuss, but she could not find +the words, or the strength. Besides, how futile to +discuss with such a man. She sank back in her chair +wearily. ``I shall never go back,'' she said. + +He looked at her, his face devoid of expression, but +she had a sense of malignance unutterable eying her +from behind a screen. He said: ``I see you've +misunderstood my generosity. You think I'm weak where +you are concerned because I've come to you instead of +doing as I said and making you come to me.'' He rose. +``Well, my offer to you is closed. And once more I +say, you will come to me and ask to be taken back. I +may or may not take you back. It depends on how +I'll feel at that time.'' + +Slowly, with his ludicrously pompous strut, he +marched to the drawing-room door. She had not felt +like smiling, but if there had been any such inclination +it would have fled before the countenance that turned +upon her at the threshold. It was the lean, little face +with the funny toupee and needle-like mustache and +imperial, but behind it lay a personality like the dull, +cold, yellow eyes of the devil-fish ambushed in the hazy +mass of dun-colored formlessness of collapsed body +and tentacles. He said: + +``You'd best be careful how you conduct yourself. +You'll be under constant observation. And any friends +you make--they'd do well to avoid you.'' + +He was gone. She sat without the power of motion, +without the power of thought. After a time--perhaps +long, perhaps short, she did not know--Mrs. +Belloc came in and entered upon a voluble apology for +the maid's having shown ``the little gentleman'' into +the drawing-room when another was already there. +``That maid's as green as spring corn,'' said she. +``Such a thing never happened in my house before. +And it'll never happen again. I do hope it didn't cause +trouble.'' + +``It was my husband,'' said Mildred. ``I had to see +him some time.'' + +``He's certainly a very elegant little gentleman,'' +said Mrs. Belloc. ``I rather like small men, myself.'' + +Mildred gazed at her vaguely and said, ``Tell me-- +a rich man, a very rich man--if he hates anyone, can +he make trouble?'' + +``Money can do anything in this town,'' replied Mrs. +Belloc. ``But usually rich men are timid and stingy. +If they weren't, they'd make us all cringe. As it is, +I've heard some awful stories of how men and women +who've got some powerful person down on them have +been hounded.'' + +Mildred turned deathly sick. ``I think I'll go to +my room,'' she said, rising uncertainly and forcing +herself toward the door. + +Mrs. Belloc's curiosity could not restrain itself. +``You're leaving?'' she asked. ``You're going back +to your husband?'' + +She was startled when the girl abruptly turned on +her and cried with flashing eyes and voice strong and +vibrant with passion: ``Never! Never! No matter +what comes--NEVER!'' + + +The rest of the day and that night she hid in her +room and made no effort to resist the terror that preyed +upon her. Just as our strength is often the source of +weakness, so our weaknesses often give birth to strength. +Her terror of the little general, given full swing, +shrieked and grimaced itself into absurdity. She was +ashamed of her orgy, was laughing at it as the sun +and intoxicating air of a typical New York morning +poured in upon her. She accepted Mrs. Belloc's +invitation to take a turn through the park and up +Riverside Drive in a taxicab, came back restored to her +normal state of blind confidence in the future. About +noon Stanley Baird telephoned. + +``We must not see each other again for some time,'' +said he. ``I rather suspect that you--know--who may be +having you watched.'' + +``I'm sure of it,'' said she. ``He warned me.'' + +``Don't let that disturb you,'' pursued Stanley. ``A +man--a singing teacher--his name's Eugene Jennings-- +will call on you this afternoon at three. Do +exactly as he suggests. Let him do all the talking.'' + +She had intended to tell Baird frankly that she +thought, indeed knew, that it was highly dangerous for +him to enter into her affairs in any way, and to urge +him to draw off. She felt that it was only fair to act +so toward one who had been unselfishly generous to +her. But now that the time for speaking had come, +she found herself unable to speak. Only by flatly +refusing to have anything to do with his project could +she prevail upon him. To say less than that she had +completely and finally changed her mind would sound, +and would be, insincere. And that she could not say. +She felt how noble it would be to say this, how selfish, +and weak, too, it was to cling to him, possibly to +involve him in disagreeable and even dangerous complications, +but she had no strength to do what she would have +denounced another as base for not doing. Instead of +the lofty words that flow so freely from the lips of stage +and fiction heroines, instead of the words that any and +every reader of this history would doubtless have +pronounced in the same circumstances, she said: + +``You're quite sure you want to go on?'' + +``Why not?'' came instantly back over the wire. + +``He is a very, very relentless man,'' replied she. + +``Did he try to frighten you?'' + +``I'm afraid he succeeded.'' + +``You're not going back on the career!'' exclaimed +he excitedly. ``I'll come down there and--'' + +``No, no,'' cried she. ``I was simply giving you a +chance to free yourself.'' She felt sure of him now. +She scrambled toward the heights of moral grandeur. +``I want you to stop. I've no right to ask you to +involve yourself in my misfortunes. Stanley, you +mustn't. I can't allow it.'' + +``Oh, fudge!'' laughed he. ``Don't give me these +scares. Don't forget--Jennings at three. Good-by +and good luck.'' + +And he rang off that she might have no chance on +impulse to do herself mischief with her generous +thoughtfulness for him. She felt rather mean, but not +nearly so mean as she would have felt had she let the +opportunity go by with no generous word said. ``And +no doubt my aversion for that little wretch,'' thought +she, ``makes me think him more terrible than he is. +After all, what can he do? Watch me--and discover +nothing, because there'll be nothing to discover.'' + +Jennings came exactly at three--came with the air +of a man who wastes no one's time and lets no one waste +his time. He was a youngish man of forty or there- +abouts, with a long sharp nose, a large tight mouth, +and eyes that seemed to be looking restlessly about for +money. That they had not looked in vain seemed to be +indicated by such facts as that he came in a private +brougham and that he was most carefully dressed, +apparently with the aid of a valet. + +``Miss Stevens,'' he said with an abrupt bow, before +Mildred had a chance to speak, ``you have come to New +York to take singing lessons--to prepare yourself for +the stage. And you wish a comfortable place to live +and to work.'' He extended his gloved hand, shook +hers frigidly, dropped it. ``We shall get on--IF you +work, but only if you work. I do not waste myself upon +triflers.'' He drew a card from his pocket. ``If you +will go to see the lady whose name and address are +written on this card, I think you will find the quarters +you are looking for.'' + +``Thank you,'' said Mildred. + +``Come to me--my address is on the card, also-- +at half-past ten on Saturday. We will then lay out +your work.'' + +``If you find I have a voice worth while,'' Mildred +ventured. + +``That, of course,'' said Mr. Jennings curtly. +``Until half-past ten on Saturday, good day.'' + +Again he gave the abrupt foreign bow and, while +Mildred was still struggling with her surprise and +confusion, she saw him, through the window, driving +rapidly away. Mrs. Belloc came drifting through the +room; she had the habit of looking about whenever +there were new visitors, and in her it was not irritating +because her interest was innocent and sympathetic. +Said Mildred: + +``Did you see that man, Mrs. Belloc?'' + +``What an extraordinary nose he had,'' replied she. + +``Yes, I noticed that,'' said Mildred. ``But it was +the only thing I did notice. He is a singing teacher-- +Mr. Jennings.'' + +``Eugene Jennings?'' + +``Yes, Eugene.'' + +``He's the best known singing teacher in New York. +He gets fifteen dollars a half-hour.'' + +``Then I simply can't take from him!'' exclaimed +Mildred, before she thought. ``That's frightful!'' + +``Isn't it, though?'' echoed Mrs. Belloc. ``I've +heard his income is fifty thousand a year, what with +lessons and coaching and odds and ends. There's a lot +of them that do well, because so many fool women with +nothing to do cultivate their voices--when they can't +sing a little bit. But he tops them all. I don't see +how ANY teacher can put fifteen dollars of value into +half an hour. But I suppose he does, or he wouldn't +get it. Still, his may be just another case of New York +nerve. This is the biggest bluff town in the world, I +do believe. Here, you can get away with anything, I +don't care what it is, if only you bluff hard enough.'' + +As there was no reason for delay and many reasons +against it, Mildred went at once to the address on the +card Jennings had left. She found Mrs. Howell +Brindley installed in a plain comfortable apartment in +Fifty-ninth Street, overlooking the park and high +enough to make the noise of the traffic endurable. A +Swedish maid, prepossessingly white and clean, ushered +her into the little drawing-room, which was furnished +with more simplicity and individual taste than is usual +anywhere in New York, cursed of the mania for useless +and tasteless showiness. There were no messy draperies, +no fussy statuettes, vases, gilt boxes, and the like. +Mildred awaited the entrance of Mrs. Brindley hopefully. + +She was not disappointed. Presently in came a +quietly-dressed, frank-looking woman of a young forty +--a woman who had by no means lost her physical +freshness, but had gained charm of another and more +enduring kind. As she came forward with extended +but not overeager hand, she said: + +``I was expecting you, Mrs. Siddall--that is, Miss +Stevens.'' + +``Mr. Jennings did not say when I was to come. If +I am disturbing you--'' + +Mrs. Brindley hastened to assure her that her visit +was quite convenient. ``I must have someone to share +the expense of this apartment with me, and I want the +matter settled. Mr. Jennings has explained about you +to me, and now that I've seen you--'' here she smiled +charmingly--``I am ready to say that it is for you to +say.'' + +Mildred did not know how to begin. She looked at +Mrs. Brindley with appeal in her troubled young +eyes. + +``You no doubt wish to know something about me,'' +said Mrs. Brindley. ``My husband was a composer-- +a friend of Mr. Jennings. He died two years ago. +I am here in New York to teach the piano. What the +lessons will bring, with my small income, will enable me +to live--if I can find someone to help out at the +expenses here. As I understand it, you are willing to +pay forty dollars a week, I to run the house, pay all +the bills, and so on--all, of course, if you wish to come +here.'' + +Mildred made a not very successful attempt to conceal +her embarrassment. + +``Perhaps you would like to look at the apartment?'' +suggested Mrs. Brindley. + +``Thank you, yes,'' said Mildred. + +The tour of the apartment--two bedrooms, dining- +room, kitchen, sitting-room, large bath-room, drawing- +room--took only a few minutes, but Mildred and Mrs. +Brindley contrived to become much better acquainted. +Said Mildred, when they were in the drawing-room +again: + +``It's most attractive--just what I should like. +What--how much did Mr. Jennings say?'' + +``Forty dollars a week.'' She colored slightly and +spoke with the nervousness of one not in the habit of +discussing money matters. ``I do not see how I could +make it less. That is the fair share of the--'' + +``Oh, I think that is most reasonable,'' interrupted +Mildred. ``And I wish to come.'' + +Mrs. Brindley gave an almost childlike sigh of relief +and smiled radiantly. ``Then it's settled,'' said she. +``I've been so nervous about it.'' She looked at Mildred +with friendly understanding. ``I think you and I are +somewhat alike about practical things. You've not had +much experience, either, have you? I judge so from +the fact that Mr. Jennings is looking after everything +for you.'' + +``I've had no experience at all,'' said Mildred. +``That is why I'm hesitating. I'm wondering if I can +afford to pay so much.'' + +Mrs. Brindley laughed. ``Mr. Jennings wished to +fix it at sixty a week, but I insisted that forty was +enough,'' said she. + +Mildred colored high with embarrassment. How +much did Mrs. Brindley know?--or how little? She +stammered: ``Well, if Mr. Jennings says it is all right, +I'll come.'' + +``You'll let me know to-morrow? You can telephone +Mr. Jennings.'' + +``Yes, I'll let you know to-morrow. I'm almost sure +I'll come. In fact, I'm quite sure. And--I think we +shall get on well together.'' + +``We can help each other,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``I +don't care for anything in the world but music.'' + +``I want to be that way,'' said Mildred. ``I shall be +that way.'' + +``It's the only sure happiness--to care for something, +for some THING,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``People +die, or disappoint one, or become estranged. But when +one centers on some kind of work, it gives pleasure +always--more and more pleasure.'' + +``I am so afraid I haven't voice enough, or of the +right kind,'' said Mildred. ``Mr. Jennings is going +to try me on Saturday. Really I've no right to settle +anything until he has given his opinion.'' + +Mrs. Brindley smiled with her eyes only, and Mildred +wondered. + +``If he should say that I wouldn't do,'' she went on, +``I'd not know which way to turn.'' + +``But he'll not say that,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``You +can sing, can't you? You have sung?'' + +``Oh, yes.'' + +``Then you'll be accepted by him. And it will take +him a long time to find out whether you'll do for a professional.'' + +``I'm afraid I sing very badly.'' + +``That will not matter. You'll sing better than at +least half of Jennings's pupils.'' + +``Then he doesn't take only those worth while?'' + +Mrs. Brindley looked amused. ``How would he live +if he did that? It's a teacher's business to teach. +Learning--that's the pupil's lookout. If teachers +taught only those who could and would learn, how would +they live?'' + +``Then I'll not know whether I'll do!'' exclaimed Mildred. + +``You'll have to find out for yourself,'' said Mrs. +Brindley. ``No one can tell you. Anyone's opinion +might be wrong. For example, I've known Jennings, +who is a very good judge, to be wrong--both ways.'' +Hesitatingly: ``Why not sing for me? I'd like to +hear.'' + +``Would you tell me what you honestly thought?'' +said Mildred. + +Mrs. Brindley laughingly shook her head. +Mildred liked her honesty. ``Then it'd be useless to +sing for you,'' said she. ``I'm not vain about my voice. +I'd simply like to make a living by it, if I could. I'll +even confess that there are many things I care for more +than for music. Does that prove that I can never sing +professionally?'' + +``No, indeed,'' Mrs. Brindley assured her. ``It'd be +strange if a girl of your age cared exclusively for +music. The passion comes with the work, with progress, +success. And some of the greatest--that is, the most +famous and best paid--singers never care much about +music, except as a vanity, and never understand it. A +singer means a person born with a certain shape of +mouth and throat, a certain kind of vocal chords. The +rest may be natural or acquired. It's the instrument +that makes the singer, not brains or temperament.'' + +``Do let me sing for you,'' said Mildred. ``I think +it will help me.'' + +Between them they chose a little French song-- +``Chanson d'Antonine''--and Mrs. Brindley insisted on +her playing her own accompaniment. ``I wish to +listen,'' said she, ``and I can't if I play.'' + +Mildred was surprised at her own freedom from +nervousness. She sang neither better nor worse than usual +--sang in the clear and pleasant soprano which she +flattered herself was not unmusical. When she finished she +said: + +``That's about as I usually sing. What do you +think?'' + +Mrs. Brindley reflected before she replied: ``I +BELIEVE it's worth trying. If I were you, I should keep on +trying, no matter what anyone said.'' + +Mildred was instantly depressed. ``You think Mr. +Jennings may reject me?'' she asked. + +``I KNOW he will not,'' replied Mrs. Brindley. ``Not +as long as you can pay for the lessons. But I was +thinking of the real thing--of whether you could win +out as a singer.'' + +``And you don't think I can?'' said Mildred. + +``On the contrary, I believe you can,'' replied Mrs. +Brindley. ``A singer means so much besides singing. +The singing is the smallest part of it. You'll understand +when you get to work. I couldn't explain now. +But I can say that you ought to go ahead.'' + +Mildred, who had her share of vanity, had hoped for +some enthusiasm. Mrs. Brindley's judicial tone was a +severe blow. She felt a little resentful, began to cast +about for vanity-consoling reasons for Mrs. Brindley's +restraint. ``She means well,'' she said to herself, ``but +she's probably just a tiny bit jealous. She's not so +young as she once was, and she hasn't the faintest hope +of ever being anything more than a piano-teacher.'' + +Mrs. Brindley showed that she had more than an +inkling of Mildred's frame of mind by going on to say +in a gentle, candid way: ``I want to help you. So +I shall be careful not to encourage you to believe too +much in what you have. That would prevent you from +getting what you need. You must remember, you are +no longer a drawing-room singer, but a candidate for +the profession. That's a very different thing.'' + +Mildred saw that she was mistaken, that Mrs. Brindley +was honest and frank and had doubtless told her the +exact truth. But her vanity remained sore. Never be- +fore had anyone said any less of her singing than that +it was wonderful, marvelous, equal to a great deal that +passed for fine in grand opera. She had known +that this was exaggeration, but she had not known how +grossly exaggerated. Thus, this her first experience +of the professional attitude was galling. Only her +unusual good sense saved her from being angry with Mrs. +Brindley. And it was that same good sense that moved +her presently to try to laugh at herself. With a brave +attempt to smile gayly she said: + +``You don't realize how you've taken me down. I +had no idea I was so conceited about my singing. I +can't truthfully say I like your frankness, but there's +a part of me that's grateful to you for it, and when I +get over feeling hurt, I'll be grateful through and +through.'' + +Mrs. Brindley's face lighted up beautifully. ``You'll DO!'' +she cried. ``I'm sure you'll do. I've been waiting +and watching to see how you would take my criticism. +That's the test--how they take criticism. If +they don't take it at all, they'll not go very far, no +matter how talented they are. If they take it as you've +taken it, there's hope--great hope. Now, I'm not +afraid to tell you that you sang splendidly for an +amateur--that you surprised me.'' + +``Don't spoil it all,'' said Mildred. ``You were +right; I can't sing.'' + +``Not for grand opera, not for comic opera even,'' +replied Mrs. Brindley. ``But you will sing, and sing +well, in one or the other, if you work.'' + +``You really mean that?'' said Mildred. + +``If you work intelligently and persistently,'' said +Mrs. Brindley. ``That's a big if--as you'll discover +in a year or so.'' + +``You'll see,'' said Mildred confidently. ``Why, I've +nothing else to do, and no other hope.'' + +Mrs. Brindley's smile had a certain sadness in it. +She said: + +``It's the biggest if in all this world.'' + + + +V + +AT Mrs. Belloc's a telephone message from Jennings +was awaiting her; he would call at a quarter-past eight +and would detain Miss Stevens only a moment. And +at eight fifteen exactly he rang the bell. This time +Mildred was prepared; she refused to be disconcerted by +his abrupt manner and by his long sharp nose that +seemed to warn away, to threaten away, even to thrust +away any glance seeking to investigate the rest of his +face or his personality. She looked at him candidly, +calmly, and seeingly. Seeingly. With eyes that saw +as they had never seen before. Perhaps from the death +of her father, certainly from the beginning of Siddall's +courtship, Mildred had been waking up. There is a +part of our nature--the active and aggressive part-- +that sleeps all our lives long or becomes atrophied if +we lead lives of ease and secure dependence. It is the +important part of us, too--the part that determines +character. The thing that completed the awakening +of Mildred was her acquaintance with Mrs. Belloc. +That positive and finely-poised lady fascinated her, +influenced her powerfully--gave her just what she +needed at the particular moment. The vital moments +in life are not the crises over which shallow people +linger, but are the moments where we met and absorbed +the ideas that enabled us to weather these crises. The +acquaintance with Mrs. Belloc was one of those vital +moments; for, Mrs. Belloc's personality--her look and +manner, what she said and the way she said it--was a +proffer to Mildred of invaluable lessons which her +awakening character eagerly absorbed. She saw Jennings +as he was. She decided that he was of common +origin, that his vanity was colossal and aquiver throughout +with sensitiveness; that he belonged to the familiar +type of New-Yorker who succeeds by bluffing. Also, +she saw or felt a certain sexlessness or indifference to +sex--and this she later understood. Men whose occupation +compels them constantly to deal with women go +to one extreme or the other--either become acutely +sensitive to women as women or become utterly indifferent, +unless their highly discriminated taste is appealed +to--which cannot happen often. Jennings, teaching +only women because only women spending money they +had not earned and could not earn would tolerate +his terms and his methods, had, as much through +necessity as through inclination, gone to the extreme of +lack of interest in all matters of sex. One look at him +and the woman who had come with the idea of offering +herself in full or part payment for lessons drooped in +instinctive discouragement. + +Jennings hastened to explain to Mildred that she need +not hesitate about closing with Mrs. Brindley. ``Your +lessons are arranged for,'' said he. ``There has been +put in the Plaza Trust Company to your credit the sum +of five thousand dollars. This gives you about a hundred +dollars a week for your board and other personal +expenses. If that is not enough, you will let me know. +But I estimated that it would be enough. I do not think +it wise for young women entering upon the preparation +for a serious career to have too much money.'' + +``It is more than enough,'' murmured the girl. ``I +know nothing about those things, but it seems to me--'' + +``You can use as little of it as you like,'' interrupted +Jennings, rising. + +Mildred felt as though she had been caught and +exposed in a hypocritical protest. Jennings was holding +out something toward her. She took it, and he went +on: + +``That's your check-book. The bank will send you +statements of your account, and will notify you when +any further sums are added. Now, I have nothing +more to do with your affairs--except, of course, the +artistic side--your development as a singer. You've +not forgotten your appointment?'' + +``No,'' said Mildred, like a primary school-child +before a formidable teacher. + +``Be prompt, please. I make no reduction for +lessons wholly or partly missed. The half-hour I shall +assign to you belongs to you. If you do not use it, +that is your affair. At first you will probably be like +all women--careless about your appointments, coming +with lessons unprepared, telephoning excuses. But if +you are serious you will soon fall into the routine.'' +``I shall try to be regular,'' murmured Mildred. + +Jennings apparently did not hear. ``I'm on my way +to the opera-house,'' said he. ``One of my old pupils +is appearing in a new role, and she is nervous. Good +night.'' + +Once more that swift, quiet exit, followed almost +instantaneously by the sound of wheels rolling away. +Never had she seen such rapidity of motion without loss +of dignity. ``Yes, he's a fraud,'' she said to herself, +``but he's a good one.'' + +The idea of a career had now become less indefinite. +It was still without any attraction--not because of the +toil it involved, for that made small impression upon +her who had never worked and had never seen anyone +work, but because a career meant cutting herself off +from everything she had been brought up to regard as +fit and proper for a lady. She was ashamed of this; +she did not admit its existence even to herself, and in +her talks with Baird about the career she had professed +exactly the opposite view. Yet there it was--nor need +she have been ashamed of a feeling that is instilled into +women of her class from babyhood as part of their +ladylike education. The career had not become definite. +She could not imagine herself out on a stage in some +sort of a costume, with a painted face, singing before +an audience. Still, the career was less indefinite than +when it had no existence beyond Stanley Baird's enthusiasm +and her own whipped-up pretense of enthusiasm. + +She shrank from the actual start, but at the same +time was eager for it. Inaction began to fret her +nerves, and she wished to be doing something to show +her appreciation of Stanley Baird's generosity. She +telephoned Mrs. Brindley that she would come in the +morning, and then she told her landlady. + +Mrs. Belloc was more than regretful; she was +distressed. Said she: ``I've taken a tremendous fancy +to you, and I hate to give you up. I'd do most anything +to keep you.'' + +Mildred explained that her work compelled her to +go. + +``That's very interesting,'' said Mrs. Belloc. ``If I +were a few years younger, and hadn't spent all my energy +in teaching school and putting through that marriage, +I'd try to get on the stage, myself. I don't want +to lose sight of you.'' + +``Oh, I'll come to see you from time to time.'' + +``No, you won't,'' said Mrs. Belloc practically. ``No +more than I'd come to see you. Our lives lie in different +directions, and in New York that means we'll never +have time to meet. But we may be thrown together +again, some time. As I've got a twenty years' lease on +this house, I guess you'll have no trouble in finding +me. I suppose I could look you up through Professor +Jennings?'' + +``Yes,'' said Mildred. Then impulsively, ``Mrs. +Belloc, there's a reason why I'd like to change without +anyone's knowing what has become of me--I mean, +anyone that might be--watching me.'' + +``I understand perfectly,'' said Mrs. Belloc with a +ready sympathy that made Mildred appreciate the +advantages of the friendship of unconventional, knock- +about people. ``Nothing could be easier. You've got +no luggage but that bag. I'll take it up to the +Grand Central Station and check it, and bring the +check back here. You can send for it when you +please.'' + +``But what about me?'' said Mildred. + +``I was coming to that. You walk out of here, say, +about half an hour after I go in the taxi. You walk +through to the corner of Lexington Avenue and Thirty- +seventh Street--there aren't any cabs to be had there. +I'll be waiting in the taxi, and we'll make a dash up the +East Side and I can drop you at some quiet place in the +park and go on--and you can walk to your new +address. How does that strike you?'' + +Mildred expressed her admiration. The plan was +carried out, as Mrs. Belloc--a born genius at all forms +of intrigue--had evolved it in perfection on the spur +of the moment. As they went up the far East Side, +Mrs. Belloc, looking back through the little rear +window, saw a taxi a few blocks behind them. ``We haven't +given them the slip yet,'' said she, ``but we will in the +park.'' They entered the park at East Ninetieth +Street, crossed to the West Drive. Acting on Mrs. +Belloc's instructions, the motorman put on full speed-- +with due regard to the occasional policeman. At a +sharp turning near the Mall, when the taxi could be +seen from neither direction, he abruptly stopped. Out +sprang Mildred and disappeared behind the bushes +completely screening the walk from the drive. At once +the taxi was under-way again. She, waiting where the +screen of bushes was securely thick, saw the taxi that +had followed them in the East Side flash by--in pursuit +of Mrs. Belloc alone. + +She was free--at least until some mischance uncovered +her to the little general. At Mrs. Brindley's she +found a note awaiting her--a note from Stanley Baird: + + +DEAR MILDRED: + +I'm of for the Far West, and probably shall not be in +town again until the early summer. The club forwards +my mail and repeats telegrams as marked. Go in and win, +and don't hesitate to call on me if you need me. No false +pride, PLEASE! I'm getting out of the way because it's +obviously best for the present. + +STANLEY. + + +As she finished, her sense of freedom was complete. +She had not realized how uneasy she was feeling about +Stanley. She did not doubt his generosity, did not +doubt that he genuinely intended to leave her free, and +she believed that his delicacy was worthy of his +generosity. Still, she was constantly fearing lest +circumstances should thrust them both--as much against his +will as hers--into a position in which she would have +to choose between seeming, not to say being, ungrateful, +and playing the hypocrite, perhaps basely, with him. +The little general eluded, Stanley voluntarily removed; +she was indeed free. Now she could work with an un- +troubled mind, could show Mrs. Brindley that intelligent +and persistent work--her ``biggest if in all the +world''--was in fact a very simple matter. + +She had not been settled at Mrs. Brindley's many +hours before she discovered that not only was she free +from all hindrances, but was to have a positive and great +help. Mrs. Brindley's talent for putting people at +their ease was no mere drawing-room trick. + +She made Mildred feel immediately at home, as she +had not felt at home since her mother introduced James +Presbury into their house at Hanging Rock. Mrs. +Brindley was absolutely devoid of pretenses. When +Mildred spoke to her of this quality in her she said: + +``I owe that to my husband. I was brought up like +everybody else--to be more or less of a poser and a +hypocrite. In fact, I think there was almost nothing +genuine about me. My husband taught me to be myself, +to be afraid of nobody's opinion, to show myself +just as I was and to let people seek or avoid me as they +saw fit. He was that sort of man himself.'' + +``He must have been a remarkable man,'' said Mildred. + +``He was,'' replied Mrs. Brindley. ``But not +attractive--at least not to me. Our marriage was a +mistake. We quarreled whenever we were not at work +with the music. If he had not died, we should have +been divorced.'' She smiled merrily. ``Then he would +have hired me as his musical secretary, and we'd have +got on beautifully.'' + +Mildred was still thinking of Mrs. Brindley's freedom +from pretense. ``I've never dared be myself,'' +confessed she. ``I don't know what myself really is like. +I was thinking the other day how for one reason and +another I've been a hypocrite all my life. You see, +I've always been a dependent--have always had to +please someone in order to get what I wanted.'' + +``You can never be yourself until you have an +independent income, however small,'' said Mrs. Brindley. +``I've had that joy only since my husband died. It's +as well that I didn't have it sooner. One is the better +for having served an apprenticeship at self-repression +and at pretending to virtues one has not. Only those +who earn their freedom know how to use it. If I had +had it ten or fifteen years ago I'd have been an intolerable +tyrant, making everyone around me unhappy and +therefore myself. The ideal world would be one where +everyone was born free and never knew anything else. +Then, no one being afraid or having to serve, everyone +would have to be considerate in order to get himself +tolerated.'' + +``I wonder if I really ever shall be able to earn a +living?'' sighed Mildred. + +``You must decide that whatever you can make shall +be for you a living,'' said the older woman. ``I have +lived on my fixed income, which is under two thousand +a year. And I am ready to do it again rather than +tolerate anything or anybody that does not suit me.'' + +``I shall have to be extremely careful,'' laughed +Mildred. ``I shall be a dreadful hypocrite with you.'' + +Mrs. Brindley smiled; but underneath, Mildred saw +--or perhaps felt--that her new friend was indeed not +one to be trifled with. She said: + +``You and I will get on. We'll let each other alone. +We have to be more or less intimate, but we'll never be +familiar.'' + +After a time she discovered that Mrs. Brindley's first +name was Cyrilla, but Mrs. Brindley and Miss Stevens +they remained to each other for a long time--until +circumstances changed their accidental intimacy into +enduring friendship. Not to anticipate, in the course +of that same conversation Mildred said: + +``If there is anything about me--about my life-- +that you wish me to explain, I shall be glad to do so.'' + +``I know all I wish to know,'' replied Cyrilla +Brindley. ``Your face and your manner and your way of +speaking tell me all the essentials.'' + +``Then you must not think it strange when I say I +wish no one to know anything about me.'' + +``It will be impossible for you entirely to avoid +meeting people,'' said Cyrilla. ``You must have some simple +explanation about yourself, or you will attract attention +and defeat your object.'' + +``Lead people to believe that I'm an orphan--perhaps +of some obscure family--who is trying to get up +in the world. That is practically the truth.'' + +Mrs. Brindley laughed. ``Quite enough for New +York,'' said she. ``It is not interested in facts. All +the New-Yorker asks of you is, `Can you pay your bills +and help me pay mine?' '' + +Competent men are rare; but, thanks to the advantage +of the male sex in having to make the struggle for +a living, they are not so rare as competent women. +Mrs. Brindley was the first competent woman Mildred +had ever known. She had spent but a few hours with +her before she began to appreciate what a bad atmosphere +she had always breathed--bad for a woman who +has her way to make in the world, or indeed for any +woman not willing to be content as mere more or less +shiftless, more or less hypocritical and pretentious, +dependent and parasite. Mrs. Brindley--well bred and +well educated--knew all the little matters which Mildred +had been taught to regard as the whole of a lady's +education. But Mildred saw that these trifles were but +a trifling incident in Mrs. Brindley's knowledge. She +knew real things, this woman who was a thorough-going +housekeeper and who trebled her income by giving +music lessons a few hours a day to such pupils as she +thought worth the teaching. When she spoke, she always +said something one of the first things noticed +by Mildred, who, being too lazy to think except as her +naturally good mind insisted on exercising itself, +usually talked simply to kill time and without any idea of +getting anywhere. But while Cyrilla--without in the +least intending it--roused her to a painful sense of +her own limitations, she did not discourage her. Mildred +also began to feel that in this new atmosphere of +ideas, of work, of accomplishment, she would rapidly +develop into a different sort of person. It was +extremely fortunate for her, thought she, that she was +living with such a person as Cyrilla Brindley. In the +old atmosphere, or with any taint of it, she would have +been unable to become a serious person. She would +simply have dawdled along, twaddling about ``art'' and +seriousness and careers and sacrifice, content with the +amateur's methods and the amateur's results--and +deluding herself that she was making progress. Now-- +It was as different as public school from private school +--public school where the mind is rudely stimulated, +private school where it is sedulously mollycoddled. She +had come out of the hothouse into the open. + +At first she thought that Jennings was to be as great +a help to her as Cyrilla Brindley. Certainly if ever +there was a man with the air of a worker and a place +with the air of a workshop, that man and that place +were Eugene Jennings and his studio in Carnegie Hall. +When Mildred entered, on that Saturday morning, at +exactly half-past ten, Jennings--in a plain if elegant +house-suit--looked at her, looked at the clock, stopped +a girl in the midst of a burst of tremulous noisy melody. + +``That will do, Miss Bristow,'' said he. ``You have +never sung it worse. You do not improve. Another +lesson like this, and we shall go back and begin all over +again.'' + +The girl, a fattish, ``temperamental'' blonde, burst +into tears. + +``Kindly take that out into the hall,'' said Jennings +coldly. ``Your time is up. We cannot waste Miss +Stevens's time with your hysterics.'' + +Miss Bristow switched from tears to fury. ``You +brute! You beast!'' she shrieked, and flung herself +out of the room, slamming the door after her. Jennings +took a book from a pile upon a table, opened it, +and set it on a music-stand. Evidently Miss Bristow +was forgotten--indeed, had passed out of his mind at +half-past ten exactly, not to enter it again until she +should appear at ten on Monday morning. He said +to Mildred: + +``Now, we'll see what you can do. Begin.'' + +``I'm a little nervous,'' said Mildred with a shy +laugh. ``If you don't mind, I'd like to wait till I've +got used to my surroundings.'' + +Jennings looked at her. The long sharp nose +seemed to be rapping her on the forehead like a wood- +pecker's beak on the bark of the tree. ``Begin,'' he +said, pointing to the book. + +Mildred flushed angrily. ``I shall not begin until +I CAN begin,'' said she. The time to show this man that +he could not treat her brutally was at the outset. + +Jennings opened the door into the hall. ``Good +day, Miss Stevens,'' he said with his abrupt bow. + +Mildred looked at him; he looked at her. Her lip +trembled, the hot tears flooded and blinded her eyes. +She went unsteadily to the music-stand and tried to see +the notes of the exercises. Jennings closed the door +and seated himself at the far end of the room. She +began--a ridiculous attempt. She stopped, gritted +her teeth, began again. Once more the result was +absurd; but this time she was able to keep on, not +improving, but maintaining her initial off-key quavering. +She stopped. + +``You see,'' said she. ``Shall I go on?'' + +``Don't stop again until I tell you to, please,'' said +he. + +She staggered and stumbled and somersaulted through +two pages of DO-RE-ME-FA-SOL-LA-SI. Then he held up +his finger. + +``Enough,'' said he. + +Silence, an awful silence. She recalled what Mrs. +Belloc had told her about him, what Mrs. Brindley had +implied. But she got no consolation. She said timidly: + +``Really, Mr. Jennings, I can do better than that. +Won't you let me try a song?'' + +``God forbid!'' said he. ``You can't stand. You +can't breathe. You can't open your mouth. Naturally, +you can't sing.'' + +She dropped to a chair. + +``Take the book, and go over the same thing, +sitting,'' said he. + +She began to remove her wraps. + +``Just as you are,'' he commanded. ``Try to forget +yourself. Try to forget me. Try to forget what a +brute I am, and what a wonderful singer you are. Just +open your mouth and throw the notes out.'' + +She was rosy with rage. She was reckless. She +sang. At the end of three pages he stopped her with +an enthusiastic hand-clapping. ``Good! Good!'' he +cried. ``I'll take you. I'll make a singer of you. +Yes, yes, there's something to work on.'' + +The door opened. A tall, thin woman with many +jewels and a superb fur wrap came gliding in. Jennings +looked at the clock. The hands pointed to eleven. +Said he to Mildred: + +``Take that book with you. Practice what you've +done to-day. Learn to keep your mouth open. We'll +go into that further next time.'' He was holding the +door open for her. As she passed out, she heard him +say: + +``Ah, Mrs. Roswell. We'll go at that third song +first.'' + +The door closed. Reviewing all that had occurred, +Mildred decided that she must revise her opinion of +Jennings. A money-maker he no doubt was. And +why not? Did he not have to live? But a teacher also, +and a great teacher. Had he not destroyed her vanity +at one blow, demolished it?--yet without discouraging +her. And he went straight to the bottom of things-- +very different from any of the teachers she used to have +when she was posing in drawing-rooms as a person with +a voice equal to the most difficult opera, if only she +weren't a lady and therefore not forced to be a professional +singing person. Yes, a great teacher--and in +deadly earnest. He would permit no trifling! How +she would have to work! + +And she went to work with an energy she would not +have believed she possessed. He instructed her +minutely in how to stand, in how to breathe, in how to open +her mouth and keep it open, in how to relax her throat +and leave it relaxed. He filled every second of her +half-hour; she had never before realized how much time +half an hour was, how use could be made of every one +of its eighteen hundred seconds. She went to hear +other teachers give lessons, and she understood why +Jennings could get such prices, could treat his pupils +as he saw fit. She became an extravagant admirer of +him as a teacher, thought him a genius, felt confident +that he would make a great singer of her. With the +second lesson she began to progress rapidly. In a few +weeks she amazed herself. At last she was really singing. +Not in a great way, but in the beginnings of a +great way. Her voice had many times the power of +her drawing-room days. Her notes were full and +round, and came without an effort. Her former ideas +of what constituted facial and vocal expression now +seemed ridiculous to her. She was now singing without +making those dreadful faces which she had once +thought charming and necessary. Her lower register, +always her best, was almost perfect. Her middle +register--the test part of a voice--was showing signs +of strength and steadiness and evenness. And she was +fast getting a real upper register, as distinguished from +the forced and shrieky high notes that pass as an upper +register with most singers, even opera singers. After +a month of this marvelous forward march, she sang for +Mrs. Brindley--sang the same song she had essayed +at their first meeting. When she finished, Mrs. Brindley said: + +``Yes, you've done wonders. I've been noticing your +improvement as you practiced. You certainly have a +very different voice and method from those you had a +month ago,'' and so on through about five minutes of +critical and discriminating praise. + +Mildred listened, wondering why her dissatisfaction, +her irritation, increased as Mrs. Brindley praised on +and on. Beyond question Cyrilla was sincere, and was +saying even more than Mildred had hoped she would +say. Yet-- Mildred sat moodily measuring off +octaves on the keyboard of the piano. If she had been +looking at her friend's face she would have flared out +in anger; for Cyrilla Brindley was taking advantage +of her abstraction to observe her with friendly sympathy +and sadness. Presently she concealed this candid +expression and said: + +``You are satisfied with your progress, aren't you, +Miss Stevens?'' + +Mildred flared up angrily. ``Certainly!'' replied +she. ``How could I fail to be?'' + +Mrs. Brindley did not answer--perhaps because she +thought no answer was needed or expected. But to +Mildred her silence somehow seemed a denial. + +``If you can only keep what you've got--and go +on,'' said Mrs. Brindley. + +``Oh, I shall, never fear,'' retorted Mildred. + +``But I do fear,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``I think it's +always well to fear until success is actually won. And +then there's the awful fear of not being able to hold +it.'' + +After a moment's silence Mildred, who could not hide +away resentment against one she liked, said: ``Why +aren't YOU satisfied, Mrs. Brindley?'' + +``But I am satisfied,'' protested Cyrilla. ``Only it +makes me afraid to see YOU so well satisfied. I've seen +that often in people first starting, and it's always +dangerous. You see, my dear, you've got a straight-away +hundred miles to walk. Can't you see that it would be +possible for you to become too much elated by the way +you walked the first part of the first mile?'' + +``Why do you try to discourage me?'' said Mildred. + +Mrs. Brindley colored. ``I do it because I want to +save you from despair a little later,'' said she. ``But +that is foolish of me. I shall only irritate you against +me. I'll not do it again. And please don't ask my +opinion. If you do, I can't help showing exactly what +I think.'' + +``Then you don't think I've done well?'' cried Mildred. + +``Indeed you have,'' replied Cyrilla warmly. + +``Then I don't understand. What DO you mean?'' + +``I'll tell you, and then I'll stop and you must not ask +my opinion again. We live too close together to be +able to afford to criticize each other. What I meant +was this: You have done well the first part of the great +task that's before you. If you had done it any less +well, it would have been folly for you to go on.'' + +``That is, what I've done doesn't amount to +anything? Mr. Jennings doesn't agree with you.'' + +``Doubtless he's right,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``At +any rate, we all agree that you have shown that you +have a voice.'' + +She said this so simply and heartily that Mildred +could not but be mollified. Mrs. Brindley changed the +subject to the song Mildred had sung, and Mildred +stopped puzzling over the mystery of what she had +meant by her apparently enthusiastic words, which had +yet diffused a chill atmosphere of doubt. + +She was doing her scales so well that she became +impatient of such ``tiresome child's play.'' And presently +Jennings gave her songs, and did not discourage +her when she talked of roles, of getting seriously at +what, after all, she intended to do. Then there came a +week of vile weather, and Mildred caught a cold. She +neglected it. Her voice left her. Her tonsils swelled. +She had a bad attack of ulcerated sore throat. For +nearly three weeks she could not take a single one of the +lessons, which were, nevertheless, paid for. Jennings +rebuked her sharply. + +``A singer has no right to be sick,'' said he. + +``You have a cold yourself,'' retorted she. + +``But I am not a singer. I've nothing that interferes +with my work.'' + +``It's impossible not to take cold,'' said Mildred. +``You are unreasonable with me.'' + +He shrugged his shoulders. ``Go get well,'' he said. + +The sore throat finally yielded to the treatment of +Dr. Hicks, the throat-specialist. His bill was seventy- +five dollars. But while the swelling in the tonsils +subsided it did not depart. She could take lessons again. +Some days she sang as well as ever, and on those days +Jennings was charming. Other days she sang atrociously, +and Jennings treated her as if she were doing +it deliberately. A third and worse state was that of +the days when she in the same half-hour alternately +sang well and badly. On those days Jennings acted +like a lunatic. He raved up and down the studio, all +but swearing at her. At first she was afraid of him-- +withered under his scorn, feared he would throw open +his door and order her out and forbid her ever to enter +again. But gradually she came to understand him-- +not enough to lose her fear of him altogether, but +enough to lose the fear of his giving up so profitable a +pupil. + +The truth was that Jennings, like every man who +succeeds at anything in this world, operated upon a +system to which he rigidly adhered. He was a man of +small talent and knowledge, but of great, persistence +and not a little common sense. He had tried to be a +singer, had failed because his voice was small and +unreliable. He had adopted teaching singing as a means +of getting a living. He had learned just enough about +it to enable him to teach the technical elements--what +is set down in the books. By observing other and older +teachers he had got together a teaching system that was +as good--and as bad--as any, and this he dubbed +the Jennings Method and proceeded to exploit as the +only one worth while. When that method was worked +out and perfected, he ceased learning, ceased to give a +thought to the professional side of his profession, just +as most professional men do. He would have resented +a suggestion or a new idea as an attack upon the Jennings +Method. The overwhelming majority of the +human race--indeed, all but a small handful--have +this passion for stagnation, this ferocity against change. +It is in large part due to laziness; for a new idea means +work in learning it and in unlearning the old ideas +that have been true until the unwelcome advent of the +new. In part also this resistance to the new idea arises +from a fear that the new idea, if tolerated, will put one +out of business, will set him adrift without any means of +support. The coachman hates the automobile, the +hand-worker hates the machine, the orthodox preacher +hates the heretic, the politician hates the reformer, the +doctor hates the bacteriologist and the chemist, the old +woman hates the new--all these in varying proportions +according to the degree in which the iconoclast attacks +laziness or livelihood. Finally we all hate any and all +new ideas because they seem to imply that we, who have +held the old ideas, have been ignorant and stupid in so +doing. A new idea is an attack upon the vanity of +everyone who has been a partisan of the old ideas and +their established order. + +Jennings, thoroughly human in thus closing his mind +to all ideas about his profession, was equally human in +that he had his mind and his senses opened full width +to ideas on how to make more money. If there had +been money in new ideas about teaching singing +Jennings would not have closed to them. But the money +was all in studying and learning how better to handle +the women--they were all women who came to him for +instruction. His common sense warned him at the outset +that the obviously easygoing teacher would not long +retain his pupils. On the other hand, he saw that the +really severe teacher would not retain his pupils, either. + +Who were these pupils? In the first place, they were +all ignorant, for people who already know do not go +to school to learn. They had the universal delusion +that a teacher can teach. The fact is that a teacher +is a well. Some wells are full, others almost dry. Some +are so arranged that water cannot be got from them, +others have attachments of various kinds, making the +drawing of water more or less easy. But not from the +best well with the latest pump attachment can one get +a drink unless one does the drinking oneself. A teacher +is rarely a well. The pupil must not only draw the +water, but also drink it, must not only teach himself, +but also learn what he teaches. Now we are all of us +born thirsty for knowledge, and nearly all of us are +born both capable of teaching ourselves and capable of +learning what we teach, that is, of retaining and assimilating +it. There is such a thing as artificially feeding +the mind, just as there is such a thing as artificially +feeding the body; but while everyone knows that artificial +feeding of the body is a success only to a limited +extent and for a brief period, everyone believes that +the artificial feeding of the mind is not only the best +method, but the only method. Nor does the discovery +that the mind is simply the brain, is simply a part of +the body, subject to the body's laws, seem materially to +have lessened this fatuous delusion. + +Some of Jennings's pupils--not more than two of +the forty-odd were in genuine earnest; that is, those two +were educating themselves to be professional singers, +were determined so to be, had limited time and means +and endless capacity for work. Others of the forty-- +about half-thought they were serious, though in fact +the idea of a career was more or less hazy. They were +simply taking lessons and toiling aimlessly along, not +less aimlessly because they indulged in vague talk and +vaguer thought about a career. The rest--the other +half of the forty--were amusing themselves by taking +singing lessons. It killed time, it gave them a feeling +of doing something, it gave them a reputation of being +serious people and not mere idlers, it gave them an +excuse for neglecting the domestic duties which they +regarded as degrading--probably because to do them +well requires study and earnest, hard work. The Jennings +singing lesson, at fifteen dollars a half-hour, was +rather an expensive hypocrisy; but the women who +used it as a cloak for idleness as utter as the mere +yawners and bridgers and shoppers had rich husbands +or fathers. + +Thus it appears that the Jennings School was a perfect +microcosm, as the scientists would say, of the human +race--the serious very few, toiling more or less +successfully toward a definite goal; the many, compelled to +do something, and imagining themselves serious and +purposeful as they toiled along toward nothing in par- +ticular but the next lesson--that is, the next day's +appointed task; the utterly idle, fancying themselves +busy and important when in truth they were simply a +fraud and an expense. + +Jennings got very little from the deeply and +genuinely serious. One of them he taught free, taking +promissory notes for the lessons. But he held on to +them because when they finally did teach themselves +to sing and arrived at fame, his would be part of the +glory--and glory meant more and more pupils of +the paying kinds. His large income came from the +other two kinds of pupils, the larger part of it from +the kind that had no seriousness in them. His problem +was how to keep all these paying pupils and also keep +his reputation as a teacher. In solving that problem +he evolved a method that was the true Jennings's method. +Not in all New York, filled as it is with people living +and living well upon the manipulation of the weaknesses +of their fellow beings--not in all New York was there +an adroiter manipulator than Eugene Jennings. He +was harsh to brutality when he saw fit to be so--or, +rather, when he deemed it wise to be so. Yet never +had he lost a paying pupil through his harshness. +These were fashionable women--most delicate, sensitive +ladies--at whom he swore. They wept, stayed on, +advertised him as a ``wonderful serious teacher who +won't stand any nonsense and doesn't care a hang +whether you stay or go--and he can teach absolutely +anybody to sing!'' He knew how to be gentle without +seeming to be so; he knew how to flatter without uttering +a single word that did not seem to be reluctant praise +or savage criticism; he knew how to make a lady with +a little voice work enough to make a showing that would +spur her to keep on and on with him; he knew how +to encourage a rich woman with no more song than a +peacock until she would come to him three times a week +for many years--and how he did make her pay for +what he suffered in listening to the hideous squawkings +and yelpings she inflicted upon him! + +Did Jennings think himself a fraud? No more than +the next human being who lives by fraud. Is there any +trade or profession whose practitioners, in the bottom +of their hearts, do not think they are living excusably +and perhaps creditably? The Jennings theory was that +he was a great teacher; that there were only a very few +serious and worth-while seekers of the singing art; +that in order to live and to teach these few, he had to +receive the others; that, anyhow, singing was a fine +art for anyone to have and taking singing lessons made +the worst voice a little less bad--or, at the least, singing +was splendid for the health. One of his favorite +dicta was, ``Every child should be taught singing-- +for its health, if for nothing else.'' And perhaps he +was right! At any rate, he made his forty to fifty +thousand a year--and on days when he had a succession +of the noisy, tuneless squawkers, he felt that he +more than earned every cent of it. + +Mildred did not penetrate far into the secret of the +money-making branch of the Jennings method. It was +crude enough, too. But are not all the frauds that +fool the human race crude? Human beings both cannot +and will not look beneath surfaces. All Mildred +learned was that Jennings did not give up paying pupils. +She had not confidence enough in this discovery to put +it to the test. She did not dare disobey him or shirk-- +even when she was most disposed to do so. But gradually +she ceased from that intense application she had +at first brought to her work. She kept up the forms. +She learned her lessons. She did all that was asked. +She seemed to be toiling as in the beginning. In reality, +she became by the middle of spring a mere lesson-taker. +Her interest in clothes and in going about revived. She +saw in the newspapers that General Siddall had taken +a party of friends on a yachting trip around the world, +so she felt that she was no longer being searched for, +at least not vigorously. She became acquainted with +smart, rich West Side women, taking lessons at +Jennings's. She amused herself going about with them and +with the ``musical'' men they attracted--amateur and +semi-professional singers and players upon instruments. +She drew Mrs. Brindley into their society. They had +little parties at the flat in Fifty-ninth Street--the most +delightful little parties imaginable--dinners and suppers, +music, clever conversations, flirtations of a harmless +but fascinating kind. If anyone had accused Mildred +of neglecting her work, of forgetting her career, +she would have grown indignant, and if Mrs. Brindley +had overheard, she would have been indignant for her. +Mildred worked as much as ever. She was making +excellent progress. She was doing all that could be done. +It takes time to develop a voice, to make an opera-singer. +Forcing is dangerous, when it is not downright useless. + +In May--toward the end of the month--Stanley +Baird returned. Mildred, who happened to be in unusually +good voice that day, sang for him at the Jennings +studio, and he was enchanted. As the last note died +away he cried out to Jennings: + +``She's a wonder, isn't she?'' + +Jennings nodded. ``She's got a voice,'' said he. + +``She ought to go on next year.'' + +``Not quite that,'' said Jennings. ``We want to +get that upper register right first. And it's a young +voice--she's very young for her age. We must be +careful not to strain it.'' + +``Why, what's a voice for if not to sing with?'' said +Stanley. + +``A fine voice is a very delicate instrument,'' replied +the teacher. He added coldly, ``You must let me judge +as to what shall be done.'' + +``Certainly, certainly,'' said Stanley in haste. + +``She's had several colds this winter and spring,'' +pursued Jennings. ``Those things are dangerous until +the voice has its full growth. She should have two +months' complete rest.'' + +Jennings was going away for a two months' vacation. +He was giving this advice to all his pupils. + +``You're right,'' said Baird. ``Did you hear, Mildred?'' + +``But I hate to stop work,'' objected Mildred. ``I +want to be doing something. I'm very impatient of +this long wait.'' + +And honest she was in this protest. She had no idea +of the state of her own mind. She fancied she was still +as eager as ever for the career, as intensely interested +as ever in her work. She did not dream of the real +meaning of her content with her voice as it was, of +her lack of uneasiness over the appalling fact that such +voice as she had was unreliable, came and went for no +apparent reason. + +``Absolute rest for two months,'' declared Jennings +grimly. ``Not a note until I return in August.'' + +Mildred gave a resigned sigh. + +There is much inveighing against hypocrisy, a vice +unsightly rather than desperately wicked. And in the +excitement about it its dangerous, even deadly near +kinsman, self-deception, escapes unassailed. Seven +cardinal sins; but what of the eighth?--the parent of +all the others, the one beside which the children seem +almost white? + + +During the first few weeks Mildred had been careful +about spending money. Economy she did not understand; +how could she, when she had never had a lesson +in it or a valuable hint about it? So economy was +impossible. The only way in which such people can +keep order in their finances is by not spending any +money at all. Mildred drew nothing, spent nothing. +This, so long as she gave her whole mind to her work. +But after the first great cold, so depressing, so subtly +undermining, she began to go about, to think of, to +need and to buy clothes, to spend money in a dozen +necessary ways. After all, she was simply borrowing +the money. Presently, she would be making a career, +would be earning large sums. She would pay back +everything, with interest. Stanley meant for her to +use the money. Really, she ought to use it. How +would her career be helped by her going about looking +a dowd and a frump? She had always been used to the +comforts of life. If she deprived herself of them, she +would surely get into a frame of mind where her work +would suffer. No, she must lead the normal life of a +woman of her class. To work all the time--why, as +Jennings said, that took away all the freshness, made +one stale and unfit. A little distraction--always, of +course, with musical people, people who talked and +thought and did music--that sort of distraction was +quite as much a part of her education as the singing +lessons. Mrs. Brindley, certainly a sensible and serious +woman if ever there was one--Mrs. Brindley believed +so, and it must be so. + +After that illness and before she began to go about, +she had fallen into several fits of hideous blues, had been +in despair as to the future. As soon as she saw something +of people--always the valuable, musical sort of +people--her spirits improved. And when she got a +few new dresses--very simple and inexpensive, but +stylish and charming--and the hats, too, were successful-- +as soon as she was freshly arrayed she was singing +better and was talking hopefully of the career +again. Yes, it was really necessary that she live as +she had always been used to living. + +When Stanley came back her account was drawn up +to the last cent of the proportionate amount. In fact, +it might have been a few dollars--a hundred or so-- +overdrawn. She was not sure. Still, that was a small +matter. During the summer she would spend less, and +by fall she would be far ahead again--and ready to +buy fall clothes. One day he said: + +``You must be needing more money.'' + +``No indeed,'' cried she. ``I've been living within +the hundred a week--or nearly. I'm afraid I'm frightfully +extravagant, and--'' + +``Extravagant?'' laughed he. ``You are afraid to +borrow! Why, three or four nights of singing will +pay back all you've borrowed.'' + +``I suppose I WILL make a lot of money,'' said she. +``They all tell me so. But it doesn't seem real to me.'' +She hastily added: ``I don't mean the career. That +seems real enough. I can hardly wait to begin at the +roles. I mean the money part. You see, I never earned +any money and never really had any money of my own.'' + +``Well, you'll have plenty of it in two or three years,'' +said Stanley, confidently. ``And you mustn't try to +live like girls who've been brought up to hardship. It +isn't necessary, and it would only unfit you for your +work.'' + +``I think that's true,'' said she. ``But I've enough-- +more than enough.'' She gave him a nervous, shy, +almost agonized look. ``Please don't try to put me +under any heavier obligations than I have to be.'' + +``Please don't talk nonsense about obligation,'' +retorted he. ``Let's get away from this subject. You +don't seem to realize that you're doing me a favor, that +it's a privilege to be allowed to help develop such a +marvelous voice as yours. Scores of people would jump +at the chance.'' + +``That doesn't lessen my obligation,'' said she. And +she thought she meant it, though, in fact, his generous +and plausible statement of the case had immediately +lessened not a little her sense of obligation. + +On the whole, however, she was not sorry she had +this chance to talk of obligation. Slowly, as they saw +each other from time to time, often alone, Stanley had +begun--perhaps in spite of himself and unconsciously +--to show his feeling for her. Sometimes his hand +accidentally touched hers, and he did not draw it away +as quickly as he might. And she--it was impossible +for her to make any gesture, much less say anything, +that suggested sensitiveness on her part. It would put +him in an awkward position, would humiliate him most +unjustly. He fell into the habit of holding her hand +longer than was necessary at greeting or parting, of +touching her caressingly, of looking at her with the +eyes of a lover instead of a friend. She did not like +these things. For some mysterious reason--from +sheer perversity, she thought--she had taken a strong +physical dislike to him. Perfectly absurd, for there +was nothing intrinsically repellent about this handsome, +clean, most attractively dressed man, of the best type +of American and New-Yorker. No, only perversity +could explain such a silly notion. She was always +afraid he would try to take advantage of her delicate +position--always afraid she would have to yield something, +some trifle; yet the idea of giving anything from +a sense of obligation was galling to her. His very +refraining made her more nervous, the more shrinking. +If he would only commit some overt act--seize her, +kiss her, make outrageous demands--but this refrain- +ing, these touches that might be accidental and again +might be stealthy approach-- She hated to have him +shake hands with her, would have liked to draw away +when his clothing chanced to brush against hers. + +So she was glad of the talk about obligation. It set +him at a distance, immediately. He ceased to look +lovingly, to indulge in the nerve-rasping little caresses. +He became carefully formal. He was evidently eager +to prove the sincerity of his protestations--too eager +perhaps, her perverse mind suggested. Still, sincere +or not, he held to all the forms of sincerity. + +Some friends of Mrs. Brindley's who were going +abroad offered her their cottage on the New Jersey +coast near Seabright, and a big new touring-car and +chauffeur. She and Mildred at once gave up the plan +for a summer in the Adirondacks, the more readily as +several of the men and women they saw the most of +lived within easy distance of them at Deal Beach and +Elberon. When Mildred went shopping she was lured +into buying a lot of summer things she would not have +needed in the Adirondacks--a mere matter of two +hundred and fifty dollars or thereabouts. A little +additional economy in the fall would soon make up for such +a trifle, and if there is one time more than another when +a woman wishes to look well and must look well, that +time is summer--especially by the sea. + +When her monthly statement from the bank came on +the first of July she found that five thousand dollars +had been deposited to her credit. She was moved by +this discovery to devote several hours--very depressed +hours they were--to her finances. She had spent a +great deal more money than she had thought; indeed, +since March she had been living at the rate of fifteen +thousand a year. She tried to account for this amazing +extravagance. But she could recall no expenditure +that was not really almost, if not quite, necessary. It +took a frightful lot of money to live in New York. +How DID people with small incomes manage to get along? +Whatever would have become of her if she had not had +the good luck to be able to borrow from Stanley? What +would become of her if, before she was succeeding on +the stage, Stanley should die or lose faith in her or +interest in her? What would become of her! She had +been living these last few months among people who +had wide-open eyes and knew everything that was going +on--and did some ``going-on'' themselves, as she was +now more than suspecting. There were many women, +thousands of them--among the attractive, costily +dressed throngs she saw in the carriages and autos and +cabs--who would not like to have it published how they +contrived to live so luxuriously. No, they would not +like to have it published, though they cared not a fig +for its being whispered; New York too thoroughly +understood how necessary luxurious living was, and was +too completely divested of the follies of the old-fashioned, +straight-laced morality, to mind little shabby +details of queer conduct in striving to keep up with +the procession. Even the married women, using their +husbands--and letting their husbands use them--did +not frown on the irregularities of their sisters less +fortunately married or not able to find a permanent ``leg +to pull.'' As for the girls--Mildred had observed +strange things in the lives of the girls she knew more +or less well nowadays. In fact, all the women, of all +classes and conditions, were engaged in the same mad +struggle to get hold of money to spend upon fun and +finery--a struggle matching in recklessness and +resoluteness the struggle of the men down-town for money +for the same purposes. It was curious, this double +mania of the men and the women--the mania to get +money, no matter how; the instantly succeeding mania +to get rid of it, no matter how. Looking about her, +Mildred felt that she was peculiar and apart from nearly +all the women she knew. SHE got her money honorably. +SHE did not degrade herself, did not sell herself, did not +wheedle or cajole or pretend in the least degree. She +had grown more liberal as her outlook on life had +widened with contact with the New York mind--no, +with the mind of the whole easy-going, luxury-mad, +morality-scorning modern world. She still kept her +standard for herself high, and believed in a purity for +herself which she did not exact or expect in her friends. +In this respect she and Cyrilla Brindley were sympathetically +alike. No, Mildred was confident that in no +circumstances, in NO circumstances, would she relax her +ideas of what she personally could do and could not do. +Not that she blamed, or judged at all, women who did +as she would not; but she could not, simply could not, +however hard she might be driven, do those things-- +though she could easily understand how other women +did them in preference to sinking down into the working +class or eking out a frowsy existence in some poor +boarding-house. The temptation would be great. +Thank Heaven, it was not teasing her. She would +resist it, of course. But-- + +What if Stanley Baird should lose interest? What +if, after he lost interest, she should find herself without +money, worse of than she had been when she sold +herself into slavery--highly moral and conventionally +correct slavery, but still slavery--to the little general +with the peaked pink-silk nightcap hiding the absence +of the removed toupee--and with the wonderful +pink-silk pajamas, gorgeously monogramed in violet-- +and the tiny feet and ugly hands--and those loathsome +needle-pointed mustaches and the hideous habit of +mumbling his tongue and smacking his lips? What +if, moneyless, she should not be able to find another +Stanley or a man of the class gentleman willing to +help her generously even on ANY terms? What then? + +She was looking out over the sea, her bank-book and +statements and canceled checks in her lap. Their cottage +was at the very edge of the strand; its veranda +was often damp from spray after a storm. It was not +storming as she sat there, ``taking stock''; under a +blue sky an almost tranquil sea was crooning softly in +the sunlight, innocent and happy and playful as a child. +She, dressed in a charming negligee and looking forward +to a merry day in the auto, with lunch and dinner +at attractive, luxurious places farther down the coast-- +she was stricken with a horrible sadness, with a terror +that made her heart beat wildly. + +``I must be crazy!'' she said, half aloud. ``I've +never earned a dollar with my voice. And for two +months it has been unreliable. I'm acting like a crazy +person. What WILL become of me?'' + +Just then Stanley Baird came through the pretty little +house, seeking her. ``There you are!'' he cried. ``Do +go get dressed.'' + +Hastily she flung a scarf over the book and papers +in her lap. She had intended to speak to him about +that fresh deposit of five thousand dollars--to refuse +it, to rebuke him. Now she did not dare. + +``What's the matter?'' he went on. ``Headache?'' + +``It was the wine at dinner last night,'' explained she. +``I ought never to touch red wine. It disagrees with +me horribly.'' + +``That was filthy stuff,'' said he. ``You must take +some champagne at lunch. That'll set you right.'' + +She stealthily wound the scarf about the papers. +When she felt that all were secure she rose. She was +looking sweet and sad and peculiarly beautiful. There +was an exquisite sheen on her skin. She had washed +her hair that morning, and it was straying fascinatingly +about her brow and ears and neck. Baird looked at +her, lowered his eyes and colored. + +``I'll not be long,'' she said hurriedly. + +She had to pass him in the rather narrow doorway. +From her garments shook a delicious perfume. He +caught her in his arms. The blood had flushed into his +face in a torrent, swelling out the veins, giving him +a distorted and wild expression. + +``Mildred!'' he cried. ``Say that you love me a +little! I'm so lonely for you--so hungry for you!'' + +She grew cold with fear and with repulsion. She +neither yielded to his embrace nor shook it off. She +simply stood, her round smooth body hard though corsetless. +He kissed her on the throat, kissed the lace over +her bosom, crying out inarticulately. In the frenzy of +his passion he did not for a while realize her lack of +response. As he felt it, his arms relaxed, dropped away +from her, fell at his side. He hung his head. He was +breathing so heavily that she glanced into the house +apprehensively, fearing someone else might hear. + +``I beg pardon,'' he muttered. ``You were too much +for me this morning. It was your fault. You are +maddening!'' + +She moved on into the house. + +``Wait a minute!'' he called after her. + +She halted, hesitating. + +``Come back,'' he said. ``I've got something to say +to you.'' + +She turned and went back to the veranda, he retreating +before her and his eyes sinking before the cold, +clear blue of hers. + +``You're going up, not to come down again,'' he said. +``You think I've insulted you--think I've acted outrageously.'' + +How glad she was that he had so misread her thoughts +--had not discovered the fear, the weakness, the sudden +collapse of all her boasted confidence in her strength of +character. + +``You'll never feel the same toward me again,'' he +went fatuously on. ``You think I'm a fraud. Well, +I'll admit that I am in love with you--have been ever +since the steamer--always was crazy about that mouth +of yours--and your figure, and the sound of your +voice. I'll admit I'm an utter fool about you--respect +you and trust you as I never used to think any woman +deserved to be respected and trusted. I'll even admit +that I've been hoping--all sorts of things. I knew +a woman like you wouldn't let a man help her unless +she loved him.'' + +At this her heart beat wildly and a blush of shame +poured over her face and neck. He did not see. He +had not the courage to look at her--to face that +expression of the violated goddess he felt confident her +face was wearing. In love, he reasoned and felt about +her like an inexperienced boy, all his experience going +for nothing. He went on: + +``I understand we can never be anything to each other +until you're on the stage and arrived. I'd not have it +otherwise, if I could. For I want YOU, and I'd never +believe I had you unless you were free.'' + +The color was fading from her cheeks. At this it +flushed deeper than before. She must speak. Not to +speak was to lie, was to play the hypocrite. Yet speak +she dared not. At least Stanley Baird was better than +Siddall. Anyhow, who was she, that had been the wife +of Siddall, to be so finicky? + +``You don't believe me?'' he said miserably. ``You +think I'll forget myself sometime again?'' + +``I hope not,'' she said gently. ``I believe not. I +trust you, Stanley.'' + +And she went into the house. He looked after her, +in admiration of the sweet and pure calm of this quiet +rebuke. She tried to take the same exalted view of it +herself, but she could not fool herself just then with +the familiar ``good woman'' fake. She knew that she +had struck the flag of self-respect. She knew what she +would really have done had he been less delicate, less +in love, and more ``practical.'' And she found a small +and poor consolation in reflecting, ``I wonder how many +women there are who take high ground because it costs +nothing.'' We are prone to suspect everybody of any +weakness we find in ourselves--and perhaps we are not +so far wrong as are those who accept without question +the noisy protestations of a world of self-deceivers. + +Thenceforth she and Stanley got on better than ever +--apparently. But though she ignored it, she knew +the truth--knew her new and deep content was due to +her not having challenged his assertion that she loved +him. He, believing her honest and high minded, +assumed that the failure to challenge was a good +woman's way of admitting. But with the day of reckoning-- +not only with him but also with her own self- +respect--put off until that vague and remote time when +she should be a successful prima donna, she gave herself +up to enjoyment. That was a summer of rarely fine +weather, particularly fine along the Jersey coast. They +--always in gay parties--motored up and down the +coast and inland. Several of the ``musical'' men-- +notably Richardson of Elberon--had plenty of money; +Stanley, stopping with his cousins, the Frasers, on the +Rumson Road, brought several of his friends, all rich +and more or less free. As every moment of Mildred's +day was full and as it was impossible not to sleep and +sleep well in that ocean air, with the surf soothing the +nerves as the lullaby of a nurse soothes a baby, she was +able to put everything unpleasant out of mind. She +was resting her voice, was building up her health; +therefore the career was being steadily advanced and no +time was being wasted. She felt sorry for those who +had to do unpleasant or disagreeable things in making +their careers. She told herself that she did not deserve +her good fortune in being able to advance to a brilliant +career not through hardship but over the most delightful +road imaginable--amusing herself, wearing charming +and satisfactory clothes, swimming and dancing, +motoring and feasting. Without realizing it, she was +strongly under the delusion that she was herself already +rich--the inevitable delusion with a woman when she +moves easily and freely and luxuriously about, never +bothered for money, always in the company of rich +people. The rich are fated to demoralize those around +them. The stingy rich fill their satellites with envy and +hatred. The generous rich fill them with the feeling +that the light by which they shine and the heat with +which they are warm are not reflected light and heat +but their own. + +Never had she been so happy. She even did not +especially mind Donald Keith, a friend of Stanley's and of +Mrs. Brindley's, who, much too often to suit her, made +one of the party. She had tried in vain to discover +what there was in Keith that inspired such intense liking +in two people so widely different as expansive and +emotional Stanley Baird and reserved and distinctly cold +Cyrilla Brindley. Keith talked little, not only seemed +not to listen well, but showed plainly, even in tete-a-tete +conversations, that his thoughts had been elsewhere. +He made no pretense of being other than he was--an +indifferent man who came because it did not especially +matter to him where he was. Sometimes his silence and +his indifference annoyed Mildred; again--thanks to +her profound and reckless contentment--she was able +to forget that he was along. He seemed to be and probably +was about forty years old. His head was beautifully +shaped, the line of its profile--front, top, and +back--being perfect in intellectuality, strength and +symmetry. He was rather under the medium height, +about the same height as Mildred herself. He was +extremely thin and loosely built, and his clothes seemed +to hang awry, giving him an air of slovenliness which +became surprising when one noted how scrupulously +neat and clean he was. His brown hair, considerably +tinged with rusty gray, grew thinly upon that beautiful +head. His skin was dry and smooth and dead white. +This, taken with the classic regularity of his features, +gave him an air of lifelessness, of one burnt out by the +fire of too much living; but whether the living had been +done by Keith himself or by his immediate ancestors +appearances did not disclose. This look of passionless, +motionless repose, like classic sculpture, was sharply and +startlingly belied by a pair of really wonderful eyes-- +deeply and intensely blue, brilliant, all seeing, all +comprehending, eyes that seemed never to sleep, seemed the +ceaselessly industrious servants of a brain that busied +itself without pause. The contrast between the dead +white calm of his face, the listlessness of his relaxed +figure, and these vivid eyes, so intensely alive, gave to +Donald Keith's personality an uncanniness that was +most disagreeable to Mildred. + +``That's what fascinates me,'' said Cyrilla, when they +were discussing him one day. + +``Fascinates!'' exclaimed Mildred. ``He's tiresome-- +when he isn't rude.'' + +``Rude?'' + +``Not actively rude but, worse still, passively rude.'' + +``He is the only man I've ever seen with whom I could +imagine myself falling in love,'' said Mrs. Brindley. + +Mildred laughed in derision. ``Why, he's a dead +man!'' cried she. + +``You don't understand,'' said Cyrilla. ``You've +never lived with a man.'' She forgot completely, as did +Mildred herself, so completely had Mrs. Siddall returned +to the modes and thoughts of a girl. ``At home--to +live with--you want only reposeful things. That is +why the Greeks, whose instincts were unerring, had so +much reposeful statuary. One grows weary of agitating +objects. They soon seem hysterical and shallow. +The same thing's true of persons. For permanent +love and friendship you want reposeful men-- +calm, strong, silent. The other kind either wear you +out or wear themselves out with you.'' + +``You forget his eyes,'' put in Stanley. ``Did you +ever see such eyes!'' + +``Yes, those eyes of his!'' cried Mildred. ``You +certainly can't call them reposeful, Mrs. Brindley.'' + +Mrs. Brindley did not seize the opportunity to convict +her of inconsistency. Said she: + +``I admit the eyes. They're the eyes of the kind of +man a woman wants, or another man wants in his friend. +When Keith looks at you, you feel that you are seeing +the rarest being in the world--an absolutely reliable +person. When I think of him I think of reliable, just +as when you think of the sun you think of brightness.'' + +``I had no idea it was so serious as this,'' teased +Stanley. + +``Nor had I,'' returned Cyrilla easily, ``until I began +to talk about him. Don't tell him, Mr. Baird, or he +might take advantage of me.'' + +The idea amused Stanley. ``He doesn't care a rap +about women,'' said he. ``I hear he has let a few care +about him from time to time, but he soon ceased to +be good-natured. He hates to be bored.'' + +As he came just then, they had to find another +subject. Mildred observed him with more interest. She +had learned to have respect for Mrs. Brindley's +judgments. But she soon gave over watching him. That +profound calm, those eyes concentrating all the life of +the man like a burning glass-- She had a disagreeable +sense of being seen through, even to her secretest +thought, of being understood and measured and weighed +--and found wanting. It occurred to her for the first +time that part of the reason for her not liking him +was the best of reasons--that he did not like her. + +The first time she was left alone with him, after this +discovery, she happened to be in an audacious and +talkative mood, and his lack of response finally goaded +her into saying: ``WHY don't you like me?'' She cared +nothing about it; she simply wished to hear what he +would say--if he could be roused into saying anything. +He was sitting on the steps leading from the +veranda to the sea--was smoking a cigarette and gazing +out over the waves like a graven image, as if he +had always been posed there and always would be there, +the embodiment of repose gazing in ineffable indifference +upon the embodiment of its opposite. He made +no answer. + +``I asked you why you do not like me,'' said she. +``Did you hear?'' + +``Yes,'' replied he. + +She waited; nothing further from him. Said she: + +``Well, give me one of your cigarettes.'' + +He rose, extended his case, then a light. He was +never remiss in those kinds of politeness. When she +was smoking, he seated himself again and dropped into +the former attitude. She eyed him, wondering how it +could be possible that he had endured the incredible +fatigues and hardships Stanley Baird had related of +him--hunting and exploring expeditions into tropics +and into frozen regions, mountain climbs, wild sea +voyages in small boats, all with no sign of being able to +stand anything, yet also with no sign of being any +more disturbed than now in this seaside laziness. Stanley +had showed them a picture of him taken twenty years +and more ago when he was in college; he had looked +almost the same then--perhaps a little older. + +``Well, I am waiting,'' persisted she. + +She thought he was about to look at her--a thing +he had never done, to her knowledge, since they had +known each other. She nerved herself to receive the +shock, with a certain flutter of expectancy, of excitement +even. But instead of looking, he settled himself +in a slightly different position and fixed his gaze upon +another point in the horizon. She noted that he had +splendid hands--ideal hands for a man, with the same +suggestion of intense vitality and aliveness that flashed +from his eyes. She had not noted this before. Next +she saw that he had good feet, and that his boots were +his only article of apparel that fitted him, or rather, +that looked as if made for him. + +She tossed her cigarette over the rail to the sand. +He startled her by speaking, in his unemotional way. +He said: + +``Now, I like you better.'' + +``I don't understand,'' said she. + +No answer from him. The cigarette depending +listlessly from his lips seemed--as usual--uncertain +whether it would stay or fall. She watched this uncertainty +with a curious, nervous interest. She was always +thinking that cigarette would fall, but it never did. +Said she: + +``Why did you say you liked me less?'' + +``Better,'' corrected he. + +``We used to have a pump in our back yard at home,'' +laughed she. ``One toiled away at the handle, but +nothing ever came. And it was a promising-looking +pump, too.'' + +He smiled--a slow, reluctant smile, but undeniably +attractive. Said he: + +``Because you threw away your cigarette.'' + +``You object to women smoking?'' + +``No,'' said he. His tone made her feel how absurd +it was to suspect him of such provincialism. + +``You object to MY smoking?'' suggested she; +laughing, ``Pump! Pump!'' + +``No,'' said he. + +``Then your remark meant nothing at all?'' + +He was silent. + +``You are rude,'' said she coldly, rising to go into +the house. + +He said something, what she did not hear, in her +agitation. She paused and inquired: + +``What did you say?'' + +``I said, I am not rude but kind,'' replied he. + +``That is detestable!'' cried she. ``I have not liked +you, but I have been polite to you because of Stanley +and Mrs. Brindley. Why should you be insulting to +me?'' + +``What have I done?'' inquired he, unmoved. He +had risen as she rose, but instead of facing her he was +leaning against the post of the veranda, bent upon his +seaward vigil. + +``You have insinuated that your reasons for not liking +me were a reflection on me.'' + +``You insisted,'' said he. + +``You mean that they are?'' demanded she furiously. +She was amazed at her wild, unaccountable rage. + +He slowly turned his head and looked at her--a +glance without any emotion whatever, simply a look +that, like the beam of a powerful searchlight, seemed +to thrust through fog and darkness and to light up +everything in its path. Said he: + +``Do you wish me to tell you why I don't like you?'' + +``No!'' she cried hysterically. ``Never mind--I +don't know what I'm saying.'' And she went hastily +into the house. A moment later, in her own room +upstairs, she was wondering at herself. Why had she +become confused? What did he mean? What had she +seen--or half seen--in the darkness and fog within +herself when he looked at her? In a passion she cried: + +``If he would only stay away!'' + + + +VI + + +BUT he did not stay away. He owned and lived in +a small house up on the Rumson Road. While the +house was little more than a bungalow and had a +simplicity that completely hid its rare good taste from the +average observer, its grounds were the most spacious in +that neighborhood of costly, showy houses set in grounds +not much more extensive than a city building lot. The +grounds had been cleared and drained to drive out and +to keep out the obnoxious insect life, but had been left +a forest, concealing the house from the roads. Stanley +Baird was now stopping with Keith, and brought him +along to the cottage by the sea every day. + +The parties narrowed to the same four persons. Mrs. +Brindley seemed never to tire of talking to Keith-- +or to tire of talking about him when the two men had +left, late each night. As for Stanley, he referred +everything to Keith--the weather prospects, where they +should go for the day, what should be eaten and drunk, +any point about politics or fashion, life or literature +or what not, that happened to be discussed. And he +looked upon Donald's monosyllabic reply to his inquiry +as a final judgment, ending all possibility of argument. +Mildred held out long. Then, in spite of herself, she +began to yield, ceased to dislike him, found a kind of +pleasure--or, perhaps, fascinated interest--in the +nervousness his silent and indifferent presence caused +her. She liked to watch that immobile, perfect profile, +neither young nor old, indeed not suggesting age in +any degree, but only experience and knowledge--and +an infinite capacity for emotion, for passion even. The +dead-white color declared it had already been lived; +the brilliant, usually averted or veiled eyes asserted +present vitality, pulsing under a calm surface. + +One day when Stanley, in the manner of one who +wishes a thing settled and settled right, said he would +ask Donald Keith about it, Mildred, a little piqued, +a little amused, retorted: + +``And what will he answer? Why, simply yes or no.'' + +``That's all,'' assented Stanley. ``And that's quite +enough, isn't it?'' + +``But how do you know he's as wise as he pretends?'' + +``He doesn't pretend to be anything or to know +anything. That's precisely it.'' + +Mildred suddenly began to like Keith. She had never +thought of this before. Yes, it was true, he did not +pretend. Not in the least, not about anything. When +you saw him, you saw at once the worst there was to +see. It was afterward that you discovered he was not +slovenly, but clean and neat, not badly but well dressed, +not homely but handsome, not sickly but soundly well, +not physically weak but strong, not dull but vividly alive, +not a tiresome void but an unfathomable mystery. + +``What does he do?'' she asked Mrs. Brindley. + +Cyrilla's usually positive gray eyes looked vague. +She smiled. ``I never asked,'' said she. ``I've known +him nearly three years, and it never occurred to me +to ask, or to wonder. Isn't that strange? Usually +about the first inquiry we make is what a man does.'' + +``I'll ask Stanley,'' said Mildred. And she did about +an hour later, when they were in the surf together, with +the other two out of earshot. Said Stanley: + +``He's a lawyer, of course. Also, he's written a novel +or two and a book of poems. I've never read them. +Somehow, I never get around to reading.'' + +``Oh, he's a lawyer? That's the way he makes his +living.'' + +``A queer kind of lawyer. He never goes to court, +and his clients are almost all other lawyers. They go to +him to get him to tell them what to do, and what not +to do. He's got a big reputation among lawyers, +Fred Norman tells me, but makes comparatively little, +as he either can't or won't charge what he ought. I +told him what Norman said, and he only smiled in that +queer way he has. I said: `You make twenty or +thirty thousand a year. You ought to make ten +times that.' '' + +``And what did he answer?'' asked Mildred. ``Nothing?'' + +``He said: `I make all I want. If I took in more, I'd +be bothered getting rid of it or investing it. I can +always make all I'll want--unless I go crazy. And +what could a crazy man do with money? It doesn't cost +anything to live in a lunatic asylum.' '' + +Several items of interest to add to those she had +collected. He could talk brilliantly, but he preferred +silence. He could make himself attractive to women +and to men, but he preferred to be detached. He could +be a great lawyer, but he preferred the quiet of obscurity. +He could be a rich man, but he preferred to be +comparatively poor. + +Said Mildred: ``I suppose some woman--some +disappointment in love--has killed ambition, and +everything like that.'' + +``I don't think so,'' replied Baird. ``The men who +knew him as a boy say he was always as he is now. He +lived in the Arabian desert for two years.'' + +``Why didn't he stay?'' laughed Mildred. ``That +life would exactly suit him.'' + +``It did,'' said Stanley. ``But his father died, and +he had to come home and support his mother--until +she died. That's the way his whole life has been. +He drifts in the current of circumstances. He might +let himself be blown away to-morrow to the other end +of the earth and stay away years--or never come +back.'' + +``But how would he live?'' + +``On his wits. And as well or as poorly as he cared. +He's the sort of man everyone instinctively asks advice +of--me, you, his valet, the farmer who meets him at +a boundary fence, the fellow who sits nest him in a +train--anyone.'' + +Mildred did not merely cease to dislike him; she went +farther, and rapidly. She began to like him, to circle +round that tantalizing, indolent mystery as a deer about +a queer bit of brush in the undergrowth. She liked +to watch him. She was alternately afraid to talk before +him and recklessly confidential--all with no response +or sign of interest from him. If she was silent, when +they were alone together, he was silent, too. If she +talked, still he was silent. What WAS he thinking about? +What did he think of her?--that especially. + +``What ARE you thinking?'' she interrupted herself +to say one afternoon as they sat together on the strand +under a big sunshade. She had been talking on and on +about her career--talking conceitedly, as her subject +intoxicated her--telling him what triumphs awaited +her as soon as she should be ready to debut. As he +did not answer, she repeated her question, adding: + +``I knew you weren't listening to me, or I shouldn't +have had the courage to say the foolish things I did.'' + +``No, I wasn't,'' admitted he. + +``Why not?'' + +``For the reason you gave.'' + +``That what I said was--just talk?'' + +``Yes.'' + +``You don't believe I'll do those things?'' + +``Do you?'' + +``I've GOT to believe it,'' said she. ``If I didn't--'' +She came to a full stop. + +``If you didn't, then what?'' It was the first time +he had ever flattered her with interest enough to ask +her a question about herself. + +``If I didn't believe I was going to succeed--and +succeed big--'' she began. After a pause, she added, +``I'd not dare say it.'' + +``Or think it,'' said he. + +She colored. ``What do you mean?'' she asked. + +He did not reply. + +``What do you mean, Mr. Keith?'' she urged. + +``You are always asking me questions to which you +already know the answer,'' said he. + +``You're referring to a week or so ago, when I asked +you why you disliked me?'' + +No answer. No sign of having heard. No outward +sign of interest in anything, even in the cigarette drooping +from the corner of his mouth. + +``Wasn't that it?'' she insisted. + +``You are always asking me questions to which you +already know the answer,'' repeated he. + +``I am annoying you?'' + +No answer. + +She laughed. ``Do you want me to go away and +leave you in peace with that--law case--or whatever +it is?'' + +``I don't like to be alone.'' + +``But anyone would do?--a dog?'' + +No reply. + +``You mean, a dog would be better because it doesn't +ask questions to which it knows the answer.'' + +No reply. + +``Well, I have a pleasant-sounding voice. As I'm +saying nothing, it may be soothing--like the sound of +the waves. I've learned to take you as you are. I +rather like your pose.'' + +No reply. No sign that he was even tempted to rise +to this bait and protest. + +``But you don't like mine,'' she went on. ``Yes, it +is a pose. But I've got to keep it up, and to pretend +to myself that it isn't. And it isn't altogether. I shall +be a successful singer.'' + +``When?'' said he. Actually he was listening! + +She answered: ``In--about two years, I think.'' + +No comment. + +``You don't believe it?'' + +``Do you?'' A pause. ``Why ask these questions +you've already answered yourself?'' + +``I'll tell you why,'' replied she, her face suddenly +flushed with earnestness. ``Because I want you to help +me. You help everyone else. Why not me?'' + +``You never asked me,'' said he. + +``I didn't know I wanted it until just now--as I +said it. But YOU must have known, because you are +so much more experienced than I--and understand +people--what's going on in their minds, deeper than +they can see.'' Her tone became indignant, reproachful. +``Yes, you must have known I needed your help. +And you ought to have helped me, even if you did +dislike me. You've no right to dislike anyone as young +as I.'' + +He was looking at her now, the intensely alive blue +eyes sympathetic, penetrating, understanding. It was +frightful to be so thoroughly understood--all one's +weaknesses laid bare--yet it was a relief and a joy, too +--like the cruel healing knife of the surgeon. Said he: + +``I do not like kept women.'' + +She gasped, grew ghastly. It was a frightful insult, +one for which she was wholly unprepared. ``You-- +believe--that?'' she said slowly. + +``Another of those questions,'' he said. And he +looked calmly away, out over the sea, as if his interest +in the conversation were at an end. + +What should she say? How deny--how convince +him? For convince him she must, and then go away +and never permit him to speak to her again until he had +apologized. She said quietly: ``Mr. Keith, you have +insulted me.'' + +``I do not like kept women, either with or without +a license,'' said he in the same even, indifferent way. +``When you ceased to be a kept woman, I would help +you, if I could. But no one can help a kept woman.'' + +There was nothing to do but to rise and go away. +She rose and went toward the house. At the veranda +she paused. He had not moved. She returned. He +was still inspecting the horizon, the cigarette depending +from his lips--how DID he keep it alight? She said: + +``Mr. Keith, I am sure you did not mean to insult me. +What did you mean?'' + +``Another of those questions,'' said he. + +``Honestly, I do not understand.'' + +``Then think. And when you have thought, you +will understand.'' + +``But I have thought. I do not understand.'' + +``Then it would be useless to explain,'' said he. +``That is one of those vital things which, if one cannot +understand them for oneself, one is hopeless--is beyond +helping.'' + +``You mean I am not in earnest about my career?'' + +``Another of those questions. If you had not seen +clearly what I meant, you would have been really +offended. You'd have gone away and not come +back.'' + +She saw that this was true. And, seeing, she +wondered how she could have been so stupid as not to have +seen it at once. She had yet to learn that overlooking +the obvious is a universal human failing and that seeing +the obvious is the talent and the use of the superior +of earth--the few who dominate and determine the +race. + +``You reproach me for not having helped you,'' he +went on. ``How does it happen that you are uneasy +in mind--so uneasy that you are quarreling at me?'' + +A light broke upon her. ``You have been drawing +me on, from the beginning,'' she cried. ``You have +been helping me--making me see that I needed +help.'' + +``No,'' said he. ``I've been waiting to see whether +you would rouse from your dream of grandeur.'' + +``YOU have been rousing me.'' + +``No,'' he said. ``You've roused yourself. So you +may be worth helping or, rather, worth encouraging, +for no one can HELP you but yourself.'' + +She looked at him pathetically. ``But what shall I +do?'' she asked. ``I've got no money, no experience, +no sense. I'm a vain, luxury-loving fool, cursed with +a--with a--is it a conscience?'' + +``I hope it's something more substantial. I hope +it's common sense.'' + +``But I have been working--honestly I have.'' + +``Don't begin lying to yourself again.'' + +``Don't be harsh with me.'' + +He drew in his legs, in preparation for rising--no +doubt to go away. + +``I don't mean that,'' she cried testily. ``You are +not harsh with me. It's the truth that's harsh--the +truth I'm beginning to see--and feel. I am afraid-- +afraid. I haven't the courage to face it.'' + +``Why whine?'' said he. ``There's nothing in that.'' + +``Do you think there's any hope for me?'' + +``That depends,'' said he. + +``On what?'' + +``On what you want.'' + +``I want to be a singer, a great singer.'' + +``No, there's no hope.'' + +She grew cold with despair. He had a way of saying +a thing that gave it the full weight of a verdict +from which there was no appeal. + +``Now, if you wanted to make a living,'' he went on, +``and if you were determined to learn to sing as well +as you could, with the idea that you might be able to +make a living--why, then there might be hope.'' + +``You think I can sing?'' + +``I never heard you. Can you?'' + +``They say I can.'' + +``What do YOU say?'' + +``I don't know,'' she confessed. ``I've never been +able to judge. Sometimes I think I'm singing well, and +I find out afterward that I've sung badly. Again, it's +the other way.'' + +``Then, obviously, what's the first thing to do?'' + +``To learn to judge myself,'' said she. ``I never +thought of it before--how important that is. Do you +know Jennings--Eugene Jennings?'' + +``The singing teacher? No.'' + +``Is he a good teacher?'' + +``No.'' + +``Why not?'' + +``Because he has not taught you that you will never +sing until you are your own teacher. Because he has +not taught you that singing is a small and minor part +of a career as a singer.'' + +``But it isn't,'' protested she. + +A long silence. Looking at him, she felt that he had +dismissed her and her affairs from his mind. + +``Is it?'' she said, to bring him back. + +``What?'' asked he vaguely. + +``You said that a singer didn't have to be able to +sing.'' + +``Did I?'' He glanced down the shore toward the +house. ``It feels like lunch-time.'' He rose. + +``What did you mean by what you said?'' + +``When you have thought about your case a while +longer, we'll talk of it again--if you wish. But until +you've thought, talking is a waste of time.'' + +She rose, stood staring out to sea. He was observing +her, a faint smile about his lips. He said: + +``Why bother about a career? After all, kept +woman is a thoroughly respectable occupation--or can +be made so by any preacher or justice of the peace. +It's followed by many of our best women--those who +pride themselves on their high characters--and on +their pride.'' + +``I could not belong to a man unless I cared for him,'' +said she. ``I tried it once. I shall never do it again.'' + +``That sounds fine,'' said he. ``Let's go to lunch.'' + +``You don't believe me?'' + +``Do you?'' + +She sank down upon the sand and burst into a wild +passion of sobs and tears. When her fight for self- +control was over and she looked up to apologize for her +pitiful exhibition of weakness--and to note whether +she had made an impression upon his sympathies--she +saw him just entering the house, a quarter of a mile +away. To anger succeeded a mood of desperate +forlornness. She fell upon herself with gloomy ferocity. +She could not sing. She had no brains. She was taking +money--a disgracefully large amount of money-- +from Stanley Baird under false pretenses. How could +she hope to sing when her voice could not be relied upon? +Was not her throat at that very moment slightly sore? +Was it not always going queer? She--sing! Absurd. +Did Stanley Baird suspect? Was he waiting for +the time when she would gladly accept what she must +have from him, on his own terms? No, not on his +terms, but on the terms she herself would arrange-- +the only terms she could make. No, Stanley believed +in her absolutely--believed in her career. When he +discovered the truth, he would lose interest in her, would +regard her as a poor, worthless creature, would be +eager to rid himself of her. Instead of returning to +the house, she went in the opposite direction, made a +circuit and buried herself in the woods beyond the +Shrewsbury. She was mad to get away from her own +company; but the only company she could fly to was +more depressing than the solitude and the taunt and +sneer and lash of her own thoughts. It was late in the +afternoon before she nerved herself to go home. She +hoped the others would have gone off somewhere; but +they were waiting for her, Stanley anxious and Cyrilla +Brindley irritated. Her eyes sought Keith. He was, +as usual, the indifferent spectator. + +``Where have you been?'' cried Stanley. + +``Making up my mind,'' said she in the tone that +forewarns of a storm. + +A brief pause. She struggled in vain against an +impulse to look at Keith. When her eyes turned in +his direction he, not looking at her, moved in his listless +way toward the door. Said he: + +``The auto's waiting. Come on.'' + +She vacillated, yielded, began to put on the wraps +Stanley was collecting for her. It was a big touring- +car, and they sat two and two, with the chauffeur alone. +Keith was beside Mildred. When they were under way, +she said: + +``Why did you stop me? Perhaps I'll never have +the courage again.'' + +``Courage for what?'' asked he. + +``To take your advice, and break off.'' + +``MY advice?'' + +``Yes, your advice.'' + +``You have to clutch at and cling to somebody, don't +you? You can't bear the idea of standing up by your +own strength.'' + +``You think I'm trying to fasten to you?'' she said, +with an angry laugh. + +``I know it. You admitted it. You are not satisfied +with the way things are going. You have doubts about +your career. You shrink from your only comfortable +alternative, if the career winks out. You ask me my +opinion about yourself and about careers. I give it. +Now, I find you asked only that you might have someone +to lean on, to accuse of having got you into a +mess, if doing what you think you ought to do turns out +as badly as you fear.'' + +It was the longest speech she had heard him make. +She had no inclination to dispute his analysis of her +motives. ``I did not realize it,'' said she, ``but that +is probably so. But--remember how I was brought +up.'' + +``There's only one thing for you to do.'' + +``Go back to my husband? You know--about me +--don't you?'' + +``Yes'' + +``I can't go back to him.'' + +``No.'' + +``Then--what?'' she asked. + +``Go on, as now,'' replied he. + +``You despise me, don't you?'' + +``No.'' + +``But you said you did.'' + +``Dislike and despise are not at all the same.'' + +``You admit that you dislike me,'' cried she triumphantly. +He did not answer. + +``You think me a weak, clinging creature, not able +to do anything but make pretenses.'' + +No answer. + +``Don't you?'' she persisted. + +``Probably I have about the same opinion of you that +you have of yourself.'' + +``What WILL become of me?'' she said. Her face +lighted up with an expression of reckless beauty. ``If +I could only get started I'd go to the devil, laughing +and dancing--and taking a train with me.'' + +``You ARE started,'' said he, with an amiable smile. +``Keep on. But I doubt if you'll be so well amused as +you may imagine. Going to the devil isn't as it's +painted in novels by homely old maids and by men too +timid to go out of nights. A few steps farther, and +your disillusionment will begin. But there'll be no +turning back. Already, you are almost too old to make +a career.'' + +``I'm only twenty-four. I flattered myself I looked +still younger.'' + +``It's worse than I thought,'' said he. ``Most of +the singers, even the second-rate ones, began at fifteen-- +began seriously. And you haven't begun yet.'' + +``That's unjust,'' she protested. ``I've done a little. +Many great people would think it a great deal.'' + +``You haven't begun yet,'' repeated he calmly. ``You +have spent a lot of money, and have done a lot of +dreaming and talking and listening to compliments, +and have taken a lot of lessons of an expensive +charlatan. But what have those things to do with a +career?'' + +``You've never heard me sing.'' + +``I do not care for singing.'' + +``Oh!'' said she in a tone of relief. ``Then you +know nothing about all this.'' + +``On the contrary, I know everything about a career. +And we were talking of careers, not of singing.'' + +``You mean that my voice is worthless because I +haven't the other elements?'' + +``What else could I have meant?'' said he. ``You +haven't the strength. You haven't the health.'' + +She laughed as she straightened herself. ``Do I +look weak and sickly?'' cried she. + +``For the purposes of a career as a female you are +strong and well,'' said he. ``For the purpose of a +career as a singer--'' He smiled and shook his head. +``A singer must have muscles like wire ropes, like a +blacksmith or a washerwoman. The other day we were +climbing a hill--a not very steep hill. You stopped +five times for breath, and twice you sat down to rest.'' + +She was literally hanging her head with shame. ``I +wasn't very well that day,'' she murmured. + +``Don't deceive yourself,'' said he. ``Don't indulge +in the fatal folly of self-excuse.'' + +``Go on,'' she said humbly. ``I want to hear it all.'' + +``Is your throat sore to-day?'' pursued he. + +She colored. ``It's better,'' she murmured. + +``A singer with sore throat!'' mocked he. ``You've +had a slight fogginess of the voice all summer.'' + +``It's this sea air,'' she eagerly protested. ``It +affects everyone.'' + +``No self-excuse, please,'' interrupted he. ``Cigarettes, +champagne, all kinds of foolish food, an impaired +digestion--that's the truth, and you know it.'' + +``I've got splendid digestion! I can eat anything!'' +she cried. ``Oh, you don't know the first thing about +singing. You don't know about temperament, about +art, about all the things that singing really means.'' + +``We were talking of careers,'' said he. ``A career +means a person who can be relied upon to do what is +demanded of him. A singer's career means a powerful +body, perfect health, a sound digestion. Without them, +the voice will not be reliable. What you need is not +singing teachers, but teachers of athletics and of hygiene. +To hear you talk about a career is like listening to a +child. You think you can become a professional singer +by paying money to a teacher. There are lawyers and +doctors and business men in all lines who think that way +about their professions--that learning a little routine +of technical knowledge makes a lawyer or a doctor or +a merchant or a financier.'' + +``Tell me--WHAT ought I to learn?'' + +``Learn to think--and to persist. Learn to +concentrate. Learn to make sacrifices. Learn to handle +yourself as a great painter handles his brush and colors. +Then perhaps you'll make a career as a singer. If not, +it'll be a career as something or other.'' + +She was watching him with a wistful, puzzled expression. +``Could I ever do all that?'' + +``Anyone could, by working away at it every day. +If you gain only one inch a day, in a year you'll have +gained three hundred and sixty-five inches. And if you +gain an inch a day for a while and hold it, you soon +begin to gain a foot a day. But there's no need to +worry about that.'' He was gazing at her now with an +expression of animation that showed how feverishly alive +he was behind that mask of calmness. ``The day's +work--that's the story of success. Do the day's work +persistently, thoroughly, intelligently. Never mind +about to-morrow. Thinking of it means dreaming or +despairing--both futilities. Just the day's work.'' + +``I begin to understand,'' she said thoughtfully. +``You are right. I've done nothing. Oh, I've been a +fool--more foolish even than I thought.'' + +A long silence, then she said, somewhat embarrassed +and in a low voice, though there was no danger of those +in front of them hearing: + +``I want you to know that there has been nothing +wrong--between Stanley and me.'' + +``Do you wish me to put that to your credit or to +your discredit?'' inquired he. + +``What do you mean?'' + +``Why, you've just told me that you haven't given +Stanley anything at all for his money--that you've +cheated him outright. The thing itself is discreditable, +but your tone suggests that you think I'll admire you +for it.'' + +``Do you mean to say that you'd think more highly +of me if I were--what most women would be in the +same circumstances?'' + +``I mean to say that I think the whole business is +discreditable to both of you--to his intelligence, to +your character.'' + +``You are frank,'' said she, trying to hide her anger. + +``I am frank,'' replied he, undisturbed. He looked +at her. ``Why should I not be?'' + +``You know that I need you, that I don't dare +resent,'' said she. ``So isn't it--a little cowardly?'' + +``Why do you need me? Not for money, for you +know you'll not get that.'' + +``I don't want it,'' cried she, agitated. ``I never +thought of it.'' + +``Yes, you've probably thought of it,'' replied he +coolly. ``But you will not get it.'' + +``Well, that's settled--I'll not get it.'' + +``Then why do you need me? Of what use can I be +to you? Only one use in the world. To tell you the +truth--the exact truth. Is not that so?'' + +``Yes,'' she said. ``That is what I want from you +--what I can't get from anyone else. No one else +knows the truth--not even Mrs. Brindley, though she's +intelligent. I take back what I said about your being +cowardly. Oh, you do stab my vanity so! You +mustn't mind my crying out. I can't help it--at +least, not till I get used to you.'' + +``Cry out,'' said he. ``It does no harm.'' + +``How wonderfully you understand me!'' exclaimed +she. ``That's why I let you say to me anything you +please.'' + +He was smiling peculiarly--a smile that somehow +made her feel uncomfortable. She nerved herself for +some still deeper stab into her vanity. He said, his gaze +upon her and ironical: + +``I'm sorry I can't return the compliment.'' + +``What compliment?'' asked she. + +``Can't say that you understand me. Why do you +think I am doing this?'' + +She colored. ``Oh, no indeed, Mr. Keith,'' she +protested, ``I don't think you are in love with me--or +anything of that sort. Indeed, I do not. I know you +better than that.'' + +``Really?'' said he, amused. ``Then you are not +human.'' + +``How can you think me so vain?'' she protested. + +``Because you are so,'' replied he. ``You are as +vain--no more so, but just as much so--as the average +pretty and attractive woman brought up as you +have been. You are not obsessed by the notion that +your physical charms are all-powerful, and in that +fact there is hope for you. But you attach entirely too +much importance to them. You will find them a +hindrance for a long time before they begin to be a help +to you in your career. And they will always be a +temptation to you to take the easy, stupid way of making +a living--the only way open to most women that +is not positively repulsive.'' + +``I think it is the most repulsive,'' said Mildred. + +``Don't cant,'' replied he, unimpressed. ``It's not +so repulsive to your sort of woman as manual labor-- +or as any kind of work that means no leisure, no luxury +and small pay.'' + +``I wonder,'' said Mildred. ``I--I'm afraid you're +right. But I WON'T admit it. I don't dare.'' + +``That's the finest, truest thing I've ever heard you +say,'' said Keith. + +Mildred was pleased out of all proportion to the +compliment. Said she with frank eagerness, ``Then +I'm not altogether hopeless?'' + +``As a character, no indeed,'' replied he. ``But as a +career-- I was about to say, you may set your mind +at rest. I shall never try to collect for my services. +I am doing all this solely out of obstinacy.'' + +``Obstinacy?'' asked the puzzled girl. + +``The impossible attracts me. That's why I've never +been interested to make a career in law or politics or +those things. I care only for the thing that can't be +done. When I saw you and studied you, as I study +every new thing, I decided that you could not possibly +make a career.'' + +``Why have you changed your mind?'' she interrupted eagerly. + +``I haven't,'' replied he. ``If I had, I should have +lost interest in you. Just as soon as you show signs of +making a career, I shall lose interest in you. I have a +friend, a doctor, who will take only cases where cure is +impossible. Looking at you, it occurred to me that +here was a chance to make an experiment more interesting +than any of his. And as I have no other impossible +task inviting me at present, I decided to undertake +you--if you were willing.'' + +``Why do you tell me this?'' she asked. ``To +discourage me?'' + +``No. Your vanity will prevent that.'' + +``Then why?'' + +``To clear myself of all responsibility for you. You +understand--I bind myself to nothing. I am free to +stop or to go on at any time.'' + +``And I?'' said Mildred. + +``You must do exactly as I tell you.'' + +``But that is not fair,'' cried she. + +``Why not?'' inquired he. ``Without me you have +no hope--none whatever.'' + +``I don't believe that,'' declared she. ``It is not +true.'' + +``Very well. Then we'll drop the business,'' said he +tranquilly. ``If the time comes when you see that I'm +your only hope, and if then I'm in my present humor, +we will go on.'' + +And he lapsed into silence from which she soon gave +over trying to rouse him. She thought of what he had +said, studied him, but could make nothing of it. She +let four days go by, days of increasing unrest and +unhappiness. She could not account for herself. Donald +Keith seemed to have cast a spell over her--an +evil spell. Her throat gave her more and more +trouble. She tried her voice, found that it had vanished. +She examined herself in the glass, and saw or fancied +that her looks were going--not so that others would +note it, but in the subtle ways that give the first alarm +to a woman who has beauty worth taking care of and +thinks about it intelligently. She thought Mrs. Brindley +was beginning to doubt her, suspected a covert +uneasiness in Stanley. Her foundations, such as they +were, seemed tottering and ready to disintegrate. She +saw her own past with clear vision for the first time-- +saw how futile she had been, and why Keith believed +there was no hope for her. She made desperate +efforts to stop thinking about past and future, to absorb +herself in present comfort and luxury and opportunities +for enjoyment. But Keith was always there--and +to see him was to lose all capacity for enjoyment. She +was curt, almost rude to him--had some vague idea of +forcing him to stay away. Yet every time she lost +sight of him, she was in terror until she saw him again. + +She was alone on the small veranda facing the high- +road. She happened to glance toward the station; her +gaze became fixed, her body rigid, for, coming leisurely +and pompously toward the house, was General +Siddall, in the full panoply of his wonderful tailoring +and haberdashery. She thought of flight, but instantly +knew that flight was useless; the little general was not +there by accident. She waited, her rigidity giving her +a deceptive seeming of calm and even ease. He entered +the little yard, taking off his glossy hat and exposing +the rampant toupee. He smiled at her so slightly that +the angle of the needle-pointed mustaches and imperial +was not changed. The cold, expressionless, fishy eyes +simply looked at her. + +``A delightful little house,'' said he, with a patronizing +glance around. ``May I sit down?'' + +She inclined her head. + +``And you are looking well, charming,'' he went on, +and he seated himself and carefully planted his neat +boots side by side. ``For the summer there's nothing +equal to the seashore. You are surprised to see me?'' + +``I thought you were abroad,'' said Mildred. + +``So I was--until yesterday. I came back because +my men had found you. And I'm here because I venture +to hope that you have had enough of this foolish +escapade. I hope we can come to an understanding. +I've lost my taste for wandering about. I wish to settle +down--to have a home and to stay in it. By that +I mean, of course, two or three--or possibly four-- +houses, according to the season.'' Mildred sent her +glance darting about. The little general saw and +began to talk more rapidly. ``I've given considerable +thought to our--our misunderstanding. I feel that I +gave too much importance to your--your-- I did +not take your youth and inexperience of the world and +of married life sufficiently into account. Also the first +Mrs. Siddall was not a lady--nor the second. A lady, +a young lady, was a new experience to me. I am a +generous man. So I say frankly that I ought to have +been more patient.'' + +``You said you would never see me again until I came +to you,'' said Mildred. As he was not looking at her, +she watched his face. She now saw a change--behind +the mask. But he went on in an unchanged voice: + +``Were you aware that Mrs. Baird is about to sue +her husband for a separation--not for a divorce but +for a separation--and name you?'' + +Mildred dropped limply back in her chair. + +``That means scandal,'' continued Siddall, ``scandal +touching my name--my honor. I may say, I do not +believe what Mrs. Baird charges. My men have had +you under observation for several weeks. Also, Mrs. +Brindley is, I learn, a woman of the highest character. +But the thing looks bad--you hiding from your husband, +living under an assumed name, receiving the visits +of a former admirer.'' + +``You are mistaken,'' said Mildred. ``Mrs. Baird +would not bring such a false, wicked charge.'' + +``You are innocent, my dear,'' said the general. + +``You don't realize how your conduct looks. She +intends to charge that her husband has been supporting +you.'' + +Mildred, quivering, started up, sank weakly back +again. + +``But,'' he went on, ``you will easily prove that your +money is your inheritance from your father. I assured +myself of that before I consented to come here.'' + +``Consented?'' said Mildred. ``At whose request?'' + +``That of my own generosity,'' replied he. ``But +my honor had to be reassured. When I was satisfied +that you were innocent, and simply flighty and foolish, +I came. If there had been any taint upon you, of +course I could not have taken you back. As it is, I am +willing--I may say, more than willing. Mrs. Baird +can be bought off and frightened off. When she finds +you have me to protect you, she will move very +cautiously, you may be sure.'' + +As the little man talked, Mildred saw and felt behind +the mask the thoughts, the longings of his physical +infatuation for her coiling and uncoiling and reaching +tremulously out toward her like unclean, horrible +tentacles. She was drawn as far as could be back +into her chair, and her soul was shrinking within her +body. + +``I am willing to make you a proper allowance, and +to give you all proper freedom,'' he went on. He +showed his sharp white teeth in a gracious smile. ``I +realize I must concede something of my old-fashioned +ideas to the modern spirit. I never thought I would, +but I didn't appreciate how fond I was of you, my +dear.'' He mumbled his tongue and noiselessly smacked +his thin lips. ``Yes, you are worth concessions and +sacrifices.'' + +``I am not going back,'' said Mildred. ``Nothing +you could offer me would make any difference.'' She +felt suddenly calm and strong. She stood. ``Please +consider this final.'' + +``But, my dear,'' said the general softly, though +there was a wicked gleam behind the mask, ``you forget +the scandal--'' + +``I forget nothing,'' interrupted she. ``I shall not +go back.'' + +Before he could attempt further to detain her she +opened the screen door and entered. It closed on the +spring and on the spring lock. + +Donald Keith, coming in from the sea-front veranda, +was just in time to save her from falling. She pushed +him fiercely away and sank down on the sofa just within +the pretty little drawing-room. She said: + +``Thank you. I didn't mean to be rude. I was only +angry with myself. I'm getting to be one of those +absurd females who blubber and keel over.'' + +``You're white and limp,'' said he. ``What's the +matter?'' + +``General Siddall is out there.'' + +``Um--he's come back, has he?'' said Keith. + +``And I am afraid of him--horribly afraid of him.'' + +``In some places and circumstances he would be a +dangerous proposition,'' said Keith. ``But not here in +the East--and not to you.'' + +``He would do ANYTHING. I don't know what he can do, +but I am sure it will be frightful--will destroy me.'' + +``You are going with him?'' + +She laughed. ``I loathe him. I thought I left him +through fear and anger. I was mistaken. It was +loathing. And my fear of him--it's loathing, too.'' + +``You mean that?'' said Keith, observing her +intently. ``You wish to be rid of him?'' + +``What a poor opinion you have of me,'' said she. +``Really, I don't deserve quite that.'' + +``Then come with me.'' + +The look of terror and shrinking returned. +``Where? To see him?'' + +``For the last time,'' said Keith. ``There'll be no +scene.'' + +It was the supreme test of her confidence in him. +Without hesitation, she rose, preceded him into the hall, +and advanced firmly toward the screen door through +which the little general could be seen. He was standing +at the top step, his back to them. At the sound +of the opening door he turned. + +``This is Mr. Donald Keith,'' said Mildred. ``He +wishes to speak to you.'' + +The general bowed; Keith bent his head. They eyed +each other with the measuring glance. Keith said in his +dry, terse way: ``I asked Miss Gower to come with me +because I wish her to hear what I have to say to you.'' + +``You mean my wife,'' said the general with a +gracious smile. + +``I mean Miss Gower,'' returned Keith. ``As you +know, she is not your wife.'' + +Mildred uttered a cry; but the two men continued +to look each at the other, with impassive countenances. + +``Your only wife is the woman who has been in the +private insane asylum of Doctor Rivers at Pueblo, +Colorado, for the past eleven years. For about twenty +years before that she was in the Delavan private asylum +near Denver. You could not divorce her under the laws +of Colorado. The divorce you got in Nevada was +fraudulent.'' + +``That's a lie,'' said the general coldly. + +Keith went on, as if he had not heard: ``You will +not annoy this lady again. And you will stop bribing +Stanley Baird's wife to make a fool of herself. And +you will stop buying houses in the blocks where Baird +owns real estate, and moving colored families into +them.'' + +``I tell you that about my divorce is a lie,'' replied +Siddall. + +``I can prove it,'' said Keith. ``And I can prove +that you knew it before you married your second wife.'' + +For the first time Siddall betrayed at the surface a +hint of how hard he was hit. His skin grew bright yellow; +wrinkles round his eyes and round the base of his +nose sprang into sudden prominence. + +``I see you know what I mean--that attempt to +falsify the record at Carson City,'' said Keith. He +opened the screen door for Mildred to pass in. He +followed her, and the door closed behind them. They went +into the drawing-room. He dropped into an easy chair, +crossed his legs, leaned his head back indolently--a +favorite attitude of his. + +``How long have you known?'' said she. Her cheeks +were flushed with excitement. + +``Oh, a good many years,'' replied he. ``It was one +of those accidental bits of information a man runs across +in knocking about. As soon as Baird told me about +you, I had the thing looked up, quietly. I was going +up to see him to-morrow--about the negroes and Mrs. +Baird's suit.'' + +``Does Stanley know?'' inquired she. + +``No,'' said Keith. ``Not necessary. Never will +be. If you like, you can have the marriage +annulled without notoriety. But that's not necessary, +either.'' + +After a long silence, she said: ``What does this +make out of me?'' + +``You mean, what would be thought of you, if it were +known?'' inquired he. ``Well, it probably wouldn't +improve your social position.'' + +``I am disgraced,'' said she, curiously rather than +emotionally. + +``Would be, if it were known,'' corrected he, ``and +if you are nothing but a woman without money looking +for a husband. If you happened to be a singer +or an actress, it would add to your reputation--make +you more talked about.'' + +``But I am not an actress or a singer.'' + +``On the other hand, I should say you didn't amount +to much socially. Except in Hanging Rock, of course +--if there is still a Hanging Rock. Don't worry about +your reputation. Fussing and fretting about your +social position doesn't help toward a career.'' + +``Naturally, you take it coolly. But you can hardly +expect me to,'' cried she. + +``You are taking it coolly,'' said he. ``Then why +try to work yourself up into a fit of hysterics? The +thing is of no importance--except that you're free +now--will never be bothered by Siddall again. You +ought to thank me, and forget it. Don't be one of the +little people who are forever agitating about trifles.'' + +Trifles! To speak of such things as trifles! And +yet-- Well, what did they actually amount to in her +life? ``Yes, I AM free,'' she said thoughtfully. ``I've +got what I wanted--got it in the easiest way possible.'' + +``That's better,'' said he approvingly. + +``And I've burnt my bridges behind me,'' pursued +she. ``There's nothing for me now but to go ahead.'' + +``Which road?'' inquired he carelessly. + +``The career,'' cried she. ``There's no other for me. +Of course I COULD marry Stanley, when he's free, as he +would be before very long, if I suggested it. Yes, I +could marry him.'' + +``Could you?'' observed he. + +``Doesn't he love me?'' + +``Undoubtedly.'' + +``Then why do you say he would not marry me?'' +demanded she. + +``Did I say that?'' + +``You insinuated it. You suggested that there was +a doubt.'' + +``Then, there is no doubt?'' + +``Yes, there is,'' she cried angrily. ``You won't let +me enjoy the least bit of a delusion. He might marry +me if I were famous. But as I am now-- He's an +inbred snob. He can't help it. He simply couldn't +marry a woman in my position. But you're overlooking +one thing--that _I_ would not marry HIM.'' + +``That's unimportant, if true,'' said Keith. + +``You don't believe it?'' + +``I don't care anything about it, my dear lady,'' said +Keith. ``Have you got time to waste in thinking about +how much I am in love with you? What a womanly +woman you are, to be sure. Your true woman, you +know, never thinks of anything but love--not how +much she loves, but how much she is loved.'' + +``Be careful!'' she warned. ``Some day you'll go +too far in saying outrageous things to me.'' + +``And then?'' said he smilingly. + +``You care nothing for our friendship?'' + +``The experiment is the only interest I have in you,'' +replied he. + +``That is not true,'' said she. ``You have always +liked me. That's why you looked up my hus-- +General Siddal{sic} and got ready for him. That's why you +saved me to-day. You are a very tender-hearted and +generous man--and you hide it as you do everything +else about yourself.'' + +He was looking off into space from the depths of +the easy chair, a mocking smile on his classical, +impassive face. + +``What puzzles me,'' she went on, ``is why you interest +yourself in as vain and shallow and vacillating a +woman as I am. You don't care for my looks--and +that's all there is to me.'' + +``Don't pause to be contradicted,'' said he. + +She was in a fine humor now. ``You might at least +have said I was up to the female average, for I am. +What have they got to offer a man but their looks? +Do you know why I despise men?'' + +``Do you?'' + +``I do. And it's because they put up with women +as much as they do--spend so much money on them, +listen to their chatter, admire their ridiculous clothes. +Oh, I understand why. I've learned that. And I can +imagine myself putting up with anything in some one +man I happened to fancy strongly. But men are foolish +about the whole sex--or all of them that have a +shadow of a claim to good looks.'' + +``Yes, the men make fools of themselves,'' admitted +he. ``But I notice that the men manage somehow to +make the careers, and hold on to the money and the +power, while the women have to wheedle and fawn and +submit in order to get what they want from the men. +There's nothing to be said for your sex. It's been +hopelessly corrupted by mine. For all the talk about +the influence of woman, what impression has your sex +made upon mine? And your sex--it has been made +by mine into exactly what we wished it to be. Take +my advice, get out of your sex. Abandon it, and make +a career.'' + +After a while she recalled with a start the events of +less than an hour ago--events that ought to have +seemed wildly exciting, arousing the deepest and strongest +emotions. Yet they had made no impression upon +her. Absolutely none. She had no horror in the +thought that she had been the victim of a bigamist; +she had no elation over her release into freedom and +safety. She wondered whether this arose from utter +frivolousness or from indifference to the trifles of +conventional joys, sorrows, agitations, excitements which +are the whole life of most people--that indifference +which is the cause of the general opinion that men and +women who make careers are usually hardened in the +process. + +As she lay awake that night--she had got a very +bad habit of lying awake hour after hour--she suddenly +came to a decision. But she did not tell Keith +for several days. She did it in this way: + +``Don't you think I'm looking better?'' she asked. + +``You're sleeping again,'' said he. + +``Do you know why? Because my mind's at rest. +I've decided to accept your offer.'' + +``And my terms?'' said he, apparently not interested +by her announcement. + +``And your terms,'' assented she. ``You are free to +stop whenever the whim strikes you; I must do exactly +as you bid. What do you wish me to do?'' + +``Nothing at present,'' replied he. ``I will let you +know.'' + +She was disappointed. She had assumed that something-- +something new and interesting, probably irritating, +perhaps enraging, would occur at once. His +indifference, his putting off to a future time, which his +manner made seem most hazily indefinite, gave her the +foolish and collapsing sense of having broken through +an open door. + + + +VII + + +THE first of September they went up to town. +Stanley left at once for his annual shooting trip; +Donald Keith disappeared, saying--as was his habit-- +neither what he was about nor when he would be seen +again. Mrs. Brindley summoned her pupils and her +musical friends. Mildred resumed the lessons with +Jennings. There was no doubt about it, she had +astonishingly improved during the summer. There had +come--or, rather, had come back--into her voice the +birdlike quality, free, joyous, spontaneous, that had not +been there since her father's death and the family's +downfall. She was glad that her arrangement with +Donald Keith was of such a nature that she was really +not bound to go on with it--if he should ever come +back and remind her of what she had said. Now that +Jennings was enthusiastic--giving just and deserved +praise, as her own ear and Mrs. Brindley assured her, +she was angry at herself for having tolerated Keith's +frankness, his insolence, his insulting and contemptuous +denials of her ability. She was impatient to see him, +that she might put him down. She said to Jennings: + +``You think I can make a career?'' + +``There isn't a doubt in my mind now,'' replied he. +``You ought to be one of the few great lyric sopranos +within five years.'' + +``A man, this summer--a really unusual man in +some ways--told me there was no hope for me.'' + +``A singing teacher?'' + +``No, a lawyer. A Mr. Keith--Donald Keith.'' + +``I've heard of him,'' said Jennings. ``His mother +was Rivi, the famous coloratura of twenty years ago.'' + +Mildred was astounded. ``He must know something +about music.'' + +``Probably,'' replied Jennings. ``He lived with her +in Italy, I believe, until he was almost grown. Then +she died. You sang for him?'' + +``No,'' Mildred said it hesitatingly. + +``Oh!'' said Jennings, and his expression--interested, +disturbed, puzzled--made Mildred understand +why she had been so reluctant to confess. Jennings +did not pursue the subject, but abruptly began the +lesson. That day and several days thereafter he put her +to tests he had never used before. She saw that he +was searching for something--for the flaw implied in +the adverse verdict of the son of Lucia Rivi. She was +enormously relieved when he gave over the search without +having found the flaw. She felt that Donald +Keith's verdict had been proved false or at least faulty. +Yet she was not wholly reassured, and from time to time +she suspected that Jennings had not been, either. + +Soon the gayety of the preceding winter and spring +was in full swing again. Keith did not return, did not +write, and Cyrilla Brindley inquired and telephoned in +vain. Mildred worked with enthusiasm, with hope, +presently with confidence. She hoped every day that Keith +would come; she would make him listen to her, force him +to admit. She caught a slight cold, neglected it, tried +to sing it away. Her voice left her abruptly. She +went to Jennings as usual the day she found herself +able to do nothing more musical than squeak. She told +him her plight. Said he: + +``Begin! Let's hear.'' + +She made a few dismal attempts, stopped short, and, +half laughing, half ashamed, faced him for the lecture +she knew would be forthcoming. Now, it so happened +that Jennings was in a frightful humor that day--one +of those humors in which the most prudent lose their +self-control. He had been listening to a succession of +new pupils--women with money and no voice, women +who screeched and screamed and thoroughly enjoyed +themselves and angled confidently for compliments. As +Jennings had an acute musical ear, his sufferings had +been frightful. He was used to these torments, had the +habit of turning the fury into which they put him into +excellent financial or disciplinary account. But on this +particular day his nerves went to pieces, and it was with +Mildred that the explosion came. When she looked at +him, she was horrified to see a face distorted and +discolored by sheer rage. + +``You fool!'' he shouted, storming up and down. +``You fool! You can't sing! Keith was right. You +wouldn't do even for a church choir. You can't be +relied on. There's nothing behind your voice--no +strength, no endurance, no brains. No brains! Do +you hear?--no brains, I say!'' + +Mildred was terrified. She had seen him in tantrums +before, but always there had been a judicious reserving +of part of the truth. Instead of resenting, instead of +flashing eye or quivering lips, Mildred sat down and with +white face and dazed eyes stared straight before her. +Jennings raved and roared himself out. As he came +to his senses from this debauch of truth-telling his first +thought was how expensive it might be. Thus, long +before there was any outward sign that the storm had +passed, the ravings, the insults were shrewdly tempered +with qualifyings. If she kept on catching these colds, +if she did not obey his instructions, she might put off +her debut for years--for three years, for two years at +least. And she would always be rowing with managers +and irritating the public--and so on and on. But +the mischief had been done. The girl did not rouse. + +``No use to go on to-day,'' he said gruffly--the +pretense at last rumblings of an expiring storm. + +``Nor any other day,'' said Mildred. + +She stood and straightened herself. Her face was +beautiful rather than lovely. Its pallor, its strong +lines, the melancholy intensity of the eyes, made her +seem more the woman fully developed, less, far less, the +maturing girl. + +``Nonsense!'' scolded Jennings. ``But no more +colds like that. They impair the quality of the voice.'' + +``I have no voice,'' said the girl. ``I see the truth.'' + +Jennings was inwardly cursing his insane temper. +In about the kindliest tone he had ever used with her, +he said: ``My dear Miss Stevens, you are in no +condition to judge to-day. Come back to-morrow. Do +something for that cold to-night. Clear out the throat +--and come back to-morrow. You will see.'' + +``Yes, I know those tricks,'' said she, with a sad little +smile. ``You can make a crow seem to sing. But you +told me the truth.'' + +``To-morrow,'' he cried pleasantly, giving her an +encouraging pat on the shoulder. He knew the folly of +talking too much, the danger of confirming her fears by +pretending to make light of them. ``A good sleep, and +to-morrow things will look brighter.'' + +He did not like her expression. It was not the one +he was used to seeing in those vain, ``temperamental'' +pupils of his--the downcast vanity that will be up +again in a few hours. It was rather the expression of +one who has been finally and forever disillusioned. + +On her way home she stopped to send Keith a +telegram: ``I must see you at once.'' + +There were several at the apartment for tea, among +them Cullan, an amateur violinist and critic on music +whom she especially liked. For, instead of the dreamy, +romantic character his large brown eyes and sensitive +features suggested, he revealed in talk and actions a +boyish gayety--free, be it said, from boyish silliness-- +that was most infectious. His was one of those souls +that put us in the mood to laugh at all seriousness, to +forget all else in the supreme fact of the reality of +existence. He made her forget that day--forget until +Keith's answering telegram interrupted: ``Next Monday +afternoon.'' + +A week less a day away! She shrank and trembled +at the prospect of relying upon herself alone for six +long days. Every prop had been taken away from her. +Even the dubious prop of the strange, unsatisfactory +Keith. For had he not failed her? She had said, +``must'' and ``at once''; and he had responded with +three words of curt refusal. + +After dinner Stanley unexpectedly appeared. He +hardly waited for the necessary formalities of the +greeting before he said to Mrs. Brindley: ``I want to see +Mildred alone. I know you won't mind, Mrs. Brindley. +It's very important.'' He laughed nervously but cheerfully. +``And in a few minutes I'll call you in. I think +I'll have something interesting to tell you.'' + +Mrs. Brindley laughed. With her cigarette in one +hand and her cup of after-dinner coffee in the other, +she moved toward the door, saying gayly to Mildred: + +``I'll be in the next room. If you scream I shall +hear. So don't be alarmed.'' + +Stanley closed the door, turned beaming upon +Mildred. Said he: ``Here's my news. My missus has +got her divorce.'' + +Mildred started up. + +``Yes, the real thing,'' he assured her. ``Of course +I knew what was doing. But I kept mum--didn't +want to say anything to you till I could say everything. +Mildred, I'm free. We can be married to-morrow, if +you will.'' + +``Then you know about me?'' said she, confused. + +``On the way I stopped in to see Keith. He told me +about that skunk--told me you were free, too.'' + +Mildred slowly sat down. Her elbows rested upon +the table. There was her bare forearm, slender and +round, and her long, graceful fingers lay against her +cheek. The light from above reflected charmingly +from the soft waves and curves of her hair. ``You're +lovely--simply lovely!'' cried Stanley. ``Mildred-- +darling--you WILL marry me, won't you? You can +go right on with the career, if you like. In fact, I'd +rather you would, for I'm frightfully proud of your +voice. And I've changed a lot since I became sincerely +interested in you. The other sort of life and people +don't amuse me any more. Mildred, say you'll +marry me. I'll make you as happy as the days are +long.'' + +She moved slightly. Her hand dropped to the table. + +``I guess I came down on you too suddenly,'' said +he. ``You look a bit dazed.'' + +``No, I'm not dazed,'' replied she. + +``I'll call Mrs. Brindley in, and we'll all three talk +it over.'' + +``Please don't,'' said she. ``I've got to think it out +for myself.'' + +``I know there isn't anyone else,'' he went on. ``So, +I'm sure--dead sure, Mildred, that I can teach you +to love me.'' + +She looked at him pleadingly. ``I don't have to +answer right away?'' + +``Certainly not,'' laughed he. ``But why shouldn't +you? What is there against our getting married? +Nothing. And everything for it. Our marriage will +straighten out all the--the little difficulties, and you +can go ahead with the singing and not bother about +money, or what people might say, or any of those +things.'' + +``I--I've got to think about it, Stanley,'' she said +gently. ``I want to do the decent thing by you and +by myself.'' + +``You're afraid I'll interfere in the career--won't +want you to go on? Mildred, I swear I'm--'' + +``It isn't that,'' she interrupted, her color high. +``The truth is--'' she faltered, came to a full stop-- +cried, ``Oh, I can't talk about it to-night.'' + +``To-morrow?'' he suggested. + +``I--don't know,'' she stammered. ``Perhaps to- +morrow. But it may be two or three days.'' + +Stanley looked crestfallen. ``That hurts, Mildred,'' +he said. ``I was SO full of it, so anxious to be entirely +happy, and I thought you'd fall right in with it. +Something to do with money? You're horribly sensitive +about money, dear. I like that in you, of course. +Not many women would have been as square, would +have taken as little--and worked hard--and thought +and cared about nothing but making good-- By Jove, +it's no wonder I'm stark crazy about YOU!'' + +She was flushed and trembling. ``Don't,'' she +pleaded. ``You're beating me down into the dust. I +--I'm--'' She started up. ``I can't talk to-night. +I might say things I'd be-- I can't talk about it. I +must--'' + +She pressed her lips together and fled through the +hall to her own room, to shut and lock herself in. He +stared in amazement. When he heard the distant sound +of the turning key he dropped to a chair again and +laughed. Certainly women were queer creatures-- +always doing what one didn't expect. Still, in the end-- +well, a sensible woman knew a good chance to marry +and took it. There was no doubt a good deal of +pretense in Mildred's delicacy as to money matters--but +a devilish creditable sort of pretense. He liked the +ladylike, ``nice'' pretenses, of women of the right sort +--liked them when they fooled him, liked them when +they only half fooled him. + +Presently he knocked on the door of the little library, +opened it when permission came in Cyrilla's voice. She +was reading the evening paper--he did not see the +glasses she hastily thrust into a drawer. In that soft +light she looked a scant thirty, handsome, but for his +taste too intellectual of type to be attractive--except +as a friend. + +``Well,'' said he, as he lit a cigarette and dropped the +match into the big copper ash-bowl, ``I'll bet you can't +guess what I've been up to.'' + +``Making love to Miss Stevens,'' replied she. ``And +very foolish it is of you. She's got a steady head +in that way.'' + +``You're mighty right,'' said he heartily. ``And I +admire her for that more than for anything else. I'd +trust her anywhere.'' + +``You're paying yourself a high compliment,'' +laughed Cyrilla. + +``How's that?'' inquired he. ``You're too subtle +for me. I'm a bit slow.'' + +Mrs. Brindley decided against explaining. It was +not wise to risk raising an unjust doubt in the mind +of a man who fancied that a woman who resisted him +would be adamant to every other man. ``Then I've got +to guess again?'' said she. + +``I've been asking her to marry me,'' said Stanley, +who could contain it no longer. ``Mrs. B. was released +from me to-day by the court in Providence.'' + +``But SHE'S not free,'' said Cyrilla, a little severely. + +Stanley looked confused, finally said: ``Yes, she is. +It's a queer story. Don't say anything. I can't +explain. I know I can trust you to keep a close mouth.'' + +``Minding my own business is my one supreme talent,'' +said Cyrilla. + +``She hasn't accepted me--in so many words,'' pursued +Baird, ``but I've hopes that it'll come out all +right.'' + +``Naturally,'' commented Cyrilla dryly. + +``I know I'm not--not objectionable to her. And +how I do love her!'' He settled himself at his ease. +``I can't believe it's really me. I never thought I'd +marry--just for love. Did you?'' + +``You're very self-indulgent,'' said Cyrilla. + +``You mean I'm marrying her because I can't get +her any other way. There's where you're wrong, Mrs. +Brindley. I'm marrying her because I don't want her +any other way. That's why I know it's love. I didn't +think I was capable of it. Of course, I've been rather +strong after the ladies all my life. You know how it +is with men.'' + +``I do,'' said Mrs. Brindley. + +``No, you don't either,'' retorted he. ``You're one +of those cold, stand-me-off women who can't comprehend +the nature of man.'' + +``As you please,'' said she. In her eyes there was a +gleam that more than suggested a possibility of some +man--some man she might fancy--seeing an amazingly +different Cyrilla Brindley. + +``I may say I was daft about pretty women,'' +continued Baird. ``I never read an item about a pretty +woman in the papers, or saw a picture of a pretty woman +that I didn't wish I knew her--well. Can you imagine +that?'' laughed he. + +``Commonplace,'' said Cyrilla. ``All men are so. +That's why the papers always describe the woman as +pretty and why the pictures are published.'' + +``Really? Yes, I suppose so.'' Baird looked +chagrined. ``Anyhow, here I am, all for one woman. +And why? I can't explain it to myself. She's pretty, +lovely, entrancing sometimes. She has charm, grace, +sweetness. She dresses well and carries herself with a +kind of sweet haughtiness. She looks as if she knew a +lot--and nothing bad. Do you know, I can't imagine +her having been married to that beast! I've tried to +imagine it. I simply can't.'' + +``I shouldn't try if I were you,'' said Mrs. Brindley. + +``But I was talking about why I love her. Does this +bore you?'' + +``A little,'' laughed Cyrilla. ``I'd rather hear some +man talking about MY charms. But go on. You are amusing, +in a way.'' + +``I'll wager I am. You never thought I'd be caught? +I believed I was immune--vaccinated against it. +I thought I knew all the tricks and turns of the sex. +Yet here I am!'' + +``What do you think caught you?'' + +``That's the mystery. It's simply that I can't do +without her. Everything she looks and says and does +interests me more than anything else in the world. And +when I'm not with her I'm wishing I were and wondering +how she's looking or what she's saying or doing. You +don't think she'll refuse me?'' This last with real +anxiety. + +``I haven't an idea,'' replied Mrs. Brindley. ``She's +--peculiar. In some moods she would. In others, she +couldn't. And I've never been able to settle to my +satisfaction which kind of mood was the real Mary +Stevens.'' + +``She IS queer, isn't she?'' said Stanley thoughtfully. +``But I've told her she'd be free to go on with the career. +Fact is, I want her to do it.'' + +Mrs. Brindley's eyes twinkled. ``You think it would +justify you to your set in marrying her, if she made +a great hit?'' + +Stanley blushed ingenuously. ``I'll not deny that has +something to do with it,'' he admitted. ``And why +not?'' + +``Why not, indeed?'' said she. ``But, after she had +made the hit, you'd want her to quit the stage and take +her place in society. Isn't that so?'' + +``You ARE a keen one,'' exclaimed he admiringly. +``But I didn't say that to her. And you won't, will you?'' + +``It's hardly necessary to ask that,'' said Mrs. +Brindley. ``Now, suppose-- You don't mind my talking +about this?'' + +``What I want,'' replied he. ``I can't talk or think +anything but her.'' + +``Now, suppose she shouldn't make a hit. Suppose +she should fail--should not develop reliable voice +enough?'' + +Stanley looked frightened. ``But she can't fail,'' +he cried with over-energy. ``There's no question about +her voice.'' + +``I understand,'' Mrs. Brindley hastened to say. ``I +was simply making conversation with her as the subject.'' + +``Oh, I see.'' Stanley settled back. + +``Suppose she should prove not to be a great artist-- +what then?'' persisted Cyrilla, who was deeply interested +in the intricate obscure problem of what people +really thought as distinguished from what they professed +and also from what they imagined they thought. + +``The fact that she's a great artist--that's part of +her,'' said Baird. ``If she weren't a great singer, she +wouldn't be she--don't you see?'' + +``Yes, I see,'' said Mrs. Brindley with an ironic +sadness which she indulged openly because there was no +danger of his understanding. + +``I don't exactly love her because she amounts to a +lot--or is sure to,'' pursued he, vaguely dissatisfied +with himself. ``It's just as she doesn't care for me +because I've got the means to take care of her right, yet +that's part of me--and she'd not be able to marry me +if I hadn't. Don't you see?'' + +``Yes, I see,'' said Mrs. Brindley with more irony +and less sadness. ``There's always SOME reason beside love.'' + +``I'd say there's always some reason FOR love,'' said +Baird, and he felt that he had said something brilliant-- +as is the habit of people of sluggish mentality when +they say a thing they do not themselves understand. +``You don't doubt that I love her?'' he went on. ``Why +should I ask her to marry me if I didn't?'' + +``I suppose that settles it,'' said Cyrilla. + +``Of course it does,'' declared he. + +For an hour he sat there, talking on, most of it a +pretty dull kind of drivel. Mrs. Brindley listened +patiently, because she liked him and because she had +nothing else to do until bedtime. At last he rose with +a long sigh and said: + +``I guess I might as well be going.'' + +``She'll not come in to-night again,'' said Cyrilla +slyly. + +He laughed. ``You are a good one. I'll own up, +I've been staying on partly in the hope that she'd come +back. But it's been a great joy to talk to you about +her. I know you love her, too.'' + +``Yes, I'm extremely fond of her,'' said she. ``I've +not known many women--many people without petty +mean tricks. She's one.'' + +``Isn't she, though?'' exclaimed he. + +``I don't mean she's perfect,'' said Mrs. Brindley. +``I don't even mean that she's as angelic as you think +her. I'd not like her, if she were. But she's a superior +kind of human.'' + +She was tired of him now, and got him out speedily. +As she closed the front door upon him, Mildred's door, +down the hall, opened. Her head appeared, an inquiring +look upon her face. Mrs. Brindley nodded. Mil- +dred, her hair done close to her head, a dressing-robe +over her nightgown and her bare feet in little slippers, +came down the hall. She coiled herself up in a big +chair in the library and lit a cigarette. She looked +like a handsome young boy. + +``He told you?'' she said to Mrs. Brindley. + +``Yes,'' replied Cyrilla. + +Silence. In all their intimate acquaintance there had +never been an approach to the confidential on either +side. It was Cyrilla's notion that confidences were a +mistake, and that the more closely people were thrown +together the more resolutely they ought to keep certain +barriers between them. She and Mildred got on too +admirably, liked each other too well, for there to be +any trifling with their relations--and over-intimacy +inevitably led to trifling. Mildred had restrained +herself because Mrs. Brindley had compelled it by rigid +example. Often she had longed to talk things over, +to ask advice; but she had never ventured further than +generalities, and Mrs. Brindley had never proffered +advice, had never accepted opportunities to give it +except in the vaguest way. She had taught Mildred a +great deal, but always by example, by doing, never by +saying what ought or ought not to be done. Thus, +such development of Mildred's character as there had +been was natural and permanent. + +``He has put me in a peculiar position,'' said +Mildred. ``Or, rather, I have let myself drift into a +peculiar position. For I think you're right in saying +that oneself is always to blame. Won't you let me talk +about it to you, please? I know you hate confidences. +But I've got to--to talk. I'd like you to advise me, +if you can. But even if you don't, it'll do me good to +say things aloud.'' + +``Often one sees more clearly,'' was Cyrilla's reply-- +noncommittal, yet not discouraging. + +``I'm free to marry him,'' Mildred went on. ``That +is, I'm not married. I'd rather not explain--'' + +``Don't,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``It's unnecessary.'' + +``You know that it's Stanley who has been lending +me the money to live on while I study. Well, from +the beginning I've been afraid I'd find myself in a +difficult position.'' + +``Naturally,'' said Mrs. Brindley, as she paused. + +``But I've always expected it to come in another +way--not about marriage, but--'' + +``I understand,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``You feared +you'd be called on to pay in the way women usually +pay debts to men.'' + +Mildred nodded. ``But this is worse than I expected +--much worse.'' + +``I hadn't thought of that,'' said Cyrilla. ``Yes, +you're right. If he had hinted the other thing, you +could have pretended not to understand. If he had +suggested it, you could have made him feel cheap and +mean.'' + +``I did,'' said Mildred. ``He has been--really +wonderful--better than almost any man would have been-- +more considerate than I deserved. And I took advantage +of it.'' + +``A woman has to,'' said Cyrilla. ``The fight +between men and women is so unequal.'' + +``I took advantage of him,'' repeated Mildred. +``And he apologized, and I--I went on taking the +money. I didn't know what else to do. Isn't that +dreadful?'' + +``Nothing to be proud of,'' said Cyrilla. ``But a +very usual transaction.'' + +``And then,'' pursued Mildred, ``I discovered that +I--that I'd not be able to make a career. But still +I kept on, though I've been trying to force myself to-- +to show some pride and self-respect. I discovered it +only a short time ago, and it wasn't really until to-day +that I was absolutely sure.'' + +``You ARE sure?'' + +``There's hardly a doubt,'' replied Mildred. ``But +never mind that now. I've got to make a living at +something, and while I'm learning whatever it is, I've +got to have money to live on. And I can get it only +from him. Now, he asks me to marry him. He +wouldn't ask me if he didn't think I was going to be +a great singer. He doesn't know it, but I do.'' + +Mrs. Brindley smiled sweetly. + +``And he thinks that I love him, also. If I accept +him, it will be under doubly false pretenses. If I refuse +him I've got to stop taking the money.'' + +A long silence; then Mrs. Brindley said: ``Women-- +the good ones, too--often feel that they've a right to +treat men as men treat them. I think almost any woman +would feel justified in putting off the crisis.'' + +``You mean, I might tell him I'd give him my answer +when I was independent and had paid back.'' + +Cyrilla nodded. Mildred relit her cigarette, which +she had let go out. ``I had thought of that,'' said she. +``But--I doubt if he'd tolerate it. Also''--she +laughed with the peculiar intonation that accompanies +the lifting of the veil over a deeply and carefully hidden +corner of one's secret self--``I am afraid. If I don't +marry him, in a few weeks, or months at most, he'll +probably find out that I shall never be a great singer, +and then I'd not be able to marry him if I wished to.'' + +``He IS a temptation,'' said Cyrilla. ``That is, his +money is--and he personally is very nice.'' + +``I married a man I didn't care for,'' pursued +Mildred. ``I don't want ever to do that again. It is-- +even in the best circumstances--not agreeable, not as +simple as it looks to the inexperienced girls who are +always doing it.'' + +``Still, a woman can endure that sort of thing,'' said +Mrs. Brindley, ``unless she happens to be in love with +another man.'' She was observing the unconscious Mildred +narrowly, a state of inward tension and excitement +hinted in her face, but not in her voice. + +``That's just it?'' said Mildred, her face carefully +averted. ``I--I happen to be in love with another +man.'' + +A spasm of pain crossed Cyrilla's face. + +``A man who cares nothing about me--and never +will. He's just a friend--so much the friend that he +couldn't possibly think of me as--as a woman, needing +him and wanting him''--her eyes were on fire now, and +a soft glow had come into her cheeks--``and never +daring to show it because if I did he would fly and never +let me see him again.'' + +Cyrilla Brindley's face was tragic as she looked at +the beautiful girl, so gracefully adjusted to the big +chair. She sighed covertly. ``You are lovely,'' she +said, ``and young--above all, young.'' + +``This man is peculiar,'' replied Mildred forlornly. +``Anyhow, he doesn't want ME. He knows me for the +futile, weak, worthless creature I am. He saw through +my bluff, even before I saw through it myself. If it +weren't for him, I could go ahead--do the sensible +thing--do as women usually do. But--'' She came +to a full stop. + +``Love is a woman's sense of honor,'' said Cyrilla +softly. ``We're merciless and unscrupulous--anything-- +everything--where we don't love. But where +we do love, we'll go farther for honor than the most +honorable man. That's why we're both worse and better +than men--and seem to be so contradictory and +puzzling.'' + +``I'd do anything for him,'' said Mildred. She smiled +drearily. ``And he wants nothing.'' + +She had nothing more to say. She had talked herself +out about Stanley, and her mind was now filled with +thoughts that could not be spoken. As she rose to +go to bed, she looked appealingly at Cyrilla. Then, +with a sudden and shy rush she flung her arms round +her and kissed her. ``Thank you--so much,'' she said. +``You've done me a world of good. Saying it all out +loud before YOU has made me see. I know my own +mind, now.'' + +She did not note the pathetic tenderness of Cyrilla's +face as she said, ``Good night, Mildred.'' But she did +note the use of her first name--and her own right first +name--for the first time since they had known each +other. She embraced and kissed her again. ``Good +night, Cyrilla,'' she said gratefully. + + +As she entered Jennings's studio the next day he looked +at her; and when Jennings looked, he saw--as must +anyone who lives well by playing upon human nature. +He did not like her expression. She did not habitually +smile; her light-heartedness, her optimism, did not show +themselves in that inane way. But this seriousness of +hers was of a new kind, of the kind that bespeaks sobriety +and saneness of soul. And that kind of seriousness-- +the deep, inward gravity of a person whose +days of trifling with themselves and with the facts of +life, and of being trifled with, are over--would have +impressed Jennings equally had she come in laughing, +had her every word been a jest. + +``No, I didn't come for a lesson--at least not the +usual kind,'' said she. + +He was not one to yield without a struggle. Also +he wished to feel his way to the meaning of this new +mood. He put her music on the rack. ``We'll begin +where we--'' + +``This half-hour of your time is mine, is it not?'' +said she quietly. ``Let's not waste any of it. Yesterday +you told me that I could not hope to make a career +because my voice is unreliable. Why is it unreliable?'' + +``Because you have a delicate throat,'' replied he, +yielding at once where he instinctively knew he could +not win. + +``Then why can I sing so well sometimes?'' + +``Because your throat is in good condition some days +--in perfect condition.'' + +``It's the colds then--and the slight attacks of +colds?'' + +``Certainly.'' + +``If I did not catch colds--if I kept perfectly well +--could I rely on my voice?'' + +``But that's impossible,'' said he. + +``Why?'' + +``You're not strong enough.'' + +``Then I haven't the physical strength for a career?'' + +``That--and also you are lacking in muscular +development. But after several years of lessons--'' + +``If I developed my muscles--if I became strong--'' + +``Most of the great singers come from the lower +classes--from people who do manual labor. They did +manual labor in their youth. You girls of the better +class have to overcome that handicap.'' + +``But so many of the great singers are fat.'' + +``Yes, and under that fat you'll find great ropes of +muscle--like a blacksmith.'' + +``What Keith meant,'' she said. ``I wonder-- +Why do I catch cold so easily? Why do I almost +always have a slight catch in the throat? Have you +noticed that I nearly always have to clear my throat +just a little?'' + +Her expression held him. He hesitated, tried to +evade, gave it up. ``Until that passes, you can never +hope to be a thoroughly reliable singer,'' said he. + +``That is, I can't hope to make a career?'' + +His silence was assent. + +``But I have the voice?'' + +``You have the voice.'' + +``An unusual voice?'' + +``Yes, but not so unusual as might be thought. As +a matter of fact, there are thousands of fine voices. +The trouble is in reliability. Only a few are reliable.'' + +She nodded slowly and thoughtfully. ``I begin to +understand what Mr. Keith meant,'' she said. ``I +begin to see what I have to do, and how--how impossible +it is.'' + +``By no means,'' declared Jennings. ``If I did not +think otherwise, I'd not be giving my time to you.'' + +She looked at him gravely. His eyes shifted, then +returned defiantly, aggressively. She said: + +``You can't help me to what I want. So this is +my last lesson--for the present. I may come back +some day--when I am ready for what you have to +give.'' + +``You are going to give up?'' + +``Oh, no--oh, dear me, no,'' replied she. ``I realize +that you're laughing in your sleeve as I say so, because +you think I'll never get anywhere. But you--and +Mr. Keith--may be mistaken.'' She drew from her +muff a piece of music--the ``Batti Batti,'' from ``Don +Giovanni.'' ``If you please,'' said she, ``we'll spend +the rest of my time in going over this. I want to be +able to sing it as well as possible.'' + +He looked searchingly at her. ``If you wish,'' said +he. ``But I doubt if you'll be able to sing at all.'' + +``On the contrary, my cold's entirely gone,'' replied +she. ``I had an exciting evening, I doctored myself +before I went to bed, and three or four times in the night. +I found, this morning, that I could sing.'' + +And it was so. Never had she sung better. ``Like +a true artist!'' he declared with an enthusiasm that had +a foundation of sincerity. ``You know, Miss Stevens, +you came very near to having that rarest of all gifts-- +a naturally placed voice. If you hadn't had singing +teachers as a girl to make you self-conscious and to teach +you wrong, you'd have been a wonder.'' + +``I may get it back,'' said Mildred. + +``That never happens,'' replied he. ``But I can +almost do it.'' + +He coached her for half an hour straight ahead, +sending the next pupil into the adjoining room--an +unprecedented transgression of routine. He showed +her for the first time what a teacher he could be, when +he wished. There was an astonishing difference +between her first singing of the song and her sixth +and last--for they went through it carefully five +times. She thanked him and then put out her hand, +saying: + +``This is a long good-by.'' + +``To-morrow,'' replied he, ignoring her hand. + +``No. My money is all gone. Besides, I have no +time for amateur trifling.'' + +``Your lessons are paid for until the end of the +month. This is only the nineteenth.'' + +``Then you are so much in.'' Again she put out her +hand. + +He took it. ``You owe me an explanation.'' + +She smiled mockingly. ``As a friend of mine says, +don't ask questions to which you already know the answer.'' + +And she departed, the smile still on her charming +face, but the new seriousness beneath it. As she had +anticipated, she found Stanley Baird waiting for her +in the drawing-room of the apartment. Being by +habit much interested in his own emotions and not at +all in the emotions of others, he saw only the healthful +radiance the sharp October air had put into her cheeks +and eyes. Certainly, to look at Mildred Gower was to +get no impression of lack of health and strength. Her +glance wavered a little at sight of him, then the expression +of firmness came back. + +``You look like that picture you gave me a long time +ago,'' said he. ``Do you remember it?'' + +She did not. + +``It has a--different expression,'' he went on. ``I +don't think I'd have noticed it but for Keith. I happened +to show it to him one day, and he stared at it in +that way he has--you know?'' + +``Yes, I know,'' said Mildred. She was seeing those +uncanny, brilliant, penetrating eyes, in such startling +contrast to the calm, lifeless coloring and classic chiseling +of features. + +``And after a while he said, `So, THAT'S Miss +Stevens!' And I asked him what he meant, and he took +one of your later photos and put the two side by side. +To my notion the later was a lot the more attractive, +for the face was rounder and softer and didn't have a +certain kind of--well, hardness, as if you had a will +and could ride rough shod. Not that you look so +frightfully unattractive.'' + +``I remember the picture,'' interrupted Mildred. ``It +was taken when I was twenty--just after an illness.'' + +``The face WAS thin,'' said Stanley. ``Keith called it +a `give away.' '' + +``I'd like to see it,'' said Mildred. + +``I'll try to find it. But I'm afraid I can't. I +haven't seen it since I showed it to Keith, and when I +hunted for it the other day, it didn't turn up. I've +changed valets several times in the last six months--'' + +But Mildred had ceased listening. Keith had seen the +picture, had called it a ``give away,'' had been interested +in it--and the picture had disappeared. She +laughed at her own folly, yet she was glad Stanley had +given her this chance to make up a silly day-dream. +She waited until he had exhausted himself on the subject +of valets, their drunkenness, their thievish habits, +their incompetence, then she said: + +``I took my last lesson from Jennings to-day.'' + +``What's the matter? Do you want to change? +You didn't say anything about it? Isn't he good?'' + +``Good enough. But I've discovered that my voice +isn't reliable, and unless one has a reliable voice there's +no chance for a grand-opera career--or for comic +opera, either.'' + +Stanley was straightway all agitation and protest. +``Who put that notion in your head? There's nothing +in it, Mildred. Jennings is crazy about your voice, +and he knows.'' + +``Jennings is after the money,'' replied Mildred. +``What I'm saying is the truth. Stanley, our beautiful +dream of a career has winked out.'' + +His expression was most revealing. + +``And,'' she went on, ``I'm not going to take any +more of your money--and, of course, I'll pay back +what I've borrowed when I can''--she smiled--``which +may not be very soon.'' + +``What's all this about, anyhow?'' demanded he. ``I +don't see any sign of it in your face. You wouldn't +take it so coolly if it were so.'' + +``I don't understand why I'm not wringing my hands +and weeping,'' replied she. ``Every few minutes I tell +myself that I ought to be. But I stay quite calm. I +suppose I'm--sort of stupefied.'' + +``Do you really mean that you've given up?'' cried +he. + +``It's no use to waste the money, Stanley. I've got +the voice, and that's what deceived us all. But there's +nothing BEHIND the voice. With a great singer the +greatness is in what's behind the voice, not in the voice +itself.'' + +``I don't believe a word of it,'' cried he violently. +``You've been discouraged by a little cold. Everybody +has colds. Why, in this climate the colds are always +getting the Metropolitan singers down.'' + +``But they've got strong throats, and my throat's +delicate.'' + +``You must go to a better climate. You ought to be +abroad, anyhow. That was part of my plan--for us +to go abroad--'' He stopped in confusion, reddened, +went bravely on--``and you to study there and make +your debut.'' + +Mildred shook her head. ``That's all over,'' said she. +``I've got to change my plans entirely.'' + +``You're a little depressed, that's all. For a minute +you almost convinced me. What a turn you did give +me! I forgot how your voice sounded the last time +I heard it. No, you'd not be so calm, if you didn't +know everything was all right.'' + +Her eyes lit up with sly humor. ``Perhaps I'm +calm because I feel that my future's secure as your wife. +What more could a woman ask?'' + +He forced an uncomfortable laugh. ``Of course-- +of course,'' he said with a painful effort to be easy and +jocose. + +``I knew you'd marry me, even if I couldn't sing a +note. I knew your belief in my career had nothing to +do with it.'' + +He hesitated, blurted out the truth. ``Speaking +seriously, that isn't quite so,'' said he. ``I've got my +heart set on your making a great tear--and I know +you'll do it.'' + +``And if you knew I wouldn't, you'd not want to +marry me?'' + +``I don't say that,'' protested he. ``How can I say +how I'd feel if you were different?'' + +She nodded. ``That's sensible, and it's candid,'' she +said. She laid her hand impulsively on his arm. ``I +DO like you, Stanley. You have got such a lot of good +qualities. Don't worry. I'm not going to insist on +your marrying me.'' + +``You don't have to do that, Mildred,'' said he. +``I'm staring, raving crazy about you, though I'm a +damn fool to let you know it.'' + +``Yes, it is foolish,'' said she. ``If you'd kept me +worrying-- Still, I guess not. But it doesn't matter. +You can protest and urge all you please, quite safely. +I'm not going to marry you. Now let's talk business.'' + +``Let's talk marriage,'' said he. ``I want this thing +settled. You know you intend to marry me, Mildred. +Why not say so? Why keep me gasping on the hook?'' + +They heard the front door open, and the rustling of +skirts down the hall. Mildred called: + +``Mrs. Brindley! Cyrilla!'' + +An instant and Cyrilla appeared in the doorway. +When she and Baird had shaken hands, Mildred said: + +``Cyrilla, I want you to tell the exact, honest truth. +Is there any hope for a woman with a delicate throat to +make a grand-opera career?'' + +Cyrilla paled, looked pleadingly at Mildred. + +``Tell him,'' commanded Mildred. + +``Very little,'' said Mrs. Brindley. ``But--'' + +``Don't try to soften it,'' interrupted Mildred. +``The truth, the plain truth.'' + +``You've no right to draw me into this,'' cried Cyrilla +indignantly, and she started to leave the room. + +``I want him to know,'' said Mildred. ``And he +wants to know.'' + +``I refuse to be drawn into it,'' Cyrilla said, and +disappeared. + +But Mildred saw that Stanley had been shaken. She +proceeded to explain to him at length what a singer's +career meant--the hardships, the drafts on health and +strength, the absolute necessity of being reliable, of +singing true, of not disappointing audiences--what +a delicate throat meant--how delicate her throat was +--how deficient she was in the kind of physical strength +needed--muscular power with endurance back of it. +When she finished he understood. + +``I'd always thought of it as an art,'' he said +ruefully. ``Why, it's mostly health and muscles and +things that have nothing to do with music.'' He was +dazed and offended by this uncovering of the mechanism +of the art--by the discovery of the coarse and painful +toil, the grossly physical basis, of what had seemed +to him all idealism. He had been full of the delusions +of spontaneity and inspiration, like all laymen, and all +artists, too, except those of the higher ranks--those +who have fought their way up to the heights and, so, +have learned that one does not achieve them by being +caught up to them gloriously in a fiery cloud, but by +doggedly and dirtily and sweatily toiling over every inch +of the cruel climb. + +He sat silent when she had finished. She waited, +then said: + +``Now, you see. I release you, and I'll take no more +money to waste.'' + +He looked at her with dumb misery that smote her +heart. Then his expression changed--to the shining, +hungry eyes, the swollen veins, the reddened countenance, +the watering lips of desire. He seized her in his +arms, and in a voice trembling with passion, he cried: +``You must marry me, anyhow! I've GOT to have you, Mildred.'' + +If she had loved him, his expression, his impassioned +voice would have thrilled her. But she did not love him. +It took all her liking for him, and the memory of all +she owed him--that unpaid debt!--to enable her to +push him away gently and to say without any show of +the repulsion she felt: + +``Stanley, you mustn't do that. And it's useless to +talk of marriage. You're generous, so you are taking +pity on me. But believe me, I'll get along somehow.'' + +``Pity? I tell you I love you,'' he cried, catching +desperately at her hands and holding them in a grip +she could not break. ``You've no right to treat me +like this.'' + +It was one of those veiled and stealthy reminders of +obligation habitually indulged in by delicate people +seeking repayment of the debt, but shunning the coarseness +of direct demand. Mildred saw her opportunity. +Said she quietly: + +``You mean you want me to give myself to you in +payment, or part payment, for the money you've loaned +me?'' + +He released her hands and sprang up. He had +meant just that, but he had not had the courage, or the +meanness, or both, to admit boldly his own secret wish. +She had calculated on this--had calculated well. +``Mildred!'' he cried in a shocked voice. ``YOU so +lacking in delicacy as to say such a thing!'' + +``If you didn't mean that, Stanley, what DID you mean?'' + +``I was appealing to our friendship--our--our love +for each other.'' + +``Then you should have waited until I was free.'' + +``Good God!'' he cried, ``don't you see that's +hopeless? Mildred, be sensible--be merciful.'' + +``I shall never marry a man when he could justly +suspect I did it to live off him.'' + +``What an idea! It's a man's place to support a +woman!'' + +``I was speaking only of myself. _I_ can't do it. +And it's absurd for you and me to be talking about love +and marriage when anyone can see I'd be marrying you +only because I was afraid to face poverty and a struggle.'' + +Her manner calmed him somewhat. ``Of course it's +obvious that you've got to have money,'' said he, ``and +that the only way you can get it is by marriage. But +there's something else, too, and in my opinion it's the +principal thing--we care for each other. Why not be +sensible, Mildred? Why not thank God that as long as +you have to marry, you can marry someone you care for.'' + +``Could you feel that I cared for you, if I married +you now?'' inquired she. + +``Why not? I'm not so entirely lacking in self- +esteem. I feel that I must count for something.'' + +Mildred sat silently wondering at this phenomenon so +astounding, yet a commonplace of masculine egotism. +She had no conception of this vanity which causes the +man, at whom the street woman smiles, to feel flattered, +though he knows full well what she is and her dire ne- +cessity. She could not doubt that he was speaking the +truth, yet she could not believe that conceit could so +befog common sense in a man who, for all his slowness +and shallowness, was more than ordinarily shrewd. + +``Even if I thought I loved you,'' said she, ``I +couldn't be sure in these circumstances that I wasn't +after your money.'' + +``Don't worry about that,'' replied he. ``I +understand you better than you understand yourself.'' + +``Let's stop talking about it,'' said she impatiently. +``I want to explain to you the business side of this.'' +She took her purse from the table. ``Here are the +papers.'' She handed him a check and a note. ``I +made them out at the bank this morning. The note is +for what I owe you--and draws interest at four per +cent. The check is for all the money I have left except +about four hundred dollars. I've some bills I must pay, +and also I didn't dare quite strip myself. The note may +not be worth the paper it's written on, but I hope--'' + +Before she could prevent him he took the two papers, +and, holding them out of her reach, tore them to bits. + +Her eyes gleamed angrily. ``I see you despise me +--as much as I've invited. But, I'll make them out +again and mail them to you.'' + +``You're a silly child,'' said he gruffly. ``We're +going to be married.'' + +She eyed him with amused exasperation. ``It's too +absurd!'' she cried. ``And if I yielded, you'd be trying +to get out of it.'' She hesitated whether to tell him +frankly just how she felt toward him. She decided +against it, not through consideration--for a woman +feels no consideration for a man she does not love, if he +has irritated her--but through being ashamed to say +harsh things to one whom she owed so much. ``It's +useless for you to pretend and to plead,'' she went on. ``I +shall not yield. You'll have to wait until I'm free and +independent.'' + +``You'll marry me then?'' + +``No,'' replied she, laughing. ``But I'll be able to +refuse you in such a way that you'll believe.'' + +``But you've got to marry, Mildred, and right away.'' +A suspicion entered his mind and instantly gleamed in +his eyes. ``Are you in love with someone else?'' + +She smiled mockingly. + +``It looks as if you were,'' he went on, arguing with +himself aloud. ``For if you weren't you'd marry me, +even though you didn't like me. A woman in your fix +simply couldn't keep herself from it. Is THAT why +you're so calm?'' + +``I'm not marrying anybody,'' said she. + +``Then what are you going to do?'' + +``You'll see.'' + +Once more the passionate side of his nature showed +--not merely grotesque, unattractive, repellent, as in +the mood of longing, but hideous. Among men Stanley +Baird passed for a man of rather arrogant and +violent temper, but that man who had seen him at his +most violent would have been amazed. The temper men +show toward men bears small resemblance either in kind +or in degree to the temper of jealous passion they show +toward the woman who baffles them or arouses their +suspicions; and no man would recognize his most intimate +man friend--or himself--when in that paroxysm. +Mildred had seen this mood, gleaming at her through +a mask, in General Siddall. It had made her sick with +fear and repulsion. In Stanley Baird it first astounded +her, then filled her with hate. + +``Stanley!'' she gasped. + +``WHO is it?'' he ground out between his teeth. +And he seized her savagely. + +``If you don't release me at once,'' said she calmly, +``I shall call Mrs. Brindley, and have you put out of +the house. No matter if I do owe you all that money.'' + +``Stop!'' he cried, releasing her. ``You're very clever, +aren't you?--turning that against me and making me powerless.'' + +``But for that, would you dare presume to touch me, +to question me?'' said she. + +He lowered his gaze, stood panting with the effort to +subdue his fury. + +She went back to her own room. A few hours later +came a letter of apology from him. She answered it +friendlily, said she would let him know when she could +see him again, and enclosed a note and a check. + + + +VIII + + +MILDRED went to bed that night proud of her +strength of character. Were there many women-- +was there any other woman she knew or knew about-- +who in her desperate circumstances would have done +what she had done? She could have married a man +who would have given her wealth and the very best +social position. She had refused him. She could have +continued to ``borrow'' from him the wherewithal +to keep her in luxurious comfort while she looked about +at her ease for a position that meant independence. +She had thrust the temptation from her. All this from +purely high-minded motives; for other motive there +could be none. She went to sleep, confident that on the +morrow she would continue to tread the path of self- +respect with unfaltering feet. But when morning came +her throat was once more slightly off--enough to make +it wise to postpone the excursion in search of a trial +for musical comedy. The excitement or the reaction +from excitement--it must be the one or the other-- +had resulted in weakness showing itself, naturally, at +her weakest point--that delicate throat. When life +was calm and orderly, and her mind was at peace, the +trouble would pass, and she could get a position of some +kind. Not the career she had dreamed; that was +impossible. But she had voice enough for a little part, +where a living could be made; and perhaps she would +presently fathom the secret of the cause of her delicate +throat and would be able to go far--possibly as far as +she had dreamed. + +The delay of a few days was irritating. She would +have preferred to push straight on, while her courage +was taut. Still, the delay had one advantage--she +could prepare the details of her plan. So, instead of +going to the office of the theatrical manager--Crossley, +the most successful producer of light, musical pieces +of all kinds--she went to call on several of the girls +she knew who were more or less in touch with matters +theatrical. And she found out just how to proceed +toward accomplishing a purpose which ought not to be +difficult for one with such a voice as hers and with +physical charms peculiarly fitted for stage exhibition. + +Not until Saturday was her voice at its best again. +She, naturally, decided not to go to the theatrical office +on Monday, but to wait until she had seen and talked +with Keith. One more day did not matter, and Keith +might be stimulating, might even have some useful +suggestions to offer. She received him with a manner that +was a version, and a most charming version, of his own +tranquil indifference. But his first remark threw her +into a panic. Said he: + +``I've only a few minutes. No, thanks, I'll not sit.'' + +``You needn't have bothered to come,'' said she +coldly. + +``I always keep my engagements. Baird tells me +you have given up the arrangement you had with him. +You'll probably be moving from here, as you'll not have +the money to stay on. Send me your new address, +please.'' He took a paper from his pocket and gave it +to her. ``You will find this useful--if you are in +earnest,'' said he. ``Good-by, and good luck. I'll +hope to see you in a few weeks.'' + +Before she had recovered herself in the least, she was +standing there alone, the paper in her hand, her stupefied +gaze upon the door through which he had disappeared. +All his movements and his speech had been +of his customary, his invariable, deliberateness; but she +had the impression of whirling and rushing haste. +With a long gasping sigh she fell to trembling all over. +She sped to her room, got its door safely closed just +in time. Down she sank upon the bed, to give way to +an attack of hysterics. + +We are constantly finding ourselves putting forth the +lovely flowers and fruit of the virtues whereof the heroes +and heroines of romance are so prolific. Usually nothing +occurs to disillusion us about ourselves. But now +and then fate, in unusually brutal ironic mood, forces +us to see the real reason why we did this or that virtuous, +self-sacrificing action, or blossomed forth in this +or that nobility of character. Mildred was destined +now to suffer one of these savage blows of disillusionment +about self that thrust us down from the exalted +moral heights where we have been preening into humble +kinship with the weak and frail human race. She +saw why she had refused Stanley, why she had stopped +``borrowing,'' why she had put off going to the theatrical +managers, why she had delayed moving into quarters +within her diminished and rapidly diminishing +means. She had been counting on Donald Keith. She +had convinced herself that he loved her even as she loved +him. He would fling away his cold reserve, would burst +into raptures over her virtue and her courage, would +ask her to marry him. Or, if he should put off that, +he would at least undertake the responsibility of getting +her started in her career. Well! He had come; he +had shown that Stanley had told him all or practically +all; and he had gone, without asking a sympathetic +question or making an encouraging remark. As +indifferent as he seemed. Burnt out, cold, heartless. +She had leaned upon him; he had slipped away, leaving +her to fall painfully, and ludicrously, to the ground. +She had been boasting to herself that she was strong, +that she would of her own strength establish herself in +independence. She had not dreamed that she would be +called upon to ``make good.'' She raved against Keith, +against herself, against fate. And above the chaos and +the wreck within her, round and round, hither and yon, +flapped and shied the black thought, ``What SHALL I do?'' + +When she sat up and dried her eyes, she chanced to +see the paper Keith had left; with wonder at her having +forgotten it and with a throb of hope she opened +and began to read his small, difficult writing: + + +A career means self-denial. Not occasional, intermittent, +but steady, constant, daily, hourly--a purpose that +never relaxes. + +A career as a singer means not only the routine, the +patient tedious work, the cutting out of time-wasting people +and time-wasting pleasures that are necessary to any and +all careers. It means in addition--for such a person-- +sacrifices far beyond a character so undisciplined and so +corrupted by conventional life as is yours. The basis of a +singing career is health and strength. You must have +great physical strength to be able to sing operas. You +must have perfect health. + +Diet and exercise. A routine life, its routine rigidly +adhered to, day in and day out, month after month, year +after year. Small and uninteresting and monotonous food, +nothing to drink, and, of course, no cigarettes. Such is +the secret of a reliable voice for you who have a ``delicate +throat''--which is the silly, shallow, and misleading way +of saying a delicate digestion, for sore throat always +means indigestion, never means anything else. To sing, +the instrument, the absolutely material machine, must be +in perfect order. The rest is easy. + +Some singers can commit indiscretions of diet and of +lack of exercise. But not you, because you lack this +natural strength. Do not be deceived and misled by their +example. + +Exercise. You must make your body strong, powerful. +You have not the muscles by nature. You must acquire +them. + +The following routine of diet and exercise made one of the +great singers, and kept her great for a quarter of a century. +If you adopt it, without variation, you can make a career. +If you do not, you need not hope for anything but failure +and humiliation. Within my knowledge sixty-eight young +men and young women have started in on this system. Not +one had the character to persist to success. This may +suggest why, except two who are at the very top, all of the +great singers are men and women whom nature has made +powerful of body and of digestion--so powerful that +their indiscretions only occasionally make them unreliable. + + +There Mildred stopped and flung the paper aside. +She did not care even to glance at the exercises pre- +scribed or at the diet and the routine of daily work. +How dull and uninspired! How grossly material! +Stomach! Chewing! Exercising machines! Plodding +dreary miles daily, rain or shine! What could such +things have to do with the free and glorious career of +an inspired singer? Keith was laughing at her as he +hastened away, abandoning her to her fate. + +She examined herself in the glass to make sure that +the ravages of her attack of rage and grief and despair +could be effaced within a few hours, then she wrote a +note--formal yet friendly--to Stanley Baird, informing +him that she would receive him that evening. He +came while Cyrilla and Mildred were having their after, +dinner coffee and cigarettes. He was a man who took +great pains with his clothes, and got them where pains +was not in vain. That evening he had arrayed himself +with unusual care, and the result was a fine, manly figure +of the well-bred New-Yorker type. Certainly Stanley +had ground for his feeling that he deserved and got liking +for himself. The three sat in the library for perhaps +half an hour, then Mrs. Brindley rose to leave the +other two alone. Mildred urged her to stay--Mildred +who had been impatient of her presence when Stanley +was announced. Urged her to stay in such a tone that +Cyrilla could not persist, but had to sit down again. +As the three talked on and on, Mildred continued to +picture life with Stanley--continued the vivid picturing +she had begun within ten minutes of Stanley's entering, +the picturing that had caused her to insist on Cyrilla's +remaining as chaperon. A young girl can do no such +picturing as Mildred could not avoid doing. To the +young girl married life, its tete-a-tetes, its intimacies, +its routine, are all a blank. Any attempt she makes to +fill in details goes far astray. But Mildred, with Stanley +there before her, could see her life as it would be. + +Toward half-past ten, Stanley said, shame-faced and +pleading, ``Mildred, I should like to see you alone for +just a minute before I go.'' + +Mildred said to Cyrilla: ``No, don't move. We'll +go into the drawing-room.'' + +He followed her there, and when the sound of Mrs. +Brindley's step in the hall had died away, he began: +``I think I understand you a little now. I shan't +insult you by returning or destroying that note or the +check. I accept your decision--unless you wish to +change it.'' He looked at her with eager appeal. His +heart was trembling, was sick with apprehension, with +the sense of weakness, of danger and gloom ahead. +``Why shouldn't I help you, at least, Mildred?'' he +urged. + +Whence the courage came she knew not, but through +her choking throat she forced a positive, ``No.'' + +``And,'' he went on, ``I meant what I said. I love +you. I'm wretched without you. I want you to marry +me, career or no career.'' + +Her fears were clamorous, but she forced herself to +say, ``I can't change.'' + +``I hoped--a little--that you sent me the note to- +day because you-- You didn't?'' + +``No,'' said Mildred. ``I want us to be friends. +But you must keep away.'' + +He bent his head. ``Then I'll go 'way off somewhere. +I can't bear being here in New York and not seeing +you. And when I've been away a year or so, perhaps +I'll get control of myself again.'' + +Going away!--to try to forget!--no doubt, to +succeed in forgetting! Then this was her last chance. + +``Must I go, Mildred? Won't you relent?'' + +``I don't love you--and I never can.'' She was +deathly white and trembling. She lifted her eyes to +begin a retreat, for her courage had quite oozed away. +He was looking at her, his face distorted with a mingling +of the passion of desire and the passion of jealousy. +She shrank, caught at the back of a chair for +support, felt suddenly strong and defiant. To be this +man's plaything, to submit to his moods, to his +jealousies, to his caprices--to be his to fumble and caress, +his to have the fury of his passion wreak itself upon +her with no response from her but only repulsion and +loathing--and the long dreary hours and days and +years alone with him, listening to his commonplaces, +often so tedious, forced to try to amuse him and to keep +him in a good humor because he held the purse- +strings-- + +``Please go,'' she said. + +She was still very young, still had years and years +of youth unspent. Surely she could find something +better than this. Surely life must mean something more +than this. At least it was worth a trial. + +He held out his hand. She gave him her reluctant +and cold fingers. He said something, what she did not +hear, for the blood was roaring in her ears as the room +swam round. He was gone, and the next thing she +definitely knew she was at the threshold of Cyrilla's +room. Cyrilla gave her a tenderly sympathetic glance. +She saw herself in a mirror and knew why; her face was +gray and drawn, and her eyes lay dully deep within +dark circles. + +``I couldn't do it,'' she said. ``I sent for him to +marry him. But I couldn't.'' + +``I'm glad,'' said Cyrilla. ``Marriage without love +is a last resort. And you're a long way from last resorts.'' + +``You don't think I'm crazy?'' + +``I think you've won a great victory.'' + +``Victory!'' And Mildred laughed dolefully. ``If +this is victory, I hope I'll never know defeat.'' + +Why did Mildred refuse Stanley Baird and cut herself +off from him, even after her hopes of Donald Keith +died through lack of food, real or imaginary? It +would be gratifying to offer this as a case of pure +courage and high principle, untainted of the motives which +govern ordinary human actions. But unluckily this is +a biography, not a romance, a history and not a eulogy. +And Mildred Gower is a human being, even as you +and I, not a galvanized embodiment of superhuman +virtues such as you and I are pretending to be, perhaps +even to ourselves. The explanation of her strange +aberration, which will be doubted or secretly condemned +by every woman of the sheltered classes who loves her +dependence and seeks to disguise it as something sweet +and fine and ``womanly''--the explanation of her almost +insane act of renunciation of all that a lady holds +most dear is simple enough, puzzling though she found +it. Ignorance, which accounts for so much of the +squalid failure in human life, accounts also for much if +not all the most splendid audacious achievement. Very +often--very, very often--the impossibilities are +achieved by those who in their ignorance advance not +boldly but unconcernedly where a wiser man or woman +would shrink and retreat. Fortunate indeed is he or +she who in a crisis is by chance equipped with neither +too little nor too much knowledge--who knows enough +to enable him to advance, but does not know enough to +appreciate how perilous, how foolhardy, how harsh and +cruel, advance will be. Mildred was in this instance thus +fortunate--unfortunate, she was presently to think it. +She knew enough about loveless marriage to shrink +from it. She did not know enough about what poverty, +moneylessness, and friendlessness mean in the actuality +to a woman bred as she had been. She imagined +she knew--and sick at heart her notion of poverty +made her. But imagination was only faintest +foreshadowing of actuality. If she had known, she would +have yielded to the temptation that was almost too +strong for her. And if she had yielded--what then? +Not such a repulsive lot, as our comfortable classes look +at it. Plenty to eat and drink and to wear, servants +and equipages and fine houses and fine society, the envy +of her gaping kind--a comfortable life for the body, +a comfortable death for mind and heart, slowly and +softly suffocated in luxury. Partly through knowledge +that strongly affected her character, which was on the +whole aspiring and sensitive beyond the average to the +true and the beautiful, partly through ignorance that +veiled the future from her none too valorous and hardy +heart, she did not yield to the temptation. And thus, +instead of dying, she began to live, for what is life but +growth in experience, in strength and knowledge and +capability? + +A baby enters the world screaming with pain. The +first sensations of living are agonizing. It is the same +with the birth of souls, for a soul is not really born +until that day when it is offered choice between life and +death and chooses life. In Mildred Gower's case this +birth was an agony. She awoke the following morning +with a dull headache, a fainting heart, and a throat +so sore that she felt a painful catch whenever she tried +to swallow. She used the spray; she massaged her +throat and neck vigorously. In vain; it was folly to +think of going where she might have to risk a trial of +her voice that day. The sun was brilliant and the air +sharp without being humid or too cold. She dressed, +breakfasted, went out for a walk. The throat grew +worse, then better. She returned for luncheon, and +afterward began to think of packing, not that she had +chosen a new place, but because she wished to have some +sort of a sense of action. But her unhappiness drove +her out again--to the park where the air was fine +and she could walk in comparative solitude. + +``What a silly fool I am!'' thought she. ``Why did +I do this in the worst, the hardest possible way? I +should have held on to Stanley until I had a position. +No, I'm such a poor creature that I could never have +done it in that way. I'd simply have kept on bluffing, +fooling myself, putting off and putting of. I had to +jump into the water with nobody near to help me, or +I'd never have begun to learn to swim. I haven't +begun yet. I may never learn to swim. I may drown. +Yes, I probably shall drown.'' + +She wandered aimlessly on--around the upper +reservoir where the strong breeze freshened her through and +through and made her feel less forlorn in spite of her +chicken heart. She crossed the bridge at the lower end +and came down toward the East Drive. A taxicab +rushed by, not so fast, however, that she failed to +recognize Donald Keith and Cyrilla Brindley. They were +talking so earnestly--Keith was talking, for a wonder, +and Mrs. Brindley listening--that they did not +see her. She went straight home. But as she was +afoot, the journey took about half an hour. Cyrilla +was already there, in a negligee, looking as if she had +not been out of the little library for hours. She was +writing a letter. Mildred strolled in and seated herself. +Cyrilla went on writing. Mildred watched her +impatiently. She wished to talk, to be talked to, to be +consoled and cheered, to hear about Donald Keith. Would +that letter never be finished? At last it was, and +Cyrilla took a book and settled herself to reading. There +was a vague something in her manner--a change, an +attitude toward Mildred--that disturbed Mildred. Or, +was that notion of a change merely the offspring of her +own somber mood? Seeing that Mrs. Brindley would +not begin, she broke the silence herself. Said she awkwardly: + +``I've decided to move. In fact, I've got to move.'' + +Cyrilla laid down the book and regarded her tran- +quilly. ``Of course,'' said she. ``I've already begun +to arrange for someone else.'' + +Mildred choked, and the tears welled into her eyes. +She had not been mistaken; Cyrilla had changed toward +her. Now that she had no prospects for a brilliant +career, now that her money was gone, Cyrilla had begun +to--to be human. No doubt, in the course of +that drive, Cyrilla had discovered that Keith had no +interest in her either. Mildred beat down her emotion +and was soon able to say in a voice as unconcerned as +Cyrilla's: + +``I'll find a place to-morrow or next day, and go at +once.'' + +``I'll be sorry to lose you,'' said Mrs. Brindley, ``but +I agree with you that you can't get settled any too +soon.'' + +``You don't happen to know of any cheap, good +place?'' said Mildred. + +``If it's cheap, I don't think it's likely to be good-- +in New York,'' replied Cyrilla. ``You'll have to put +up with inconveniences--and worse. I'd offer to help +you find a place, but I think everything self-reliant one +does helps one to learn. Don't you?'' + +``Yes, indeed,'' assented Mildred. The thing was +self-evidently true; still she began to hate Cyrilla. +This cold-hearted New York! How she would grind +down her heel when she got it on the neck of New York! +Friendship, love, helpfulness--what did New York and +New-Yorkers know of these things? ``Or Hanging +Rock, either,'' reflected she. What a cold and lonely +world! + +``Have you been to see about a position?'' inquired +Cyrilla. + +Mildred was thrown into confusion. ``I can't go-- +for a--day or so,'' she stammered. ``The changeable +weather has rather upset my throat. Nothing serious, +but I want to be at my best.'' + +``Certainly,'' said Mrs. Brindley. Her direct gaze +made Mildred uncomfortable. She went on: ``You're +sure it's the weather?'' + +``What else could it be?'' demanded Mildred with a +latent resentment whose interesting origin she did not +pause to inquire into. + +``Well, salad, or sauces, or desserts, or cafe au lait in +the morning, or candy, or tea,'' said Cyrilla. ``Or it +might be cigarettes, or all those things--and thin +stockings and low shoes--mightn't it?'' + +Never before had she known Cyrilla to say anything +meddlesome or cattish. Said Mildred with a faint sneer, +``That sounds like Mr. Keith's crankiness.'' + +``It is,'' replied Cyrilla. ``I used to think he was a +crank on the subject of singing and stomachs, and singing +and ankles. But I've been convinced, partly by +him, mostly by what I've observed.'' + +Mildred maintained an icy silence. + +``I see you are resenting what I said,'' observed +Cyrilla. + +``Not at all,'' said Mildred. ``No doubt you meant +well.'' + +``You will please remember that you asked me a question.'' + +So she had. But the discovery that she was clearly +in the wrong, that she had invited the disguised lecture, +only aggravated her sense of resentment against Mrs. +Brindley. She spent the rest of the afternoon in sorting +and packing her belongings--and in crying. She +came upon the paper Donald Keith had left. She read +it through carefully, thoughtfully, read it to the last +direction as to exercise with the machine, the last +arrangement for a daily routine of life, the last suggestion +as to diet. + +``Fortunately all that isn't necessary,'' said she to +herself, when she had finished. ``If it were, I could +never make a career. I'm not stupid enough to be able +to lead that kind of life. Why, I'd not care to make a +career, at that price. Slavery--plain slavery.'' + +When she went in to dinner, she saw instantly that +Cyrilla too had been crying. Cyrilla did not look old, +anything but that, indeed was not old and would not +begin to be for many a year. Still, after thirty-five +or forty a woman cannot indulge a good cry without +its leaving serious traces that will show hours afterward. +At sight of the evidences of Cyrilla's grief Mildred +straightway forgot her resentment. There must have +been some other cause for Cyrilla's peculiar conduct. +No matter what, since it was not hardness of heart. + +It was a sad, even a gloomy dinner. But the two +women were once more in perfect sympathy. And +afterward Mildred brought the Keith paper and asked +Cyrilla's opinion. Cyrilla read slowly and without +comment. At last she said: + +``He got this from his mother, Lucia Rivi. Have +you read her life?'' + +``No. I've heard almost nothing about her, except +that she was famous.'' + +``She was more than that,'' said Mrs. Brindley. +``She was great, a great personality. She was an +almost sickly child and girl. Her first attempts on the +stage were humiliating failures. She had no health, no +endurance, nothing but a small voice of rare quality.'' +Cyrilla held up the paper. ``This tells how she became +one of the surest and most powerful dramatic sopranos +that ever lived.'' + +``She must have been a dull person to have been able +to lead the kind of life that's described there,'' said Mildred. + +``Only two kinds of persons could do it,'' replied +Cyrilla--``a dull person--a plodder--and a genius. +Middling people--they're the kind that fill the world, +they're you and I, my dear--middling people have to +fuss with the trifles that must be sacrificed if one is to +do anything big. You call those trifles your freedom, +but they're your slavery. And by sacrificing them the +Lucia Rivis buy their freedom.'' Cyrilla looked at the +paper with a heavy sigh. ``Ah, I wish I had seen this +when I was your age. Now, it's too late.'' + +Said Mildred: ``Would you seriously advise me to +try that?'' + +Cyrilla came and sat beside her and put an arm +around her. ``Mildred,'' she said, ``I've never thrust +advice on you. I only dare do it now because you ask +me, and because I love you. You must try it. It's +your one chance. If you do not, you will fail. You +don't believe me?'' + +In a tone that was admission, Mildred said: ``I +don't know.'' + +``Keith has given you there the secret of a successful +career. You'll never read it in any book, or get it +from any teacher, or from any singer or manager or +doctor. You must live like that, you must do those +things or you will fail even in musical comedy. You +would fail even as an actress, if you tried that, when +you found out that the singing was out of the question.'' + +Mildred was impressed. Perhaps she would have +been more impressed had she not seen Keith and Mrs. +Brindley in the taxi, Keith talking earnestly and Mrs. +Brindley listening as if to an oracle. Said she: +``Perhaps I'll adopt some of the suggestions.'' + +Cyrilla shook her head. ``It's a route to success. +You must go the whole route or not at all.'' + +``Don't forget that there have been other singers +besides Rivi.'' + +``Not any that I recall who weren't naturally powerful +in every way. And how many of them break down? +Mildred, please do put the silly nonsense about nerves +and temperament and inspiration and overwork and +weather and climate--put all that out of your head. +Build your temple of a career as high and graceful +and delicate as you like, but build it on the coarse, hard, +solid rock, dear!'' + +Mildred tried to laugh lightly. ``How Mr. Keith +does hypnotize people!'' cried she. + +Mrs. Brindley's cheeks burned, and her eyes lowered +in acute embarrassment. ``He has a way of being +splendidly and sensibly right,'' said she. ``And the +truth is wonderfully convincing--once one sees it.'' +She changed the subject, and it did not come up--or, +perhaps, come OUT again--before they went to bed. +The next day Mildred began the depressing, hopeless +search for a place to live that would be clean, +comfortable, and cheap. Those three adjectives describe +the ideal lodging; but it will be noted that all these are +relative. In fact, none of the three means exactly the +same thing to any two members of the human family. +Mildred's notion of clean--like her notion of +comfortable--on account of her bringing up implied a +large element of luxury. As for the word ``cheap,'' it +really meant nothing at all to her. From one stand- +point everything seemed cheap; from another, everything +seemed dear; that is, too dear for a young woman +with less than five hundred dollars in the world and no +substantial prospect of getting a single dollar more-- +unless by hook and crook, both of which means she was +resolved not to employ. + +Never having earned so much as a single penny, the +idea of anyone's giving her anything for what she +might be able to do was disturbingly vague and unreal. +On the other hand, looking about her, she saw scores +of men and women, personally known to her to be dull +of conversation, and not well mannered or well dressed +or well anything, who were making livings without +overwhelming difficulty. Why not Mildred Gower? In +this view the outlook was not discouraging. ``I'll no +doubt go through some discomfort, getting myself +placed. But somewhere and somehow I shall be placed +--and how I shall revenge myself on Donald Keith!'' +His fascination for her had not been destroyed by his +humiliating lack of belief in her, nor by his cold-hearted +desertion at just the critical moment. But his conduct +had given her the incentive of rage, of stung vanity-- +or wounded pride, if you prefer. She would get him +back; she would force him to admit; she would win him, +if she could--and that ought not to be difficult when +she should be successful. Having won him, then-- +What then? Something superb in the way of revenge; +she would decide what, when the hour of triumph came. +Meanwhile she must search for lodgings. + +In her journeyings under the guidance of attractive +advertisements and ``carefully selected'' agents' lists, +she found herself in front of her first lodgings in New +York--the house of Mrs. Belloc. She had often +thought of the New England school-teacher, arrived by +such strange paths at such a strange position in New +York. She had started to call on her many times, but +each time had been turned aside; New York makes it +more than difficult to find time to do anything that does +not have to be done at a definite time and for a definite +reason. She was worn out with her futile trampings +up and down streets, up and down stairs. Up the stone +steps she went and rang the bell. + +Yes, Mrs. Belloc was in, and would be glad to see +her, if Miss Stevens would wait in the drawing-room +a few minutes. She had not seated herself when down +the stairs came the fresh, pleasantly countrified voice +of Mrs. Belloc, inviting her to ascend. As Mildred +started up, she saw at the head of the stairs the frank +and cheerful face of the lady herself. She was holding +together at the neck a thin silk wrapper whose lines +strongly suggested that it was the only garment she +had on. + +``Why should old friends stand on ceremony?'' said +Mrs. Belloc. ``Come right up. I've been taking a +bath. My masseuse has just gone.'' Mrs. Belloc +enclosed her in a delightfully perfumed embrace, and they +kissed with enthusiasm. + +``I AM glad to see you,'' said Mildred, feeling all at +once a thrilling sense of at-homeness. ``I didn't realize +how glad I'd be till I saw you.'' + +``It'd be a pretty stiff sort that wouldn't feel at home +with me,'' observed Mrs. Belloc. ``New York usually +stiffens people up. It's had the opposite effect on me. +Though I must say, I have learned to stiffen with people +I don't like--and I'll have to admit that I like fewer +and fewer. People don't wear well, do they? What IS +the matter with them? Why can't they be natural and +not make themselves into rubbishy, old scrap-bags full +of fakes and pretenses? You're looking at my hair.'' + +They were in Mrs. Belloc's comfortable sitting-room +now, and she was smoking a cigarette and regarding +Mildred with an expression of delight that was most +flattering. Said Mildred: + +``Your hair does look well. It's thicker--isn't it?'' + +``Think so?'' said Mrs. Belloc. ``It ought to be, +with all the time and money I've spent on it. My, how +New York does set a woman to repairing and fixing up. +Nothing artificial goes here. It mustn't be paint and +plumpers and pads, but the real teeth. Why, I've had +four real teeth set in as if they were rooted--and my +hips toned down. You may remember what heavy legs +I had--piano-legs. Look at 'em now.'' Mrs. Belloc +drew the wrapper to her knee and exposed in a pale- +blue silk stocking a thin and comely calf. + +``You HAVE been busy!'' said Mildred. + +``That's only a little part. I started to tell you about +the hair. It was getting gray--not in a nice, pretty +way, all over, but in spots and streaks. Nothing else +makes a woman look so ragged and dingy and old as +spotted, streaky gray hair. So I had the hair-woman +touch it up. She vows it won't make my face hard. +That's the trouble with dyed or touched hair, you know. +But this is a new process.'' + +``It's certainly a success,'' said Mildred. And in fact +it was, and thanks to it and the other improvements Mrs. +Belloc was an attractive and even a pretty woman, years +younger than when Mildred saw her. + +``Yes, I think I've improved,'' said Mrs. Belloc. +``Nothing to scream about--but worth while. That's +what we're alive for--to improve--isn't it? I've no +patience with people who slide back, or don't get on-- +people who get less and less as they grow older. The +trouble with them is they're vain, satisfied with +themselves as they are, and lazy. Most women are too lazy +to live. They'll only fix up to catch a man.'' + +Mildred had grown sober and thoughtful. + +``To catch a man,'' continued Mrs. Belloc. ``And +not much even for that. I'll warrant YOU'RE getting on. +Tell me about it.'' + +``Tell me about yourself, first,'' said Mildred. + +``WHY all this excitement about improving?'' +And she smiled significantly. + +``No, you'll have to guess again,'' said Mrs. Belloc. +``Not a man. You remember, I used to be crazy about +gay life in New York--going out, and men, theaters, +and lobster-palaces--everything I didn't get in my +home town, everything the city means to the jays. +Well, I've gotten over all that. I'm improving, mind +and body, just to keep myself interested in life, to keep +myself young and cheerful. I'm interested in myself, +in my house and in woman's suffrage. Not that the +women are fit to vote. They aren't, any more than the +men. But what MAKES people? Why, responsibility. +That old scamp I married--he's dead. And I've got +the money, and everything's very comfortable with me. +Just think, I didn't have any luck till I was an old maid +far gone. I'm not telling my age. All my life it +had rained bad luck--pitchforks, tines down. And +why?'' + +``Yes, why?'' said Mildred. She did not understand +how it was, but Mrs. Belloc seemed to be saying the +exact things she needed to hear. + +``I'll tell you why. Because I didn't work. Drudging +along isn't work any more than dawdling along. +Work means purpose, means head. And my luck began +just as anybody's does--when I rose up and got +busy. You may say it wasn't very creditable, the way +I began; but it was the best _I_ could do. I know it isn't +good morals, but I'm willing to bet that many a man +has laid the foundations of a big fine career by doing +something that wasn't at all nice or right. He had to +do it, to `get through.' If he hadn't done it, he'd never +have `got through.' Anyhow, whether that's so or not, +everyone's got to make a fight to break into the part of +the world where living's really worth living. But I +needn't tell YOU that. You're doing it.'' + +``No, I'm not,'' replied Mildred. ``I'm ashamed to +say so, but I'm not. I've been bluffing--and wasting +time.'' + +``That's bad, that's bad,'' said Mrs. Belloc. +``Especially, as you've got it in you to get there. What's +been the trouble? The wrong kind of associations?'' + +``Partly,'' said Mildred. + +Mrs. Belloc, watching her interestedly, suddenly +lighted up. ``Why not come back here to live?'' said +she. ``Now, please don't refuse till I explain. You +remember what kind of people I had here?'' + +Mildred smiled. ``Rather--unconventional?'' + +``That's polite. Well, I've cleared 'em out. Not +that I minded their unconventionality; I liked it. It +was so different from the straight-jackets and the +hypocrisy I'd been living among and hating. But I soon +found out that--well, Miss Stevens, the average human +being ought to be pretty conventional in his morals +of a certain kind. If he--or SHE--isn't, they begin +to get unconventional in every way--about paying +their bills, for instance, and about drinking. I got sick +and tired of those people. So, I put 'em all out--made +a sweep. And now I've become quite as respectable as +I care to be--or as is necessary. The couples in the +house are married, and they're nice people of good +families. It was Mrs. Dyckman--she's got the whole sec- +ond floor front, she and her husband and the daughter +--it was Mrs. Dyckman who interested me in the +suffrage movement. You must hear her speak. And the +daughter does well at it, too--and keeps a fashionable +millinery-shop--and she's only twenty-four. Then +there's Nora Blond.'' + +``The actress?'' + +``The actress. She's the quietest, hardest-working +person here. She's got the whole first floor front. +Nobody ever comes to see her, except on Sunday afternoon. +She leads the queerest life.'' + +``Tell me about that,'' said Mildred. + +``I don't know much about it,'' confessed Mrs. +Belloc. ``She's regular as a clock--does everything on +time, and at the same time. Two meals a day--one +of them a dry little breakfast she gets herself. Walks, +fencing, athletics, study.'' + +``What slavery!'' + +``She's the happiest person I ever saw,'' retorted Mrs. +Belloc. ``Why, she's got her work, her career. You +don't look at it right, Miss Stevens. You don't look +happy. What's the matter? Isn't it because you +haven't been working right--because you've been doing +these alleged pleasant things that leave a bad taste +in your mouth and weaken you? I'll bet, if you had +been working hard, you'd not be unhappy now. Better +come here to live.'' + +``Will you let me tell you about myself?'' + +``Go right ahead. May I ask questions, where I +want to know more? I do hate to get things halfway.'' + +Mildred freely gave her leave, then proceeded to tell +her whole story, omitting nothing that was essential to +an understanding. In conclusion she said: ``I'd like +to come. You see, I've very little money. When it's +gone, I'll go, unless I make some more.'' + +``Yes, you must come. That Mrs. Brindley seems +to be a nice woman, a mighty nice woman. But her +house, and the people that come there--they aren't the +right sort for a girl that's making a start. I can give +you a room on the top floor--in front. The young +lady next to you is a clerk in an architect's office, and +a fine girl she is.'' + +``How much does she pay?'' said Mildred. + +``Your room won't be quite as nice as hers. I put +you at the top because you can sing up there, part of +the mornings and part of the afternoons, without +disturbing anybody. I don't have a general table any +more. You can take your meals in your room or at the +restaurant in the apartment-house next door. It's good +and quite reasonable.'' + +``How much for the room?'' persisted Mildred, +laughing. + +``Seven dollars a week, and the use of the bath.'' + +Mildred finally wrung from her that the right price +was twelve dollars a week, and insisted on paying that +--``until my money gets low.'' + +``Don't worry about that,'' said Mrs. Belloc. + +``You mustn't weaken me,'' cried Mildred. ``You +mustn't encourage me to be a coward and to shirk. +That's why I'm coming here.'' + +``I understand,'' said Mrs. Belloc. ``I've got the +New England streak of hardness in me, though I +believe that masseuse has almost ironed it out of my face. +Do I look like a New England schoolmarm?'' + +Mildred could truthfully answer that there wasn't a +trace of it. + +When she returned to Mrs. Brindley's--already she +had ceased to think of it as home--she announced her +new plans. Mrs. Brindley said nothing, but Mildred +understood the quick tightening of the lines round her +mouth and the shifting of the eyes. She hastened to +explain that Mrs. Belloc was no longer the sort of +woman or the sort of landlady she had been a few +months before. Mrs. Brindley of the older New York, +could neither understand nor believe in the people of +the new and real New York whom it molds for better +or for worse so rapidly--and even remolds again and +again. But Mildred was able to satisfy her that the +house was at least not suspicious. + +``It doesn't matter where you're going,'' said Mrs. +Brindley. ``It's that you are going. I can't bear +giving you up. I had hoped that our lives would flow on +and on together.'' She was with difficulty controlling +her emotions. ``It's these separations that age one, +that take one's life. I almost wish I hadn't met you.'' + +Mildred was moved, herself. Not so much as Mrs. +Brindley because she had the necessities of her career +gripping her and claiming the strongest feelings there +were in her. Also, she was much the younger, not +merely in years but in experience. And separations +have no real poignancy in them for youth + +``Yes, I know you love me,'' said Cyrilla, ``but love +doesn't mean to you what it means to me. I'm in that +middle period of life where everything has its fullest +meaning. In youth we're easily consoled and distracted +because life seems so full of possibilities, and we can't +believe friendship and love are rare, and still more rarely +worth while. In old age, when the arteries harden and +the blood flows slow and cold, we become indifferent. +But between thirty-five and fifty-five how the heart can +ache!'' She smiled, with trembling lips. ``And how it +can rejoice!'' she cried bravely. ``I must not forget +to mention that. Ah, my dear, you must learn to live +intensely. If I had had your chance!'' + +``Ridiculous!'' laughed Mildred. ``You talk like an +old woman. And I never think of you as older than +myself.'' + +``I AM an old woman,'' said Cyrilla. And, with a +tightening at the heart Mildred saw, deep in the depths +of her eyes, the look of old age. ``I've found that I'm +too old for love--for man-and-woman love--and that +means I'm an old woman.'' + +Mildred felt that there was only a thin barrier of +reserve between her and some sad secret of this strange, +shy, loving woman's--a barrier so thin that she could +almost hear the stifled moan of a broken heart. But +the barrier remained; it would have been impossible for +Cyrilla Brindley to talk frankly about herself. + +When Mildred came out of her room the next morning, +Cyrilla had gone, leaving a note: + + +I can't bear good-bys. Besides, we'll see each other very +soon. Forgive me for shrinking, but really I can't. + + +Before night Mildred was settled in the new place and +the new room, with no sense of strangeness. She was +reproaching herself for hardness, for not caring about +Cyrilla, the best and truest friend she had ever had. +But the truth lay in quite a different direction. The +house, the surroundings, where she had lived luxuriously, +dreaming her foolish and fatuous dreams, was +not the place for such a struggle as was now upon her. +And for that struggle she preferred, to sensitive, sober, +refined, impractical Cyrilla Brindley, the companionship +and the sympathy, the practical sympathy, of Agnes +Belloc. No one need be ashamed or nervous before +Agnes Belloc about being poor or unsuccessful or having +to resort to shabby makeshifts or having to endure +coarse contacts. Cyrilla represented refinement, +appreciation of the finished work--luxurious and sterile +appreciation and enjoyment. Agnes represented the +workshop--where all the doers of all that is done live +and work. Mildred was descending from the heights +where live those who have graduated from the lot of the +human race and have lost all that superficial or casual +resemblance to that race. She was going down to live +with the race, to share in its lot. She was glad Agnes +Belloc was to be there. + +Generalizing about such a haphazard conglomerate +as human nature is highly unsatisfactory, but it may +be cautiously ventured that in New England, as in old +England, there is a curiously contradictory way of +dealing with conventionality. Nowhere is conventionality +more in reverence; yet when a New-Englander, man or +woman, happens to elect to break with it, nowhere is +the break so utter and so defiant. If Agnes Belloc, +cut loose from the conventions that had bound her from +childhood to well into middle life, had remained at home, +no doubt she would have spent a large part of her nights +in thinking out ways of employing her days in outraging +the conventionalities before her horrified and +infuriated neighbors. But of what use in New York to +cuff and spit upon deities revered by only an insignificant +class--and only officially revered by that class? +Agnes had soon seen that there was no amusement or +interest whatever in an enterprise which in her New +England home would have filled her life to the brim with +excitement. Also, she saw that she was well into that +time of life where the absence of reputation in a woman +endangers her comfort, makes her liable to be left alone +--not despised and denounced, but simply avoided and +ignored. So she was telling Mildred the exact truth. +She had laid down the arms she had taken up against +the social system, and had come in--and was fighting +it from the safer and wiser inside. She still insisted +that a woman had the same rights as a man; but she took +care to make it clear that she claimed those rights only +for others, that she neither exercised them nor cared for +them for herself. And to make her propaganda the +more effective, she was not only circumspect herself, +but was exceedingly careful to be surrounded by +circumspect people. No one could cite her case as proof +that woman would expand liberty into license. In +theory there was nothing lively that she did not look +upon at least with tolerance; in practice, more and more +she disliked seeing one of her sex do anything that might +cause the world to say ``woman would abuse liberty if +she had it.'' ``Sensible people,'' she now said, ``do as +they like. But they don't give fools a chance to titter +and chatter.'' + +Agnes Belloc was typical--certainly of a large and +growing class in this day--of the decay of ancient temples +and the decline of the old-fashioned idealism that +made men fancy they lived nobly because they professed +and believed nobly. She had no ethical standards. She +simply met each situation as it arose and dealt with it +as common sense seemed in that particular instance to +dictate. For a thousand years genius has been striving +with the human race to induce it to abandon its +superstitions and hypocrisies and to defy common sense, so +adaptable, so tolerant, so conducive to long and healthy +and happy life. Grossly materialistic, but alluringly +comfortable. Whether for good or for evil or for both +good and evil, the geniuses seem in a fair way at last +to prevail over the idealists, religious and political. +And Mrs. Belloc, without in the least realizing it, was +a most significant sign of the times. + +``Your throat seems to be better to-day,'' said she to +Mildred at breakfast. ``Those simple house-remedies +I tried on you last night seem to have done some good. +Nothing like heat--hot water--and no eating. The +main thing was doing without dinner last night.'' + +``My nerves are quieter,'' advanced Mildred as the +likelier explanation of the return of the soul of music to +its seat. ``And my mind's at rest.'' + +``Yes, that's good,'' said plain Agnes Belloc. ``But +getting the stomach straight and keeping it straight's +the main thing. My old grandmother could eat anything +and do anything. I've seen her put in a glass of +milk or a saucer of ice-cream on top of a tomato-salad. +The way she kept well was, whenever she began to feel +the least bit off, she stopped eating. Not a bite would +she touch till she felt well again.'' + +Mildred, moved by an impulse stronger than her +inclination, produced the Keith paper. ``I wish you'd +read this, and tell me what you think of it. You've +got so much common sense.'' + +Agnes read it through to the end, began at the +beginning and read it through again. ``That sounds +good to me,'' said she. ``I want to think it over. If +you don't mind I'd like to show it to Miss Blond. She +knows a lot about those things. I suppose you're going +to see Mr. Crossley to-day?--that's the musical +manager's name, isn't it?'' + +``I'm going at eleven. That isn't too early, is it?'' + +``If I were you, I'd go as soon as I was dressed for +the street. And if you don't get to see him, wait till +you do. Don't talk to under-staffers. Always go +straight for the head man. You've got something that's +worth his while. How did he get to be head man? +Because he knows a good thing the minute he sees it. The +under fellows are usually under because they are so +taken up with themselves and with impressing people +how grand they are that they don't see anything else. +So, when you talk to them, you wear yourself out and +waste your time.'' + +``There's only one thing that makes me nervous,'' +said Mildred. ``Everyone I've ever talked with about +going on the stage--everyone who has talked candidly +--has said--'' + +``Yes, I know,'' said Mrs. Belloc, as Mildred paused +to search for smooth-sounding words in which to dress, +without disguising, a distinctly ugly idea. ``I've heard +that, too. I don't know whether there's anything in it +or not.'' She looked admiringly at Mildred, who that +morning was certainly lovely enough to tempt any man. +``If there is anything in it, why, I reckon YOU'D be up +against it. That's the worst of having men at the top +in any trade and profession. A woman's got to get +her chance through some man, and if he don't choose +to let her have it, she's likely to fail.'' + +Mildred showed how this depressed her. + +``But don't you fret about that till you have to,'' +advised Mrs. Belloc. ``I've a notion that, even if it's +true, it may not apply to you. Where a woman offers +for a place that she can fill about as well as a hundred +other women, she's at the man's mercy; but if she knows +that she's far and away the best for the place, I don't +think a man's going to stand in his own light. Let him +see that he can make money through YOU, money he +won't make if he don't get you. Then, I don't think +you'll have any trouble.'' + +But Mildred's depression did not decrease. ``If my +voice could only be relied on!'' she exclaimed. ``Isn't +it exasperating that I've got a delicate throat!'' + +``It's always something,'' said Mrs. Belloc. ``One +thing's about as bad as another, and anything can be +overcome.'' + +``No, not in my case,'' said Mildred. ``The peculiar +quality of my voice--what makes it unusual--is due +to the delicateness of my throat.'' + +``Maybe so,'' said Mrs. Belloc. + +``Of course, I can always sing--after a fashion,'' +continued Mildred. ``But to be really valuable on the +stage you've got to be able always to sing at your best. +So I'm afraid I'm in the class of those who'll suit, one +about as well as another.'' + +``You've got to get out of that class,'' said Mrs. +Belloc. ``The men in that class, and the women, have +to do any dirty work the boss sees fit to give 'em--and +not much pay, either. Let me tell you one thing, Miss +Stevens. If you can't get among the few at the top +in the singing game, you must look round for some game +where you can hope to be among the few. No matter +WHAT it is. By using your brains and working hard, +there's something you can do better than pretty nearly +anybody else can or will do it. You find that.'' + +The words sank in, sank deep. Mildred, sense of her +surroundings lost, was gazing straight ahead with an +expression that gave Mrs. Belloc hope and even a +certain amount of confidence. There was a distinct +advance; for, after she reflected upon all that Mildred had +told her, little of her former opinion of Mildred's +chances for success had remained but a hope detained +not without difficulty. Mrs. Belloc knew the human +race unusually well for a woman--unusually well for +a human being of whatever sex or experience. She had +discovered how rare is the temperament, the combination +of intelligence and tenacity, that makes for success. +She had learned that most people, judged by any stand- +ard, were almost total failures, that most of the more +or less successful were so merely because the world had +an enormous amount of important work to be done, +even though half-way, and had no one but those half- +competents to do it. As incompetence in a man would +be tolerated where it would not be in a woman, obviously +a woman, to get on, must have the real temperament +of success. + +She now knew enough about Mildred to be able to +``place'' her in the ``lady'' class--those brought up +not only knowing how to do nothing with a money +value (except lawful or unlawful man-trapping), but +also trained to a sensitiveness and refinement and false +shame about work that made it exceedingly difficult if +not impossible for them to learn usefulness. She knew +all Mildred's handicaps, both those the girl was +conscious of and those far heavier ones which she +fatuously regarded as advantages. How was Mildred ever +to learn to dismiss and disregard herself as the pretty +woman of good social position, an object of admiration +and consideration? Mildred, in the bottom of her heart, +was regarding herself as already successful--successful +at the highest a woman can achieve or ought to +aspire to achieve--was regarding her career, however +she might talk or might fancy she believed, as a mere +livelihood, a side issue. She would be perhaps more +than a little ashamed of her stage connections, should +she make any, until she should be at the very top-- +and how get to the top when one is working under the +handicap of shame? Above all, how was this indulgently +and shelteredly reared lady to become a work- +ing woman, living a routine life, toiling away day in +and day out, with no let up, permitting no one and +nothing to break her routine? ``Really,'' thought +Agnes Belloc, ``she ought to have married that Baird +man--or stayed on with the nasty general. I wonder +why she didn't! That's the only thing that gives me +hope. There must be something in her--something +that don't appear--something she doesn't know about, +herself. What is it? Maybe it was only vanity and +vacillation. Again, I don't know.'' + +The difficulty Mrs. Belloc labored under in her +attempt to explore and map Mildred Gower was a difficulty +we all labor under in those same enterprises. We +cannot convince ourselves--in spite of experience +after experience--that a human character is never +consistent and homogeneous, is always conglomerate, +that there are no two traits, however naturally exclusive, +which cannot coexist in the same personality, that +circumstance is the dominating factor in human action +and brings forward as dominant characteristics now +one trait or set of traits, consistent or inconsistent, and +now another. The Alexander who was Aristotle's model +pupil was the same Alexander as the drunken debaucher. +Indeed, may it not be that the characters which play +the large parts in the comedy of life are naturally those +that offer to the shifting winds of circumstances the +greatest variety of strongly developed and contradictory +qualities? For example, if it was Mildred's latent +courage rescued her from Siddall, was it not her strong +tendency to vacillation that saved her from a loveless +and mercenary marriage to Stanley Baird? Perhaps +the deep underlying truth is that all unusual people +have in common the character that centers a powerful +aversion to stagnation; thus, now by their strong +qualities, now by their weaknesses, they are swept inevitably +on and on and ever on. Good to-day, bad to-morrow, +good again the day after, weak in this instance, strong +in that, now brave and now cowardly, soft at one time, +hard at another, generous and the reverse by turns, they +are consistent only in that they are never at rest, but +incessantly and inevitably go. + +Mildred reluctantly rose, moved toward the door with +lingering step. ``I guess I'd better make a start,'' +said she. + +``That's the talk,'' said Mrs. Belloc heartily. But +the affectionate glance she sent after the girl was dubious-- +even pitying. + + + +IX + + +TWO minutes' walk through to Broadway, and she +was at her destination. There, on the other side of the +way, stood the Gayety Theater, with the offices of Mr. +Clarence Crossley overlooking the intersection of the +two streets. Crossley was intrenched in the remotest +of a series of rooms, each tenanted by under-staffers +of diminishing importance as you drew way from the +great man. It was next to impossible to get at him-- +a cause of much sneering and dissatisfaction in theatrical +circles. Crossley, they said, was exclusive, had +the swollen head, had forgotten that only a few years +before he had been a cheap little ticket-seller grateful +for a bow from any actor who had ever had his name +up. Crossley insisted that he was not a victim of folie +de grandeur, that, on the contrary, he had become less +vain as he had risen, where he could see how trivial a +thing rising was and how accidental. Said he: + +``Why do I shut myself in? Because I'm what I am +--a good thing, easy fruit. You say that men a hundred +times bigger than I'll ever be don't shut themselves +up. You say that Mountain, the biggest financier in +the country, sits right out where anybody can go up to +him. Yes, but who'd dare go up to him? It's generally +known that he's a cannibal, that he kills his own +food and eats it warm and raw. So he can afford to sit +in the open. If I did that, all my time and all my +money would go to the cheap-skates with hard-luck +tales. I don't hide because I'm haughty, but because +I'm weak and soft.'' + +In appearance Mr. Crossley did not suggest his name. +He was a tallish, powerful-looking person with a +smooth, handsome, audacious face, with fine, laughing, +but somehow untrustworthy eyes--at least untrustworthy +for women, though women had never profited by +the warning. He dressed in excellent taste, almost +conspicuously, and the gay and expensive details of his +toilet suggested a man given over to liveliness. As a +matter of fact, this liveliness was potential rather than +actual. Mr. Crossley was always intending to resume +the giddy ways of the years before he became a great +man, but was always so far behind in the important +things to be done and done at once that he was forced +to put off. However, his neckties and his shirts and his +flirtations, untrustworthy eyes kept him a reputation for +being one of the worst cases in Broadway. In vain did +his achievements show that he could not possibly have +time or strength for anything but work. He looked +like a rounder; he was in a business that gave endless +dazzling opportunities for the lively life; a rounder he +was, therefore. + +He was about forty. At first glance, so vivid and +energetic was he, he looked like thirty-five, but at second +glance one saw the lines, the underlying melancholy signs +of strain, the heavy price he had paid for phenomenal +success won by a series of the sort of risks that make the +hair fall as autumn leaves on a windy day and make +such hairs as stick turn rapidly gray. Thus, there +were many who thought Crossley was through vanity +shy of the truth by five or six years when he said forty. + +In ordinary circumstances Mildred would never have +got at Crossley. This was the first business call of her +life where she had come as an unknown and unsupported +suitor. Her reception would have been such at the +hands of Crossley's insolent and ill-mannered underlings +that she would have fled in shame and confusion. +It is even well within the possibilities that she would +have given up all idea of a career, would have sent for +Baird, and so on. And not one of those who, timid +and inexperienced, have suffered rude rebuff at their first +advance, would have condemned her. But it so chanced +--whether by good fortune or by ill the event was to +tell--that she did not have to face a single underling. +The hall door was open. She entered. It happened +that while she was coming up in the elevator a +quarrel between a motorman and a driver had heated +into a fight, into a small riot. All the underlings had +rushed out on a balcony that commanded a superb view +of the battle. The connecting doors were open; +Mildred advanced from room to room, seeking someone who +would take her card to Mr. Crossley. When she at +last faced a closed door she knocked. + +``Come!'' cried a pleasant voice. + +And in she went, to face Crossley himself--Crossley, +the ``weak and soft,'' caught behind his last entrenchment +with no chance to escape. Had Mildred looked +the usual sort who come looking for jobs in musical +comedy, Mr. Crossley would not have risen--not be- +cause he was snobbish, but because, being a sensitive, +high-strung person, he instinctively adopted the manner +that would put the person before him at ease. He +glanced at Mildred, rose, and thrust back forthwith the +slangy, offhand personality that was perhaps the most +natural--or was it merely the most used?--of his +many personalities. It was Crossley the man of the +world, the man of the artistic world, who delighted +Mildred with a courteous bow and offer of a chair, as he +said: + +``You wished to see me?'' + +``If you are Mr. Crossley,'' said Mildred. + +``I should be tempted to say I was, if I wasn't,'' +said he, and his manner made it a mere pleasantry to +put her at ease. + +``There was no one in the outside room, so I walked +on and on until your door stopped me.'' + +``You'll never know how lucky you were,'' said he. +``They tell me those fellows out there have shocking +manners.'' + +``Have you time to see me now? I've come to apply +for a position in musical comedy.'' + +``You have not been on the stage, Miss--'' + +``Gower. Mildred Gower. I've decided to use my +own name.'' + +``I know you have not been on the stage.'' + +``Except as an amateur--and not even that for +several years. But I've been working at my voice.'' + +Crossley was studying her, as she stood talking-- +she had refused the chair. He was more than favorably +impressed. But the deciding element was not +Mildred's excellent figure or her charm of manner or +her sweet and lovely face. It was superstition. Just +at that time Crossley had been abruptly deserted by +Estelle Howard; instead of going on with the rehearsals +of ``The Full Moon,'' in which she was to be starred, +she had rushed away to Europe with a violinist with +whom she had fallen in love at the first rehearsal. +Crossley was looking about for someone to take her +place. He had been entrenched in those offices for +nearly five years; in all that time not a single soul of the +desperate crowds that dogged him had broken through +his guard. Crossley was as superstitious as was everyone +else who has to do with the stage. + +``What kind of a voice?'' asked he. + +``Lyric soprano.'' + +``You have music there. What?'' + +`` `Batti Batti' and a little song in English--`The +Rose and the Bee.' '' + +Crossley forgot his manners, turned his back squarely +upon her, thrust his hands deep into his trousers +pockets, and stared out through the window. He presently +wheeled round. She would not have thought his +eyes could be so keen. Said he: ``You were studying +for grand opera?'' + +``Yes.'' + +``Why do you drop it and take up this?'' + +``No money,'' replied she. ``I've got to make my +living at once.'' + +``Well, let's see. Come with me, please.'' + +They went out by a door into the hall, went back to +the rear of the building, in at an iron door, down a +flight of steep iron skeleton steps dimly lighted. +Mildred had often been behind the scenes in her amateur +theatrical days; but even if she had not, she would have +known where she was. Crossley called, ``Moldini! +Moldini!'' + +The name was caught up by other voices and +repeated again and again, more and more remotely. A +moment, and a small dark man with a superabundance +of greasy dark hair appeared. ``Miss Gower,'' said +Crossley, ``this is Signor Moldini. He will play your +accompaniments.'' Then to the little Italian, ``Piano +on the stage?'' + +``Yes, sir.'' + +To Mildred with a smile, ``Will you try?'' + +She bent her head. She had no voice--not for song, +not for speech, not even for a monosyllable. + +Crossley took Moldini aside where Mildred could not +hear. ``Mollie,'' said he, ``this girl crept up on me, +and I've got to give her a trial. As you see, she's a +lady, and you know what they are.'' + +``Punk,'' said Moldini. + +Crossley nodded. ``She seems a nice sort, so I want +to let her down easy. I'll sit back in the house, in the +dark. Run her through that `Batti Batti' thing she's +got with her. If she's plainly on the fritz, I'll light a +cigarette. If I don't light up, try the other song she +has. If I still don't light up make her go through that +`Ah, were you here, love,' from the piece. But if +I light up, it means that I'm going to light out, and +that you're to get rid of her--tell her we'll let her +know if she'll leave her address. You understand?'' + +``Perfectly.'' + +Far from being thrilled and inspired, her surroundings +made her sick at heart--the chill, the dampness, +the bare walls, the dim, dreary lights, the coarsely- +painted flats-- At last she was on the threshold of her +chosen profession. What a profession for such a person +as she had always been! She stood beside Moldini, +seated at the piano. She gazed at the darkness, +somewhere in whose depths Crossley was hidden. After +several false starts she sang the ``Batti Batti'' through, +sang it atrociously--not like a poor professional, but +like a pretentious amateur, a reversion to a manner of +singing she had once had, but had long since got rid of. +She paused at the end, appalled by the silence, by the +awfulness of her own performance. + +From the darkness a slight click. If she had known! +--for, it was Crossley's match-safe. + +The sound, slight yet so clear, startled her, roused +her. She called out: ``Mr. Crossley, won't you please +be patient enough to let me try that again?'' + +A brief hesitation, then: ``Certainly.'' + +Once more she began. But this time there was no +hesitation. From first to last she did it as Jennings +had coached her, did it with all the beauty and energy +of her really lovely voice. As she ended, Moldini said +in a quiet but intense undertone: ``Bravo! Bravo! +Fresh as a bird on a bright spring morning.'' And +from the darkness came: ``Ah--that's better, Miss +Gower. That was professional work. Now for the +other.'' + +Thus encouraged and with her voice well warmed, she +could not but make a success of the song that was nearer +to what would be expected of her in musical comedy. +Crossley called out: ``Now, the sight singing, Moldini. +I don't expect you to do this well, Miss Gower. I simply +wish to get an idea of how you'd do a piece we +have in rehearsal.'' + +``You'll have no trouble with this,'' said Moldini, as +he opened the comedy song upon the rack with a +contemptuous whirl. ``It's the easy showy stuff that suits +the tired business man and his laced-in wife. Go at it +and yell.'' + +Mildred glanced through it. There was a subtle +something in the atmosphere now that put her at her +ease. She read the words aloud, laughing at their silly +sentimentality, she and Moldini and Crossley making +jokes about it. Soon she said: ``I'm ready.'' + +She sang it well. She asked them to let her try it +again. And the second time, with the words in her +mind and the simple melody, she was able to put +expression into it and to indicate, with restraint, the +action. Crossley came down the aisle. + +``What do you think, Mollie?'' he said to Moldini. + +``We might test her at a few rehearsals.'' + +Crossley meekly accepted the salutary check on his +enthusiasm. ``Do you wish to try, Miss Gower?'' + +Mildred was silent. She knew now the sort of piece +in which she was to appear. She had seen a few of +them, those cheap and vulgar farces with their thin +music, their more than dubious-looking people. What +a come-down! What a degradation! It was as bad +in its way as being the wife of General Siddall. And +she was to do this, in preference to marrying Stanley +Baird. + +``You will be paid, of course, during rehearsal; that +is, as long as we are taking your time. Fifty dollars +a week is about as much as we can afford.'' Crossley +was watching her shrewdly, was advancing these +remarks in response to the hesitation he saw so plainly. +``Of course it isn't grand opera,'' he went on. ``In +fact, it's pretty low--almost as low as the public taste. +You see, we aren't subsidized by millionaires who want +people to think they're artistic, so we have to hustle to +separate the public from its money. But if you make +a hit, you can earn enough to put you into grand opera +in fine style.'' + +``I never heard of anyone's graduating from here +into grand opera,'' said Mildred. + +``Because our stars make so much money and make +it so easily. It'll be your own fault if you don't.'' + +``Can't I come to just one rehearsal--to see whether +I can--can do it?'' pleaded Mildred. + +Crossley, made the more eager and the more superstitious +by this unprecedented reluctance, shook his head. + +``No. You must agree to stay as long as we want +you,'' said he. ``We can't allow ourselves to be trifled +with.'' + +``Very well,'' said Mildred resignedly. ``I will +rehearse as long as you want me.'' + +``And will stay for the run of the piece, if we want +that?'' said Crossley. ``You to get a hundred a week +if you are put in the cast. More, of course, if you +make a hit.'' + +``You mean I'm to sign a contract?'' cried Mildred +in dismay. + +``Exactly,'' said Crossley. A truly amazing +performance. Moldini was not astonished, however, for he +had heard the songs, and he knew Crossley's difficulties +through Estelle Howard's flight. Also, he knew Crossley-- +never so ``weak and soft'' that he trifled with +unlikely candidates for his productions. Crossley had got +up because he knew what to do and when to do it. + +Mildred acquiesced. Before she was free to go into +the street again, she had signed a paper that bound her +to rehearse for three weeks at fifty dollars a week and +to stay on at a hundred dollars a week for forty weeks +or the run of ``The Full Moon,'' if Crossley so desired; +if he did not, she was free at the end of the rehearsals. +A shrewdly one-sided contract. But Crossley told himself +he would correct it, if she should by some remote +chance be good enough for the part and should make +a hit in it. This was no mere salve to conscience, by +the way. Crossley would not be foolish enough to give +a successful star just cause for disliking and distrusting +him and at the earliest opportunity leaving him to make +money for some rival manager. + +Mrs. Belloc had not gone out, had been waiting in a +fever of anxiety. When Mildred came into her sitting- +room with a gloomy face and dropped to a chair as if +her last hope had abandoned her, it was all Agnes Belloc +could do to restrain her tears. Said she: + +``Don't be foolish, my dear. You couldn't expect +anything to come of your first attempt.'' + +``That isn't it,'' said Mildred. ``I think I'll give it +up--do something else. Grand opera's bad enough. +There were a lot of things about it that I was fighting +my distaste for.'' + +``I know,'' said Agnes. ``And you'd better fight +them hard. They're unworthy of you.'' + +``But--musical comedy! It's--frightful!'' + +``It's an honest way of making a living, and that's +more than can be said of--of some things. I suppose +you're afraid you'll have to wear tights--or some +nonsense like that.'' + +``No, no. It's doing it at all. Such rotten music +--and what a loathsome mess!'' + +Mrs. Belloc's eyes flashed. ``I'm losing all +patience!'' she cried. ``I know you've been brought up +like a fool and always surrounded by fools. I suppose +you'd rather sell yourself to some man. Do you know +what's the matter with you, at bottom? Why, you're +lazy and you're a coward. Too lazy to work. And +afraid of what a lot of cheap women'll say--women +earning their board and clothes in about the lowest way +such a thing can be done. Haven't you got any self- +respect?'' + +Mildred rose. ``Mrs. Belloc,'' she said angrily, ``I +can't permit even you to say such things to me.'' + +``The shoe seems to fit,'' retorted Mrs. Belloc. ``I +never yet saw a lady, a real, silk-and-diamonds, sit-in- +the-parlor lady, who had any self-respect. If I had +my way they wouldn't get a mouthful to eat till they +had earned it. That'd be a sure cure for the lady +disease. I'm ashamed of you, Miss Stevens! And you're +ashamed of yourself.'' + +``Yes, I am,'' said Mildred, with a sudden change of +mood. + +``The best thing you can do is to rest till lunch-time. +Then start out after lunch and hunt a job. I'll go +with you.'' + +``But I've got a job,'' said Mildred. ``That's what's +the matter.'' + +Agnes Belloc's jaw dropped and her rather heavy +eyebrows shot up toward the low sweeping line of her +auburn hair. She made such a ludicrous face that Mildred +laughed outright. Said she: + +``It's quite time. Fifty a week, for three weeks of +rehearsal. No doubt _I_ can go on if I like. Nothing +could be easier.'' + +``Crossley?'' + +``Yes. He was very nice--heard me sing three +pieces--and it was all settled. I'm to begin to-morrow.'' + +The color rose in Agnes Belloc's face until she looked +apoplectic. She abruptly retreated to her bedroom. +After a few minutes she came back, her normal complexion +restored. ``I couldn't trust myself to speak,'' +said she. ``That was the worst case of ingratitude +I ever met up with. You, getting a place at fifty +dollars a week--and on your first trial--and +you come in looking as if you'd lost your money and +your reputation. What kind of a girl are you, anyway?'' + +``I don't know,'' said Mildred. ``I wish I did.'' + +``Well, I'm sorry you got it so easy. Now you'll +have a false notion from the start. It's always better +to have a hard time getting things. Then you appreciate +them, and have learned how to hold on.'' + +``No trouble about holding on to this,'' said Mildred +carelessly. + +``Please don't talk that way, child,'' pleaded Agnes, +almost tearful. ``It's frightful to me, who've had +experience, to hear you invite a fall-down.'' + +Mildred disdainfully fluttered the typewritten copy of +the musical comedy. ``This is child's play,'' said she. +``The lines are beneath contempt. As for the songs, +you never heard such slop.'' + +``The stars in those pieces get four and five hundred, +and more, a week,'' said Mrs. Belloc. ``Believe me, +those managers don't pay out any such sums for child's +play. You look out. You're going at this wrong.'' + +``I shan't care if I do fail,'' said Mildred. + +``Do you mean that?'' demanded Mrs. Belloc. + +``No, I don't,'' said Mildred. ``Oh, I don't know +what I mean.'' + +``I guess you're just talking,'' said Mrs. Belloc after +a reflective silence. ``I guess a girl who goes and gets +a good job, first crack out of the box, must have a +streak of shrewdness.'' + +``I hope so,'' said Mildred doubtfully. + +``I guess you'll work hard, all right. After you +went out this morning, I took that paper down to Miss +Blond. She's crazy about it. She wants to make a +copy of it. I told her I'd ask you.'' + +``Certainly,'' said Mildred. +``She says she'll return it the same day.'' + +``Tell her she can keep it as long as she likes.'' + +Mrs. Belloc eyed her gravely, started to speak, +checked herself. Instead, she said, ``No, I shan't do +that. I'll have it back in your room by this evening. +You might change your mind, and want to use it.'' + +``Very well,'' said Mildred, pointedly uninterested and +ignoring Mrs. Belloc's delicate but distinct emphasis +upon ``might.'' + +Mrs. Belloc kept a suspicious eye upon her--an eye +that was not easily deceived. The more she thought +about Mildred's state of depression and disdain the more +tolerant she became. That mood was the natural and +necessary result of the girl's bringing up and mode of +life. The important thing--and the wonderful thing +--was her being able to overcome it. After a week of +rehearsal she said: ``I'm making the best of it. But +I don't like it, and never shall.'' + +``I should hope not,'' replied Mrs. Belloc. ``You're +going to the top. I'd hate to see you contented at the +bottom. Aren't you learning a good deal that'll be +useful later on?'' + +``That's why I'm reconciled to it,'' said she. ``The +stage director, Mr. Ransdell, is teaching me everything +--even how to sing. He knows his business.'' + +Ransdell not only knew, but also took endless pains +with her. He was a tall, thin, dark man, strikingly +handsome in the distinguished way. So distinguished +looking was he that to meet him was to wonder why he +had not made a great name for himself. An extraordinary +mind he certainly had, and an insight into the +reasons for things that is given only to genius. He +had failed as a composer, failed as a playwright, failed +as a singer, failed as an actor. He had been forced +to take up the profession of putting on dramatic and +musical plays, a profession that required vast knowledge +and high talents and paid for them in niggardly +fashion both in money and in fame. Crossley owed to +him more than to any other single element the series +of successes that had made him rich; yet the ten thousand +a year Crossley paid him was regarded as evidence +of Crossley's lavish generosity and was so. It +would have been difficult to say why a man so splendidly +endowed by nature and so tireless in improving himself +was thus unsuccessful. Probably he lacked judgment; +indeed, that lack must have been the cause. He could +judge for Crossley; but not for himself, not when he +had the feeling of ultimate responsibility. + +Mildred had anticipated the most repulsive associations-- +men and women of low origin and of vulgar +tastes and of vulgarly loose lives. She found herself +surrounded by simple, pleasant people, undoubtedly +erratic for the most part in all their habits, but without +viciousness. And they were hard workers, all. Ransdell +--for Crossley--tolerated no nonsense. His people +could live as they pleased, away from the theater, but +there they must be prompt and fit. The discipline was +as severe as that of a monastery. She saw many signs +that all sorts of things of the sort with which she wished +to have no contact were going on about her; but as she +held slightly--but not at all haughtily--aloof, she +would have had to go out of her way to see enough to +scandalize her. She soon suspected that she was being +treated with extraordinary consideration. This was by +Crossley's orders. But the carrying out of their spirit +as well as their letter was due to Ransdell. Before the +end of that first week she knew that there was the +personal element behind his admiration for her voice and +her talent for acting, behind his concentrating most of +his attention upon her part. He looked his love boldly +whenever they were alone; he was always trying to +touch her--never in a way that she could have resented, +or felt like resenting. He was not unattractive to her, +and she was eager to learn all he had to teach, and saw +no harm in helping herself by letting him love. + +Toward the middle of the second week, when they were +alone in her dressing-room, he--with the ingenious +lack of abruptness of the experienced man at the game +--took her hand, and before she was ready, kissed her. +He did not accompany these advances with an outburst +of passionate words or with any fiery lighting up of the +eyes, but calmly, smilingly, as if it were what she was +expecting him to do, what he had a right to do. + +She did not know quite how to meet this novel attack. +She drew her hand away, went on talking about the +part--the changes he had suggested in her entrance, +as she sang her best solo. He discussed this with her +until they rose to leave the theater. He looked +smilingly down on her, and said with the flattering air of +the satisfied connoisseur: + +``Yes, you are charming, Mildred. I can make a +great artist and a great success out of you. We need +each other.'' + +``I certainly need you,'' said she gratefully. ``How +much you've done for me.'' + +``Only the beginning,'' replied he. ``Ah, I have +such plans for you--such plans. Crossley doesn't +realize how far you can be made to go--with the right +training. Without it--'' He shook his head laughingly. +``But you shall have it, my dear.'' And he +laid his hands lightly and caressingly upon her shoulders. + +The gesture was apparently a friendly familiarity. +To resent it, even to draw away, would put her in the +attitude of the woman absurdly exercised about the +desirability and sacredness of her own charms. + +Still smiling, in that friendly, assured way, he went +on: ``You've been very cold and reserved with me, my +dear. Very unappreciative.'' + +Mildred, red and trembling, hung her head in confusion. + +``I've been at the business ten years,'' he went on, +``and you're the first woman I've been more than casually +interested in. The pretty ones were bores. The +homely ones--I can't interest myself in a homely +woman, no matter how much talent she has. A woman +must first of all satisfy the eye. And you--'' He +seated himself and drew her toward him. She, cold all +over and confused in mind and almost stupefied, resisted +with all her strength; but her strength seemed to be +oozing away. She said: + +``You must not do this. You must not do this. I'm +horribly disappointed in you.'' + +He drew her to his lap and held her there without +any apparent tax upon his strength. He kissed her, +laughingly pushing away the arms with which she tried +to shield her face. Suddenly she found strength to +wrench herself free and stood at a distance from him. +She was panting a little, was pale, was looking at him +with cold anger. + +``You will please leave this room,'' said she. + +He lit a cigarette, crossed his legs comfortably, and +looked at her with laughing eyes. ``Don't do that,'' he +said genially. ``Surely my lessons in acting haven't +been in vain. That's too obviously a pose.'' + +She went to the mirror, arranged her hat, and moved +toward the door. He rose and barred the way. + +``You are as sensible as you are sweet and lovely,'' +said he. ``Why should you insist on our being bad +friends?'' + +``If you don't stand aside, I'll call out to the watchman.'' + +``I'd never have thought you were dishonest. In +fact, I don't believe it yet. You don't look like one of +those ladies who wish to take everything and give +nothing.'' His tone and manner were most attractive. +Besides, she could not forget all he had +done for her--and all he could do for her. Said +she: + +``Mr. Ransdell, if I've done anything to cause you to +misunderstand, it was unconscious. And I'm sorry. +But I--'' + +``Be honest,'' interrupted he. ``Haven't I made it +plain that I was fascinated by you?'' + +She could not deny it. + +``Haven't I been showing you that I was willing to +do everything I could for you?'' + +``I thought you were concerned only about the +success of the piece.'' + +``The piece be jiggered,'' said he. ``You don't +imagine YOU are necessary to its success, do you? You, +a raw, untrained girl. Don't your good sense tell you +I could find a dozen who would do, let us say, ALMOST +as well?'' + +``I understand that,'' murmured she. + +``Perhaps you do, but I doubt it,'' rejoined he. +``Vanity's a fast growing weed. However, I rather +expected that you would remain sane and reasonably +humble until you'd had a real success. But it seems +not. Now tell me, why should I give my time and my +talent to training you--to putting you in the way of +quick and big success?'' + +She was silent. + +``What did you count on giving me in return? Your +thanks?'' + +She colored, hung her head. + +``Wasn't I doing for you something worth while? +And what had you to give in return?'' He laughed +with gentle mockery. ``Really, you should have been +grateful that I was willing to do so much for so little, +for what I wanted ought--if you are a sensible woman +--to seem to you a trifle in comparison with what I +was doing for you. It was my part, not yours, to think +the complimentary things about you. How shallow and +vain you women are! Can't you see that the value of +your charms is not in them, but in the imagination of +some man?'' + +``I can't answer you,'' said she. ``You've put it all +wrong. You oughtn't to ask payment for a favor beyond price.'' + +``No, I oughtn't to HAVE to ask,'' corrected he, in the +same pleasantly ironic way. ``You ought to have been +more than glad to give freely. But, curiously, while +we've been talking, I've changed my mind about those +precious jewels of yours. We'll say they're pearls, and +that my taste has suddenly changed to diamonds.'' He +bowed mockingly. ``So, dear lady, keep your pearls.'' + +And he stood aside, opening the door for her. She +hesitated, dazed that she was leaving, with the feeling +of the conquered, a field on which, by all the precedents, +she ought to have been victor. She passed a troubled +night, debated whether to relate her queer experience to +Mrs. Belloc, decided for silence. It drafted into service +all her reserve of courage to walk into the theater the +next day and to appear on the stage among the assembled +company with her usual air. Ransdell greeted her +with his customary friendly courtesy and gave her his +attention, as always. By the time they had got through +the first act, in which her part was one of four of about +equal importance, she had recovered herself and was in +the way to forget the strange stage director's strange +attack and even stranger retreat. But the situation +changed with the second act, in which she was on the +stage all the time and had the whole burden. The act +as originally written had been less generous to her; but +Ransdell had taken one thing after another away from +the others and had given it to her. She made her first +entrance precisely as he had trained her to make it and +began. A few seconds, and he stopped her. + +``Please try again, Miss Gower,'' said he. ``I'm +afraid that won't do.'' + +She tried again; again he stopped her. She tried a +third time. His manner was all courtesy and consideration, +not the shade of a change. But she began to +feel a latent hostility. Instinctively she knew that +he would no longer help her, that he would leave +her to her own resources, and judge her by how she +acquitted herself. She made a blunder of her third +trial. + +``Really, Miss Gower, that will never do,'' said he +mildly. ``Let me show you how you did it.'' + +He gave an imitation of her--a slight caricature. +A titter ran through the chorus. He sternly rebuked +them and requested her to try again. Her fourth +attempt was her worst. He shook his head in gentle +remonstrance. ``Not quite right yet,'' said he +regretfully. ``But we'll go on.'' + +Not far, however. He stopped her again. Again +the courteous, kindly criticism. And so on, through +the entire act. By the end of it, Mildred's nerves were +unstrung. She saw the whole game, and realized how +helpless she was. Before the end of that rehearsal, +Mildred had slipped back from promising professional into +clumsy amateur, tolerable only because of the beautiful +freshness of her voice--and it was a question whether +voice alone would save her. Yet no one but Mildred +herself suspected that Ransdell had done it, had +revenged himself, had served notice on her that since she +felt strong enough to stand alone she was to have every +opportunity to do so. He had said nothing disagree- +able; on the contrary, he had been most courteous, most +forbearing. + +In the third act she was worse than in the second. +At the end of the rehearsal the others, theretofore +flattering and encouraging, turned away to talk among +themselves and avoided her. Ransdell, about to leave, +said: + +``Don't look so down-hearted, Miss Gower. You'll +be all right to-morrow. An off day's nothing.'' + +He said it loudly enough for the others to hear. +Mildred's face grew red with white streaks across it, like +the prints of a lash. The subtlest feature of his +malevolence had been that, whereas on other days he had +taken her aside to criticize her, on this day he had +spoken out--gently, deprecatingly, but frankly--before +the whole company. Never had Mildred Gower +been so sad and so blue as she was that day and that +night. She came to the rehearsal the following day with +a sore throat. She sang, but her voice cracked on the +high notes. It was a painful exhibition. Her fellow +principals, who had been rather glad of her set-back +the day before, were full of pity and sympathy. They +did not express it; they were too kind for that. But +their looks, their drawing away from her--Mildred +could have borne sneers and jeers better. And Ransdell +was SO forbearing, SO gentle. + +Her voice got better, got worse. Her acting +remained mediocre to bad. At the fifth rehearsal after +the break with the stage-director, Mildred saw Crossley +seated far back in the dusk of the empty theater. It was +his first appearance at rehearsals since the middle of +the first week. As soon as he had satisfied himself that +all was going well, he had given his attention to other +matters where things were not going well. Mildred +knew why he was there--and she acted and sang atrociously. +Ransdell aggravated her nervousness by ostentatiously +trying to help her, by making seemingly +adroit attempts to cover her mistakes--attempts +apparently thwarted and exposed only because she was +hopelessly bad. + +In the pause between the second and third acts +Ransdell went down and sat with Crossley, and they engaged +in earnest conversation. The while, the members of the +company wandered restlessly about the stage, making +feeble attempts to lift the gloom with affected cheerfulness. +Ransdell returned to the stage, went up to Mildred, +who was sitting idly turning the leaves of a +part-book. + +``Miss Gower,'' said he, and never had his voice been +so friendly as in these regretful accents, ``don't try to +go on to-day. You're evidently not yourself. Go home +and rest for a few days. We'll get along with your +understudy, Miss Esmond. When Mr. Crossley wants +to put you in again, he'll send for you. You mustn't +be discouraged. I know how beginners take these +things to heart. Don't fret about it. You can't fail +to succeed.'' + +Mildred rose and, how she never knew, crossed the +stage. She stumbled into the flats, fumbled her way to +the passageway, to her dressing-room. She felt that +she must escape from that theater quickly, or she would +give way to some sort of wild attack of nerves. She +fairly ran through the streets to Mrs. Belloc's, shut +herself in her room. But instead of the relief of a storm of +tears, there came a black, hideous depression. Hour +after hour she sat, almost without motion. The afternoon +waned; the early darkness came. Still she did not +move--could not move. At eight o'clock Mrs. Belloc +knocked. Mildred did not answer. Her door opened +--she had forgotten to lock it. In came Mrs. Belloc. + +``Isn't that you, sitting by the window?'' she said. + +``Yes,'' replied Mildred. + +``I recognized the outline of your hat. Besides, who +else could it be but you? I've saved some dinner for +you. I thought you were still out.'' + +Mildred did not answer. + +``What's the matter?'' said Agnes? ``Ill? bad +news?'' + +``I've lost my position,'' said Mildred. + +A pause. Then Mrs. Belloc felt her way across the +room until she was touching the girl. ``Tell me about +it, dear,'' said she. + +In a monotonous, lifeless way Mildred told the story. +It was some time after she finished when Agnes said: + +``That's bad--bad, but it might be worse. You +must go to see the manager, Crossley.'' + +``Why?'' said Mildred. + +``Tell him what you told me.'' + +Mildred's silence was dissent. + +``It can't do any harm,'' urged Agnes. + +``It can't do any good,'' replied Mildred. + +``That isn't the way to look at it.'' + +A long pause. Then Mildred said: ``If I got a +place somewhere else, I'd meet the same thing in +another form.'' + +``You've got to risk that.'' + +``Besides, I'd never have had a chance of succeeding +if Mr. Ransdell hadn't taught me and stood behind +me.'' + +It was many minutes before Agnes Belloc said in a +hesitating, restrained voice: ``They say that success +--any kind of success--has its price, and that one has +to be ready to pay that price or fail.'' + +Again the profound silence. Into it gradually +penetrated the soft, insistent sound of the distant roar of +New York--a cruel, clamorous, devouring sound like +a demand for that price of success. Said Agnes timidly: + +``Why not go to see Mr. Ransdell.'' + +``He wouldn't make it up,'' said Mildred. ``And I +--I couldn't. I tried to marry Stanley Baird for +money--and I couldn't. It would be the same way +now--only more so.'' + +``But you've got to do something.'' + +``Yes, and I will.'' Mildred had risen abruptly, was +standing at the window. Agnes Belloc could feel her +soul rearing defiantly at the city into which she was +gazing. ``I will!'' she replied. + +``It sounds as if you'd been pushed to where you'd +turn and make a fight,'' said Agnes. + +``I hope so,'' said Mildred. ``It's high time.'' + +She thought out several more or less ingenious +indirect routes into Mr. Crossley's stronghold, for use in +case frontal attack failed. But she did not need them. +Still, the hours she spent in planning them were by no +means wasted. No time is wasted that is spent in desperate, +concentrated thinking about any of the practical +problems of life. And Mildred Gower, as much +as any other woman of her training--or lack of training-- +was deficient in ability to use her mind purposefully. +Most of us let our minds act like a sheep in a +pasture--go wandering hither and yon, nibbling at +whatever happens to offer. Only the superior few +deliberately select a pasture, select a line of procedure in +that pasture and keep to it, concentrating upon what +is useful to us, and that alone. So it was excellent +experience for Mildred to sit down and think connectedly +and with wholly absorbed mind upon the phase of her +career most important at the moment. When she had +worked out all the plans that had promise in them she +went tranquilly to sleep, a stronger and a more determined +person, for she had said with the energy that +counts: ``I shall see him, somehow. If none of these +schemes works, I'll work out others. He's got to see +me.'' + +But it was no occult ``bearing down'' that led him +to order her admitted the instant her card came. He +liked her; he wished to see her again; he felt that it +was the decent thing, and somehow not difficult gently +but clearly to convey to her the truth. On her side she, +who had looked forward to the interview with some +nervousness, was at her ease the moment she faced him +alone in that inner office. He had extraordinary personal +charm--more than Ransdell, though Ransdell +had the charm invariably found in a handsome human +being with the many-sided intellect that gives lightness +of mind. Crossley was not intellectual, not in the +least. One had only to glance at him to see that he +was one of those men who reserve all their intelligence +for the practical sides of the practical thing that forms +the basis of their material career. He knew something +of many things, had a wonderful assortment of talents +--could sing, could play piano or violin, could compose, +could act, could do mystifying card tricks, could order +women's clothes as discriminatingly as he could order +his own--all these things a little, but nothing much +except making a success of musical comedy and comic +opera. He had an ambition, carefully restrained in a +closet of his mind, where it could not issue forth and +interfere with his business. This ambition was to be a +giver of grand opera on a superb scale. He regarded +himself as a mere money-maker--was not ashamed of +this, but neither was he proud of it. His ambition then +represented a dream of a rise to something more than +business man, to friend and encourager and wet nurse +to art. + +Mildred Gower had happened to set his imagination +to working. The discovery that she was one of those +whose personalities rouse high expectations only to mock +them had been a severe blow to his confidence in his own +judgment. Though he pretended to believe, and had +the habit of saying that he was ``weak and soft,'' was +always being misled by his good nature, he really +believed himself an unerring judge of human beings, and, +as his success evidenced, he was not far wrong. Thus, +though convinced that Mildred was a ``false alarm,'' +his secret vanity would not let him release his original +idea. He had the tenacity that is an important element +in all successes; and tenacity become a fixed habit has +even been known to ruin in the end the very careers it +has made. + +Said Mildred, in a manner which was astonishingly +unemotional and businesslike: ``I've not come to tattle +and to whine, Mr. Crossley. I've hesitated about coming +at all, partly because I've an instinct it's useless, +partly because what I have to say isn't easy.'' + +Crossley's expression hardened. The old story!-- +excuses, excuses, self-excuse--somebody else to blame. + +``If it hadn't been for Mr. Ransdell--the trouble +he took with me, the coaching he gave me--I'd have +been a ridiculous failure at the very first rehearsal. But +--it is to Mr. Ransdell that my failure is due.'' + +``My dear Miss Gower,'' said Crossley, polite but +cold, ``I regret hearing you say that. The fact is +very different. Not until you had done so--so +unacceptably at several rehearsals that news of it reached +me by another way--not until I myself went to Mr. +Ransdell about you did he admit that there could be a +possibility of a doubt of your succeeding. I had to go +to rehearsal myself and directly order him to restore +Miss Esmond and lay you off.'' + +Mildred was not unprepared. She received this +tranquilly. ``Mr. Ransdell is a very clever man,'' said she +with perfect good humor. ``I've no hope of convincing +you, but I must tell my side.'' + +And clearly and simply, with no concealments through +fear of disturbing his high ideal of her ladylike deli- +cacy, she told him the story. He listened, seated well +back in his tilted desk-chair, his gaze upon the ceiling. +When she finished he held his pose a moment, then got +up and paced the length of the office several times, his +hands in his pockets. He paused, looked keenly at her, +a good-humored smile in those eyes of his so fascinating +to women because of their frank wavering of an inconstancy +it would indeed be a triumph to seize and hold. +Said he: + +``And your bad throat? Did Ransdell give you a +germ?'' + +She colored. He had gone straight at the weak +point. + +``If you'd been able to sing,'' he went on, ``nobody +could have done you up.'' + +She could not gather herself together for speech. + +``Didn't you know your voice wasn't reliable when +you came to me?'' + +``Yes,'' she admitted. + +``And wasn't that the REAL reason you had given up +grand opera?'' pursued he mercilessly. + +``The reason was what I told you--lack of money,'' +replied she. ``I did not go into the reason why I lacked +money. Why should I when, even on my worst days, +I could get through all my part in a musical comedy-- +except songs that could be cut down or cut out? If I +could have made good at acting, would you have given +me up on account of my voice?'' + +``Not if you had been good enough,'' he admitted. + +``Then I did not get my engagement on false pretenses?'' + +``No. You are right. Still, your fall-down as a +singer is the important fact. Don't lose sight of it.'' + +``I shan't,'' said she tersely. + +His eyes were frankly laughing. ``As to Ransdell +--what a clever trick! He's a remarkable man. If +he weren't so shrewd in those little ways, he might have +been a great man. Same old story--just a little too +smart, and so always doing the little thing and missing +the big thing. Yes, he went gunning for you--and +got you.'' He dropped into his chair. He thought a +moment, laughed aloud, went on: ``No doubt he has +worked that same trick many a time. I've suspected it +once or twice, but this time he fooled me. He got you, +Miss Gower, and I can do nothing. You must see that +I can't look after details. And I can't give up as +invaluable a man as Ransdell. If I put you back, he'd +put you out--would make the piece fail rather than let +you succeed.'' + +Mildred was gazing somberly at the floor. + +``It's hard lines--devilish hard lines,'' he went on +sympathetically. ``But what can I do?'' + +``What can I do?'' said Mildred. + +``Do as all people do who succeed--meet the conditions.'' + +``I'm not prepared to go as far as that, at least not +yet,'' said she with bitter sarcasm. ``Perhaps when +I'm actually starving and in rags--'' + +``A very distressing future,'' interrupted Crossley. +``But--I didn't make the world. Don't berate me. +Be sensible--and be honest, Miss Gower, and tell me-- +how could I possibly protect you and continue to give +successful shows? If you can suggest any feasible way, +I'll take it.'' + +``No, there isn't any way,'' replied she, rising to go. + +He rose to escort her to the hall door. ``Personally, +the Ransdell sort of thing is--distasteful to me. Perhaps +if I were not so busy I might be forced by my own +giddy misconduct to take less high ground. I've +observed that the best that can be said for human nature +at its best is that it is as well behaved as its real +temptations permit. He was making you, you know. You've +admitted it.'' + +``There's no doubt about that,'' said Mildred. + +``Mind you, I'm not excusing him. I'm simply +explaining him. If your voice had been all right--if +you could have stood to any degree the test he put you +to, the test of standing alone--you'd have defeated +him. He wouldn't have dared go on. He's too shrewd +to think a real talent can be beaten.'' + +The strong lines, the latent character, in Mildred's +face were so strongly in evidence that looking at her +then no one would have thought of her beauty or even +of her sex, but only of the force that resists all and +overcomes all. ``Yes--the voice,'' said she. ``The voice.'' + +``If it's ever reliable, come to see me. Until then--'' +He put out his hand. When she gave him hers, he held +it in a way that gave her no impulse to draw back. +``You know the conditions of success now. You must +prepare to meet them. If you put yourself at the mercy +of the Ransdells--or any other of the petty intriguers +that beset every avenue of success--you must take the +consequences, you must conciliate them as best you can. +If you don't wish to be at their mercy, you must do +your part.'' + +She nodded. He released her hand, opened the hall +door. He said: + +``Forgive my little lecture. But I like you, and I +can't help having hope of you.'' He smiled charmingly, +his keen, inconstant eyes dimming. ``Perhaps I +hope because you're young and extremely lovely and I +am pitifully susceptible. You see, you'd better go. +Every man's a Ransdell at heart where pretty women +are concerned.'' + +She did not leave the building. She went to the +elevator and asked the boy where she could find Signor +Moldini. His office was the big room on the third floor +where voice candidates were usually tried out, three days +in the week. At the moment he was engaged. Mildred, +seated in the tiny anteroom, heard through the glass +door a girl singing, or trying to sing. It was a +distressing performance, and Mildred wondered that +Moldini could be so tolerant as to hear her through. He +came to the door with her, thanked her profusely, told +her he would let her know whenever there was an opening +``suited to your talents.'' As he observed Mildred, +he was still sighing and shaking his head over the +departed candidate. + +``Ugly and ignorant!'' he groaned. ``Poor +creature! Poor, poor creature. She makes three dollars a +week--in a factory owned by a great philanthropist. +Three dollars a week. And she has no way to make a +cent more. Miss Gower, they talk about the sad, +naughty girls who sell themselves in the street to piece +out their wages. But think, dear young lady, how +infinitely better of they are than the ugly ones who can't +piece out their wages.'' + +There he looked directly at her for the first time. +Before she could grasp the tragic sadness of his idea, +he, with the mobility of candid and highly sensitized +natures, shifted from melancholy to gay, for in looking +at her he had caught only the charm of dress, of face, +of arrangement of hair. ``What a pleasure!'' he +exclaimed, bursting into smiles and seizing and kissing her +gloved hands. ``Voice like a bird, face like an angel +--only not TOO good, no, not TOO good. But it is so +rare--to look as one sings, to sing as one looks.'' + +For once, compliment, sincere compliment from one +whose opinion was worth while, gave Mildred pain. She +burst out with her news: ``Signor Moldini, I've lost +my place in the company. My voice has gone back +on me.'' + +Usually Moldini abounded in the consideration of fine +natures that have suffered deeply from lack of consideration. +But he was so astounded that he could only stare +stupidly at her, smoothing his long greasy hair with his +thin brown hand. + +``It's all my fault; I don't take care of myself,'' she +went on. ``I don't take care of my health. At least, +I hope that's it.'' + +``Hope!'' he said, suddenly angry. + +``Hope so, because if it isn't that, then I've no chance +for a career,'' explained she. + +He looked at her feet, pointed an uncannily long +forefinger at them. ``The crossings and sidewalks are +slush--and you, a singer, without overshoes! Lunacy! +Lunacy!'' + +``I've never worn overshoes?'' said Mildred apologetically. + +``Don't tell me! I wish not to hear. It makes me +--like madness here.'' He struck his low sloping brow +with his palm. ``What vanity! That the feet may +look well to the passing stranger, no overshoes! +Rheumatism, sore throat, colds, pneumonia. Is it not +disgusting. If you were a man I should swear in all the +languages I know--which are five, including Hungarian, +and when one swears in Hungarian it is `going +some,' as you say in America. Yes, it is going quite +some.'' + +``I shall wear overshoes,'' said Mildred. + +``And indigestion--you have that?'' + +``A little, I guess.'' + +``Much--much, I tell you!'' cried Moldini, shaking +the long finger at her. ``You Americans! You eat +too fast and you eat too much. That is why you are +always sick, and consulting the doctors who give the +medicines that make worse, not better. Yes, you +Americans are like children. You know nothing. Sing? +Americans cannot sing until they learn that a stomach +isn't a waste-basket, to toss everything into. You have +been to that throat specialist, Hicks?'' + +``Ah, yes,'' said Mildred brightening. ``He said +there was nothing organically wrong.'' + +``He is an ass, and a criminal. He ruins throats. +He likes to cut, and he likes to spray. He sprays those +poisons that relieve colds and paralyze the throat and +cords. Americans sing? It is to laugh! They have +too many doctors; they take too many pills. Do you +know what your national emblem should be? A dollar- +sign--yes. But that for all nations. No, a pill--a +pill, I tell you. You take pills?'' + +``Now and then,'' said Mildred, laughing. ``I admit +I have several kinds always on hand.'' + +``You see!'' cried he triumphantly. ``No, it is not +mere art that America needs, but more sense about +eating--and to keep away from the doctors. People full +of pills, they cannot make poems and pictures, and write +operas and sing them. Throw away those pills, dear +young lady, I implore you.'' + +``Signor Moldini, I've come to ask you to help +me.'' + +Instantly the Italian cleared his face of its half- +humorous, half-querulous expression. In its place came +a grave and courteous eagerness to serve her that was a +pleasure, even if it was not altogether sincere. And +Mildred could not believe it sincere. Why should he +care what became of her, or be willing to put himself +out for her? + +``You told me one day that you had at one time +taught singing,'' continued she. + +``Until I was starved out?'' replied he. ``I told +people the truth. If they could not sing I said so. If +they sang badly I told them why, and it was always the +upset stomach, the foolish food, and people will not take +care about food. They will eat what they please, and +they say eating is good for them, and that anyone who +opposes them is a crank. So most of my pupils left, +except those I taught for nothing--and they did not +heed me, and came to nothing.'' + +``You showed me in ten minutes one day how to cure +my worst fault. I've sung better, more naturally ever +since.'' + +``You could sing like the birds. You do--almost. +You could be taught to sing as freely and sweetly and +naturally as a flower gives perfume. That is YOUR +divine gift, young lady song as pure and fresh as a +bird's song raining down through the leaves from the +tree-top.'' + +``I have no money. I've got to get it, and I shall +get it,'' continued Mildred. ``I want you to teach me +--at any hour that you are free. And I want to know +how much you will charge, so that I shall know how +much to get.'' + +``Two dollars a lesson. Or, if you take six lessons +a week, ten dollars. Those were my terms. I could +not take less.'' + +``It is too little,'' said Mildred. ``The poorest kinds +of teachers get five dollars an hour--and teach nothing.'' + +``Two dollars, ten dollars a week,'' replied he. ``It +is the most I ever could get. I will not take more from +you.'' + +``It is too little,'' said she. ``But I'll not insist-- +for obvious reasons. Now, if you'll give me your home +address, I'll go. When I get the money, I'll write to +you.'' + +``But wait!'' cried he, as she rose to depart. ``Why +so hurried? Let us see. Take of the wrap. Step be- +hind the screen and loosen your corset. Perhaps even +you could take it off?'' + +``Not without undressing,'' said Mildred. ``But I +can do that if it's necessary.'' She laughed queerly. +``From this time on I'll do ANYTHING that's necessary.'' + +``No,--never mind. The dress of woman--of +your kind of women. It is not serious.'' He laughed +grimly. ``As for the other kind, their dress is the only +serious thing about them. It is a mistake to think that +women who dress badly are serious. My experience has +been that they are the most foolish of all. Fashionable +dress--it is part of a woman's tools. It shows that +she is good at her business. The women who try to +dress like men, they are good neither at men's business +nor at women's.'' + +This, while Mildred was behind the screen, loosening +her corset--though, in fact, she wore it so loose at all +times that she inconvenienced herself simply to show her +willingness to do as she was told. When she came out, +Moldini put her through a rigid physical examination +--made her breathe while he held one hand on her +stomach, the other on her back, listened at her heart, +opened wide her throat and peered down, thrust his long +strong fingers deep into the muscles of her arms, her +throat, her chest, until she had difficulty in not crying +out with pain. + +``The foundation is there,'' was his verdict. ``You +have a good body, good muscles, but flabby--a lady's +muscles, not an opera singer's. And you are stiff-- +not so stiff as when you first came here, but stiff for a +professional. Ah, we must go at this scientifically, +thoroughly.'' + +``You will teach me to breathe--and how to produce +my voice naturally?'' + +``I will teach you nothing,'' replied he. ``I will tell +you what to do, and you will teach yourself. You must +get strong--strong in the supple way--and then you +will sing as God intended. The way to sing, dear +young lady, is to sing. Not to breathe artificially, and +make faces, and fuss with your throat, but simply to +drop your mouth and throat open and let it out!'' + +Mildred produced from her hand-bag the Keith +paper. ``What do YOU think of that?'' she asked. + +Presently he looked up from his reading. ``This +part I have seen before,'' said he. ``It is Lucia Rivi's. +Her cousin, Lotta Drusini, showed it to me--she was +a great singer also.'' + +``You approve of it?'' + +``If you will follow that for two years, faithfully, +you will be securely great, and then you will follow it +all your singing life--and it will be long. But +remember, dear young lady, I said IF you follow it, and +I said faithfully. I do not believe you can.'' + +``Why not?'' said Mildred. + +``Because that means self-denial, colossal self-denial. +You love things to eat--yes?'' + +Mildred nodded. + +``We all do,'' said Moldini. ``And we hate routine, +and we like foolish, aimless little pleasures of all kinds.'' + +``And it will be two years before I can try grand +opera--can make my living?'' said Mildred slowly. + +``I did not say that. I said, before you would be +great. No, you can sing, I think, in--wait.'' + +Moldini flung rapidly through an enormous mass of +music on a large table. ``Ah, here!'' he cried, and he +showed her a manuscript of scales. ``Those two papers. +It does not look much? Well, I have made it +up, myself. And when you can sing those two papers +perfectly, you will be a greater singer than any that +ever lived.'' He laughed delightedly. ``Yes, it is all +there--in two pages. But do not weep, dear lady, +because you will never sing them perfectly. You will do +very well if-- Always that if, remember! Now, let +us see. Take this, sit in the chair, and begin. Don't +bother about me. I expect nothing. Just do the best +you can.'' + +Desperation, when it falls short of despair, is the +best word for achievement. Mildred's voice, especially +at the outset, was far from perfect condition. Her +high notes, which had never been developed properly, +were almost bad. But she acquitted herself admirably +from the standpoint of showing what her possibilities +were. And Moldini, unkempt, almost unclean, but as +natural and simple and human a soul as ever paid the +penalties of poverty and obscurity and friendlessness +for being natural and simple and human, exactly suited +her peculiar temperament. She knew that he liked her, +that he believed in her; she knew that he was as +sympathetic toward her as her own self, that there was no +meanness anywhere in him. So she sang like a bird-- +a bird that was not too well in soul or in body, but still +a bird out in the sunshine, with the airs of spring cheer- +ing his breast and its foliage gladdening his eyes. He +kept her at it for nearly an hour. She saw that he +was pleased, that he had thought out some plan and +was bursting to tell her, but had forbidden himself to +speak of it. He said: + +``You say you have no money?'' + +``No, but I shall get it.'' + +``You may have to pay high for it--yes?'' + +She colored, but did not flinch. ``At worst, it will be +--unpleasant, but that's all.'' + +``Wait one--two days--until you hear from me. +I may--I do not say will, but may--get it. Yes, I +who have nothing.'' He laughed gayly. ``And we-- +you and I--we will divide the spoils.'' Gravely. ``Do +not misunderstand. That was my little joke. If I get +the money for you it will be quite honorable and businesslike. +So--wait, dear young lady.'' + +As she was going, she could not resist saying: + +``You are SURE I can sing?--IF, of course--always the if.'' + +``It is not to be doubted.'' + +``How well, do you think?'' + +``You mean how many dollars a night well? You +mean as well as this great singer or that? I do not +know. And you are not to compare yourself with anyone +but yourself. You will sing as well as Mildred +Gower at her best.'' + +For some reason her blood went tingling through her +veins. If she had dared she would have kissed him. + + + +X + + +THAT same afternoon Donald Keith, arrived at the +top of Mrs. Belloc's steps, met Mildred coming out. +Seeing their greeting, one would have thought they had +seen each other but a few minutes before or were casual +acquaintances. Said she: + +``I'm going for a walk.'' + +``Let's take the taxi,'' said he. + +There it stood invitingly at the curb. She felt tired. +She disliked walking. She wished to sit beside him and +be whirled away--out of the noisy part of the city, up +where the air was clean and where there were no crowds. +But she had begun the regimen of Lucia Rivi. She +hesitated. What matter if she began now or put off +beginning until after this one last drive? + +``No, we will walk,'' said she. + +``But the streets are in frightful condition.'' + +She thrust out a foot covered with a new and shiny +storm-rubber. + +``Let's drive to the park then. We'll walk there.'' + +``No. If I get into the taxi, I'll not get out. Send +it away.'' + +When they were moving afoot up Madison Avenue, +he said: ``What's the matter? This isn't like you.'' + +``I've come to my senses,'' replied she. ``It may be +too late, but I'm going to see.'' + +``When I called on Mrs. Brindley the other day,'' +said he, ``she had your note, saying that you were going +into musical comedy with Crossley.'' + +``That's over,'' said she. ``I lost my voice, and I +lost my job.'' + +``So I heard,'' said he. ``I know Crossley. I +dropped in to see him this morning, and he told me +about a foolish, fashionable girl who made a bluff at +going on the stage--he said she had a good voice and +was a swell looker, but proved to be a regular `four- +flusher.' I recognized you.'' + +``Thanks,'' said she dryly. + +``So, I came to see you.'' + +She inquired about Mrs. Brindley and then about +Stanley Baird. Finding that he was in Italy, she +inquired: ``Do you happen to know his address?'' + +``I'll get it and send it to you. He has taken a house +at Monte Carlo for the winter.'' + +``And you?'' + +``I shall stay here--I think.'' + +``You may join him?'' + +``It depends''--he looked at her--``upon you.'' + +He could put a wonderful amount of meaning into a +slight inflection. She struggled--not in vain--to +keep from changing expression. + +``You realize now that the career is quite hopeless?'' +said he. + +She did not answer. + +``You do not like the stage life?'' + +``No.'' + +``And the stage life does not like you?'' + +``No.'' + +``Your voice lacks both strength and stability?'' + +``Yes.'' + +``And you have found the one way by which you +could get on--and you don't like it?'' + +``Crossley told you?'' said she, the color flaring. + +``Your name was not mentioned. You may not +believe it, but Crossley is a gentleman.'' + +She walked on in silence. + +``I did not expect your failure to come so soon--or +in quite that way,'' he went on. ``I got Mrs. Brindley +to exact a promise from you that you'd let her know +about yourself. I called on Mrs. Belloc one day when +you were out, and gave her my confidence and got hers +--and assured myself that you were in good hands. +Crossley's tale gave me--a shock. I came at once.'' + +``Then you didn't abandon me to my fate, as I +thought?'' + +He smiled in his strange way. ``I?--when I loved +you? Hardly.'' + +``Then you did interest yourself in me because you +cared--precisely as I said,'' laughed she. + +``And I should have given you up if you had +succeeded--precisely as I said,'' replied he. + +``You wished me to fail?'' + +``I wished you to fail. I did everything I could to +help you to succeed. I even left you absolutely alone, +set you in the right way--the only way in which anyone +can win success.'' + +``Yes, you made me throw away the crutches and try +to walk.'' + +``It was hard to do that. Those strains are very +wearing at my time of life.'' + +``You never were any younger, and you'll never be +any older,'' laughed she. ``That's your charm--one +of them.'' + +``Mildred, do you still care?'' + +``How did you know?'' inquired she mockingly. + +``You didn't try to conceal it. I'd not have ventured +to say and do the things I said and did if I hadn't felt +that we cared for each other. But, so long as you were +leading that fatuous life and dreaming those foolish +dreams, I knew we could never be happy.'' + +``That is true--oh, SO true,'' replied she. + +``But now--you have tried, and that has made a +woman of you. And you have failed, and that has +made you ready to be a wife--to be happy in the quiet, +private ways.'' + +She was silent. + +``I can make enough for us both--as much as we +will need or want--as much as you please, if you aren't +too extravagant. And I can do it easily. It's making +little sums--a small income--that's hard in this ridiculous +world. Let's marry, go to California or Europe +for several months, then come back here and live like +human beings.'' + +She was silent. Block after block they walked along, +as if neither had anything especial in mind, anything +worth the trouble of speech. Finally he said: + +``Well?'' + +``I can't answer--yet,'' said she. ``Not to-day-- +not till I've thought.'' + +She glanced quickly at him. Over his impassive face, +so beautifully regular and, to her, so fascinating, there +passed a quick dark shadow, and she knew that he was +suffering. He laughed quietly, his old careless, +indifferent laugh. + +``Oh, yes, you can answer,'' said he. ``You have +answered.'' + +She drew in her breath sharply. + +``You have refused.'' + +``Why do you say that, Donald?'' she pleaded. + +``To hesitate over a proposal is to refuse,'' said he +with gentle raillery. ``A man is a fool who does not +understand and sheer off when a woman asks for time.'' + +``You know that I love you,'' she cried. + +``I also know that you love something else more. +But it's finished. Let's talk about something else.'' + +``Won't you let me tell you why I hesitate?'' begged +she. + +``It doesn't matter.'' + +``But it does. Yes, I do refuse, Donald. I'll never +marry you until I am independent. You said a while +ago that what I've been through had made a woman of +me. Not yet. I'm only beginning. I'm still weak-- +still a coward. Donald, I must and will be free.'' + +He looked full at her, with a strange smile in his +brilliant eyes. Said he, with obvious intent to change the +subject: ``Mrs. Brindley's very unhappy that you +haven't been to see her.'' + +``When you asked me to marry you, the only reason +I almost accepted was because I want someone to support +me. I love you--yes. But it is as one loves +before one has given oneself and has lived the same +life with another. In the ordinary sense, it's love that +I feel. But--do you understand me, dearest?--in +another sense, it's only the hope of love, the belief that +love will come.'' + +He stopped short and looked at her, his eyes alive with +the stimulus of a new and startling idea. + +``If you and I had been everything to each other, +and you were saying `Let us go on living the one life' +and I were hesitating, then you'd be right. And I +couldn't hesitate, Donald. If you were mine, nothing +could make me give you up, but when it's only the hope +of having you, then pride and self-respect have a chance +to be heard.'' + +He was ready to move on. ``There's something in +that,'' said he, lapsed into his usual seeming of +impassiveness. ``But not much.'' + +``I never before knew you to fail to understand.'' + +``I understand perfectly. You care, but you don't +care enough to suit me. I haven't waited all these years +before giving a woman my love, to be content with a +love seated quietly and demurely between pride and self- +respect.'' + +``You wouldn't marry me until I had failed,'' said +she shrewdly. ``Now you attack me for refusing to +marry you until I've succeeded.'' + +A slight shrug. ``Proposal withdrawn,'' said he. +``Now let's talk about your career, your plans.'' + +``I'm beginning to understand myself a little,'' said +she. ``I suppose you think that sort of personal talk +is very silly and vain--and trivial.'' + +``On the contrary,'' replied he, ``it isn't absolutely +necessary to understand oneself. One is swept on in +the same general direction, anyhow. But understanding +helps one to go faster and steadier.'' + +``It began, away back, when I was a girl--this idea +of a career. I envied men and despised women, the +sort of women I knew and met with. I didn't realize +why, then. But it was because a man had a chance to +be somebody in himself and to do something, while a +woman was just a--a more or less ornamental +belonging of some man's--what you want me to become +now.'' + +``As far as possible from my idea.'' + +``Don't you want me to belong to you?'' + +``As I belong to you.'' + +``That sounds well, but it isn't what could happen. +The fact is, Donald, that I want to belong to you-- +want to be owned by you and to lose myself in you. +And it's that I'm fighting.'' + +She felt the look he was bending upon her, and +glowed and colored under it, but did not dare to turn +her eyes to meet it. Said he: ``Why fight it? Why +not be happy?'' + +``Ah, but that's just it,'' cried she. ``I shouldn't +be happy. And I should make you miserable. The +idea of a career--the idea that's rooted deep in me +and can't ever be got out, Donald; it would torment +me. You couldn't kill it, no matter how much you +loved me. I'd yield for the time. Then, I'd go back-- +or, if I didn't, I'd be wretched and make you wish you'd +never seen me.'' + +``I understand,'' said he. ``I don't believe it, but I +understand.'' + +``You think I'm deceiving myself, because you saw me +wasting my life, playing the idler and the fool, +pretending I was working toward a career when I was +really making myself fit for nothing but to be Stanley +Baird's mistress.'' + +``And you're still deceiving yourself. You won't see +the truth.'' + +``No matter,'' said she. ``I must go on and make a +career--some kind of a career.'' + +``At what?'' + +``At grand opera.'' + +``How'll you get the money?'' + +``Of Stanley, if necessary. That's why I asked his +address. I shan't ask for much. He'll not refuse.'' + +``A few minutes ago you were talking of self- +respect.'' + +``As something I hoped to get. It comes with +independence. I'll pay any price to get it.'' + +``Any price?'' said he, and never before had she seen +his self-control in danger. + +``I shan't ask Stanley until my other plans have +failed.'' + +``What other plans?'' + +``I am going to ask Mrs. Belloc for the money. She +could afford to give--to lend--the little I'd want. +I'm going to ask her in such a way that it will be as +hard as possible for her to refuse. That isn't ladylike, +but--I've dropped out of the lady class.'' + +``And if she refuses?'' + +``Then I'll go one after another to several very +rich men I know, and ask them as a business proposition.'' + +``Go in person,'' advised he with an undisguised sneer. + +``I'll raise no false hopes in them,'' she said. ``If +they choose to delude themselves, I'll not go out of my +way to undeceive them--until I have to.'' + +``So THIS is Mildred Gower?'' + +``You made that remark before.'' + +``Really?'' + +``When Stanley showed you a certain photograph of me.'' + +``I remember. This is the same woman.'' + +``It's me,'' laughed she. ``The real me. You'd not +care to be married to her?'' + +``No,'' said he. Then, after a brief silence: ``Yet, +curiously, it was that woman with whom I fell in love. +No, not exactly in love, for I've been thinking about +what you said as to the difference between love in posse +and love in esse, to put it scientifically--between love +as a prospect and love as a reality.'' + +``And I was right,'' said she. ``It explains why +marriages go to pieces and affairs come to grief. Those +lovers mistook love's promise to come for fulfillment. +Love doesn't die. It simply fails to come--doesn't +redeem its promise.'' + +``That's the way it might be with us,'' said he. +``That's the way it would be with us,'' rejoined she. + +He did not answer. When they spoke again it was +of indifferent matters. An hour and a half after they +started, they were at Mrs. Belloc's again. She asked +him to have tea in the restaurant next door. He +declined. He went up the steps with her, said: + +``Well, I wish you luck. Moldini is the best teacher +in America.'' + +``How did you know Moldini was to teach me?'' +exclaimed she. + +He smiled, put out his hand in farewell. ``Crossley +told me. Good-by.'' + +``He told Crossley! I wonder why.'' She was so +interested in this new phase that she did not see his +outstretched hand, or the look of bitter irony that came +into his eyes at this proof of the subordinate place love +and he had in her thoughts. + +``I'm nervous and anxious,'' she said apologetically. +``Moldini told me he had some scheme about getting +the money. If he only could! But no such luck for +me,'' she added sadly. + +Keith hesitated, debated with himself, said: ``You +needn't worry. Moldini got it--from Crossley. +Fifty dollars a week for a year.'' + +``You got Crossley to do it?'' + +``No. He had done it before I saw him. He had +just promised Moldini and was cursing himself as `weak +and soft.' But that means nothing. You may be sure +he did it because Moldini convinced him it was a good +speculation.'' + +She was radiant. She had not vanity enough where +he was concerned to believe that he deeply cared, that her +joy would give him pain because it meant forgetfulness +of him. Nor was she much impressed by the +expression of his eyes. And even as she hurt him, she +made him love her the more; for he appreciated how +rare was the woman who, in such circumstances, does +not feed her vanity with pity for the poor man suffering +so horribly because he is not to get her precious +self. + +It flashed upon her why he had not offered to help +her. ``There isn't anybody like you,'' said she, with no +explanation of her apparent irrelevancy. + +``Don't let Moldini see that you know,'' said he, with +characteristic fine thoughtfulness for others in the midst +of his own unhappiness. ``It would deprive him of a +great pleasure.'' + +He was about to go. Suddenly her eyes filled and, +opening the outer door, she drew him in. ``Donald,'' she +said, ``I love you. Take me in your arms and make +me behave.'' + +He looked past her; his arms hung at his sides. Said +he: ``And to-night I'd get a note by messenger saying +that you had taken it all back. No, the girl in the +photograph--that was you. She wasn't made to be MY +wife. Or I to be her husband. I love you because +you are what you are. I should not love you if you +were the ordinary woman, the sort who marries and +merges. But I'm old enough to spare myself--and +you--the consequences of what it would mean if we +were anything but strangers to each other.'' + +``Yes, you must keep away--altogether. If you +didn't, I'd be neither the one thing nor the other, but +just a poor failure.'' + +``You'll not fail,'' said he. ``I know it. It's +written in your face.'' He looked at her. She was not +looking at him, but with eyes gazing straight ahead +was revealing that latent, inexplicable power which, +when it appeared at the surface, so strongly dominated +and subordinated her beauty and her sex. He shut his +teeth together hard and glanced away. + +``You will not fail,'' he repeated bitterly. ``And +that's the worst of it.'' + +Without another word, without a handshake, he went. +And she knew that, except by chance, he would never +see her again--or she him. + +Moldini, disheveled and hysterical with delight and +suspense, was in the drawing-room--had been there +half an hour. At first she could hardly force her mind +to listen; but as he talked on and on, he captured her +attention and held it. + + +The next day she began with Moldini, and put the +Lucia Rivi system into force in all its more than +conventual rigors. And for about a month she worked +like a devouring flame. Never had there been such +energy, such enthusiasm. Mrs. Belloc was alarmed for +her health, but the Rivi system took care of that; and +presently Mrs. Belloc was moved to say, ``Well, I've +often heard that hard work never harmed anyone, but +I never believed it. Now I know the truth.'' + +Then Mildred went to Hanging Rock to spend Saturday +to Monday with her mother. Presbury, reduced +now by various infirmities--by absolute deafness, by +dimness of sight, by difficulty in walking--to where +eating was his sole remaining pleasure, or, indeed, +distraction, spent all his time in concocting dishes for him- +self. Mildred could not resist--and who can when +seated at table with the dish before one's eyes and under +one's nose. The Rivi regimen was suspended for the +visit. Mildred, back in New York and at work again, +found that she was apparently none the worse for her +holiday, was in fact better. So she drifted into the +way of suspending the regimen for an evening now +and then--when she dined with Mrs. Brindley, or when +Agnes Belloc had something particularly good. All +went well for a time. Then--a cold. She neglected +it, feeling sure it could not stay with one so soundly +healthy through and through. But it did stay; it +grew worse. She decided that she ought to take medicine +for it. True, starvation was the cure prescribed +by the regimen, but Mildred could not bring herself to +two or three days of discomfort. Also, many people +told her that such a cure was foolish and even dangerous. +The cold got better, got worse, got better. But +her throat became queer, and at last her voice left her. +She was ashamed to go to Moldini in such a condition. +She dropped in upon Hicks, the throat specialist. He +``fixed her up'' beautifully with a few sprayings. A +week--and her voice left her again, and Hicks could +not bring it back. As she left his office, it was raining +--an icy, dreary drizzle. She splashed her way home, +in about the lowest spirits she had ever known. She +locked her door and seated herself at the window and +stared out, while the storm raged within her. After +an hour or two she wrote and sent Moldini a note: +``I have been making a fool of myself. I'll not come +again until I am all right. Be patient with me. I +don't think this will occur again.'' She first wrote +``happen.'' She scratched it out and put ``occur'' in +its place. Not that Moldini would have noted the slip; +simply that she would not permit herself the satisfaction +of the false and self-excusing ``happen.'' It had +not been a ``happen.'' It had been a deliberate folly, +a lapse to the Mildred she had buried the day she +sent Donald Keith away. When the note was on its +way, she threw out all her medicines, and broke the +new spraying apparatus Hicks had instructed her to +buy. + +She went back to the Rivi regime. A week passed, +and she was little better. Two weeks, and she began +to mend. But it was six weeks before the last traces of +her folly disappeared. Moldini said not a word, gave +no sign. Once more her life went on in uneventful, +unbroken routine--diet, exercise, singing--singing, +exercise, diet--no distractions except an occasional +visit to the opera with Moldini, and she was hating +opera now. All her enthusiasm was gone. She simply +worked doggedly, drudged, slaved. + +When the days began to grow warm, Mrs. Belloc said: +``I suppose you'll soon be off to the country? Are you +going to visit Mrs. Brindley?'' + +``No,'' said Mildred. + +``Then come with me.'' + +``Thank you, but I can't do it.'' + +``But you've got to rest somewhere.'' + +``Rest?'' said Mildred. ``Why should I rest?'' + +Mrs. Belloc started to protest, then abruptly +changed. ``Come to think of it, why should you? +You're in perfect health, and it'll be time enough to rest +when you `get there.' '' + +``I'm tired through and through,'' said Mildred, +``but it isn't the kind of tired that could be rested +except by throwing up this frightful nightmare of a +career.'' + +``And you can't do that.'' + +``I won't,'' said Mildred, her lips compressed and her +eyes narrowed. + +She and Moldini--and fat, funny little Mrs. Moldini +--went to the mountains. And she worked on. She +would listen to none of the suggestions about the dangers +of keeping too steadily at it, about working oneself +into a state of staleness, about the imperative +demands of the artistic temperament for rest, change, +variety. ``It may be so,'' she said to Mrs. Brindley. +``But I've gone mad. I can no more drop this routine +than--than you could take it up and keep to it for a +week.'' + +``I'll admit I couldn't,'' said Cyrilla. ``And +Mildred, you're making a mistake.'' + +``Then I'll have to suffer for it. I must do what +seems best to me.'' + +``But I'm sure you're wrong. I never knew anyone +to act as you're acting. Everyone rests and freshens +up.'' + +Mildred lost patience, almost lost her temper. +``You're trying to tempt me to ruin myself,'' she said. +``Please stop it. You say you never knew anyone to +do as I'm doing. Very well. But how many girls +have you known who have succeeded?'' + +Cyrilla hesitatingly confessed that she had known +none. + +``Yet you've known scores who've tried.'' + +``But they didn't fail because they didn't work enough. +Many of them worked too much.'' + +Mildred laughed. ``How do you know why they +failed?'' said she. ``You haven't thought about it as +I have. You haven't LIVED it. Cyrilla, I served my +apprenticeship at listening to nonsense about careers. +I want to have nothing to do with inspiration, and +artistic temperament, and spontaneous genius, and all +the rest of the lies. Moldini and I know what we are +about. So I'm living as those who have succeeded lived +and not as those who have failed.'' + +Cyrilla was silenced, but not convinced. The +amazing improvement in Mildred's health, the splendid slim +strength and suppleness of her body, the new and stable +glories of her voice--all these she knew about, but they +did not convince her. She believed in work, in hard +work, but to her work meant the music itself. She felt +that the Rivi system and the dirty, obscure little Moldini +between them were destroying Mildred by destroying +all ``temperament'' in her. + +It was the old, old criticism of talent upon genius. +Genius has always won in its own time and generation +all the world except talent. To talent contemporaneous +genius, genius seen at its patient, plodding toil, +seems coarse and obvious and lacking altogether in +inspiration. Talent cannot comprehend that creation +is necessarily in travail and in all manner of unloveliness. + +Mildred toiled on like a slave under the lash, and +Moldini and the Rivi system were her twin relentless +drivers. She learned to rule herself with an iron hand. +She discovered the full measure of her own deficiencies, +and she determined to make herself a competent lyric +soprano, perhaps something of a dramatic soprano. +She dismissed from her mind all the ``high'' thoughts, +all the dreams wherewith the little people, even the +little people who achieve a certain success, beguile the +tedium of their journey along the hard road. She was +not working to ``interpret the thought of the great +master'' or to ``advance the singing art yet higher'' or +even to win fame and applause. She had one object +--to earn her living on the grand opera stage, and +to earn it as a prima donna because that meant the best +living. She frankly told Cyrilla that this was her +object, when Cyrilla forced her one day to talk about her +aims. Cyrilla looked pained, broke a melancholy silence +to say: + +``I know you don't mean that. You are too +intelligent. You sing too well.'' + +``Yes, I mean just that,'' said Mildred. ``A living.'' + +``At any rate, don't say it. You give such a false +impression.'' + +``To whom? Not to Crossley, and not to Moldini, +and why should I care what any others think? They +are not paying my expenses. And regardless of what +they think now, they'll be at my feet if I succeed, and +they'll put me under theirs if I don't.'' + +``How hard you have grown,'' cried Cyrilla. + +``How sensible, you mean. I've merely stopped +being a self-deceiver and a sentimentalist.'' + +``Believe me, my dear, you are sacrificing your +character to your ambition.'' + +``I never had any real character until ambition came,'' +replied Mildred. ``The soft, vacillating, sweet and +weak thing I used to have wasn't character.'' + +``But, dear, you can't think it superior character to +center one's whole life about a sordid ambition.'' + +``Sordid?'' + +``Merely to make a living.'' + +Mildred laughed merrily and mockingly. ``You call +that sordid? Then for heaven's sake what is high? +You had left you money enough to live on, if you have +to. No one left me an income. So, I'm fighting for +independence--and that means for self-respect. Is +self-respect sordid, Cyrilla!'' + +And then Cyrilla understood--in part, not altogether. +She lived in the ordinary environment of flap- +doodle and sweet hypocrisy and sentimentality; and +none such can more than vaguely glimpse the realities. + +Toward the end of the summer Moldini said: + +``It's over. You have won.'' + +Mildred looked at him in puzzled surprise. + +``You have learned it all. You will succeed. The +rest is detail.'' + +``But I've learned nothing as yet,'' protested she. + +``You have learned to teach yourself,'' replied the +Italian. ``You at last can hear yourself sing, and you +know when you sing right and when you sing wrong, +and you know how to sing right. The rest is easy. +Ah, my dear Miss Gower, you will work NOW!'' + +Mildred did not understand. She was even daunted by +that ``You will work NOW!'' She had been thinking +that to work harder was impossible. What did he expect +of her? Something she feared she could not realize. +But soon she understood--when he gave her songs, +then began to teach her a role, the part of Madame +Butterfly herself. ``I can help you only a little there,'' +he said. ``You will have to go to my friend Ferreri +for roles. But we can make a beginning.'' + +She had indeed won. She had passed from the stage +where a career is all drudgery--the stage through +which only the strong can pass without giving up and +accepting failure or small success. She had passed +to the stage where there is added pleasure to the drudgery, +for, the drudgery never ceases. And what was the +pleasure? Why, more work--always work--bringing +into use not merely the routine parts of the mind, +but also the imaginative and creative faculties. She +had learned her trade--not well enough, for no +superior man or woman ever feels that he or she knows +the trade well enough--but well enough to begin to use +it. + +Said Moldini: ``When the great one, who has +achieved and arrived, is asked for advice by the sweet, +enthusiastic young beginner, what is the answer? +Always the same: `My dear child, don't! Go back +home, and marry and have babies.' You know why +now?'' + +And Mildred, looking back over the dreary drudgery +that had been, and looking forward to the drudgery +yet to come, dreary enough for all the prospects of a +few flowers and a little sun--Mildred said: ``Indeed +I do, maestro.'' + +``They think it means what you Americans call +morals--as if that were all of morality! But it doesn't +mean morals; not at all. Sex and the game of sex is +all through life everywhere--in the home no less than +in the theater. In town and country, indoors and out, +sunlight, moonlight, and rain--always it goes on. +And the temptations and the struggles are no more and +no less on the stage than off. No, there is too much +talk about `morals.' The reason the great one says +`don't' is the work.'' He shook his head sadly. +``They do not realize, those eager young beginners. +They read the story-books and the lives of the great +successes and they hear the foolish chatter of common- +place people--those imbecile `cultured' people who +know nothing! And they think a career is a triumphal +march. What think you, Miss Gower--eh?'' + +``If I had known I'd not have had the courage, or +the vanity, to begin,'' said she. ``And if I could +realize what's before me, I probably shouldn't have the +courage to go on.'' + +``But why not? Haven't you also learned that it's +just the day's work, doing every day the best you can?'' + +``Oh, I shall go on,'' rejoined she. + +``Yes,'' said he, looking at her with awed admiration. +``It is in your face. I saw it there, the day you +came--after you sang the `Batti Batti' the first time +and failed.'' + +``There was nothing to me then.'' + +``The seed,'' replied he. ``And I saw it was an acorn, +not the seed of one of those weak plants that spring +up overnight and wither at noon. Yes, you will win.'' +He laughed gayly, rolled his eyes and kissed his fingers. +``And then you can afford to take a little holiday, and +fall in love. Love! Ah, it is a joyous pastime-- +for a holiday. Only for a holiday, mind you. I shall +be there and I shall seize you and take you back to your +art.'' + + +In the following winter and summer Crossley +disclosed why he had been sufficiently interested in grand +opera to begin to back undeveloped voices. Crossley +was one of those men who are never so practical as +when they profess to be, and fancy themselves, impractical. +He became a grand-opera manager and organized +for a season that would surpass in interest any +New York had known. Thus it came about that on a +March night Mildred made her debut. + +The opera was ``Faust.'' As the three principal +men singers were all expensive--the tenor alone, +twelve hundred a night--Crossley put in a comparatively +modestly salaried Marguerite. She was seized +with a cold at the last moment, and Crossley ventured to +substitute Mildred Gower. The Rivi system was still in +force. She was ready--indeed, she was always ready, +as Rivi herself had been. And within ten minutes of +her coming forth from the wings, Mildred Gower had +leaped from obscurity into fame. It happens so, often +in the story books, the newly gloriously arrived one +having been wholly unprepared, achieving by sheer force +of genius. It occurs so, occasionally, in life--never +when there is lack of preparation, never by force of +unassisted genius, never by accident. Mildred +succeeded because she had got ready to succeed. How could +she have failed? + +Perhaps you read the stories in the newspapers-- +how she had discovered herself possessed of a marvelous +voice, how she had decided to use it in public, how +she had coached for a part, had appeared, had become +one of the world's few hundred great singers all in a +single act of an opera. You read nothing about what +she went through in developing a hopelessly uncertain +and far from strong voice into one which, while not +nearly so good as thousands of voices that are tried +and cast aside, yet sufficed, with her will and her +concentration back of it, to carry her to fame--and +wealth. + +That birdlike voice! So sweet and spontaneous, so +true, so like the bird that ``sings of summer in full +throated ease!'' No wonder the audience welcomed it +with cheers on cheers. Greater voices they had heard, +but none more natural--and that was Moldini. + +He came to her dressing-room at the intermission. +He stretched out his arms, but emotion overcame him, +and he dropped to a chair and sobbed and cried and +laughed. She came and put her arms round him and +kissed him. She was almost calm. The GREAT fear had +seized her--Can I keep what I have won? + +``I am a fool,'' cried Moldini. ``I will agitate you.'' + +``Don't be afraid of that,'' said she. ``I am nerv- +ous, yes, horribly nervous. But you have taught me +so that I could sing, no matter what was happening.'' +It was true. And her body was like iron to the +touch. + +He looked at her, and though he knew her and had +seen her train herself and had helped in it, he marveled. +``You are happy?'' he said eagerly. ``Surely--yes, +you MUST be happy.'' + +``More than that,'' answered she. ``You'll have to +find another word than happiness--something bigger +and stronger and deeper.'' + +``Now you can have your holiday,'' laughed he. +``But''--with mock sternness--``in moderation! He +must be an incident only. With those who win the high +places, sex is an incident--a charming, necessary +incident, but only an incident. He must not spoil your +career. If you allowed that you would be like a mother +who deserts her children for a lover. He must not +touch your career!'' + +Mildred, giving the last touches to her costume before +the glass, glanced merrily at Moldini by way of it. +``If he did touch it,'' said she, ``how long do you think +he would last with me?'' + +Moldini paused half-way in his nod of approval, was +stricken with silence and sadness. It would have been +natural and proper for a man thus to put sex beneath +the career. It was necessary for anyone who developed +the strong character that compels success and +holds it. But-- The Italian could not get away from +tradition; woman was made for the pleasure of one +man, not for herself and the world. + +``You don't like that, maestro?'' said she, still +observing him in the glass. + +``No man would,'' said he, with returning +cheerfulness. ``It hurts man's vanity. And no woman would, +either; you rebuke their laziness and their dependence!'' + +She laughed and rushed away to fresh triumphs. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Price She Paid, by Phillips + diff --git a/old/tpspd10.zip b/old/tpspd10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c0d819 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tpspd10.zip |